Thursday, July 9, 2009

I started looking at purchasing a house recently. Well not really looking. I was serious enough to apply for a pre-approved mortgage and contact a realtor. But not serious enough to start physically visiting homes. Anyway, I think that's over. I didn't like the size of a mortgage I was approved for.

I reactivated my facebook account last week. It was a bad idea. I spent the last hour looking at other people's profiles. I know why facebook is bad for me. It makes me feel inferior. Unsuccessful. Jealous. I compare my life, and my status in life, to people I've known at one point or another. In that hour I could pinpoint all the things that were missing from my life.

• owning a house
• a scooter
• being engaged
• being married
• having a baby/child (since when do I want kids?)
  
• having enough money to live somewhere else
• having enough money to travel
• postgraduate degree

It was stupid. I know I don't need any of things to validate me. But when I look at my profile, and then at their profile all I can see is how much farther behind I am.

DOES THIS EVER CHANGE? Will I ever get out of this Jr High mentality of comparing myself to everyone else? I mean it's much less about body image and appearance now (although that still registers on the radar of my inferiority complex) than it was then, but the logic is still the same. I can't live like this. I don't want to live like this. I don't want to feel inferior to other people because we have made different choices. Why should I be jealous of the 28 year old friend who just had a baby? I don't want a baby. I don't want to be pregnant. I don't want that responsibility or life. I've never wanted to be married at 19, or 21 or 23 or even 25. Why would I be jealous of the people that chose that? It's ridiculous. Logic why have you failed me?

I started thinking about law school again. I wonder if it's my cop out. Whenever this inferiority complex rises, I revert back to thinking about it as an option. I don't regret declining my admission offer to the University of Manitoba for last fall. It wasn't right for me. I had finally landed a real job. And honestly U of M is one of the last places I would like to secure an LLB... But nonetheless the idea is still tempting. The debt related to it is not.

June 12, 2009

I feel like I keep waiting for something exciting to happen. And instead I just get life.

May 12, 2009

It's hard to blog when I do not feel like anything is happening.

Wow, that sounded way more negative than I had intended.

I guess it just feels like life is way too normal. There is no adventure involved in doing virtually the same thing every day. Thus there is no sharing.

Nonetheless I embrace routine. It is nice to wake up everyday and know where and when I have to be at work and that that is a constant. It helps me live a healthier life. One where there is time to exercise daily (or at least attempt to) and cook proper meals. The extent to which I love routine makes me feel prematurely old.

But the problem with routine is that it can cause a rut. It makes you too comfortable where you are at and impedes growth and the act of embracing change. Routine builds complacency.

So when I should be thinking about returning to school and figuring out what my options for study are, what Master's program in what country with what specialty, instead I think about purchasing items that will make my life here more convenient (bought a freezer last week). Or I should be looking into opportunities that will further my professional development in terms of a job that better uses my skill set and could involve moving, instead I look at houses on MLS and evaluate the size of mortgage I am eligible for versus what I could afford. I am happy here. Winnipeg is home. There are times walking through my neighbourhood of West Broadway that I am extremely content. I like my mixed-income neighbourhood, where I am faced with the reality of poverty on a daily basis. But I like it for now. I don't want to like it for forever.

I want to want more. Does that make sense?

April 24, 2009

My Grandpa died on April 14th. He was 97. My time since then has largely consisted of me coming to grips with that. I have travelled to and from Ottawa, spent time with my parents, reunited with cousins, met new people, attended two viewings, a funeral and interment service. Through all of this I have tried to determine what my perspectives are on death and family. I have tried to come up with orderly boxes in which to contain these two things (two things that apparently no one can escape), so that I can better know how to approach them and deal effectively with them.

I have come up with nothing. I understand neither.

March 21, 2009 (posted April 16, 2009)

Six days in California are over, and Candace and I are both back to our respective jobs. California was interesting. I have never seen so many Lexus automobiles in my life. Of course there were Benz and BMWs as well, but Lexus definitely was far more represented. Then there were the plethora of for sale signs for bank owned houses. Prosperity displayed via credit?

Anyway, Candace and I flew in to San Francisco Wednesday night. We crashed at the cheapest hotel within a 5 mile radius of SFO; a Travelodge that was also within walking distance to our car rental locale for the next day. Our hotel offered a free shuttle service in collaboration with the other hotels of the neighbourhood so we found the hotel shuttle service stop and waited for an hour a half. It wasn’t until the shuttle we wanted had passed for a fourth time that I realized we were not staying at Travelodge South as I was convinced we were. Rather we were staying at Travelodge North which is in South San Francisco on South Airport Road. There was no Travelodge South. With our bags loaded we took the shuttle to our hotel where we were informed upon check-in that Expedia had requested a smoking room for us. Upon requesting a change we were assigned to a room laden with teddy bear linens.


