"Let's go to San Francisco, where the flowers grow so very high
Sunshine in San Francisco makes your mind grow up to the sky"
Sunshine in San Francisco makes your mind grow up to the sky"
-The Flower Pot Men, Let's Go To San Francisco
Signalling a "Lost-Season-6"-level terminal decline in my social life, Silverwood recently departed for San Francisco for a 4-month internship at a startup incubator called Tandem. Working in San Francisco means that Silverwood gets to combine his two loves of working with mobile content developers, and getting free drinks. Naturally, we figured the most appropriate way to send him off was to make like it was his eighth birthday, and go bowling at Revs in Burnaby.
And also, to "ice" him mercilessly (sadly, they didn't serve White Russians).
I bowled a 'gentleman's 40.'
And also, to "ice" him mercilessly (sadly, they didn't serve White Russians).
 |
| I hope we got enough pictures... |
I bowled a 'gentleman's 40.'
I'm not usually super spontaneous, but I recently decided to brashly cast all caution and modesty to the wind, and drive all the way up to Whistler to spend the weekend with my most esteemed cousin, Ben Pickering. We started the weekend by seeing DL Incognito at the sublimely named Garfinkels.
The diminutive DL was swarmed by the audience, and was instantly swallowed by a hoard of shaggy-headed mountain bums wearing their best "club" snowboard attire. Most of the show was his enthusiastic rapping seemingly emanating from a barely visible hand waving above a swarm of white kid rap-dancing. Maybe it was symbolic-- the rapper and the audience becoming one; the performer assuming anonymity, thereby creating a performance by collective. Either that, or he was terrified to struggle, lest he should be trampled Mufasa style.
The next day, we went to Merlin's, where the always-amazing local group The Hairfarmers were playing the Kokanee apres ski party, which featured lots of drunk middle-aged women dancing on tables, and free beer awarded to the audience (our table won several times, most notably for our enthusiastic participation in the perpetually horrible "Roxanne" drinking game).
I have to say, considering it was Gay & Lesbian WinterPRIDE week, I expected the dancing to be a little better:
The rest of the time was spent jamming in Cole's apartment, mostly playing that Traveling Wilburys song over and over again...
Recently, I volunteered at the Variety Show of Hearts telethon, which raises money for children with disabilities. It was a pretty incredible experience, seeing these kids overcome such incomprehensible adversity, and what the help and support of the community means to these families. Plus, there was free food and $2 beers.
Saringer, Vanessa, and I were in charge of shooting and editing the volunteer appreciation video they show at the end of the night, which meant we got to go around filming behind-the-scenes footage of local news quasi-celebrities, football cheerleaders, and meeting Imperial Stormtroopers and such.
Dreams do come true!
Ever the high-living connoisseurs, Saringer and I ventured down to Brewery Creek liquor store, which stocks an impressive spread of obscure beers, and boasts "more than 400 unique red wines, over 200 whites and a comprehensive selection of liquors, ciders, meads and coolers."
Wait, meads? Perhaps Karl and I could finally get distribution for our 3 year-old inaugural "Golden Showers" mead vintage...
Of course, the downside of going to underground liquor stores to buy super-obscure imported artisan craft beers is that you probably have no idea what to get. I ended up going with the ones that had the coolest labels. "Mmm! This beer tastes so... German!"
Speaking of segues...
Today, we seem to be driven by an incessant desire to render our lives as works of art: every latté purchased-- with the right vintage filter--becomes an Instagram haiku; every night out is a hip-hop aphorism; our lives become the soundtrack to the soundtrack of our lives; every aspect of our sepia-strained lives becomes an almost heroic act-- life at the speed of life!
There's something admirable in this, to be certain; inspiring, even, to an artist. At the same time, it seems to also foster a sort of personal sensationalism- a forced attempt to foist a bloated sense of "poetry" on the quotidian; to convey the impression that we're fabulous shoestring bohemians living whirring, glamorous nouveau-Jazz Age lives, reeling and laughing through life with exquisite drunken poise, our plastic wine glasses elegantly balanced aloft in a scorning toast to Death.
