So how about that update? (scherzo for butterflies and rapid transit)
Sure has been a long time. So yeah life, what have I been up to? Well, I usually do relatively the same thing week in and week out, working somewhere around 9 days a week. It’s a life, it certainly doesn’t allow for much else to happen, but I think it’s definitely an experience that everyone should have.
I chose to take on the workload of two jobs because, at the beginning, I saw that both could be quite interesting. Both have a creative element that goes along, and I find the processes of both intriguing. Also, since I had just come right out of school, I figured that if I were in school this is the amount of my life I’d be expected to dedicate to my studies. Yeah… expected. Or at least CDIS was that way… but that’s another story.
So what do I do you ask? Well since I know very few people who actually visit this live journal, most of you already have a pretty good idea about what fills up my time. But hey, I feel like typing it alllllll out so here goes…
During the daytime, 8-4:30 (or something along those lines…) I spend my time as the receiver for the Arc’teryx Outdoor Equipment factory. I work in a big building with about 200 other people, all committed to building some of the best outdoor gear ever made. Well maybe they’re not all committed, but they all work there. I spend my days receiving shipments of raw materials such as fabrics (Gore-Tex, assorted fleeces, woven fabrics, backpack materials, etc.) and all the other little things that go into these, such as buckles, clips, zippers, labels and various other oddities. I always see these items in large quantities (i.e. 100 metre rolls of fabric / 4000 zipper sliders…) because well, we have to make a lot of stuff to be able to ship it all over the world.
I’m the first person to see any materials enter the factory, and I’m the last person responsible for the finished goods as they exit the building and head off to the warehouse, where they get shipped off to assorted stores. Someone said to me once, “so basically, you are their efficiency.” A scary thought, but I guess somewhat true. I say scary because as most of you know, I have a tendency to spend my time not working and chatting on msn. Why? Because it keeps me sane. It’s a nice thought to be able to be at work and just chillin’ with all of your friends at the same time. And hey my supervisor does it, so whatevs.
It’s pretty cool, I’ve seen the ins and outs of making garments and backpacks etc. I could probably tell you more about your backpack than you’d ever care to know, like who the company is and what the part name is for one of the stupid little buckles that holds the lid down, or what the specific name of the fabric it’s made out of is called. This is even more useless in the real world since most of these fabrics only have numbers for names, such as 9602, Mi187 and the most typical backpack fabric, 420d. Somehow I keep track of it all. I guess the same way many of us can remember the lyrics to 200 albums. But what I had always seen in this job is how it is the essential starting block for design in this field. All the materials I could ever need at my fingertips and I know all the details about them. I’ve taken this into hand a number of times now and built myself little things like a camera lens case, a hydration back pack, and a keyboard case. This list is only going to grow, I have so many more ideas. It’s a big step to move from mental image to tangible object. But the process is where all the energy is. Although I must say that I loathe ripping seams because they just don’t work. All part of the process…
Had enough? Alright then, let’s hop on the skytrain and head off to my second job. But first lets enjoi this trip, because well, it’s the most natural light I’ll be exposed to all day. Someone once mentioned to me that a human only needs 10 minutes of exposure to sunlight to get their daily does of vitamin D. I quickly replied with, “hmm… I don’t think I even get that much.” Yay what a life. Ah it’s all good.
Oh look we’re at the end of the line, my station.
So I crawl out of the dark recesses of the concrete jungle and find myself right at one of the largest and most recognizable faces of Vancouver, Canada Place. The sails as some might say. To myself and many, it’s the workplace.
Canada Place is an interesting building, jutting out over the water where objects weren’t meant to go, it was built as the main convention centre for good ol’ Expo ’86. Yeah, we all remember that don’t we? Nope? Yeah me neither. But I was there… ridin’ the monorail, eatin’ the food, watching the new 3D Imax movie.
Down at the ass end of this great white monster stands the CNIMAX theatre, a single screen theatre designed for the giant frame film format, and specifically, the three-dimensional cinematic experience. Here I’m a projectionist. I sit upstairs in a dark booth with a couple projectors about a million dollars worth of film, with about twice that many frames. The theatre’s claim to fame is that it’s the first Imax theatre ever built and the first permanent 3D theatre in the world. So because of this, the design of the booth is somewhat, shall we say, haphazard. No gear is installed in the walls, no wires are hidden in secret compartments, and there’s barely enough space to hold the 35 films that surround me. There’s about 18 of them in a couple racks, and the rest are either on reel units as part of the regular schedule or are propped up against the wall, waiting for some group to request a screening. It kind of feels like you’re the captain of some low-budget spacecraft, with all the 80’s style illuminated buttons and control panels, although that might also be due to the fact that one of the past projectionists was a huge star trek fan, leaving the walls littered with little plastic characters and spaceships. Not to mention the labels. The main control console has a big one across the top reading, “DEATH STAR WEAPONS CONTROL MODULE.” Or how about the one on the microwave that says, “hyperspace motivator.” What a joint.
