VicNotes 7: Merlot and Maple Cream

Double-header drama! Due to an influx of work-related things (“shifts”), I was too tired last-week. As such, this week there will be a Tuesday morning update (this one) AND a Thursday morning update (Thursday’s)! Hold on to your codpieces… the excitement may be just too much to handle otherwise.
Hazy Sunday

My family takes great delight in unintentional humour of juxtaposition. A sign advertising “Fresh bait and donuts” is the most commonly cited example amongst the Rivers. The delicious irony of the KABOOM FIREWORKS sign immediately next to the charred remains of the former fireworks store is another that springs to mind immediately. I have a third to add the list that one can only hope achieves such lasting fame. The Restaurant, determining that its servers should be fully familiar with the wine they sell by the glass, decided to host a tasting of such. This part makes sense. Slightly less so, however, was the decision to hold this wine-tasting at 9:30 on a Sunday morning. For those of you unfamiliar with individuals who are servers, the average age is between 22 and 32, and the biggest expenses are – as far as I can tell – rent, Saturday night alcohol bills, shoes and food, in that order.

As such… being invited to try 15 types of wine in order on a Sunday morning was about as attractive a proposition as designing the architecture for a Baghdad police station. Thankfully, I’m not prone to such bouts of rampant alcohol abuse as my fellows since few bars will accept half-eaten jars of pesto and 400 pound desks in barter, sadly. Nevertheless, it was with some apprehension that I arrived at The Restaurant on Sunday morning. I was the newest of new fish, the smallest minnow in a pond of muskie, pike and at least one ill-tempered grouper. What if I said something disastrous? What if I had the audacity to DISLIKE a favourite wine? Or accidentally confuse my Pinots, or claim my Syrah was a great Shiraz? My nerves were settled immediately by one fact. I arrived to 4 large boxes of Tim Horton’s donuts.

I have done wine-tasting in the past. I am capable of using words like “palette” and “nose” and “legs” and “traces” in conversations not involving art or body parts. I can tell the difference between cabernet sauvignon and merlot (they’re spelled different, for one thing). The one thing I have never been invited to do during my rudimentary training was to ingest a chocolate dip with my chardonnay, or a cruller with my cabernet. Until now. It appeared that though everyone around me knew about wine, nobody seemed to have a problem with pairing these two treats. That struck me as more shmuck than sommelier, as less Gallo and more galling, as more Montana than Mondavi.

However – the unusual side aside – the wine tasting went great. Thus, now when people ask me questions like “How are the legs on the Church Mouse?”, I am capable of saying more than “Attached to the body, as long as the Rector’s cat hasn’t gotten to him yet.”

Other things The Restaurant in specific, and Victoria in general, has taught me, in no particular order…

• “Spiced Indonesian Beef Medley” sells way better than “Red Pepper and Beef Soup”, even if they’re the same thing
• People can ask questions about 24 different items on the menu, without growing bored, tired or repeating themselves.
• When they do, you must know things like that the sablefish is from the Queen Charlottes; there are 5 prawns included with the New York steak’s sauce; the mussels are currently in heat, which explains the strong flavour; and which of our roughly 823 oyster varieties are found on the West Coast.
• Some people actually enjoy oysters. Really.
• People will question you as to whether or not the “Alligator” on the menu is actually “Alligator” up to four times in three minutes. When it arrives, they are then STILL surprised to discover its actually alligator.
• On a Friday night, while biking home, you will see more ambulances (5) than taxi-cabs (3) in use.
• People on their honeymoon are awesome.
• There are really big mountains across the way that look really snazzy.
• Some people actually enjoy oysters. How? Why? But more important, why and how?!
• “Bart’s”, a local bar, serves $4 Heineken.

In short, The Restaurant has been an education so far. And since on an average night, I’m making more in tips than I did in a month at The Golf Course, I am prepared to take as many classes as they see fit. This influx of cash-money has led to some exciting purchases, all through my world’s favourite location: Craig’s List. First of all, I managed to snare a vacuum cleaner – and delivery from up-island – for $30. Now… I have had vacuums before that sucked in the non-literal sense. This one, on the other hand, could pull a tennis ball through a keyhole. It weighs about 80 lbs, is forest green and has the manoeuvrability of a tank in quicksand. I have nicknamed it “The Testosterone”. This is the manliest vacuum ever. It tried to eat my backpack the first time I fired it up. It got halfway through before I had looked up from plugging the thing in. I’m tempted to introduce it to The Desk and have them fight it out for inanimate object supremacy… but I’m worried they’d take a shine to each other and produce massive appliances that ate my things.

The second exciting purchase I have made is tickets to the next five Under-20 World Cup soccer matches, being played right here in Victoria! For a measly hundred dollars, I get to see the following games: Costa Rica vs. Japan, Scotland vs. Nigeria, Uruguay vs. Zambia and Japan vs. Nigeria. Plus, I get 1st Group F vs. 2nd Group *text cut off*. In short, I will be surrounded by fans yelling in languages I don’t know at a sport I don’t really follow to athletes 3 years or more my junior, and 35 BMI points or so my superior. I can’t wait. I fully intend to pick a country randomly (Zambia is the likeliest choice, since its hard to get more random) and dress in their colours, memorize one player name and think of creative things to say. “Hey, its Dennis Banda! Please give him a handa! He’s from another landa! He’s playing really granda!” and so forth. This will, in no time, endear to me all manners of people… primarily security guards and whoever else is enlisted to remove me from the stadium, I imagine.

