The Penalty Box

I spent Canada’s 141st birthday at Granville Island, taking in the sights and sounds of the Vancouver International Jazz Festival.  My tastes in music have morphed over time; I find I enjoy the small 3-6 piece ensembles a lot more than the booming big band music that first attracted me to jazz music.  Don’t get me wrong, I still love the off-beat bass pulses of Dave Brubeck and the eclectic piano riffs of Count Basie, but there’s something more intimate about a jazz trio or quartet that lets you connect more with the music.  Besides, if you can do that while consuming some awesome beer in the Granville Island Brewery Taproom, all the better!

As I was walking around today between sets at the Taproom, I stumbled upon an actual honest-to-God dixieland band, complete with tux shirts and bow ties.  Once I process the pictures off of my camera, I’ll post them.  The harmonies, brisk bass line and some wicked cool clarinet riffs made for quite an interesting set.  This kind of thing makes me annoyed that I forgot about the Jazz Festival until mid-week last week.  All these different styles of music, whether it be new kinds of fusion or revived styles, come together at the Jazz Festival, and it really is pretty neat to see and hear them all.  Next year I’ll have to write myself a reminder so I can catch stuff like the Gastown Jazz that happened two weekends ago.  There’s also usually really good groups performing at the Roundhouse.

On a funnier note, I saw Gordon Campbell walking with who I assumed was his daughter when I was heading out of Granville Island to the bus stop.  In a way, I was kind of surprised he didn’t have some kind of security contingent with him.  For one, he’s the premier, so it’s probably in the budget.  Today was also the day that the gas tax kicked in, adding another 2.4 cents per litre to the price of gasoline.  Then again, the worst thing ever done to a Canadian politician was a pie to the face, so I guess he really didn’t have a whole lot to worry about.

1) I’m going to see Spamalot! It’s coming to Vancouver in July.

2) Freaking awesome Stanley Cup ad, in time for the finals:

In April.  What the hell happened to spring?!

I went to Cafe Deux Soleils on Saturday for the first time.  Everyone I know raves about the Storm’s Black Plague Stout there, so I had to try it.  I’ve tried Storm’s India Pale Ale before, I forget where, and it was pretty good.  Plus, I really like Steamworks’ Heroica Stout so the Black Plague promised to be good.  And it was.  I still like the Heroica Stout better, but the Black Plague is a close #2.  I also didn’t realize the restaurant was a vegetarian place.  I ordered a burger expecting meat; after all, it’s not like the menu said anything to the contrary (maybe it does and I’m blind, it’s 50/50).  When I remarked upon the fact that the patty tasted decidedly un-meaty, I was informed that it was a vegetarian meal because the whole place is vegetarian.  Surprisingly, the burger didn’t taste like ass, unlike every single other vegetarian burger I’ve ever had.  I still prefer meat burgers, but that one didn’t make me want to gag.  When you factor in the awesomeness of the Black Plague Stout, it was a good dining experience.

Until the singing started.  See, Cafe Deux Soleils has live bands.  Ordinarily, this wouldn’t be all that bad…usually live music is decent (see: Atlantic Trap & Gill).  However, it was a different story that night.  The guy started off with a nice guitar intro.  His voice was decent too, but the lyrics to his songs suuuuuuuuuuuucked.  I suppose I should’ve suspected something when I saw he was wearing black and a Castro hat.  He might as well have had a big neon sign over his head screaming “trend hopping emo.”  His songs were repetitive; one song kept looping the phrase “cocaine in my brain” and the other song repeated “there isn’t a next time.”  The latter also consisted of a whole three different chords.  He probably wrote it during detox.  Of course, he had groupies that screamed and clapped at the end of each song like he was John Mayer.  Good thing there was beer.

Most people who know me know that I like to make fun of hongers.  It was the fun thing to do when growing up because a majority of the Chinese population in Vancouver were from Hong Kong or other Cantonese-speaking parts of China.  It was funnier when my friends who immigrated from Hong Kong helped me do it.  Nowadays, the majority of Chinese immigrants come from mainland China or Taiwan, so the language majority is Mandarin.  I found them less annoying because I didn’t understand what they were saying, so their whining only became annoying when they pushed too much air through their nasal passages when speaking.  If you don’t know what I mean, try listening to the women on Chinese talk radio.  Even if you don’t understand what they say, THEY SOUND LIKE THEY’RE WHINING ALL THE GODDAMN TIME.  Remember Fran Drescher as The Nanny? Like that.
So who has taken the place of the honger? The Taiwanese yuppy.  It’s pretty much the lovechild of a Yaletown, Starbucks chugging, yoga class-taker and a ricer driving, loud mouthed, hair tip froster.  I got to go to a Taiwanese restaurant today; my parents suggested it, and I was curious to see how it differed from traditional Chinese cuisine.  When I entered the restaurant, my eyes wanted to bleed.  It looked like Urban Barn had some bad Chinese food and puked, thus forming a restaurant out of its MSG-laden particle board.  Silver balls hung from the ceiling in what I could only guess was a lame artsy interpretation of rain (VANCOUVER CONNECTION FTW) and neon lights that belonged on the undercarriage of a tricked out Honda Civic decorated the section dividers.

