Welcome to Orillia; home of writers, painters and the 21161.
we got in somewhere around 12:30am, Thursday morning, after bus failures, train switching, and another Katimavik group missing their flight, which stalled our bus pick up from Toronto a full five hours, we made it. Our house is a bungalow, tiny little thing. All five guys are packed in one room where, once again, I have the only single bed, tucked in the corner of the room behind the dresser. We've been here four days, and already the place smells like ball-sweat and farts.
I can't speak for anyone else, but my job(s) rock. I work for the Canadian Authors Association, which is exactly what it sounds like, and the Orillia District Arts Council, also exactly what it sounds like. On the subject of my professional relationships with my superiors, there has been more beer than work hours since I showed up. My bosses are, quite simply, the shit. I've ran into them three nights in a row at the Brownstone, and it's always a good time.
The Brownstone is a cafe/bar that opens up at 4pm and closes after the usual last call. Katimavik gets free coffee anytime they come in, and it's served up by this very cute red head named Autumn, who has been nothing but awesome to myself and the rest of the 21161. WHEELS.
My diet has improved slightly being out of French Canada. The Pountine and Cigarettes regiment I was on is done, the beer, not so much. Having a YMCA a 5 minute walk from the house is phenomenal. Pete, Alex and I will be in heavy competition to get in shape by Christmas, for shallow masculine reasons that few people would appreciate and even more would laugh at. They have an electronic point-tracking system so that your total weight lifted, miles ran and reps performed. All these things attribute to a points system that we'll be using against each other until the end, to a punishment yet to be decided.
Our new Project Leader, Will is... cool? I think? The dude's indifferent. He wants to stay out of our way and make sure we're running the show because, after all, Katimavik is our program. He said he's only going to be noticeable when respect issues are brought to light or someone isn't contributing enough to the group. It would suffice to say, that may happen sooner than later. But regardless, he's got some impressive experience to draw upon. He spent 7 months in Nepal with a Buddhist community. The only meat he eats is the stuff he hunts or fishes for himself. He spent a time in Lilloet, BC, as a fisherman for a Native reserve. HE SLEEPS IN A HAMMOCK. Cool cat, that Will.
That's it, that's all. I'll write about less boring shit sometime soon, when something happens, maybe.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Friday, September 23, 2011
So Long, Lévis...
How to sum up a quarter of a year in a blog post...
Well, you really can't, but my best attempt is, Québec was probably the most fun I've had since I got out of high school.
I'm standing behind the counter of the Café La Mosaïque, clicking away at my keyboard, listening to Beirut. The place is totally dead today, so Catherine and Jerome took me out for lunch at some posh spot called Délice. Steak still wasn't as good as L'Intimiste, but it wasn't bad.
Last night we Skype'd the Orillia group, the 31161. They look like what Katimavik group should look like, all smiling and hilarious, not shit-heads like my group. :) As it happens, because of Katimavik's long standing relationship with the YMCA, we all get passes when we get to Orillia. I can finally reverse the damage done by cheap beer, cigarettes and poutine, and maybe get a little muscle added on as well, but knowing my skinny ass, probably not.
And, as is tradition with the 21161 apparently, we're losing another group member. Lauren has decided to quit the group so she can be with her two friends back in Nova Scotia during their pregnancy (and not because she maxed out her new credit card in a few days). Once again, things are a little dark in our Katimahouse, but maybe Ontario will help brighten things up.
With this weekend comes a final volunteer placement, a big game of Manhunt/Kick the Can (rose valley knows what I'm talking about) with Candra's group, packing and a power clean. They really make you feel it in Katimavik, the moving-on that is. It's kind of sad leaving my 200 year-old, creaky, haunted house. Seems like just yesterday our bus woke the neighbors up as it dropped us all off at 3am. Now we're going to go do the same thing in Ontario.
Before you know it, I'll have landed in Kelowna (probably in a foot of slushiness, because Valley winters suck), unpacking my stuff and not knowing what the shit to do with myself. Ah well, deal with Ontario first.