Other exciting purchases of late include: a 4 kg box of chicken I balanced home on my bike; ice cube trays (at long, glorious last); my first ever lighter (required to light lobster candles at work, mine is a touristy masterpiece… it says “Victoria, BC” has a provincial flag and is a beautiful mauve… the exact opposite of my vacuum cleaner, for manliness); a spatula and placemats. Truly… capitalism creates a strange list of essentials.

In closing, I leave you with photographic evidence that I live in the most gorgeous city in Canada. See you in two days.

VicNotes 6: OPPosing Jobs

Schedule? Schedule?! I don’t need no steenkin’ schedule!! Okay… I do. As promised way back, updates will be once a week – published for when you wake up on Thursday morning! Its like your very own way to help waste a little bit more time at the office as you wait for Friday to roll around.

OPPosing Jobs

I was talking with one of two first ever best friends, an “Eric”, on Monday shortly after completing my first training shift at The Restaurant*. Eric is just finishing up a process requiring more complex steps than DNA sequencing and taking about as long as cross-Sahara wombat waddle. This process is the joining of the Ontario Provincial Police. I, on the other hand, was able to attain my current position by showing up on time for the job interview, talking intelligently about wine and hitchhiking and making sure to remember to put on pants before I walked in the door. Of course… his job confronts death on a daily basis. Mine only does so if I forget to wear the non-slick shoes in the kitchen.

See, the only real similarity between his job and mine is that both require some kind of training. He is trained how to take down potentially violent criminals in a manner compromising the fewest people’s safety. I, contrarily, am trained to refrain from taking people down. In fact, while Eric is provided with a series of instruments for ensuring that people don’t complain too much, I am armed with only a smile, my wit and, in really serious cases, a soup spoon that I’ve sharpened so fine it could cut boot leather.

My first shift was, as I mentioned, on Monday. And get this – the long-suffering server who’s been assigned me as her protégé, Lauren, is the spitting image of my other first ever best friend, a Ms. Taryn. The mannerisms are similar, the face is a spot-on match and every time she says ‘Chris’, I get the feeling that Rick Klarner is about to bang his head somewhere as he walks through the door. In short, it ensures that there is additional distraction to the myriad of things I must remember.

I was provided with copies of the lunch, dinner, wine, kids, dessert and ingredients menus and asked to memorize them. I, half in jest, claimed “So I get what, psssh, a week?” When the answer came back “That seems about right” I was forced to remove my lower jaw from the floor, roll my tongue back into my mouth and head home to study more than is decent for something that doesn’t provide me with my own copy of the President and Registrar’s signature upon completion.

One of the greatest things about The Restaurant is that we serve a fresh watermelon purée to customers while they contemplate their vast and amazing menu choices. (Seriously… the ‘whole crab’ option, when served, makes servers look like extras from Deadliest Catch. They take this 8×8 inch crab, balance it on top of Mt. Rushmore’s worth of mashed potatoes and then ask you to carry it to a table. I tend to use a crane.) This little extra is called an ‘amuse bouche’, or simply an ‘amuse’ for short. Thus, when a server is getting overly busy, they tend to ask another server to “amuse their table for them.” I, thankfully, was informed of this practice in advance, or I fear that I would have been found reciting Weird Al songs in a reggae voice as I attempted to remember anything I had ever done that could be considered amusing. “Watering” the table also does not mean what you think it does.

Now – often male servers will complain about many things. An ability to get a job, for example. Or, if/when one does, an inability to get a decent tip. Often this is chalked up to such minor things as “lack of voluptuous breasts” or “a rear end that looks like a plate of Jello”. I tell you, though, I tried wearing a couple of honeydew melons in a bra under my shirt while at Jester’s, and my tips didn’t improve at all. Except from that one guy who kept requesting us to play the Moulin Rouge soundtrack. In any case… the advantage to being a male is how rarely I am made into an ‘object’. I observed my first such example of such callow treatment Wednesday evening when one of our servers was told that if she “rubbed the neck of the wine bottle softly, the cork just pops right out.” While the other fellows at the table made appreciative laughing noises that sounded rather like concrete being put through a food processer, the server just laughed and said “Oh, you guys!” and smiled it off. I was very impressed. “Great” service is saying nothing. “Good” customer service at that point is not killing the patron. “Acceptable” service is killing him quickly. What I witnessed was a virtuoso performance that blended easygoing charm with complete dismissal of the comment. Very smooth. I wish to be like this person. And, being this is Victoria, I may actually have my own chance to be objectified by men still to come! In which case I already know my response… Stab them with my spoon.

Until next time… West Side life, yo. – Rivers

Online Bonus!!

For those of you who only see the blog editions, instead of the direct-to-inbox edition, here’s a special extra that I’ve provided, just for you! No, sadly, it isn’t cookies. Or points. Or even anything really worth having. But it is a picture of myself and CoHo, thus allowing for proof that we are capable of going out for a drink without falling down.

*Note: I have decided to revise all references to my current place of employ to ‘The Restaurant’ in order to ensure that I don’t accidentally say anything that could put my job in jeopardy. Please note that this is a blog designed for, as far as I can tell, repeatedly displaying my inadequacies – and such a record, if it fell into the hands of my employers, would be akin to walking up and licking a customer’s ear. I’d be gone so fast it would give onlookers whiplash. I also, in case you couldn’t tell, exaggerate from time to time. This is all in good fun. I really really really love my job. A lot.