Because there’s only one screen here, with each film lasting around 45 minutes (although last winter we showed “The Matrix - Revolutions” which was a gargantuous 2.5 hours long…) I’m left with lots of time alone to sit, play guitar, read, or write, such as I am at this very moment. Or perhaps I’ll brood feverishly over a cup of the free starbucks coffee about my lengthy days and repetitive life. Naw I never do that.
It’s pretty cool to have some strip of film that’s 75mm wide flying through the air at 24 frames per second, and being the one blasting the flickering light through to the captivated audience. But lately some of the cool is being overshadowed by some of the ridiculous politics of this joint, of which I won’t bore you with as they’re apparent and mostly the same at any other place of business. I kind of feel like I’m coming to a breaking point, but not so much that I’m going to let go of my responsibilities.
So the film ends, I clean the projectors, turn off the lights and hop back on the skytrain, but this time there’s no more sunlight so speak of. Night has fallen, and for many, the party has just begun, but for me, the party is in dreamland, which is more aptly named dreamville because it’s more resembling of a highway town that has nothing but a gas station and a guy selling three eyed chickens off the back of his orange pickup truck. The type of town that you just drive right through. But hey , it’s Friday, let’s get retarded in here.
Well maybe not tonight. I have to be back at work Saturday morning.
I hear you say, “But Adrien/earl, there must be other exciting events that have been going on in your life.” Sure they have been. Let’s take a look at the last month, shall we?
Ok so what’s happened. Hmm well I did visuals at the “last ever” Plaza O’ Nations rave, that was pretty good. I got to show off all of my own photography that I’d had on slides. I’ve been known to have an odd way of looking at things, and this was further reiterated by the number of kind ravers who would ask me, “Are you an artist? What’s with the pictures? They’re kind of weird…” This I would usually reply with a smilin’ “Thank you!” Only at a rave can you put up a picture of a stickman with an afro dancing in space, and have people enjoi it.
What else… oh my dog is dead. Right. Yeah, well it wasn’t an all natural death. More like a shotgun murder. But hey, it had to happen. Basically she was unhappy because my mom wasn’t able to spend the amount of attention that she desired, and because of this the dog would take to destroying the house and its contents. My mom was on the verge of moving, so this wouldn’t do, and it seemed that nowhere in Kelowna would anyone rent to someone with a dog. She looked everywhere, but to no avail. And through this the dog kept on destroying things. So we talked about it and made the decision. She was an old dog, eleven years old, grey hair, and slightly ornery. My mom looked into the options to have this dealt with which left us dealing with it alone. The SPCA wouldn’t take her for adoption because she was too old, and we tried to find a taker. Nothing. So she went to the vet, asked how much it would cost for them to put her down gently, which would have ended up being a bill of 50 bucks. Being an option, my mom asked, “Do you mind if I ask what you do with the bodies of the dead animals?” to which the vet replied with, “Oh we just take them to the landfill.” The dump. There was no way that my dog was ending up at the fucking landfill amongst styrofoam chunks and bad leftovers. So how about cremation? $150. It was then decided amongst my mom and I that this would have to be done more personally, with family. “I would rather spend the $150 on one last road trip than to have her die at the clinic that she hated so much.” Said my mother, to which I agreed. So she drove up north to McKinley Lake, where my great uncle and surrogate grandparents reside. Out in an area with no telephones, no electricity, and gravel roads that get overused by logging trucks. This is where my mom is from, where this family grew together, a family of hunters and farmers. Pets had been put down before, it was nothing new, and this was where my dog had been happiest. A place where she could run and swim and roam the forest chasing squirrels. Here it was done, and the lake she loved is where she resides. Rest in peace Slow Pitch.
I just realized that I didn’t place a single journal update in the whole month of May. Oh well.
A piece of excitement that came with May was the tourist challenge, an event that is open to all employees of businesses that are members of the Vancouver tourist board (of which, IMAX is). The employees are given passport booklets where they have to visit a number of attractions and a few big hotels and get stamps in order to get the Privilege Pass, which entitles the holder to free (or cheap) entry to all of these place for a whole year. Yay bargains. So with the help of my good friend Rebecca I scratch a good number of places off of the list, which included the Aquarium, the Art Gallery, and the False Creek Ferries, as well as, heh, the Granville Island Brewery (where we were given a tasting session, to which I took part, although I don’t generally take part in the clutches of alcohol). The pass led me to experience some places that I hadn’t seen in years, or at all, and it was just nice to get outside with a good friend. So I got the amount of stamps I needed and I’ll be handing the book in to get my pass soon.