Maybe this editorializing isn't as disingenuous as it seems, though: editorializing the past is a means of self-fashioning, which in turn is a means of actualizing the 'fictions' we create; in embellishing the past, maybe we are able to bring these poetical lives into being-- it's not fictionalizing, it's premonition.
And maybe that's all bullshit.
Maybe this glamorization creates an attractive fiction to others, but in the end, can we truly deceive ourselves? Sure, perhaps we are, to some extent, who people perceive us to be--
--but in the end, we mostly define ourselves.
Vanessa once told me that this blog (mercifully) made our exploits sound more interesting than they really were, and this is undoubtedly true. I think my point, though, is that a little self-romanticizing isn't a bad thing, as long as it doesn't become delusion, or a substitute for true romance.
Rather, it should be an encouragement to create real, exciting experiences, which gain in substance rather than imagination. Don't grow complacent; don't settle for the small pleasures of embellishment: use whatever caché this romanticizing creates, and use it to create tangible adventure. That has been the greatest challenge I've faced since I entered "the real world" and started this blog--perhaps that any of us face-- and it's an ongoing process.
Today, Saringer and I are heading to San Francisco to visit Silverwood for a week. I figure this is a sort of mid-term for my tourist practicum, before writing the final exam in Europe this summer. I feel like it is a small step in the endeavor to become a "doer"; to actively seek the adventure, rather than fabricate it. I'm actually writing this as we sit here stranded at SEATAC Airport after a five-and-a-half hour bus odyssey to Seattle. On top of a scheduled three-hour layover, our flight is now delayed by five hours, due to adverse weather in San Francisco. Also, it just began snowing tempestuously here in Seattle. At this rate, it literally would have been faster to drive to San Fran in the Maxmobile...
Hopefully, I'll be able to blog regularly from the road (or give you exciting reviews on the room service at the Airport Best Western in Seattle!), and hopefully those entries will read less like pretentious sociology dissertations (but hey, with that title, you knew this entry was going to be indulgent).
For now, we're in transit, like Tom Hanks in The Terminal-- at the mercy of the stormy skies of Seattle and San Francisco...
Sun dances greatly appreciated,
-Max
Twitter: @MaxSzentveri
Dramatis Personae
People in this post:
Aldora Chong:
Too nice to ice.
Karl Heilbron:
Founding member of the Yeasty Boys.
Vanessa Iverson:
Huge Star Wars nerd.
Ben Pickering:
Knows all the hip underground drinking garages.
Michael J. Saringer:
Stuck with me for a week.
Michael Silverwood:
Stuck with Saringer and I for a week.
The diminutive DL was swarmed by the audience, and was instantly swallowed by a hoard of shaggy-headed mountain bums wearing their best "club" snowboard attire. Most of the show was his enthusiastic rapping seemingly emanating from a barely visible hand waving above a swarm of white kid rap-dancing. Maybe it was symbolic-- the rapper and the audience becoming one; the performer assuming anonymity, thereby creating a performance by collective. Either that, or he was terrified to struggle, lest he should be trampled Mufasa style.
The next day, we went to Merlin's, where the always-amazing local group The Hairfarmers were playing the Kokanee apres ski party, which featured lots of drunk middle-aged women dancing on tables, and free beer awarded to the audience (our table won several times, most notably for our enthusiastic participation in the perpetually horrible "Roxanne" drinking game).
I have to say, considering it was Gay & Lesbian WinterPRIDE week, I expected the dancing to be a little better:
The rest of the time was spent jamming in Cole's apartment, mostly playing that Traveling Wilburys song over and over again...
 |
| How Cole subtly intimates he wants people to leave... |
Recently, I volunteered at the Variety Show of Hearts telethon, which raises money for children with disabilities. It was a pretty incredible experience, seeing these kids overcome such incomprehensible adversity, and what the help and support of the community means to these families. Plus, there was free food and $2 beers.