VicNotes 5: Powerline

So, as promised, the sheer volume of emails has subsided a little bit. This was due to two primary factors. First of all, I feel guilty about inundating you with my mindless babble. Now… I’m certain that many of my classmates are currently laughing to themselves jadedly, wondering where such restraint was over the last four years of discussion groups, but that’s the beside the point. The second primary factor was that I felt the last email I’d sent out just wasn’t my best work. Ergo, I decided to sit, relax and wait for some stuff worth telling to happen before I told stuff anyways. As such, the standard day-by-day format has been scrapped to be replaced with a much more ad hoc explosion of information. However! In the name of clarity, for this email, anyways, I have decided to give each of these bits small titles, to allow you to reference them more easily when you include these in your academic papers. To begin…

Powerline

My first trip to the washing machine was continually delayed by the fact that I occasionally make Scrooge look like Steinbrenner. When it comes to expenditures on such non-essentials as ‘hygiene’, I tend to hold onto my money with a tightness reminiscent of Rita McNeil in a size 3. Now, before you start accusing me of incomparable miserlyness, stating that laundry is, y’know, kind of important, I should point out that each wash is two bucks… and each dry an additional two. I understand the need for companies to make larger profits – I mean, I occasionally vote Conservative – but this strikes me as needlessly exorbitant.

Thus, in my attempt to claw back what is rightly mine (namely, money… which is actually probably rightly my father’s…), I have shunned the dryer in favour of air-dry. But living in an apartment complex, with little available yardspace, has forced me to be creative. As such, I have turned my formerly useless TV cable into a clothesline, stretched across my balcony, and hanging precariously from a nail installed by some previous tenant. I mean, sure the clothes may all slide together, thus preventing any actual loss of moisture, but hey… I’m saving $12 a MONTH.

A Quick Job to the Face

I was employed at The White Spot for a grand total of four shifts, accumulating in that time profits totalling rather short of $100. This is because I received a phone call while shopping shortly after my hire at TWS from a downtown, upscale seafood-themed restaurant. I must admit, that upon first reading their sign, I felt it was the kind of place dangerously likely to feature “Captain’s Platters” and servers wearing eyepatches… but it actually is rather tastefully decorated and more than a little snazzy. In any case, they wished to interview me – and I had no problem heading in, having only just done my first shift at TWS. I brushed up on my wine skills that I had honed for the Café Brio interview, and went in with as much of the menu memorized as possible. I paired foods, discussed schedules and just generally interviewed as well as I could… but nothing really struck me as guaranteed until the final comments. Turns out that the two hiring managers were both Newfs… as is the executive chef… as are the owners. Thus, I rather casually pointed out that I had hitchhiked through that lovely province just the summer before, ending up as far north as Badger. And you know… that may be the first time I’d ever name-dropped a town named for a grumpy mammal, but a few days later I got a call saying I was successful and started on the 18^th. So, once that day rolls around I may actually have REAL employment for a change!! Woo!! I mean, slowly selling my possessions from a cardboard box on Wharf St. has been fun and all… but I kind of needed what I had left (at this point: my stapler, three socks and a 400 lb. desk).

The CoHo Docks

There is a ferry in Victoria called “The Coho”. My well-dressed, polite and intelligent friend, Colin Hoult – known as CoHo – also came to Victoria the last couple of days. I will not make the obvious joke… because I’m nice that way.

In any case, he showed up at midnight on the 10^th and I was there waiting for him when he got off the bus. Since I’d been early, I’d done a couple of caches – but one of them was cut short when a security guard informed me that where I was putting my hands rather blindly was a common needle disposal spot, so I may want to reconsider my decision. I hastily retreated.

To celebrate his arrival after hours of public transport, we went to Irish Times to put down a pint or two. Victoria, in a spirited attempt to dispel my rock-solid faith in its quality and safety, turned up another surprise while we were enjoying our malted beverages. Namely, a female police officer chased down a guy just outside the window and tasered him in the back. I didn’t even know Canadian cops carried those things. Memo to self: when asked by Victoria police officers to “Stop”, brake so hard that your heels leave skidmarks in paving stones.

And that was just night one… Colin and I also headed up to the UVic campus to try to track down important people. We managed to make it as far as the executive assistants of both the President and the VP Academic of the university, but apparently “Random law student and visiting friend” don’t cause most executives to cancel their meetings. Jerks. On the plus side, I did find out that I was, to quote “Well short of a scholarship” form the Law Admissions people. I was feeling a little slapped about, since I’d been treated nicely by both Dal and UOttawa, until I found out that UVic Law’s standards for scholarship are 95^th and higher percentile on the LSAT, and at least a 3.9 GPA. In other words… they were reserved for the two people who got those marks in Canada. Oh well… I didn’t want free money anyways, I’d MUCH rather work for it.

In any case… Colin and I managed to survive without being tasered, thus allowing me to live to write at least another email. I’ll be back with more soon, and until then…

West Side 4 Life.

Rivers

VicNotes 4: Work It Out

Ahoy!

 So now that I’ve left you with a proverbial cliffhanger for the last three days or so – and I’m sure you were all just breathlessly anticipating the conclusion (like those who REALLY wanted Spiderman III… or Rocky IV… or Land Before Time 2.6 billion). Thus, with no further ado, allow me to introduce you to Chris Rivers, Probationary Hire in Position of Host until such time when Capability to be Server has been Demonstrated. At The White Spot. I wanted to get it put on a business card, but apparently the guys down at the local printer’s place have a tendency to shoot coffee out of their nose when you request that as your title.