This coming Tuesday, at 4am, I'll be on a bus. at 7am, I'll be saying good-bye to one of the coolest girls in my life (for a while), and right after that, I'll be on a train for 16 god-damn hours. I'm about to do a bloody huge amount of pirating and poetry writing.
My only question left, is ''Why is it so damn hard to find good Montana paint in Québec?!"
Well, you really can't, but my best attempt is, Québec was probably the most fun I've had since I got out of high school.
I'm standing behind the counter of the Café La Mosaïque, clicking away at my keyboard, listening to Beirut. The place is totally dead today, so Catherine and Jerome took me out for lunch at some posh spot called Délice. Steak still wasn't as good as L'Intimiste, but it wasn't bad.
Last night we Skype'd the Orillia group, the 31161. They look like what Katimavik group should look like, all smiling and hilarious, not shit-heads like my group. :) As it happens, because of Katimavik's long standing relationship with the YMCA, we all get passes when we get to Orillia. I can finally reverse the damage done by cheap beer, cigarettes and poutine, and maybe get a little muscle added on as well, but knowing my skinny ass, probably not.
And, as is tradition with the 21161 apparently, we're losing another group member. Lauren has decided to quit the group so she can be with her two friends back in Nova Scotia during their pregnancy (and not because she maxed out her new credit card in a few days). Once again, things are a little dark in our Katimahouse, but maybe Ontario will help brighten things up.
With this weekend comes a final volunteer placement, a big game of Manhunt/Kick the Can (rose valley knows what I'm talking about) with Candra's group, packing and a power clean. They really make you feel it in Katimavik, the moving-on that is. It's kind of sad leaving my 200 year-old, creaky, haunted house. Seems like just yesterday our bus woke the neighbors up as it dropped us all off at 3am. Now we're going to go do the same thing in Ontario.
Before you know it, I'll have landed in Kelowna (probably in a foot of slushiness, because Valley winters suck), unpacking my stuff and not knowing what the shit to do with myself. Ah well, deal with Ontario first.
This coming Tuesday, at 4am, I'll be on a bus. at 7am, I'll be saying good-bye to one of the coolest girls in my life (for a while), and right after that, I'll be on a train for 16 god-damn hours. I'm about to do a bloody huge amount of pirating and poetry writing.
My only question left, is ''Why is it so damn hard to find good Montana paint in Québec?!"
sshhhhffuuuuuuuuu------
Five hours sleep is not adequate after a night in Montreal. But once you get past a certain point in your day, you just kinda can't sleep anyways.
Candra and I got in to Montreal station at 9pm on friday night. Three hours of wandering, metro and bus riding, and spam-calling Petey, we made it to St. Therese, about 20 minutes outside the city. We then proceeded to wreck ourselves down at the Monte Cristo. This place is Alex's favourite bar, and has been for years. You can tell, because everyone is rocking the same style, punkish-hippyish-stonerish-quebecois. So much, in fact, that we lost Peter.
After 3 hours of frantic phone calls, worried text messages and a lot of interrogating, we see a small dude with wispy hair walking up the street.
"Oh, you were calling me? I thought I was following Alex for 20 minutes." Pete says.
"No man, it's 3am, you've been gone for two and a half hours." We say.
As we're getting ready to leave, shouting and shoving starts up across the street. Next thing you know, a mob of every drunk 20-something in St Therese is chanting "ALLEEEEZ! ALLEEEZ!" Dumb blonde ho-bags who would normally have no chance at fingering a cop and getting away with it are screaming and flipping off these six police officers and acting like they're actually badass. Every Ed Hardy-wearing asshole is still chanting and fist pumping and cheering in victory as the officers get back in their cars and drive away.
"That was fucking intense. I thought they were gonna throw rocks at them or something." I say.
"Nah man, this happens... probably once or twice a month on this street." Alex says.