Saringer, Vanessa, and I were in charge of shooting and editing the volunteer appreciation video they show at the end of the night, which meant we got to go around filming behind-the-scenes footage of local news quasi-celebrities, football cheerleaders, and meeting Imperial Stormtroopers and such.
Dreams do come true!
Ever the high-living connoisseurs, Saringer and I ventured down to Brewery Creek liquor store, which stocks an impressive spread of obscure beers, and boasts "more than 400 unique red wines, over 200 whites and a comprehensive selection of liquors, ciders, meads and coolers."
Wait, meads? Perhaps Karl and I could finally get distribution for our 3 year-old inaugural "Golden Showers" mead vintage...
 |
| Ambrosia of the gods... |
Of course, the downside of going to underground liquor stores to buy super-obscure imported artisan craft beers is that you probably have no idea what to get. I ended up going with the ones that had the coolest labels. "Mmm! This beer tastes so... German!"
Speaking of segues...
Today, we seem to be driven by an incessant desire to render our lives as works of art: every latté purchased-- with the right vintage filter--becomes an Instagram haiku; every night out is a hip-hop aphorism; our lives become the soundtrack to the soundtrack of our lives; every aspect of our sepia-strained lives becomes an almost heroic act-- life at the speed of life!
There's something admirable in this, to be certain; inspiring, even, to an artist. At the same time, it seems to also foster a sort of personal sensationalism- a forced attempt to foist a bloated sense of "poetry" on the quotidian; to convey the impression that we're fabulous shoestring bohemians living whirring, glamorous nouveau-Jazz Age lives, reeling and laughing through life with exquisite drunken poise, our plastic wine glasses elegantly balanced aloft in a scorning toast to Death.
 |
| Sometimes, I get the hype... |
Maybe this editorializing isn't as disingenuous as it seems, though: editorializing the past is a means of self-fashioning, which in turn is a means of actualizing the 'fictions' we create; in embellishing the past, maybe we are able to bring these poetical lives into being-- it's not fictionalizing, it's premonition.
And maybe that's all bullshit.
 |
| Math 7 student's rendition |
--but in the end, we mostly define ourselves.
Vanessa once told me that this blog (mercifully) made our exploits sound more interesting than they really were, and this is undoubtedly true. I think my point, though, is that a little self-romanticizing isn't a bad thing, as long as it doesn't become delusion, or a substitute for true romance.
Rather, it should be an encouragement to create real, exciting experiences, which gain in substance rather than imagination. Don't grow complacent; don't settle for the small pleasures of embellishment: use whatever caché this romanticizing creates, and use it to create tangible adventure. That has been the greatest challenge I've faced since I entered "the real world" and started this blog--perhaps that any of us face-- and it's an ongoing process.
Today, Saringer and I are heading to San Francisco to visit Silverwood for a week. I figure this is a sort of mid-term for my tourist practicum, before writing the final exam in Europe this summer. I feel like it is a small step in the endeavor to become a "doer"; to actively seek the adventure, rather than fabricate it. I'm actually writing this as we sit here stranded at SEATAC Airport after a five-and-a-half hour bus odyssey to Seattle. On top of a scheduled three-hour layover, our flight is now delayed by five hours, due to adverse weather in San Francisco. Also, it just began snowing tempestuously here in Seattle. At this rate, it literally would have been faster to drive to San Fran in the Maxmobile...
Hopefully, I'll be able to blog regularly from the road (or give you exciting reviews on the room service at the Airport Best Western in Seattle!), and hopefully those entries will read less like pretentious sociology dissertations (but hey, with that title, you knew this entry was going to be indulgent).
For now, we're in transit, like Tom Hanks in The Terminal-- at the mercy of the stormy skies of Seattle and San Francisco...
 |
| Seatless in Seattle... |
Sun dances greatly appreciated,
-Max
Twitter: @MaxSzentveri
Dramatis Personae
People in this post:
Too nice to ice.
Founding member of the Yeasty Boys.
Huge Star Wars nerd.
Knows all the hip underground drinking garages.
Stuck with me for a week.
Stuck with Saringer and I for a week.
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