 In any case, my first ’shift’ – basically, an on-the-spot job interview – went about as well as you could imagine. This was not a repeat of the Marie’s Pizza, 27 stalls, getting lost and losing money episode. I even wore my SJK Graduate tie… the first time that’s taken place. (That sound you hear now, by the way, is SJK promotional staff RUSHING to include this stunning fact in their latest brochures.) I handled the duties with aplomb and humour, and excepting one time when I was corrected for suggesting I could “throw them down in a booth, if they’d like” – apparently we do not throw down guests like gauntlets, we “seat them” – I had no complaints against me. Outside of that, there’s really not that much to tell about it. I like the White Spot’s attitude and atmosphere, the manager seems sharp as a tack and the staff seem friendly and willing to accept this random outsider with the thick-rimmed glasses and private school tie.

 Despite the fact I am now – marginally – employed, I still feel it necessary to be economical. Which is why my desk now features a three-sectioned storage device that I call “Milk crates stacked around one another”, and my cupboard is packed with $0.99 Corn Bran Squares.

 After the first shift sailed smoother than the nice side of an almond, I was invited back the next day to try again, and again ran into a grand total of zero problems. The highlights of my day were buying a solid black tie from Zellers, so that the SJK tie could go into retirement batting 1000, and starting to wash some of the dishes I got from my friends, the Iranians. Three jars down, two crates of assorted plates, bowls and cups to go!

 Now, before I went to bed, I determined it would be nice to lay out a caching route for me to do today. So of course, I spend 30 minutes or so setting one up. I awake this morning to find… rain. This is the first rain I have experienced in Victoria. Prior to this, I’d felt like I’d stepped into a novel set in sunny South America, only without the guerrillas, political turmoil or cocai…. yeah. No turmoil. But of course, now that I’ve planned, here comes the rain. To be fair, it did let up by mid-afternoon, but its the very fact that the wet, er, west coast had the audacity to rain on me a mere week and three quarters after I moved here is unacceptable.

 My caches went well except for a little incident with my bike shifter. That incident being me ramming it (and my hand) at a relatively high rate of speed into a tree, thus rendering it as effective as an irate houseplant against a riot shield. But even this was to turn up aces (remember the rabbit?), as the friendly and competent staff at Mac’s Cycle fixed me up in a jiffy, and repaired the gears to a better standard than I could remember them from time past. It’s like I went in expecting to be told I was about to blow more money than MC Hammer, and came out having been given a gift greater than child’s laughter (but nowhere near as good as Tim Horton’s peach juice).

 The evening ended somewhat bizarrely. As I was sauteeing onions while dancing to Ricky Martin and wearing a fedora, my neighbour banged on the door. She asked if I wanted to attend a town council meeting about bike lane installations on some street that I could, theoretically, take to the university. Since I had nothing more pressing on the table – aside from my omelette – I agreed, and was thus thrust unexpectedly back into the world of council politics. Having had no research done in advance, nor any particular reason to be particularly swayed on the issue, I of course just sat and watched.

 Ha. If you believed that, have we met?

 I ended up giving the third speech, while clutching my bike helmet at my side like a badge of honour, but prepared to use it as a shield against the irate citizens of Henderson Rd. Thankfully, the stoning never took place – either the Biblical sense or the, shall we say, ‘Victoria’ sense – and one of the councillors commented that their jobs may be unsafe if I become bored of law school. Turns out one of the councillors is a part-time prof up at the law school, so I may have just made a friend. Or, of course, a lifetime opponent, but often they’re the same thing.

 I think at this point I can probably start scaling back on the email volume a little, having settled down and into a routine centred around geocaching, grocery shopping and, apparently, attending town council meetings in districts I don’t live in. That said, the people who follow on the blog (uphillflow.wordpress.com) seem to prefer that I post regularly. To that end, Ill just keep sending and you can at any time email me to have me stop sending you my inane babble, or of course, just keep cycling my files into the restorable storage file on your computer’s hard drive.

 Cheers!

Rivers

VicNotes 3: Meals and Wheels

Hola. Which is, of course, different than ‘Holla’… which you’re not allowed to yell back at me unless you REALLY want Gwen Stefani to give you a hard time. What IS a Hollaback Girl in any case?

Day 7 – the one week mark – was the 29th of May, and it featured what I felt would be a likely comedy goldmine. I was going to tackle my bike. I mean, not literally, though there may have certainly been physical aggression at some point towards it. No, I mean the actual putting together of chains and metal bits using those screw-turner things and the squeezers and so forth. Doubtless I would have hilarious stories about wheels on backwards, gears chewing up my hands, handlebars being upside down… you know… Rivers stuff.

Nothing. Not so much as a slight glimmer of hilarity. I needed to adjust my handlebards by about a half of an inch on their left/right alignment, and that was it. Hunh. Of course, I did end up carrying the entire thing over my shoulders a few blocks in search of an air pump, since I couldn’t figure out how to work my handheld one. Nothing quite like taking your bike out for a walk on a boiling summer day. I also discovered that my gears currently sound rather like Mickey Mouse.

After doing some caching, then crashing in the evening, I spent the next day being summarilty rejected for work at The Keg and Chandler’s, meaning my list of possible places had shrunk considerably. In an effort to cheer myself up, I found a few nearby caches and went to do them. Now… I took my bike, which is missing its climbing gears owing to them not working. This seemed like a clever idea. I probably, though, should have realized that ‘Summit Park’ was not likely to be easily accessible by bike. As it turns out, it really wasn’t. To get there, I had to take streets named, literally, “Highview”, “Bellevue”, “Vista Heights” and “The Rise”. Who the heck puts a park at the top of a mountain in the middle of a city?! When I saw I had to go up ‘The Rise’, I think I nearly gnawed through my helmet’s chinstrap.