The food was pretty good at least, though the plating and presentation was straight out of Yaletown.  Small, bowl-shaped plates, tiny useless napkins and bowls that you could not eat rice out of with chopsticks.  Why are you then giving me chopsticks? I did, however, like how the small oil candle in a box keeping the hot pot warm.  Still, things like having to pay for tea in an oriental restaurant was aggravating.  No, I don’t want your $8 yuppy drink (from what I saw at other tables, this stuff made bubble tea look like Earl Grey).  Not really the best dinner place, but it seemed like a decent place for lunch or a snack/drink if you can ignore the decor.  It was pretty much like all those late night bubble tea/snack places you see in Richmond.  The place is in PoCo, so I think they’re tapping into the emerging Taiwanese yuppy market from Westwood Plateau and the surrounding large housing developments in PoCo and Pitt Meadows.  After all, everything’s dead in Coquitlam by about 9pm and nothing is really open past 10pm, so where are all the Coquitlam College attendees going to hang out?

The hongers took Richmond, so I guess the new immigrants had to take over the developments in the ‘burbs.  Although I have to admit, it was pretty funny when a white lady and her kid sat down, asked for wine and promptly left when the waitress told them wine wasn’t served there.  Wrong kind of yuppy it seems.

After each of my roommates got sick twice and some sort of flu-like cold got passed around the office (most recently the guy that sits beside me got sick over Easter weekend), I woke up today coughing.  My throat feels like crap and suddenly 20 degrees C is a bit chilly in long sleeves and pants.  Looks like my immune system finally caved under the pressure and let the virus in.

To my roommates and every one of my co-workers (yes I’m blaming the lot of you), thanks a lot you bastards.  I’ll be sure to breathe on you and give it right back.

Good health and prosperity to you all this year! Have fun this year, Rats!

Say hello to December.  It’s entered with a profound statement in the form of a small blanket of snow.  Something to remind me that while I do live in a temperate rainforest, it certainly can do whatever the hell it wants sometimes.  Then, just as quickly, we said goodbye to it; the good ol’ reliable west coast rain came to wash it away, further reinforcing the fact that Vancouver has two types of weather: “rain” and “about to rain.”  Occasionally there’s “needs some bloody rain,” but that’s rare.

Say hello to Christmas shopping.  Technically I’ve started.  I have a few things left to get, which means I need to sharpen my elbows.  Gotta love how everyone gets into the holiday spirit by being as rude as possible in the overcrowded ratholes they call “malls.”

Say hello to Christmas parties.  Yep, another year, another company Christmas party.  It was really well done; the office manager at my company is really good at her job.  Reminds me of how Noah used to organize major events in a relatively short amount of time while somehow managing to keep his studies going.  Well okay, maybe Noah didn’t study all that much, but he’s bloody brilliant enough to keep up his GPA.  Or at least make it sound like he knows what he’s talking about.  Anyways, the party was good.  I would’ve said awesome, but I didn’t win anything, and so perpetuated my horrible luck at any kind of draw/raffle/prize contest.  No matter, a good time was had by all, complete with a few developers kickin’ it old school on the dance floor.  It seems the crazier types are the ones with kids.  Not surprising when you think about it.  I know I drove my parents nuts.

Say hello to scheduling madness.  With family events up the wazoo and my sister coming home to visit, along with a few friends who have exiled themselves to the nether regions (read: armpits) of this country also visiting, it’ll prove to be a rather hectic latter half of December.  Speaking of family, I still need to find something for the family Secret Santa gift exchange (done with aunts, uncles, cousins etc).  Shopping for family is hard.

Goodbyes are hard.  Today was the last day of one of my co-workers, John.  He’s leaving to follow his entrepreneurial spirit and run his site Platerage.  Had a few beers with him after work with some other co-workers.  Getting to know some of your co-workers outside of work is a healthy exercise in my mind, helps you work together better.  Unless you work with jerks, and then it can’t really be helped.  It wasn’t until yesterday that I felt like I was in a normal corporate company though.  I couldn’t really relate to Dilbert or The Office with my job, and that felt weird as a programmer.  But then, the HR manager gave a little goodbye present to John: a mouse encased in Jello.  If you watched The Office, you know what I mean.  If you didn’t, well, it’s still pretty damn funny.  I figure I’d give his site another plug as he heads off into the land of self-employment.  Perhaps readership of about two dozen (I round up okay? ) of this blog can make use of it.
It’s also almost time to say goodbye to 2007.  A calendar year without school, the growth of a small company to a medium sized company and just the learning experience of working with people was pretty cool.  The aspect of human interaction is still quite fascinating to me.  It’s interesting to see how people react to each other and to learn about entirely different sides of people you never see, whether you are the cause of their actions or not.  Maybe I should’ve done a masters in HCI.  Ah well, maybe if my career gets stagnant I’ll consider it.  Right now the problem solving part of my job is holding my interest quite well.
Say goodbye to another week.  Hello weekend and maybe actually getting off my lazy butt and going Christmas shopping.

