EPTIt's been a little while since I last took a good look outside. Taken in the vastness of the city, only limited by the four-cornered view I have with a windowsill. Spring has finally come and in a swiftness of a soft and cooling breeze, the last of the snow has left and the leaves have started their renewing growth. This city is a spoon of words everytime I take a quick glance over; its always the same taste, same coating of description and yet I can quite reach what I really want to say about this city. I just know I want to write about it, I want to paint this city in words to emulate my own written admiration of it and yet; I will never be able to stroke a brush, color in these lines and show, in one flip of a canvas, a vastness so large.
By the time I finish writing this, the sun will begin to rise, my fingers will creak and whine and my eyes will flicker with a dimming attention to what I am saying and yet, whenever I hear something; a string of a typical line, the pacing of a sentence or the clicheness of today's modern music, a nest begins to collect; sticks of ideas begin to connect, form and shelter into what I can only call as a home for banter and drivel.
For instance, today I watched Michael Clayton. An absolutely amazing film about "a law firm brings in its "fixer" to remedy the situation after a lawyer has a breakdown while representing a chemical company that he knows is guilty in a multi-billion dollar class action suit.". The film is modest in how it presents itself, political, yet clear in its morality and central contemporary issue. George Clooney plays his usual self that you end up seeing again in The American and yet; Tom Wilkinson just adds this whirlwind of pure theater dazzle. The first scene and monologue is riveting, real and refined. It's so hard to describe what that sensation is when you hear something so rich in description and connecting its ultimate revelation and with the perfect voice, tone and attitude.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lYww87KAHHg
+ Show Spoiler [Script] +
+ Show Spoiler [Script] +
"Michael. Dear Michael. Of course it's you, who else could they send, who else could be trusted? I... I know it's a long way and you're ready to go to work... all I'm saying is wait, just wait, just-just-just... please hear me out because this is not an episode, relapse, fuck-up, it's... I'm begging you Michael. I'm begging you. Try and make believe this is not just madness because this is not just madness. Two weeks ago I came out of the building, okay, I'm running across Sixth Avenue, there's a car waiting, I got exactly 38 minutes to get to the airport and I'm dictating. There's this, this panicked associate sprinting along beside me, scribbling in a notepad, and suddenly she starts screaming, and I realize we're standing in the middle of the street, the light's changed, there's this wall of traffic, serious traffic speeding towards us, and I... I-I freeze, I can't move, and I'm suddenly consumed with the overwhelming sensation that I'm covered with some sort of film. It's in my hair, my face... it's like a glaze... like a... a coating, and... at first I thought, oh my god, I know what this is, this is some sort of amniotic - embryonic - fluid. I'm drenched in afterbirth, I've-I've breached the chrysalis, I've been reborn. But then the traffic, the stampede, the cars, the trucks, the horns, the screaming and I'm thinking no-no-no-no, reset, this is not rebirth, this is some kind of giddy illusion of renewal that happens in the final moment before death. And then I realize no-no-no, this is completely wrong because I look back at the building and I had the most stunning moment of clarity. I... I... I... I realized Michael, that I had emerged not from the doors of Kenner, Bach, and Ledeen, not through the portals of our vast and powerful law firm, but from the asshole of an organism whose sole function is to excrete the... the-the-the poison, the ammo, the defoliant necessary for other, larger, more powerful organisms to destroy the miracle of humanity. And that I had been coated in this patina of shit for the best part of my life. The stench of it and the stain of it would in all likelihood take the rest of my life to undo. And you know what I did? I took a deep cleansing breath and I set that notion aside. I tabled it. I said to myself as clear as this may be, as potent a feeling as this is, as true a thing as I believe that I have witnessed today, it must wait. It must stand the test of time. And Michael, the time is now.
He's distraught, nervous and yet sure of himself, no longer confused, breaking out of this egg of ignorance. Tom Wilkinson narrates this emotional path of revelation between the mix of both figurative mental underlining of what he now understands, but falls back into the reality, his situation, social context and the racing between this clash of both his professional background; shameful as he may feel and perhaps be (though expected to be done) and as an audience; we're confused in this whirlpool, lost, intrigued, desiring to know more, the build-up is happening and as soon as it reaches its ultimate pull of the curtain "the time is now..." it falls back into the bustle of late-night hours of a law firm. We're shifted back into the reality of it all and must now follow the storyline, but it lingers. His words, his discovery lingers in our mind, teasing our curiosity and anxiousness to know what just happened, what did we just witness?