Now… while I was cycling up these hills, I passed a desk that looked to be in good condition. It was only about a kilometer away from my apartment, so I figured I’d go back that night to claim it. I didn’t realize two things. First, that the desk weighed approximately 400 pounds. It, in a former life, worked in a prison. Not as a desk, no, but as a riot shield. This thing could withstand direct nuclear impact. This desk eats bedside tables for appetizers. This desk is badass. It’s made out of metal and huge slabs of wood and is about 5 feet long and 3 feet wide. So I managed to manoever it onto a shopping cart, down a massive hill and towards my apartment – worried I was going to be arrested for insanity the entire time – at 10:30 at night. I get it to the apartment, slowly work it up the stairs and into my front door, down the hall and go to put it in my room. This is the second thing I didn’t realize: it wouldn’t fit. I took the door off the hinges, I unscrewed the feet off the legs of the desk and I made it SO close. Literally, it didn’t fit by about 4 layers of paint. The Desk (it is worthy of capitalization) now sits in my living room, where it acts as a home defense system. My theory is that if anyone sees it, they will know the owner is not the kind of person to irritate.

The next morning – still reeling from the failed desk experiment – my across-the-hall bangs on my door to ask if I still need furniture. I say yes, and end up being introduced into the Iranian-Canadian community. A family was moving back to Iran – in some hurry, it appears – so in exchange for me moving them out, I was allowed to keep furniture. The link, as far as I can tell, was that my neighbour’s husband was friends with the sister of the woman who was moving out. I got Karl a free bed from the deal, along with a kitchen table and chairs and a dresser… so mission success.

Baseball was back, since at this point we’re on a Thursday, and I enjoyed the hilarity of it all. Afterwards we went to a local pub – Christie’s – and in my ever-expanding attempt to save money and calories, I ordered a small salad with low fat dressing and two Diet Cokes. Warren – one of the guys – also ordered me some testosterone, since apparently he felt I was lacking.

Right – yesterday, June 1st, I started the day by saying ‘Rabbit’. This is part of an old Chinese superstition that believes good luck is yours if you start the first day of a month by saying ‘Rabbit’. I have no idea why. Its like the rabbit’s paw thing… I mean…. obviously it didn’t bring the rabbit a whole lot of luck, hey? In any case, the day actually featured good luck – so I’m off to an auspicious start. I did two caches in the morning – including number 100 -, managed to snare an ‘on-the-job interview’ (basically a test shift) at a local restaurant for earlier today, and then went out with a friend in the evening. Victoria, in case you’ve missed it, is filled with young, idealistic hippies and old, jaded British people. As part of the evening, we did a bit of both. I had an almond burger with sprouts and a ‘JumpStart Juice’ for dinner, before retiring to a pub for Irish beverages afterwards. I have yet, by the way, to see any young, British, jaded hippies… but Im sure they’re around. Likely with pink hair.

Well – that catches us up today, but I’m out of words at this point… so I’ll just have to leave you wondering how the test shift went, and fill you in… in VicNotes 4: The Return of the Revenge of the Secret of the Lost… ummm…. Food Order.

Payyyce!!

Rivers

VicNotes 2: StreetWalker

Bonjour encore;

 Apparently one’s first 6 days adapting to a culture in almost every respect the exact same as the previous two they’ve inhabited requires me chronicling such every three days. I promise upon my heart that I shall, in the interest of your interest, keep the post count below once a week henceforth. And if I don’t, you get your money back. Except you Mom and Dad… I can’t give you your money back. I couldn’t afford it.

 In any case, when I signed off last post, I had just managed to somehow manage to put prong A into slot A sufficient enough to support my increasingly svelte and inert body on the bed for the duration of the evening. Thus, the next morning I awoke fully refreshed and with resolve to at some point actually obtain pillows. While the collection of dirty laundry has a few advantages (for one thing, my pillow is bigger every night), I was a little worried about what would happen if I kept my head in close proximity to my socks… since my socks tend to spontaneously combust. Or be taken away by government agents in the dead of the night, with the agents muttering something about ‘chemical warfare’ and ‘terror suspect’ and ‘probably takes Gatorade on planes’.

 I knew of a garage sale happening just shy of two km from my place, so I moseyed on over and to my delight found a large array of useful stuff, including a great lamp with elephants and a large red chair. The problem was that the elephant lamp – plus assorted bowls and maps and other essentials – was placed in a large cardboard box… filling my arms. Thus, the only way to transport it all in one go was to balance the 40 lb chair on my head for the duration of the walk home. This, apparently, was a site for people in Victoria. Traffic slowed. Dogs stared. I spontaneously cured at least three cases of scurvey. A woman in a motorized wheelchair pulled over so I could pass on the sidewalk. Apparently large, plush chairs balanced upside-down on the heads of 22 year old, otherwise seemingly sane males, is unusual. If you wish to see an image of the chair, I kind of hate you. Since uploading photos is way harder than I would have expected it to be for something so otherwise simple

 Chair and lamp successfully home, I return to Sears and procure more fantastic deals. People on the street are now waving to me familiarly as I wander about with my shopping bags. Having since obtained a can opener from a random person at a door I knocked on, I managed to open my tuna and made tuna burgers for dinner. I slept, for the first time, in a bed. With pillows. And a duvet. And it was my worst sleep yet…. apparently my body now treats comfort as the Olsen twins do calories – “No! No! I refuse!!”