Thursday was no different than any other day on our trip. Candace was starving and relieved to see an Ihop attached to our hotel. I was still recovering from being struck with the stomach flu the day before, and had barely managed to eat that day at all; a theme that would continue throughout the trip, driving Candace absolutely crazy. We went to Ihop. Candace ordered grease, I ordered salad. The salad turned out to be greasy too. I ate one third of it. I was however pleasantly surprised by the Musak station. In the midst of 80s light rock, a song by a folk band from Winnipeg, The Dukhs, was played. I thought the only people outside of Winnipeg (or Canada at least) who knew about The Dukhs was due to the musical education I provide (Laura, did I tell you they have a new cd?). Clearly I was wrong, and positively so.

Friday morning we found the Hertz car rental location after walking half a mile in the wrong direction, climbed in our 2009 Aveo and headed for the coast. Thankfully the car was equipped with GPS as Lonely Planet maps are not quite as helpful when it comes to navigating freeways as they are in the exploration of cities/towns/rural campgrounds in Slovakia by foot. We drove Hwy 1 or the California coastal highway from San Francisco to San Luis Obispo that day. We stopped countless times along the way for photos, and a few times to let me vomit. Apparently windy, mountainous roads are not the best approach to dealing with a post-flu stomach that has been injected with an overdose of midol and zantec to combat cramping. You think I would have learned that lesson in Morocco. We finally arrived at our hostel, and went to find Candace some food. I continued to not be hungry so I was not very helpful in the searching process. We wondered around the quaint square and shops, looking for something that resembled quick sustenance. I think Candace finally settled on food from a gas station. We called it quits around 9 pm. I love early bed times, especially on a Friday night.






Saturday morning we were back in the car by 8 AM and this time headed for San Diego. After Candace stopped at a gas station for breakfast (I was not hungry again) we were really on our way. The drive from San Luis Obispo to San Diego was much less picturesque than the trip from San Francisco as we opted for the freeway route through Greater LA and Orange County. We did however make a few stops along the way. The first was about an hour out of San Luis Obispo in a town called Solvang. Solvang was settled by Danish immigrants at the beginning of the 20th century. This has somehow led to a town obsession with Denmark and all things Scandinavian. The entire town is constructed in a faux-Scandinavian architectural style, with public buildings being named typically Scandinavian names like “Jensen/Magnusson/Rasmussen’s General store”. It was sort of like being in a folk village or museum – except people actually live there. I even witnessed a t-shirt for sale that said “More Denmark than Denmark.” After snapping a few obligatory pictures of the completely insane town it was back to Hwy 101.




The next step was making it through the freeways in LA. I have driven on freeways before. I drove in Detroit as a teenager. I have been to New York City. I have driven through Toronto and Vancouver. For some reason LA petrified me. Candace was driving (again… I think I drove 3 hours the whole trip) but I felt the need to press my imaginary break pedal for the two hours it took to get through LA/Orange County. I think I aged about 40 years, and the amount of anxiety I felt had me thinking on I was on the verge of a nervous break down. Luckily Little Saigon proved to be a nice break before our onward travels. We had the pleasure of wondering through a Vietnamese shopping mall before settling on our restaurant of choice for lunch in the Hanoi Plaza. I was finally hungry and beyond excited to be on the premises of a restaurant that served northern Vietnamese food. The Pho at Pho No 1 in Winnipeg tides me over, but it is northern food I have craved since July 2007. Upon opening the menu I was nearly salivating reading that they had bun cha Ha Noi. I ate bun cha nearly ever day in Viet Nam, and was beyond ecstatic to be in its presence once again. I consumed my bowl, choosing to ignore the lack of hunger pains. It was definitively not as good as my local street stall would have prepared it. It was a touch too salty and the pork had obviously not been grilled over charcoal burners on the side of the street, but nonetheless it was fabulous. Following our Vietnamese food consumption we were back on the highway.






We made one more stop before San Diego, this time at an outlet mall. The number of people shopping was truly terrifying. But I succeeded in picking up a super cheap Fossil watch and considered the outing a success. We found our hotel in San Diego and headed out for a night on the town that included visiting the beach, a mall and me watching Candace eat.