I went to John’s birthday party, one of my co-workers, yesterday.  It was interesting to see a few of them outside of the office.  He’s a big scotch guy and I got to try some Glenlivet and Jameson.  The Glenlivet didn’t have as much flavour as I’d like, but the Jameson was pretty good.  I like it better than Crown.

John’s got a pretty nice pad downtown, within spitting distance of GM Place.  I was amused by the fake fireplace that produces fake fire.  The architecture was done fairly well; despite it being a one bedroom place, the design makes it feel a little bigger than it actually is.  Heck, he’s got enough space for one of those L-shaped couches (waaaaant…but one like Curtis’, which you can lean back on like a La-Z-Boy).

Watching your co-workers get drunk off of vodka and scotch can be a rather entertaining affair.  John was getting kinda pink by around 11pm.  Inevitably, a few of us ended up talking about work, which kinda sucks looking back on it because I like to leave work at work if possible in a social environment.  Ah well, it was a good time conversing with people with some good scotch.  I find interacting with people in different environments than the norm really brings out other things you wouldn’t find out otherwise.

Alas, I would be amiss if I didn’t pimp John’s pet project: PlateRage.  I actually find it pretty cool, and The Province recently did an article on it.  It’s a pretty novel idea.  People love to hop on the user generated content bandwagon these days.  I don’t drive much, but I imagine those that are unfortunate to drive to work every day could make very good use of this site.

How do you measure, a year…and we’ll stop there.

So…a full year officially of me in the workforce.  It’s strange how when you’re in school, some semesters seem to drag on forever.  Long, arduous, and, depending on the professor in some cases, torturous.  Projects and homework and exams didn’t seem to end, they just kept coming.  Days were long, nights were longer; sometimes it got to the point where you didn’t know what you wanted more: beer or sleep.  Indulge too much of either, and the next project is behind schedule and, before you know it, you’re totally boned.  Indulge too much of both and you end up puking in a trashcan or two as you stumble your way towards Shadow Day, a delightful experience for those prospective high school students looking to choose their post secondary institution (not to name names, but his name rhymes with Boa Fadams).  Mind you, I’m working with a rather small sample set; most of the people I associate with of whom I know their academic (mis)adventures are either in computing science or are those crazy wackjobs that go to grad school.  Party on Garth.
Yet when one is working full-time, days seem shorter and nights achieve some level of normalcy.  By that I mean it’s difficult to make it through the day at work hung over with the same ability to keep down food as a pregnant woman in the morning.  Unless, of course, you have a job as a Wal-mart greeter.  Those people are suspiciously drowsy and slow moving.  Don’t discriminate because they’re old, you ageists.  But I digress.  Work tends to make days go by faster.  There’s some sense of routine, yet not routine (if you have a job you like anyway) that alters the perception of time passage.  Of course it doesn’t help that my roommate has already started Christmas shopping.  Yeah, I know.  Yes, I said the same thing.

Perhaps the fast-paced nature of the working world is supposed to make us think about what’s really important in life.  I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to come to this kind of conclusion until I’m approaching middle age, then compensate for missing this realization by purchasing a fast car to impress the chicks.  Then again, I’ve always managed to overthink into the future and become far too practical.  Damn, I guess I won’t be getting that fast car.  At least not on impulse.  Hmmm…there’s a Magic 8-ball sitting on the shelf, maybe I should ask it.  Nah, the thing’s rigged anyways.

It’s good to take a step back once in a while, shake your head clear of the stress and worries that come with life and work (or school if you still have it.  Suckers.), and contemplate what things you hold important.  Family? Friends? Love? That gorgeous new Lexus droptop that would look really sweet with a hot little number in a red dress sitting in the passenger seat? (Hey, I don’t pretend to know what some mathematicians do in their spare time, but anthropomorphizing pi seems right up their alley.  Right, Bishnu?) Then go outside and step on some flowers.  Little bastards cause all those pesky allergies, plus there’s the bonus of stamping relieving some of that built-up stress.

Speaking of some important stuff, hockey’s back.  Anyone got Center Ice that I can mooch off of when the Canucks have a pay-per-view game?

For all of you Facebook nutjobs out there, perhaps you may have gotten an e-mail recently telling you that I have created a Facebook account.  I can assure you that no, I have not caved, no, I did not succumb to the pressure and no, I still have not found a non-retarded reason.  I have found another reason NOT to join Facebook though: it seems everyone is pestering my sister about it.  What she seems to have used as an excuse to harass me has turned on her.  The irony is fracking DELICIOUS.

As for the impersonated Facebook account, I have only this to say: Bishnu, J’ACCUSE!