Lately I've been seeking something to do. Something to pursue, I know last time I feared the coming obligation to find a job after university. But right now, I feel the need to do something, the need to have something to show when it comes to writing these blog entries. I'm tired of going in circles, tired of talking about nothing and yet everything that revolves around me. I don't want to voice my intelligence, viewpoint that I assume is not unique, but speak as if it is. I want to say something more, something real, discovered by others, but spoken as if I'm the first and spoken as if I can be sure of what I am saying. I want to say something I know that only I can say it and in a way that it makes sense not through 1,000 words and not through an essay of pretentiousness. But through real experience and real thought put onto it. Whenever I wake up each morning and hit the shower; I get hit with this improvised narration of what I am doing as if I'm preparing to write about my day to an imaginary audience. I never follow-through with it and yet it constantly returns every morning egging me on to say something to anyone.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JCHTX_pgw6A&feature=youtu.be
A nice Jazzy twist to some classic Legend of Zelda songs.
A nice Jazzy twist to some classic Legend of Zelda songs.
I've only learned three things these past few weeks; the vocal minority that often disapproves of you or what you are doing are indeed the minority who are vocal, but they may not be the minority who disapproves. I think it's a great way to comfort yourself that you are only reading what a small perentage everyone is saying, assuming that the rest think otherwise or are tolerant enough to be neutral about your doings. But what if everything negative said is what a lot of people think, just don't see the need to be vocal about it? How would you approach such a possibility? If they're not outright calling you out, do you just continue doing it (it may not be necessarily wrong, but you may not be aware it is an issue due to how little people are voicing their concerns).
Secondly, that arrogance stems, at one point or another, from the perspective that you are upholding your own views and values as important and needed to be publicly demonstrated because no one is enabling you. If no one acknowledges what you're saying is true and you're not feeling intergrative with that group of people; outward arrogance would feel like a valid way of trying to approach your ideas as pertinent relevant. It's self-defeating though as you end up looking desperate and ridiculous (since you have no validated founding of yourself as someone intellectual worth notating his or her opinion/views). Does that make sense or am I just rambling? What I mean to say is that; since no one is approving what you are saying, you feel the need to do so as a coping method of your insecurity that perhaps you are just irrelevant or you are in a field you can't control since you don't recognize its functionality. Someone told me that arrogance could be coming from the constant validation of previous views, in which case; wouldn't that be confidence rather? I see holes in what I'm saying, I'll have to think about it more.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8AEU5pBxY6E
Not a fan of the whistle/flute instrument midway, but this song is deep with both rythym and instruments. I love everything about this song and the refrain (or repetitive part that rises up with each line is just invigorating, lively and profound). It feels epic, insurmountable in height and at its peak its pure elation for me at least!
Not a fan of the whistle/flute instrument midway, but this song is deep with both rythym and instruments. I love everything about this song and the refrain (or repetitive part that rises up with each line is just invigorating, lively and profound). It feels epic, insurmountable in height and at its peak its pure elation for me at least!
The last thing I learned is about myself and how a good meal is ultimately my therapy. My escape to a place where the conversation can be terrible, the service can be abysmal and my week(s) of stress, worry and turbulence of emotions are all dissolved as my meal comes within view. When I'm eating, I'm eating. The food is my focus and the day is summed up in the first spoonful of goodness. Material gifts are what I despise the most because it just reminds me of this commercial cynicism that plagues everywhere, it makes me feel jealous of how far people got and how much more they've achieved from me and the comparison just puts me off, makes me feel defeated, unsure of what I am doing and thinking that I am not trying hard enough. I try and tell myself that everyone moves around in the world at their own pace, but I want to be where everyone else is in their life because I know I can do what they do and I have the determination to do it, I just can't find a way to get there.
The irony of that thought-process is that the path to get where they are is the very reason I can't do what they can do and I certainly can be who they are...
I went to a small bistro called Le Meac with friends on the other side of the mountain (Mont Royale) and of the city. I took a taxi there and he played Easy Street (Sarah Vaughan sings it, but I love Julie London's version:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=skTpdgQ9ZeE
Perhaps a bit too outdated for some, but hearing this in the freshness of a true Spring late evening as we rolled through easy and empty streets near the mountain onto the second mask of Montreal was just perfect. It was one of those moments of "soulagement" as the french called it
Perhaps a bit too outdated for some, but hearing this in the freshness of a true Spring late evening as we rolled through easy and empty streets near the mountain onto the second mask of Montreal was just perfect. It was one of those moments of "soulagement" as the french called it
I went with four friends who all dressed appropriately casual, yet clean-shaven and with ties/dresses. It was our sort-of fancy getaway. It was beyond enjoyable, it was therapeutic for me, especially after eating so much junk food and swimming in terrible snacks I help to stave off whatever hunger I had for a real meal. The place was quaint, small, but glistened with elegance and attention to detail. Though our table was small for five guests, the service was fast, accomodating and understanding that for some of my friends; this was a new environment. Everyone had perfect table manners and although the conversations went to some uncivilized territoires, no one took it seriously and the event still went well. For them, this was just a nice outing, but for me; I felt relieved, assured that life was ok so long as I kept my napkin spread across my lap, my tie was a double-windsor and there was something in my plate.