I bought turntables. Yeah dj earl… or something. Some guy posted an ad online selling two turntables, a mixer, headphones and 15 house and trance records… so I bit. And now I have them. And they’re crazy. Kinda fun though, should give me something to do for a while. It’ll just be nice to have them always set up, always playing records, blending odd styles together, guess I’ll have to have a ‘house’ party sometime… in da hous.
Yeah gear. Good ol’ fun.
I discovered a group called The Great Uncles of the Revolution. I suggest anyone who considers themselves to be purveyors of “good” music to give these guys a spin. Upright bass, violin, slide guitar and trumpet, all Canadian. I personally give two thumbs up to the album “Blow the House Down” because it’s super good, and it comes in a raw brown recycled paper case. Yeah art.
Perfectly good for a road trip through the trees or scavenging for shells on the beach.
What else do I got goin’ on? Hmmm well I’ve been jammin’ a bit with my boys Andy and Iisak from the band known as Trading Fours (aka phat earl and the rhythm pigs). Always a good time sharing some musical ideas, in a house, on a beach, on the roof of SFU or in a local coffee shop. I’m always open to jammin’ as long as my non-rock n’ roll lifestyle can commit to it.
These paragraphs are getting progressively shorter and I’ve already finished cleaning the projection booth for the evening so I should really just post this and head on home. But perhaps I’ll wax poetic for a mo.
Long time running
cool as it be
in the warmth and the heat and the
“gates of hell” says mr Dave who cuts like a knife
with an 80’s riff and a hair of newt
bubble bobble and chase the cherries
she used to run in circles but now
the mind is racing like a track star on pickle juice
keep on driving down the aisle
finding canned heat and discount laughter
is the number one going to change and
is zero getting even?
Fuel for the face taking the place
[or trying to win the race]
capo al coda
cut short to the second ending
choose your own adventure
damnit page 23 again.
Black keys and brass
silicone helps me roll
and ratchets help me slide
skipping the samples
heading straight for the trash
now that might be rash but
no it won’t last
walking in the fast lane
and sometimes I fall
spectators grin because they’re not sure
what’s really happening
when you’ve been running
for so long.
I chose to take on the workload of two jobs because, at the beginning, I saw that both could be quite interesting. Both have a creative element that goes along, and I find the processes of both intriguing. Also, since I had just come right out of school, I figured that if I were in school this is the amount of my life I’d be expected to dedicate to my studies. Yeah… expected. Or at least CDIS was that way… but that’s another story.
So what do I do you ask? Well since I know very few people who actually visit this live journal, most of you already have a pretty good idea about what fills up my time. But hey, I feel like typing it alllllll out so here goes…
During the daytime, 8-4:30 (or something along those lines…) I spend my time as the receiver for the Arc’teryx Outdoor Equipment factory. I work in a big building with about 200 other people, all committed to building some of the best outdoor gear ever made. Well maybe they’re not all committed, but they all work there. I spend my days receiving shipments of raw materials such as fabrics (Gore-Tex, assorted fleeces, woven fabrics, backpack materials, etc.) and all the other little things that go into these, such as buckles, clips, zippers, labels and various other oddities. I always see these items in large quantities (i.e. 100 metre rolls of fabric / 4000 zipper sliders…) because well, we have to make a lot of stuff to be able to ship it all over the world.
I’m the first person to see any materials enter the factory, and I’m the last person responsible for the finished goods as they exit the building and head off to the warehouse, where they get shipped off to assorted stores. Someone said to me once, “so basically, you are their efficiency.” A scary thought, but I guess somewhat true. I say scary because as most of you know, I have a tendency to spend my time not working and chatting on msn. Why? Because it keeps me sane. It’s a nice thought to be able to be at work and just chillin’ with all of your friends at the same time. And hey my supervisor does it, so whatevs.
