Costco

So, I'm like, in Costco to check up on my application and their seasonal employment. I'm standing there, looking damn fine, chatting with the clerk who is wilting under my powers. Yeah, that's right.

Without warning this contessa on my right suddenly looks at me and says, "Jason!" and goes for the hug. I'm surprised, so I fake her with a left and let the bottle of Johnnie Walker in my right do the rest.

I catch myself mid-swing. Hey, I know this doll. Way back time, like the 60s, man. Yeah, all that fly dope, and stuff. We chat warmly. I compliment her on her memory and turn back to the wilting clerk, so obviously wishing that her boyfriend was damn fine like me. But the dame isn't done yet. She says, "You're just unforgettable, J."

Yeah, that's right.

I decide the clerk is reaching toxic levels of exposure to awesomeness, and I hit the parking lot. Light rain. Kinda like that mushy drizzle on the day you realised Santa wasn't real. I'm halfway to my car, parked on the far side.

I've never known why people insist on nearly parking inside the building. They clog up the lot, and their reward for circling three times? A ding in their door, a crack in their fender, may be even a rolling cart to the side panel. I prefer walking.

I pause for a second. There's some kind of sound. Almost, but not quite entirely unlike my name being called. Years of training kick in, and I turn around. There's the clerk, running me down in the mushy drizzle. Damn, I'm fine. She's carrying a pen and paper. Paper's probably a subterfuge for the pen, a stabbing instrument, since she can't have me.

Yeah, I just said that.

Turns out the fella helping my long-lost, well-brained friend happens to be a manager. Saw the whole exchange. Sent the clerk out running to catch opportunity before it drove away.

Well, she took my particulars and asked a few questions. Writing all the time. But it never occurred to me until just now that she was likely burning out there to get my phone number. Had to make up some excuse to keep from babbling like an idiot in front of me, so she kicked into office-speak. Happens all the time. Pity. Makes it hard to get work.

Quotes Galore

  'The people of Krikkit,' said His High Judgemental Supremacy, Judiciary Pag, LIVR (the Learned, Impartial, and Very Relaxed), Chairman of the Board of Judges at the Krikkit War Crimes Trial, 'are, well, you know, they're just a bunch of real sweet guys, you know, who just happen to want to kill everybody. Hell, I feel the same way some mornings. Shit.'
  'OK,' he continued, swinging his feet up on to the bench in front of him and pausing a moment to pick a thread off his Ceremonial Beach
Loafers, ...
  '... so we won.' He paused and chewed a little gum. 'We won,' he repeated, 'but that's no big deal. I mean a medium sized galaxy against
one little world, and how long did it take us? Clerk of the court?'
  'M'lud?' said the severe little man in black, rising.
  'How long, kiddo?'
  'It is a trifle difficult, m'lud, to be precise in this matter. Time and distance...'
  'Relax, guy, be vague.'
  'I hardly like to be vague, m'lud, over such a...'
  'Bite the bullet and be it.'
  The clerk of the court blinked at him. It was clear that like most of the Galactic legal profession he found Judiciary Pag ... a rather
distressing figure. He was clearly a bounder and a cad. ...
(Ellipsis separated by spaces are mine.)


I've recently been reading the Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy (obviously called) trilogy again after some years. The only one I've never read is the fifth on, Mostly Harmless. That bothers me. Deep down in my heart I know that I'm not complete because of it.

Douglas Adams was a freakishly brilliant fellow, if his writing is anything to go by. I can't say anything about his moral fibre, or whether he had any, because I don't really know anything about him. But if you doubt the brilliance, just read chapter seven of Life, the universe and everything. Honestly, Bistromathics! And it's true. I got the opening quote from the same book, chapter 14.

What's really startled me as I've hacked and slashed my way through these books, again, is how much they may have subliminally affected my own writing. I don't write exactly as he does, but my thought patterns are very much like his. I'm almost disturbed to see it, and would be, if I wasn't so impressed with his freakish intelligence.

Thank you, Jessie, for introducing me to this series in the first place. That was long ago, while the earth was still young, in 1998. That was also the point where my own writing began to take its own shape.


(It should go without saying that any mention of the Guide must include a disclaimer: Please don't bother with the crap 2005 movie, The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy. It's an embarrassment to the books, which just don't transfer well to visual media. Note that I say this after having only watched five minutes of the movie in a theatre before getting up in disgust and going to another flick. This isn't book snobbery, though. The movie is awful.)

Regret

Simply beautiful girl. Dark, intelligent eyes. Have iPod, will walk. Right past me as it turns out.

I'm downtown Burlington, if you can call it that. For a city of 180,000 it has a remarkably posh but minimal downtown core. Perhaps I just wasn't in the right spot. Could be like Paris, low rent apartments with lower paid tenants behind a gorgeous facade, but somehow I doubt it.

The waterfront is peaceful. I loved walking toward "downtown" on it. It must be said that there was a high percentage of friendly people for Ontario. You can blame the nice weather. But the people I spoke with seemed to have a lingering habit of friendliness, like the smoker who doesn't quite stop. Could be the tap water.