Sunday morning we had tossed around the idea of going to Tijuana, and then decided against it due to utter laziness. Instead we opted to visit the San Diego Wildlife Park (as it was on our way out of town) where we were consequently robbed of our money. Ok, perhaps that is an overreaction. Parking was $9 and entry was $35 each, an amount I considered to be somewhat excessive. We were able to see some large African animals (giraffes, rhinos, elephants, lions) in slightly larger cages, called “natural habitats,” than at the zoo. Candace and I agreed that given the choice again we would not spend that money, and instead allocate it toward a real safari in Africa, not California. Translation: the park was a little lame.



So back on the road again, Candace and I were both petrified of the thought of the OC/LA freeways, and chose the alternate route of Hwy 1 along the coast. This infuriated the GPS to no end as it continued to bark directions for us to get back on the freeway: “Please make a legal U-turn.” However, once we were halfway through the OC we realized that Hwy 1 would make the 200 mile drive to Santa Barbara last about 7 hours. So after seeing the beauty, beaches, and hideous wealth of enclaves like Newport and Huntington Beach we caved to the advice of the GPS and headed back to the freeway. Arriving in Santa Barbara was an almost rural relief after the incessant commercialized civilization of Hwy 101. We were greeted by large palm trees, an open beach, Mediterranean architecture and a hostel that looked like a concrete block. The hostel although similar in structure and feel to a college dorm, turned out to be a rather clean, cheap place to crash. Candace and I took a lengthy walk on the beach and then through town, where I convinced Candace that food was an evil thing and she did not want to eat. Amazingly enough, she listened to me. So we headed back to the hostel and found random things to read before crashing for the night to sounds of the Amtrak station next door.



Monday morning we were both up ridiculously early as the result of going to bed at 9 PM the night before. We climbed back in the car for our last day of driving and headed north to San Francisco. Freeways adventures were rather non-existent and after our morning ritual of finding Candace breakfast at a gas station it was asked that I drive. We opted to stop in San Jose at another Vietnamese shopping mall in another Little Saigon. This time we ordered pho, which was disappointingly mediocre. I ate ¼ of it and was full. We made a stop in South San Francisco to drop off our rental car and then walked back to our cheap Travelodge from night number one. From there we caught the shuttle back to airport to catch the Subway in to San Francisco. It was a lovely sunny day when we arrived. We found our hostel a few blocks from the train station and went to drop off our backpacks before the exploration could begin in earnest. Upon check-in we were informed that the hostel was overbooked and that as such we would be assigned to a staff dorm. But on the plus side this included a 50% rebate. Actually there were a lot of positives about it. We only shared our room with two other people, both who were overworked and opted to be in bed as ridiculously early as Candace and I prefer. After we unloaded our stuff we headed out the door to be greeted by what had turned into a rainy, blustery day. Choosing to ignore the weather, we hopped on a cable car and headed to Fisherman’s Wharf. An eventful $5 trip later (the cable car lost the cable and our brakeman directed traffic for 30 minutes) we were welcomed into a tourist enclave where San Francisco hoodies were sold for $10. I nearly bought one just to make me warmer. From Fisherman’s Wharf, Candace and I decided to walk to Golden Gate Park. The goal was a little ridiculous and unrealistic, but we headed in the direction of the bridge stopping to take some photos of the largely mist shrouded red structure. We never made it to the park. Instead we made it far enough to determine it was too far to walk back to our hostel. Thus the use of public transportation was essential. Eventually after visiting Safeway, to purchase a $0.50 bottle of water in order to get correct change for the bus fare, walking for blocks and stopping to check transit maps at every bus shelter we caught a bus that got us back to our neighbourhood. We ended the evening with some chilli and headed to bed at the late hour of 9 pm.




Tuesday was all about exploring every quintessential tourist trap of San Francisco. It was also St Patrick’s Day so it involved running into countless tourists/locals that were intoxicated and wearing green all throughout the day. We started our day of exploration in Chinatown where Candace and I were sucked into the wonderful commercialism of Chinese exports. The downside to North American Chinatowns is the prices. I mean for North America the prices are reasonable if not cheap, but for Asia they’re atrocious. So I spend far too much time looking at price tags and thinking about how much I would have paid for this same item, or a much nicer item if I were actually in Asia. Oh well. Chinatowns tend to the trick of tiding me over in my lust for returning to Asia. Hopefully this will last long enough for my bank account to grow large enough to pay for said trip.



Right, San Francisco.