 May 27th – day 5 – I experienced what waiting by the phone feels like. Y’know how Betty is ALWAYS waiting for Archie to call? I’m like that with Greg – the manager at Cafe Brio. I want to know if I got this job. In order to distract myself, I went back to the mall and Zellers and bought a dish-drainer, lampshade and so forth. Now back at my apartment, my PHONE RINGS! In great excitement I answer it… and its not Greg. Its equally awesome, in that its Emma Pullman – my one friend who actually lives IN Victoria. She swoops in to rescue me from boredom, hyped up like a hummingbird on Hershey’s, and we spend a lovely day in Victoria.
 Speaking of birds… if you ever are at the Inner Harbour, sitting in front of Parliament on the lawns, you will find it relaxing. There is blue sky. Green grass. Beautiful buildings. And birds hell-bent on playing chicken with your hairstyle. These little swallows come buzzing around the lawn, 2 inches from the ground, and headed right for your throat. They pull up at the last second, leaving you with little more than a sensanation that it was out to get you and is coming back for another pass. Its like a really intesne video game, with smart (and swift) missiles, thinking “Now can I eat something 436 times my size?”

 I am delighted to say I survived the avian assault, and repaired to the lovely Ms. Pullman’s for an evening of fine dining: pork chops, new potatoes and Maple Cream beer. She also showed me the beach right near her place, and it was fantastic… lots of driftwood and rocks and a soft ripple. V. relaxing.

 Finally, today, I gave up and decided to wander the harbour of Victoria, looking for employment. It appears that pubs, while reluctant to employ me as a server (since my breasts are nowhere near voluptuous enough) are ready to BREAK THEIR ARMS to sign me to a cooking contract. They’re kind of interested in my background until they read the ‘Cook’ bit and then become all smiley. “Can you start today? Can you manage a small team? Would like my tie? Can I get you a small drink, say, a diamond martini?” and so forth. I gently break it to them that I wish to stay in front house, and they return to their formerly “We’llputyouonfilehaveaniceday” attitude. Alas. We shall see.

 That, really, chewed up a large chunk of my day, and the notes would be over save for a 10:10 phone call I recieved from the aforementioned Emma, who wanted to arrive and brought with her a beautiful wooden desk that matches my furniture. It is in need of some slight repair, and my early experiments with screws, lock-nuts and pressboard were… not the most succesful (I have large piles of sawdust, a bleeding thumb and 2 new swearwords) – but I have hope for the usefulness of L-brackets tomorrow.

 That’s all he wrote… except for Murder. Murder, he wrote.

 Chris

VicNotes 1: Oh no, He’s Back?

Hello! (I have a new cell number… email me if you want it) 

BlogNote: This is the blogged version of my email series that will be starting again this summer. Its basically a copy/paste job, with a few minor edits. Thanks! ~ Rivers 
The last time I sent out regular status updates on my misadventures, it was from the sunny climate of Australia. In order to do so, I consistently fought drought, poisonous spiders, torrential rainfall, poisonous snakes, people who were angry their pizza was cold and poisonous seashells. This time, I decided to mix it up a bit and have a slighlty easier-going location to settle in: Victoria, British Columbia.If you’ve never before read this travelog, it means I didn’t know you all that well in the summer of ought-five. If you have, you know the drill – I’ll be updating this but once a week, I’ll try to make it worth reading, and if you don’t want to… then get off my blog. Just drop it like the Ducks are going to do the Sens. I try to keep it around 1000 words… but sometimes Ill be a bit long-winded. Shocking, I know.  

Now… there may be those among you who are questioning the logic of moving clear across the 2nd largest country in the world. Such small questions as “Do you know how much that’s going to cost?”, “Do you have a job/any furniture/a single friend?” and “Why haven’t you returned that book you borrowed?” My response to all of them was generally a shrug and a sort of mumbled comment about “Figuring it out when I get there.” 

Well, I got there. I switched coasts since the University of Victoria law faculty boasted the following plusses: small size, rabbits on campus, environmental specialty and… they got back to me first. Plus, I get to live with Karl (more on him anon).The day of travel itself was the 23rd of May. I was hauled to Pearson by my dad (who unaccountably failed to press ANY cash into my hand… perhaps remembering that both my mom and HIS mom had done so in spades). I then cleared check-in, security and a small puppy that liked the “Exploded Shampoo” scent of my carry-on in a measly 6 minutes. Once on plane, I fired up my GPS unit that told me I was travelling 835 kph or so – roughly the equivalent of my friend Colin Hoult’s driving when he’s in Quebec – and kept trying to hide my send/recieve device from stewardesses and passengers. Im sure they thought it was a remote bomb timer. 

I arrived at my appartment after a (hybrid) taxi ride and unpacked. This took a depressingly short period of time. Unrolling a sleeping bag and throwing three days of clothes around takes surprisingly little time. My first few excursions to find food resulted in dishes, two plastic chairs and a shelving unit and a double boxspring. From the side of the road. That I carried about 4 blocks. Beat out from that, I ordered pizza after carefully comparing prices, write-ups and delivery times… by picking the one named after a Shakespeare character. I am pleased to say that “Romeo’s” is the best pizza one could ever consume. Ever. Seriously, visit me JUST to try this pizza. Bloated (2 for 1 pricing!) and happy, I passed out in my sleeping bag with a large pile of laundry as a pillow. 