For once, in that moment, I was alive and kicking. I had a luxury to just enjoy the moment and forget about all that awaited me at home. All my obligations, duties that I happily uphold were waiting for me to come home. But for once, in a while, I was where I want to be, with some of the people I wanted to be with, tasting and enjoying something the way I wanted it to be enjoyed. I tipped extra and it still came out cheaper than seeing an analyst.
I apologize for the bad photos, but the lighting sucked and I still cringe seeing these photos of the food I ate
![[image loading]](http://i.imgur.com/m5meO.jpg)
[Snails, portabella and tomato ragout, basil butter sauce] People cringe when they hear you ate snails. But honestly, it never truly tastes as odd as you fear. It's almost always tasting a bit like calamari. The ragout was great, succuluent and rich in flavor, but not too salty like when I had the garlic butter escargot. The portabella mushroosm were great and the sauce, despite its almost lime green color was welcomed with every bite (though I feel it needed to be a bit more thick, like pea soup thich).
![[image loading]](http://i.imgur.com/wzuwe.jpg)
[Duck leg confit with roasted fingerling potatoes and salad] Big fancy way of saying salad with duck. The poatoes were honestly a joke and pretty damn small and too salty. The salad awas fresh spinach, lettuce and vinegar. Even I could do it and was almost appalled that how cheaply it was done. The duck, however, was hit and miss. Sometimes it would be moist and accentuated with perfect spices, but then when you got to the lower-end of the leg, it would be dry and it felt almost untouched or altered from its original bland taste (duck texture is tender and better than chicken in my opinion).
I paid 25$ for the whole meal (they do this thing where if you come in after 10pm, the whole thing costs the sum of 25$. Worth the price [though, next time, I'm ordering some more exotic similar to the escargot!].
That being said, the therapy was refreshing and I felt a huge weight lift from my shoulders. Walking back helped a lot as I looked around me and this was nothing like downtown. The road didn't whistle with the echos of a distant passing car. The end of the street was fogged by the dark of the night and stillness of quiet branched neighborhoods. The firefighters station was hallow old church building and the bars were both posh and too elitist for my tastes, but held a charm that made it look so admirable when peering in from the outside. This side of the city was quiet, sleeping before it hit midnight with pockets of young nightowls prowling the streets with nothing but innocent casual conversation. I was in another world, a town not a city and I entered took the flight of stairs down into the metropolitain rabbit hole, I wondered if I would ever come back to such scenes and interesting places that piqued my wonder and pricked my finger with the need to touch and feel such places again.
![[image loading]](http://i.imgur.com/kleBr.jpg)
An unflattering picture of the view from my balcony, but paired with the theme song from Midnight in Paris, it feels small and like a busy-body.
So casual and laid-back, a perfect opening to the film and classy. No feelings of nostalgia, but it feels like a throwback to a previous decade of simplicity, yet extravageant in its creation like frills on a summer dress. Simple colors, simple design, but a twist to add a cheap form of complexity to a previously-known style. Great stuff!
Maybe tomorrow I'll try painting again. Just take a step back from this computer, from my duties and do something that has no progressive feel to it. I feel like if I'm not doing something towards progressing myself socially and/or through the projects I'm doing, I'm wasting my time and I'm combating this need to strive, to progress. It probably has to do with what I wrote last week about the unsureness of my future in one year. The countdown is on my mind constantly and I can't help that I need to do everything I can to ensure I have a safe landing when university ends and the real-world reaches my feet as I whimper downward onto the runway of the job market. Almost naked with nothing but a fig leaf of a resume and cover letter.
and yet, I will awake tomorrow, I will shower and I will begin my dialogue to what I just witnessed, just wrote, just faced and...
[...] I said to myself as clear as this may be, as potent a feeling as this is, as true a thing as I believe that I have witnessed today, it must wait. It must stand the test of time. And Michael, the time is now.
![[image loading]](http://i.imgur.com/osEuV.png)
looking forward to you getting a new kick ass camera :p
(you deserve to! I thought you would've made it, but you'll probably make it on their 'second wave' of selections or w/e they do (i'm kinda surprised i'm on there, but that's nice to see since I try to put a lot of focus in my blogs)).
It's cause I'm too mean, right?