It’s pretty cool, I’ve seen the ins and outs of making garments and backpacks etc. I could probably tell you more about your backpack than you’d ever care to know, like who the company is and what the part name is for one of the stupid little buckles that holds the lid down, or what the specific name of the fabric it’s made out of is called. This is even more useless in the real world since most of these fabrics only have numbers for names, such as 9602, Mi187 and the most typical backpack fabric, 420d. Somehow I keep track of it all. I guess the same way many of us can remember the lyrics to 200 albums. But what I had always seen in this job is how it is the essential starting block for design in this field. All the materials I could ever need at my fingertips and I know all the details about them. I’ve taken this into hand a number of times now and built myself little things like a camera lens case, a hydration back pack, and a keyboard case. This list is only going to grow, I have so many more ideas. It’s a big step to move from mental image to tangible object. But the process is where all the energy is. Although I must say that I loathe ripping seams because they just don’t work. All part of the process…
Had enough? Alright then, let’s hop on the skytrain and head off to my second job. But first lets enjoi this trip, because well, it’s the most natural light I’ll be exposed to all day. Someone once mentioned to me that a human only needs 10 minutes of exposure to sunlight to get their daily does of vitamin D. I quickly replied with, “hmm… I don’t think I even get that much.” Yay what a life. Ah it’s all good.
Oh look we’re at the end of the line, my station.
So I crawl out of the dark recesses of the concrete jungle and find myself right at one of the largest and most recognizable faces of Vancouver, Canada Place. The sails as some might say. To myself and many, it’s the workplace.
Canada Place is an interesting building, jutting out over the water where objects weren’t meant to go, it was built as the main convention centre for good ol’ Expo ’86. Yeah, we all remember that don’t we? Nope? Yeah me neither. But I was there… ridin’ the monorail, eatin’ the food, watching the new 3D Imax movie.
Down at the ass end of this great white monster stands the CNIMAX theatre, a single screen theatre designed for the giant frame film format, and specifically, the three-dimensional cinematic experience. Here I’m a projectionist. I sit upstairs in a dark booth with a couple projectors about a million dollars worth of film, with about twice that many frames. The theatre’s claim to fame is that it’s the first Imax theatre ever built and the first permanent 3D theatre in the world. So because of this, the design of the booth is somewhat, shall we say, haphazard. No gear is installed in the walls, no wires are hidden in secret compartments, and there’s barely enough space to hold the 35 films that surround me. There’s about 18 of them in a couple racks, and the rest are either on reel units as part of the regular schedule or are propped up against the wall, waiting for some group to request a screening. It kind of feels like you’re the captain of some low-budget spacecraft, with all the 80’s style illuminated buttons and control panels, although that might also be due to the fact that one of the past projectionists was a huge star trek fan, leaving the walls littered with little plastic characters and spaceships. Not to mention the labels. The main control console has a big one across the top reading, “DEATH STAR WEAPONS CONTROL MODULE.” Or how about the one on the microwave that says, “hyperspace motivator.” What a joint.
Because there’s only one screen here, with each film lasting around 45 minutes (although last winter we showed “The Matrix - Revolutions” which was a gargantuous 2.5 hours long…) I’m left with lots of time alone to sit, play guitar, read, or write, such as I am at this very moment. Or perhaps I’ll brood feverishly over a cup of the free starbucks coffee about my lengthy days and repetitive life. Naw I never do that.
It’s pretty cool to have some strip of film that’s 75mm wide flying through the air at 24 frames per second, and being the one blasting the flickering light through to the captivated audience. But lately some of the cool is being overshadowed by some of the ridiculous politics of this joint, of which I won’t bore you with as they’re apparent and mostly the same at any other place of business. I kind of feel like I’m coming to a breaking point, but not so much that I’m going to let go of my responsibilities.
So the film ends, I clean the projectors, turn off the lights and hop back on the skytrain, but this time there’s no more sunlight so speak of. Night has fallen, and for many, the party has just begun, but for me, the party is in dreamland, which is more aptly named dreamville because it’s more resembling of a highway town that has nothing but a gas station and a guy selling three eyed chickens off the back of his orange pickup truck. The type of town that you just drive right through. But hey , it’s Friday, let’s get retarded in here.
Well maybe not tonight. I have to be back at work Saturday morning.
I hear you say, “But Adrien/earl, there must be other exciting events that have been going on in your life.” Sure they have been. Let’s take a look at the last month, shall we?
Ok so what’s happened. Hmm well I did visuals at the “last ever” Plaza O’ Nations rave, that was pretty good. I got to show off all of my own photography that I’d had on slides. I’ve been known to have an odd way of looking at things, and this was further reiterated by the number of kind ravers who would ask me, “Are you an artist? What’s with the pictures? They’re kind of weird…” This I would usually reply with a smilin’ “Thank you!” Only at a rave can you put up a picture of a stickman with an afro dancing in space, and have people enjoi it.
