not quite horrorflick
today's my last day in the hostel...it was interesting, i guess. sleeping on a bunk bed in a room that smells like wet shit for twenty four bucks a night is not something that can be described as fun. i still got a lot of drinking done. to balance out the previous two weeks' nearly-boozeless pot binge. mere words cannot describe how good it was to finish a 6-pack of guinness all by myself without having anti-drug propaganda films running through my head: thou shalt not mix drinking & doobage. i also got to show a country boy a good time, which was most definitely fun: nothing beats watching someone way overdo the wasabi the first time they eat sushi. we did other stuff too, of course.
postscript: 'eating sushi' is not some newfangled slang term for fucking, though we did make mad, desperate love.
it was bound to happen, but my life's gone all soap opera again: i spent last night at a hostel (from where i'm typing this) & i'm gonna be here for the next little while until Everything is sorted out & i find myself an actual, semi-permenent place to live. suffice to say, i'll be staying the hell away from prolonged drug use of any sort.
the price of a single bottle of chartreuse in halifax: $24.
the price of a single bottle of chartreuse in vancouver: $38.
all the same, i think i'll stick to alcohol over all; i'll just have my tentative explorations into 'drug culture' on the side & make certain that it never ever gets to trainspotting-esque levels of degeneracy. don't worry.
baked, not fried
since coming to vancouver, i've smoked weed from pipes, spliffs, & a bong, but mostly out of a converted airbrush (i have a very 'interesting' roomate. ); i still kinda suck, having never smoked anything -- not even a cigarette -- before, but now that i'm gonna stay for a bit in "vansterdam" i'm definitely making progress on my technique: it'd be nearly impossible not to.
nevertheless, this blog definitely won't be turning into the pothead equivalent of confessions of an english opium-eater: it'd get boring awfully fast, & i'm already chronicling my gradual dissolution-by-alcohol already. one of the things unanimously agreed upon by those more experienced than i, is that prolonged/extensive drug use severely lowers one's alcohol tolerance level...
i sense an ultimatum in my future. weed? or good old booze?
a gay, nudist drug party is still a gay, nudist drug party even if noone goes beyond smoking pot & hanging out in their underwear...
word of the night:
"mantique."
vancouver
that's right, dear readers (those few of you who are still sticking around for my infrequently updated, soul-searching bullshit) , i'm in warm & rainy vancouver right now & have been for the last several days; i've got tentative lodgings & will be looking for a job as well as applying to
emily carr's foundation program. the city itself, while not as manic &
alive as new york, is city-like enough that i plan to stay at least short term before eventually moving back east.
i'm adjusting to life on the west coast better than i expected (i've done e & smoked weed, but won't be going fullblown holistic any time soon),there's still plenty of material for me to bitch about if the need arises:
-- the streetart/graffitti scene in vancouver is dismal: unless they're in 'low traffic' areas, posters, stickers, & tags get removed almost as soon as they go up so i don't know what (if any) reaction i'm gonna get when my first batch of stickers go up. (i'll put up the new york photos next post, really)
-- how the grass is green in the middle of january & how half the 20-something white guys here look like jesus freaks the shit out of me every time i head outside.
-- the incessant rain; it fuckin' rains more here than it did in halifax.
but then there are the $1 slices of pizza & 25 cent peepshows...
east coast 4 evah?
i'm going to vancouver very, very early on thursday -- i have to catch the shuttle bus at 4am. hopefully i can stand doing at least several months' worth of travelling cross-country before running back home crying for my momma. (i guess "home" is still in toronto...) it ought to be enlightening, at the very least, seeing how crappy i actually am when Confronted With Reality & getting to document my falling-apart on this here blog.
in any case, i'm afraid i'll never meet anybody else who can not only tolerate my freaking myself out over the wall-colour of somebody's living room but will talk to me in bed about serial killers & the prehistory of scissors all in one night.
i'm a sappy bastard, aren't i?
living the certifiably insane life
in halifax experimenting with improv japanese rope bondage while trying to decide whether i want to fly to the west coast & city-hop my way back east (probably only to toronto) or if i want to work my way out west straight from halifax & then fly back.
i'm still not sure what the hell i'm doing & it doesn't help that, like in the states, most of what's in central canada is of negligable cultural interest to uppity city folk like me. there's no turning back now, though. i've comitted myself to several months of being a Rootless Art School Dropout & i'm gonna stick with it, dammit.
it's good to be able to finally buy my own beer again.