____
Melanie, Alex's friend, chauffered us around the area for most of our stay. Saturday was a lot of hanging out, LARPing, napping, and drinking beer and wine with Alex's parents. Michel Vaillancourt is one of the coolest people I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. He's either laughing, cooking, drinking, or smoking, sometimes all at once. Breakfast consisted of toast, cereal, and fine quebecois pastries. Eclairs out the wazoo.
Pete, Candra and myself found a large stash of LARPing weapons in Alex's closet. All hell broke loose. Some were hit in the nuts, others in the face, and many limbs were lost, metaphorically. I also managed to scarf down a very large amount of poutine, resulting in a fantastic siesta.
Saturday Night was a Metal/Ska/Reggae Luau, complete with pork on spits, baked potatos in tin foil, caesar salad, and lots and lots of beer. We got very, very messy this night. We set up a big tent in the field outside the party, along with lots of other drunk Quebeckers, and were eaten alive by mosquitos, all damn night long.
Sunday.
Sunday morning was a day of rest.
Sunday was a drive out to Montreal.
Sunday was a chance for us to all rage in a big city and retreat to urban sanctuaries when we were done. Mine, however, was not so sanctified. I ended up cancelling the room because it would have set me back 200 bucks. word of advice, only use Priceline when get hotel rooms. That's what Stephanie and Aurora did, and it worked out in everyone's favor.
Petey's two partners in crime came to visit the little guy and drink with us.
I don't remember anything beyond that.
But that was three weeks ago. Let me bring you up to speed...
Five hours sleep is not adequate after a night in Montreal. But once you get past a certain point in your day, you just kinda can't sleep anyways.
Candra and I got in to Montreal station at 9pm on friday night. Three hours of wandering, metro and bus riding, and spam-calling Petey, we made it to St. Therese, about 20 minutes outside the city. We then proceeded to wreck ourselves down at the Monte Cristo. This place is Alex's favourite bar, and has been for years. You can tell, because everyone is rocking the same style, punkish-hippyish-stonerish-quebecois. So much, in fact, that we lost Peter.
After 3 hours of frantic phone calls, worried text messages and a lot of interrogating, we see a small dude with wispy hair walking up the street.
"Oh, you were calling me? I thought I was following Alex for 20 minutes." Pete says.
"No man, it's 3am, you've been gone for two and a half hours." We say.
As we're getting ready to leave, shouting and shoving starts up across the street. Next thing you know, a mob of every drunk 20-something in St Therese is chanting "ALLEEEEZ! ALLEEEZ!" Dumb blonde ho-bags who would normally have no chance at fingering a cop and getting away with it are screaming and flipping off these six police officers and acting like they're actually badass. Every Ed Hardy-wearing asshole is still chanting and fist pumping and cheering in victory as the officers get back in their cars and drive away.
"That was fucking intense. I thought they were gonna throw rocks at them or something." I say.
"Nah man, this happens... probably once or twice a month on this street." Alex says.
____
Melanie, Alex's friend, chauffered us around the area for most of our stay. Saturday was a lot of hanging out, LARPing, napping, and drinking beer and wine with Alex's parents. Michel Vaillancourt is one of the coolest people I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. He's either laughing, cooking, drinking, or smoking, sometimes all at once. Breakfast consisted of toast, cereal, and fine quebecois pastries. Eclairs out the wazoo.
Pete, Candra and myself found a large stash of LARPing weapons in Alex's closet. All hell broke loose. Some were hit in the nuts, others in the face, and many limbs were lost, metaphorically. I also managed to scarf down a very large amount of poutine, resulting in a fantastic siesta.
Saturday Night was a Metal/Ska/Reggae Luau, complete with pork on spits, baked potatos in tin foil, caesar salad, and lots and lots of beer. We got very, very messy this night. We set up a big tent in the field outside the party, along with lots of other drunk Quebeckers, and were eaten alive by mosquitos, all damn night long.
Sunday.
Sunday morning was a day of rest.
Sunday was a drive out to Montreal.