What else… oh my dog is dead. Right. Yeah, well it wasn’t an all natural death. More like a shotgun murder. But hey, it had to happen. Basically she was unhappy because my mom wasn’t able to spend the amount of attention that she desired, and because of this the dog would take to destroying the house and its contents. My mom was on the verge of moving, so this wouldn’t do, and it seemed that nowhere in Kelowna would anyone rent to someone with a dog. She looked everywhere, but to no avail. And through this the dog kept on destroying things. So we talked about it and made the decision. She was an old dog, eleven years old, grey hair, and slightly ornery. My mom looked into the options to have this dealt with which left us dealing with it alone. The SPCA wouldn’t take her for adoption because she was too old, and we tried to find a taker. Nothing. So she went to the vet, asked how much it would cost for them to put her down gently, which would have ended up being a bill of 50 bucks. Being an option, my mom asked, “Do you mind if I ask what you do with the bodies of the dead animals?” to which the vet replied with, “Oh we just take them to the landfill.” The dump. There was no way that my dog was ending up at the fucking landfill amongst styrofoam chunks and bad leftovers. So how about cremation? $150. It was then decided amongst my mom and I that this would have to be done more personally, with family. “I would rather spend the $150 on one last road trip than to have her die at the clinic that she hated so much.” Said my mother, to which I agreed. So she drove up north to McKinley Lake, where my great uncle and surrogate grandparents reside. Out in an area with no telephones, no electricity, and gravel roads that get overused by logging trucks. This is where my mom is from, where this family grew together, a family of hunters and farmers. Pets had been put down before, it was nothing new, and this was where my dog had been happiest. A place where she could run and swim and roam the forest chasing squirrels. Here it was done, and the lake she loved is where she resides. Rest in peace Slow Pitch.
I just realized that I didn’t place a single journal update in the whole month of May. Oh well.
A piece of excitement that came with May was the tourist challenge, an event that is open to all employees of businesses that are members of the Vancouver tourist board (of which, IMAX is). The employees are given passport booklets where they have to visit a number of attractions and a few big hotels and get stamps in order to get the Privilege Pass, which entitles the holder to free (or cheap) entry to all of these place for a whole year. Yay bargains. So with the help of my good friend Rebecca I scratch a good number of places off of the list, which included the Aquarium, the Art Gallery, and the False Creek Ferries, as well as, heh, the Granville Island Brewery (where we were given a tasting session, to which I took part, although I don’t generally take part in the clutches of alcohol). The pass led me to experience some places that I hadn’t seen in years, or at all, and it was just nice to get outside with a good friend. So I got the amount of stamps I needed and I’ll be handing the book in to get my pass soon.
I bought turntables. Yeah dj earl… or something. Some guy posted an ad online selling two turntables, a mixer, headphones and 15 house and trance records… so I bit. And now I have them. And they’re crazy. Kinda fun though, should give me something to do for a while. It’ll just be nice to have them always set up, always playing records, blending odd styles together, guess I’ll have to have a ‘house’ party sometime… in da hous.
Yeah gear. Good ol’ fun.
I discovered a group called The Great Uncles of the Revolution. I suggest anyone who considers themselves to be purveyors of “good” music to give these guys a spin. Upright bass, violin, slide guitar and trumpet, all Canadian. I personally give two thumbs up to the album “Blow the House Down” because it’s super good, and it comes in a raw brown recycled paper case. Yeah art.
Perfectly good for a road trip through the trees or scavenging for shells on the beach.
What else do I got goin’ on? Hmmm well I’ve been jammin’ a bit with my boys Andy and Iisak from the band known as Trading Fours (aka phat earl and the rhythm pigs). Always a good time sharing some musical ideas, in a house, on a beach, on the roof of SFU or in a local coffee shop. I’m always open to jammin’ as long as my non-rock n’ roll lifestyle can commit to it.
These paragraphs are getting progressively shorter and I’ve already finished cleaning the projection booth for the evening so I should really just post this and head on home. But perhaps I’ll wax poetic for a mo.
Long time running
cool as it be
in the warmth and the heat and the
“gates of hell” says mr Dave who cuts like a knife
with an 80’s riff and a hair of newt
bubble bobble and chase the cherries
she used to run in circles but now
the mind is racing like a track star on pickle juice
keep on driving down the aisle
finding canned heat and discount laughter
is the number one going to change and
is zero getting even?
Fuel for the face taking the place
[or trying to win the race]
capo al coda
cut short to the second ending
choose your own adventure
damnit page 23 again.
Black keys and brass
silicone helps me roll
and ratchets help me slide
skipping the samples
heading straight for the trash
now that might be rash but
no it won’t last
walking in the fast lane
and sometimes I fall
spectators grin because they’re not sure
what’s really happening
when you’ve been running
for so long.