I woke up at 6:30, filled with vim and vigour and prepared to tackle the world. Then I remembered that I had to wait around the house all day for UPS, Purolator and the Shaw Internet Guy. So instead, I went to shower. This endeavour was slowed by two things, primarily. First, I had no shower curtain. Second, I had no shower head. It appears to have been lucky I even had water, since the apartment manager explained my new carpet with “Well… you had a riser burst. We’re glad you weren’t here.” Thus, I crammed my 6′1 and overweight frame into a bath space designed to cleanse 4 year olds. If you don’t know how hard it is to wash your hair, imagine this. (For the sake of everyone, put clothes on me while you imagine.) I was forced to do a back-bridge and balance in the tub with my hair dangling in the water, while I tried to rub in shampoo by repeatedly banging my head against the side of tub. It was… ineffective. 

I managed to find an interview (which I still haven’t heard back from… *grumbles*) for Friday morning, so decided to change my phone number to a local one. Rogers, since I’m an unauthorized user, wouldn’t let me do it over the phone. Apparently I’m not ‘Gerry Rivers’. So, I asked her to transfer me to “someone else, anyone else, a janitor wil be fine”. The Rogers lady did, and when they asked my name I dropped my voice a third of an octive and said “Gerry Rivers.” I also gave him a slightly British accent. I managed to negotiate the tricky security questions like “When is your birthday?” with only the smallest of awkward incorrect answers. “May 17th? No! Its the 19th! HAH!” As a bonus, I got the year right the first try. Good thing his birthday was, oh, last week, though or I’d have been toasted like that kid in Jurassic Park. In any case… 

NEW CELL NUMBER: 250-xxx-xxxx <– What?  You think I’m crazy? 

After that, the day was topfilled with joyful surprises. I got a showerhead, my trunks and stuff arrived and I spent hours pouring over internet documents on wine/food pairings, something I’d said I was profficient at in order to land the aforementioned interview. (This was still more honest than when I told the pizza place in Austalia I could drive a standard. I can still hear their jaded laughing from my first week…) I decided to again try to make the grocery store… and was again distracted. This time it was pick-up baseball on the diamond in my backyard. Ergo, I spent two hours on that… but made a small pile of local friends. Except John, who I robbed with the glove at least twice… and then predicted that I’d put my next hit between his legs… and then did. I think he cursed me in Spanish under his breath, but I could be wrong. 

In any case… I needed paper to print my resume, and as it was 8:30 at night, I scrambled over to Pharamsave and frantically browsed the shelves, throwing Claritin, lampshades and ceramic kittens over my shoulder as I went. No paper. Thankfully, the girl working took pity on me and gave me a hefty stack from their fax machine. I was now set to get a good night’s sleep – on the floor – for my interview the next morning. 

I’m already over 1000 words (Dear Lord), so I’m only going to do one more day, and then try to catch up on future, boring ones. So, yes, this is day three upcoming.I bathed again (curse you, lack of shower curtain), and then skipped off across town to check out a double-bed for $40. It was stellar, so I bought it on the spot and decided to figure out how to move it “later”. Went for my job interview – I think it went well, but this now 30 hour non-call-back is troubling me. (As I explained to Katie Ross, I am as patient as a hyperactive poodl… LOOK! A COOL BUG!!) This was followed by a walk to Sears to buy, among other things, the MOST GARISH SHOWER CURTAIN EVER. When my mom queried as to what colour, my response was “All of them.” It has a pattern of Smarties-type candies on it. Everywhere. It looks like a unicorn threw up on a bedsheet. I love it. Karl will, I predict, not. 

Finally, I made it to the grocery store. Eagerly anticipating a tuna-melt for dinner, I bought cans of tuna (on sale) and rushed home. To discover I had no can opener. Seriously, I don’t know how I’m allowed out of province without full-time surveillance from at least 3 professional caretakers. This opinion was compounded after I managed to get the bed delivered to my house and proceeded to put it together the following wrong ways:1. Put it together without the head or footboard, meaning it was balancing on two 1×2s, giving my bed an approximate raised level of an inch and a third.
2. Manage to turn the HEAD off of a screw (I didn’t even know you could do that) while trying to fix one corner of headboard.
3. Put on the boxspring without the wooden slats. While attempting to corral the slats with my feet and balancing the boxspring on my back, have it collapse on top of me, trapping me temporarily below the bed… with my toes wrapped around a wooden slat. 

Unsurprisngly, making the bed was the last thing I had energy for and I promptly fell asleep after that. I still, of course, was using my dirty laundry as a pillow. 

Back at you with days 4-6 soon, then it’ll be a weekly sked.Be more Pacific;Rivers!

…and a volume control.

 

You know how when you’re sitting in your class, and there’s one person who simply refuses to never stop talking? They’re the person with an opinion on everything. Diamond mining in South Africa? They’ve read a book on it. The logging industry of Nauru? They saw a movie. The molecular breakdown of complex carbohydrates? Hell – they’ve eaten bread their entire life.

  Well – I’m that guy.

 I’m not really shamed to admit it either. I figure that I’m paying my $8000 a year in tuition, and I learn best when I’m able to voice my concerns, opinions and so forth, and have them mercilessly shot down by profs and students alike. I’ve routinely asked other people if I’m as annoying as the ill-informed loudmouth, and am equally routinely assured that I’m not. Now – if someone asked ME directly whether or not they were a pain in the ass, unless I was feeling decidedly contrary, I probably wouldn’t be able to tell them that, yes, yes they should probably not make metaphors on how much the current political situation in France reminds them of a Bolivian weevil.