Sunday was a chance for us to all rage in a big city and retreat to urban sanctuaries when we were done. Mine, however, was not so sanctified. I ended up cancelling the room because it would have set me back 200 bucks. word of advice, only use Priceline when get hotel rooms. That's what Stephanie and Aurora did, and it worked out in everyone's favor.
Petey's two partners in crime came to visit the little guy and drink with us.
I don't remember anything beyond that.
But that was three weeks ago. Let me bring you up to speed...
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Katimabonding
I think after tonight, the whole group might just be friends.
It seems the impossible rift that we thought existed between us disappeared with a nice, long, agreeable discussion about everyone in the group. Tonight we took time to discuss who bothers us, how they bother us, and how we can improve...
And we were successful.
You could feel the energy of the group going up and up and up, to this crescendo where everyone locked in and finally connected.
Now... I guess the real Katimavik experience can begin.
It seems the impossible rift that we thought existed between us disappeared with a nice, long, agreeable discussion about everyone in the group. Tonight we took time to discuss who bothers us, how they bother us, and how we can improve...
And we were successful.
You could feel the energy of the group going up and up and up, to this crescendo where everyone locked in and finally connected.
Now... I guess the real Katimavik experience can begin.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
We're Katima-back!
I have 70 mosquito bites on various parts of my body, my back hurts, and my liver is clean. Matty boy is back from the woods, but not back in his own head yet. It's been a f***in' coons age since I've written anything.
For the most part, we've spent the last week splitting and stacking firewood. The owners of Campe de L'Arche have a massive wood burning furnace, that not only draws on fire to heat the place, but also burns up the smoke into additional energy and provides a clean fuel source.
On some days, the girls would clean or help cook meals. Alex and I got to play with a giant saw/milling machine. We also had to help the owners landscape their front yard, so got to pull some huge rocks out of the river, finding some silver in the process :)
One day we decided to see how far it would be to the next town to grab a beer at the bar. When we should have went right, we went straight, and ended up walking for 6 hours around the farmlands of St Elzere. Beautiful as it was, I have never sincerely wished to never walk during thunderstorms again. We left at 9 in the morning, and got home around 5, with poutine breaks in between.
One of the last nights I was there, I cut my foot open in a game of Battle Boats. Battle Boats is a game where you two teams of two attack each other in canoes and try to sink the other teams boat. During my kamikaze attacks, I caught my foot on a screw. Ow.
Now that we're back in the house, it seems all the bonding has been for naught. We're back to our bickering, back to cliques, and still have no Project Leader. Sarah came and went, as she lives in Rimouski, four hours away. Alice was a great PL for the week she was here, but has to resume teaching in late August, so she left. Now we're alone in this house, and I fear for the most part that we'll kill each other, or at least some of each other.
I feel like this blog post should be more fulfilling, but I'm gonna go get a cigar.
For the most part, we've spent the last week splitting and stacking firewood. The owners of Campe de L'Arche have a massive wood burning furnace, that not only draws on fire to heat the place, but also burns up the smoke into additional energy and provides a clean fuel source.
On some days, the girls would clean or help cook meals. Alex and I got to play with a giant saw/milling machine. We also had to help the owners landscape their front yard, so got to pull some huge rocks out of the river, finding some silver in the process :)
One day we decided to see how far it would be to the next town to grab a beer at the bar. When we should have went right, we went straight, and ended up walking for 6 hours around the farmlands of St Elzere. Beautiful as it was, I have never sincerely wished to never walk during thunderstorms again. We left at 9 in the morning, and got home around 5, with poutine breaks in between.
One of the last nights I was there, I cut my foot open in a game of Battle Boats. Battle Boats is a game where you two teams of two attack each other in canoes and try to sink the other teams boat. During my kamikaze attacks, I caught my foot on a screw. Ow.
Now that we're back in the house, it seems all the bonding has been for naught. We're back to our bickering, back to cliques, and still have no Project Leader. Sarah came and went, as she lives in Rimouski, four hours away. Alice was a great PL for the week she was here, but has to resume teaching in late August, so she left. Now we're alone in this house, and I fear for the most part that we'll kill each other, or at least some of each other.