I've obviously gone past downtown. I'm doubling back, walking through my favourite residential neighbourhood. The kind that doesn't make your skin crawl looking at 500 houses with three designs and four different colours. Old school, big lots, probably 1950s. 

Take that road, hike back to Brant street, gonna check that interesting looking coffee shop I passed before. Oh yeah. I'm definitely in B. Upscale, while trying to be cosy. It doesn't pull it off. You're too afraid of getting fingerprints on aunt Josie's coffee table. Still, the patrons look comfy. Wait. Is that...? Yup, dude's wearing Loafers, elegant socks and pressed khakis, and he doesn't look out of place. This is worse than a Starbucks in a swank neighbourhood. Whatever. The guys behind the counter certainly walk the earth.

Even so, I like the area, and I've got my medium coffee. Time to head toward waterfront to fetch the car. I'll just hike over the grass to hit that path with the flowering trees enclosing it. Aw, heck. 

Girl walking down the path. Jeans, red sweater. Dark, intelligent eyes. She's holding a medium coffee. I like that: moderation. I'll just sit on this bench. Great view of the water, and she's likely passing my way. I smile, give the slight wave. The greeting returns. Smile, wave, iPod, silent hello. I ought to say something. She walks past and heads for the further bench closer to the water.

I sit looking serene; just a guy taking in a sweet evening. My brain is screaming, mostly at my legs. I remain outwardly meditative, get up, walk to the water. This time I walk past her as she sits alone, sipping her medium coffee, listening to music, enjoying the evening. I keep walking. 

Dammit.

Move Along, Nothing Here

Nothing comes to mind. It is this nothingness which I have been fostering, creating, breathing life into. (Oh yeah, I'll end a sentence with a preposition. If Margaret Thatcher could go to war over the Falklands, I can use prepositions whenever I want.) But I was talking about nothingness.

It is the nothingness of inactivity, which is even worse than doing something which you hate. At least then you have something to write about, something to discuss, even something to hate. Hate is a poor choice. The worst choice. But it's still better than nothing. And nothing is exactly what I'm looking at.

I've been reading a book on writing beginnings. "Hooked" is a decent book. I'm glad that I spent the money on it. Still, it doesn't say much for your state of being when the best thing you did all week was read a good chunk of a not-large book on writing beginnings. On the other hand, my beginnings are becoming explosive. "Hot Damn," is the phrase which pops into mind. I'll give an example. It's an old one, mind you. One I haven't written the story/rant for yet. But I've revised it. Punched it up.


The little white dog was unhurt when Abigail swerved through four lanes of traffic to avoid it. Abi, however, was sent directly to Heaven. All good dog lovers get there.

Relieved, Abi saw that the only losses were the lives of three humans. Then her breath caught. A caterpillar also died. She was nearly sick, and on the spotless floors at that. Abi paused to grieve the never-butterfly, and Truffles, the little white dog, trotted into view. Heaven's whites grew whiter.

Sadly, Truffles rather enjoyed caterpillar.

Abi screamed. Truffles lifted a paw, and she inhaled. Then while looking heavenward, the little white dog began his descent into Hades. Abi paled and suddenly noticed three people who were doing nothing at all.


Is that not cool? Seriously. Tell me you don't want to hear more. What a wicked beginning. It begs for a scorching rant, or even a thoughtful discussion on the forgetfullness of Western society. And from that moment of glory I'm reminded again of the doom of nothingness. Funny, how my (the) mind works. Simple reality is, I've been floating. Coasting through life on my natural ability. One thing after another has come easily to me, or at least easy enough for me to get by with a minimum of effort. 

Laziness? Sure. But let's not forget the years of roofing, construction, farming, and property maintenance. Hard work isn't the issue. The issue is study, and not in the grade average kinda way. I've become so accustomed to everything coming easily, and simply ditching the few that don't, that I'm nearly unable to pick up the freaking torch and run when it drops into my lap.

I am the United Federation of Jason. Unmoveable. Like Castro and the US. Everyone else cares because it's David versus Goliath. It's easy to care. That, and single males generally get a high pity factor when it comes to food and lodging. And believe me. I'm not complaining. So why am I writing this? Am I bored? Or is it that I'm driven to create and if pushed really hard I'll even be honest. Such is the intensity of the desire within an otherwise reticent person.

Today I'm nearly homeless. Oh yeah, baby. It's gotten that good. The free and wild pirate life I shoot between my toes, unfortunately without the accompanying plunder to make me wealthy. This is my story: male, single on purpose, a life degenerating. Everyone needs to learn, but when you refuse to follow any rules it gets complicated. That, and when you are a sanctioned island it becomes difficult to visit. Without the life the outside brings, your guts shrink and slowly die.

Nothingness has brought me to nothing. With work and study this need not be permanent. But this is not a confession leading to repentance for my view of life. I love it. The freewheeling, carefree modus operandi which I embrace. But I acknowledge the need for continuing to study, and that requires placing aside whatever I must in order to achieve the goal. "Ay, there's the rub." A good story requires both a loss and a win.