Candace and I decided to invest in all day transit passes that included cable cars, trolleys and buses which was great because it meant whenever we saw a hill we didn’t want to climb we could just hope on some public transportation and let natural resources, carbon emissions and destroyed eco-systems do it for us. After Chinatown we headed toward some tower on a big hill that was built by some eccentric multi-millionaire. (What’s with the apparent trend in eccentricity and wealth? Does wealth make you eccentric or are eccentric people more prone to be wealthy?) Then we climbed down a bazillion stairs to the bay. We spent some time slumming with the tourists at Pier 39, where the only affordable food to eat was deep fried. I opted for deep fried vegetables. Then we watched a seal colony that has made Pier 39 home. They were highly entertaining. As we continued to walk along the bay we made (or I somewhat aggressively suggested) the impulse decision to take a boat tour of the bay. An hour on the bay gave us good views of the Golden Gate Bridge and a trip around Alcatraz making the tour well worth the $15 paid. We made the trek back to our hostel, stopping to visit the world’s “Crookedest Street” and decided to end our last day in America in the American way, doing some brief shopping and spending the evening in a movie theatre.






Wednesday we took the BART system back to the airport for our flight to Minneapolis and onward to Winnipeg. Security was normal and the whole flight process was entirely uneventful. However, I was convinced that the four hour flight to Minneapolis would never end. I have spent a lot of time complaining about the poor service of Canadian airlines and the expense of flying within Canada, but trans-American flights are ridiculously boring. I mean at least with WestJet and Air Canada you are guaranteed entertainment with a seatback television and a choice of something to watch. I spent the four hour flight with Northwest (followed by an additional hour and a half to Winnipeg) hoping that my Ipod battery wouldn’t die and playing solitaire. US airlines are ridiculously behind in the whole in-flight entertainment aspect. In 1999 when I flew to Sweden with British Airways there were seat back televisions. In 2006 I flew United to Hong Kong and had a central screen for the entire cabin that played (unfortunately) Pride & Prejudice (the man-jaw version). I know it’s superficial, but I really don’t think I should have to bring my laptop and personal movies along to be entertained on an American flight.

Now that the negativity amidst a largely positive review of the California trip has been voiced… It’s taken me a month to write this. I wonder if it will get read?

Wednesday, March 12, 2009

America is a strange place.

Candace and I started our journey to California today. We left a frigid Winnipeg behind in hopes of reaching a much warmer climate two airplane rides away. We made it. Along the way I had the chance to make some interesting observations of American people.

First was the Vietnam War veteran at the Minnesota Saint Paul airport. A man in his early sixties, he proudly wore a baseball cap that identified him as “Vietnam Veteran”. I confess I jumped to conclusions about what kind of person he was for wearing that hat. About how much we would disagree on the politics of the world and America’s place in it. Then again, I’ve never had a discussion about issues like that with a person who has had his experiences. Most of the American men I know from his age range, I either had as professors since they came to Canada as draft dodgers or I know in the context of pacifists who were conscientious objectors. But I couldn’t help but think that somehow that hat said something about him. It was part of his identity. To him Vietnam is a war. Regardless, of whether it was moral or just or rationalized. Vietnam is war.

My memories and feelings about Viet Nam are very different than that. To me Viet Nam is good food, incredible progress and development, hot weather, good American friends, a period of loneliness, isolation, and testing and incredibly resourceful, empowered people. It makes me sad that he can’t see the Viet Nam I see. I wonder if he can see the negative results of his Vietnam, the one with a scarred landscape, broken people and a line still drawn between north and south. I wonder if we could talk about our experiences in Viet Nam/Vietnam and even come close to believing that we’re discussing the same country.

On the plane from MSP to San Francisco, Candace and I sat in front of three of the chattiest people in the world. A man in his 50’s from Minnesota who organizes motorcycle shows, a 40 year old IT guy from San Francisco and a female in her 20s that hailed from the twin cities and sold insurance. I learned more about them on that 3.5 hour plane ride, than I had ever hoped to. They fit the stereotypical American. Ridiculously friendly, loud and completely unaware of anything outside their own boarder (ok, that’s a little harsh, one of the men had been to Montreal and the other Vancouver. The girl wanted to visit Canada so she could go fishing…). They spent a good 2 hours talking about every American city they had ever visited, and how well traveled they were. One mentioned that he had even been overseas once but that the flights were just too long… to which his seatmates wholeheartedly agreed.

Does domestic travel really count? If you don’t need a passport is it really travelling? I even have a hard time considering this trip to really be travelling. I did it because the airplane ticket was super cheap and California is warmer than Manitoba in March. I did get a stamp in my passport, to add to the stack of increasingly growing Department of Homeland Security stamps. But I’m not sure that visiting California really makes me world traveller.