I feel like this blog post should be more fulfilling, but I'm gonna go get a cigar.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Reshuffling the 21161
What a fucking week.
My Project Leader, Neil, was fired for what the Katimofficials described as incompetence. Basically, he couldn't keep up with the bureaucratic aspect of his job and the paper work bent him over and... yeah. Regardless, it's a load of crap. He was potentially the nicest guy I ever met, and everyone in the house can back me up on that one. He was kicked out before I even got home from work, which had me feeling like I didn't even get to say good-bye...
But then we found him at the Corsaire later that night, and, as you can tell by my facebook profile, we got some hilarious DBZ themed pictures. Did I mention the new volunteers were with us? Probably should have.
Skip back to earlier in the day.
I came home depressed because I assumed Neil was never going to be seen again. I opened the door and met Damon's equivalent, Stephan. If you don't remember me talking about Damon getting kicked out, yeah, he did. And another metal head took his place, this one being bilingual. He's a cool dude, and adjusting to our rag-tag, bitchy group fairly quickly.
Then there's Rosalie. Rosalie is a super quiet french girl with more sketches than words. "Her drawing r lik rly-rly gud gaiz." Seriously, I look forward to drafting a tattoo with that chick, because I know it's going to come out rly-rly gud.
Friday and Saturday night we volunteered at Festivent, an extension of Celebration Levis, and managed not to tear each others throats out as a result. It was actually a really cool festival. There were hot air balloons everywhere, one as the Planters Peanuts mascot, one was Darth Vaders helmet, one was a tourist penguin with a hawaiin shirt. There was a mini carnival set up with rides and donuts and llamas. But the only thing that you give a shit about is Bran Van 3000 and Wyclef Jean.
Both the shows were AMAZING. Yes, Bran Van played Drinking in LA, and yes it was sweet.
Yes, Wyclef is now dreadless (you don' gatta be dread to be rastaa), yes his show was sweet, and yes, he went Jimi Hendrix on everyone's ass. He played a solo on his knees, behind his head, and then with his teeth. It was so fucking cool. I have footage and pictures but my Macbook is too shitty to take uploads seriously. Check Facebook later and you can see some of the blurry shitt shots I took.
I miss everyone back home a ton, especially my dog.
My Project Leader, Neil, was fired for what the Katimofficials described as incompetence. Basically, he couldn't keep up with the bureaucratic aspect of his job and the paper work bent him over and... yeah. Regardless, it's a load of crap. He was potentially the nicest guy I ever met, and everyone in the house can back me up on that one. He was kicked out before I even got home from work, which had me feeling like I didn't even get to say good-bye...
But then we found him at the Corsaire later that night, and, as you can tell by my facebook profile, we got some hilarious DBZ themed pictures. Did I mention the new volunteers were with us? Probably should have.
Skip back to earlier in the day.
I came home depressed because I assumed Neil was never going to be seen again. I opened the door and met Damon's equivalent, Stephan. If you don't remember me talking about Damon getting kicked out, yeah, he did. And another metal head took his place, this one being bilingual. He's a cool dude, and adjusting to our rag-tag, bitchy group fairly quickly.
Then there's Rosalie. Rosalie is a super quiet french girl with more sketches than words. "Her drawing r lik rly-rly gud gaiz." Seriously, I look forward to drafting a tattoo with that chick, because I know it's going to come out rly-rly gud.
Friday and Saturday night we volunteered at Festivent, an extension of Celebration Levis, and managed not to tear each others throats out as a result. It was actually a really cool festival. There were hot air balloons everywhere, one as the Planters Peanuts mascot, one was Darth Vaders helmet, one was a tourist penguin with a hawaiin shirt. There was a mini carnival set up with rides and donuts and llamas. But the only thing that you give a shit about is Bran Van 3000 and Wyclef Jean.
Both the shows were AMAZING. Yes, Bran Van played Drinking in LA, and yes it was sweet.