 If one examines my general pastimes, its shocking how many of them require some kind of yelling, screaming, ranting, giving opinions or general discussion. To wit: I’m a sports announcer, debater, journalist, student politician, Academic Senator and competitive cross-stitcher. All of them require an ability to speak faster than they think… I usually try to cut out the latter step entirely to make my life easier, of course.

 Now… often this doesn’t lead to any major harms. Today, though, my mouth got the best of me. One of my profs, speaking on the problems of Turkey being absorbed into the European Union, described as being, and I quote, “too big to swallow.” I, in my endlessly classy way, muttered relatively quietly “That’s what she said.” Of course, my relative quiet has all the subtelty of a train whistle from 5 feet away. As such, the class lost it and the prof blushed and quietly asked me to repeat myself.

 I did the manly thing and hid behind Leah and Janine.

I Want to Go Play Outside

 Hey now… I can’t slip on the ice like a moron if I’m not out there to tryHey now… I can’t slip on the ice like a moron if I’m not out there to try Most people who got graduation gifts that I’ve spoken to recieved fairly standard ridiculously expensive things: cars, graduation rings, trips to Beirut, large sums of money and so forth. I, on the other hand, recieved a ridiculously expensive non-standard gift – though one I’m very fond of. While many of my classmates are quite happily trying on large chunks of cubic zirconium placed into brass settings with a massive, Soviet-era propagandistic symbol on them (and yes, Acadia, you’re brazenly copying the X ring. For shame) – I am repeatedly mashing buttons on my new piece of fantastic technology.

 I have recieved, very gratefully, a hand-held GPS unit from my parents as a Congratulatory Item for managing to scrape enough credit hours together to be able to walk across the U-Hall stage in, oh, 2 months or so. Yesterday, after having it repeatedly tell me that ‘According to satellites, I’m currently in Utah, and it’s December 16th, 2006 there’ – I gave up and read the manual. 30 seconds later, it had me pegged in Wolfville, NS on the correct date. Of course, my last vestige of true manliness – stubborn refusal to read directions – had gone the way of the cheap university tuition, but it was a small price to pay.

 So now, understandably, I want to go out and use the thing. The sun is shining. The snow is melting. The birds are singing. The university administration and faculty are gearing up for a strike in the most bitter months of the year … clearly spring is here. And yet – do I have the ability to leave for 2 hours to wander around Wolfville? Nope. Instead I get to read tracts on the integration of the European Union or judicial activism in Canadian politics. Now, I know what you’re thinking:

  “But Rivers! You always LOVED Political Theory! And, hell, spring comes every year… but the EU will only integrate once.”

 I know. Believe me, I know. The EU is so exciting I can barely tear myself away from the Valium required to look at it. But between all of my courses left, I have roughly 15000 words to write in the next 3 weeks. Instead… I’m prorastinating by ranting on a blog (though not as well as this guy) when really I COULD just take this time to go and *signs off*

Pay Up, Squirt

 Through incredible fortune and the ceaseless generosity of my parents, Scouts Canada, Acadia University, CGI, people who leave change in the street and people who mistakenly transfer money into my bank account thinking I’m “Juan Carlos Rivera”… I will graduate from Acadia University entirely debt-free. This means that I embark on my next quest with no student loans, nothing beholden to my parents and most importantly, a minimal number of shady gentlemen who, in their own words, “want to kill me” or something.

 This, of course, lasted all of negative two months. I am currently sitting, quite happily, in significant debt regarding law school. How on earth they expect me to be able to handle $8000 in tuition, textbook costs, student fees, rent in Victoria, excessive amounts of alcohol and other such necessities is unknown. I’m forced to cut down entirely on fringe requirements, like television, pizza clothing and food in general. This, thankfully, will allow me to wear my Hawaiin print shirts on a much more regular occasion, since I think the only possible excuse to wear one to, say, torts class is “Everything else I own was sold for two cans of peas and 53 Nigerian cents.”

 One of the great joys of student debt, of course, is the necessity of invention it creates. Thus, I have come up with a number of simple ways to make money while at UVic. Some of them I list below:

•  Sell unnecessary organs – I hear most lawyers are heartless, brainless and gutless anyways.
• Rent out empty room in apartment to incredibly attractive female.
• Ask the Canadian government for money in the form of ‘Research Grant.’ Possible topics include ‘Effect of Alcohol on Sleep Patterns’, ‘Use of Web Message Tools to Imrpove Social Interaction’ and ‘101 Things to Do With a Snared Rabbit’
• Begin rabbit pelt business.
• Provide legal advice, generally to the effect of “Do not yell at police officers for asking to see your Driver’s License. Do not proceed to take off your pants as proof that you are who you say you are. Do not show any policce officer your impression of a ‘Fruit Basket’ in an attempt to lighten the situation with humor.”
• Write hilarious lists and sell them on street corners.
• Begin rabbit stew business.
• Blackmail Karl repeatedly over ‘The Mastadon Incident’
• Call home. A lot. Use words like ‘blue-chip investment in your future nursing hom… errr…. future.’

 Thankfully, as it currently stands I’m only, oh, $9000 or so in the hole. Pity law school hasn’t even started yet. If there’s one thing that can ease both my tortured soul and wallet, it is the apparent reality of a $75000 a year paycheque for a lawyer in their first year. This strikes me as fantastic, since hey – with that much money, I can probably afford the BIG cans of peas. And carrots too. They’ll help with my rabbit business.