Yes, Wyclef is now dreadless (you don' gatta be dread to be rastaa), yes his show was sweet, and yes, he went Jimi Hendrix on everyone's ass. He played a solo on his knees, behind his head, and then with his teeth. It was so fucking cool. I have footage and pictures but my Macbook is too shitty to take uploads seriously. Check Facebook later and you can see some of the blurry shitt shots I took.
I miss everyone back home a ton, especially my dog.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Aaaaargh
What started out a smooth transition into group living has become a division between testosterone and estrogen, right down the gawddam middle. The past three days has created some serious tension among the house; where I thought people were adapting and accepting peoples' habits, they were actually harboring hatred for them and continuing to gossip.
An incident two nights ago at the Celebration Levis, the group was split up when some of the girls wanted to go up closer to the stage. Pete, Myself, Alex and his friend Laurence, were content where we were. We danced a couple hours away and then had to make the trip to the bus to get Laurence back to the ferry in time. I texted the girls the directions to the bus, and didn't look up at my phone again, or I don't think I did, too many beers.
Anyways, the next time I looked at my phone, I had a missed call, and four texts calling me an asshole.
Not to say that it wasn't my fault I didn't look at my phone, it was. But the reaction we received when we got home was hostile, quite so. Apologizing, pointless. Trying to make a point, worthless.
We talked about it the next day, and apparently all was well. People were back to talking, the rift between sexes seemed to have mended. Alex, Pete and I went to visit Laurence in the city. When we came back, the girls had creeped themselves out. Their dresser mirror was put in the living room, and asked if we the boys could sleep outside their room. As I stated in a previous blog, this isn't the Grudge, no one's losing their lower jaw. The ghost is a cool dude, he opened the bathroom door for me last night when I was half-dreamwalking to take a piss. But no, "we want someone to sleep on the futon."
Petey manned up for us, or rather, Alex and I went upstairs and said "Ya fackin' right."
Outside of that, the bs isn't going to end in the foreseeable future. Even this morning, we're having issues with the showering system. I just try to be a conscious observer, but somehow, I'm always going to end up being an asshole.
Man, I missed you high school.
I'm hoping the arrival of our two new members on Wednesday seals the gap that the group has made for itself. Not everyone has the mental fortitude to stick it out through that kind of stuff, and people are showing signs of caving.
Honestly, it's not as bad as I'm making it out to be.
An incident two nights ago at the Celebration Levis, the group was split up when some of the girls wanted to go up closer to the stage. Pete, Myself, Alex and his friend Laurence, were content where we were. We danced a couple hours away and then had to make the trip to the bus to get Laurence back to the ferry in time. I texted the girls the directions to the bus, and didn't look up at my phone again, or I don't think I did, too many beers.
Anyways, the next time I looked at my phone, I had a missed call, and four texts calling me an asshole.
Not to say that it wasn't my fault I didn't look at my phone, it was. But the reaction we received when we got home was hostile, quite so. Apologizing, pointless. Trying to make a point, worthless.
We talked about it the next day, and apparently all was well. People were back to talking, the rift between sexes seemed to have mended. Alex, Pete and I went to visit Laurence in the city. When we came back, the girls had creeped themselves out. Their dresser mirror was put in the living room, and asked if we the boys could sleep outside their room. As I stated in a previous blog, this isn't the Grudge, no one's losing their lower jaw. The ghost is a cool dude, he opened the bathroom door for me last night when I was half-dreamwalking to take a piss. But no, "we want someone to sleep on the futon."
Petey manned up for us, or rather, Alex and I went upstairs and said "Ya fackin' right."
Outside of that, the bs isn't going to end in the foreseeable future. Even this morning, we're having issues with the showering system. I just try to be a conscious observer, but somehow, I'm always going to end up being an asshole.
Man, I missed you high school.
I'm hoping the arrival of our two new members on Wednesday seals the gap that the group has made for itself. Not everyone has the mental fortitude to stick it out through that kind of stuff, and people are showing signs of caving.
Honestly, it's not as bad as I'm making it out to be.
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