Geoff Dyer's collection of essays "Working the Room" is mostly boring; dull essays about photographers and long winded expositions on long dead jazz musicians. Near the end of the book, where he starts to write autobiographically, is where it really picks up. I won't quote anything, but he has some salient points to make on the subject of leisure as a chosen lifestyle- he lived on the dole in England for many years writing, drinking and trying to get laid. Anyway, I read these sections one morning and then watched some episodes of Star Trek (NB: I have acquired every next generation episode on VHS) A lot of people see life as a struggle between their 'virtuous' sides and their 'indulgent' sides. I now see every decision as DYER vs. PICARD decision. I will rarely detail my PICARD decisions on this blog. Take it for granted that I am following the prime directive.

Back to School

After a long sojourn in the working world, I'm back in my natural milieu... HOT TUB!!! No just kidding- school. I want to talk about my art history prof. The reason I decided to take art history is that it's nearly perfectly designed for my lifestyle. Going to class late is hardly noticed (the lights are off so people can see the slide projection). The 'instructor' is a museum curator, with-by her own admission- no interest in marking assignments, but a cheerful interest in answering questions about the eccentric Glenbow founders collections that aren't shown to the public, and also an enthusiasm for JEH MacDonald. I could tell I liked her when I first got to class, but I didn't know why until after: me: "Yeah, sorry about walking in late" her: "ha! don't even think about it" bingo.

NEW YEARS AT THE HOPNBREW

WAS GREAT. TOP FAVORITE PLACE TO PLAY A SHOW.

New year's Eve tomorrow. I'm going to post something. I'm playing a show at my favorite bar. A few weeks ago I was ejected from that bar for brawling. Needless to say I was on the side of righteousness. They're letting me back in- I checked. Leisure recommendations: "stoptime" by frank conroy. " a river runs through it" norman maclean.

Everyone needs a direction, everyone needs a vision. For cops: going home after a night shift cruising down Crowchild with the sun coming up wired because you've got a loaded gun on your belt. Nenshi = social media.

Full disclosure: I worked for the Canadian Census this summer. I'll begin by saying this was the most leisure conducive job I've ever had. I worked 3-4 hours a day for six weeks walking around Sunnyside and took hour long coffee breaks at Vendome. I didn't start work before 1 PM ever. I loved it because I got paid by the hour, not by the completed census form, and nobody on my lists was ever home (my hours were 1-4 PM). Nobody even lived in these places. The rare time someone answered the door my face would go from breezy content to utter dismay.

I just mention this because a lot of my co-workers gave me the strong impression that the census was the most exciting thing they had ever been part of and that five year intervals was a damn tragedy for this epic good time they were having. Plus they took it SERIOUS. I met a fat man on the street who was also an ennumerator. He sweated out his red faced essence with the pompous strut of an overfed Dutch berger. Thinking I had chanced upon a kindred soul, I called out to him. Without breaking stride he informed me that he still had twenty minutes before census regulation stated that he cease doing house calls and had no time to chat. Anyway, he had a vision and to judge from his walk a capitalised Purpose.

This is a confessional post. Occasionally in the last hours of an afternoon spent reading and baiting the neighbour's dog a gentleman of leisure forgets himself, and starts to fear that a pompous fat man with a questionnaire in the crook of his arm is filling out little boxes under his name. Direction: none. Vision: somewhat worse than average. This is why I tried to ennumerate very sympathetically, usually by going round when few could possibly be home. Although leisure and self-reflection are easy companions you've got to keep your own criteria, distinct from the pompous fat man. Palm Breezy: check. Pants: check (phew). Lady: coming over later. Book: water damaged from the bath, still readable.

LEISURE UPDATE

At my house there are three bedrooms, two upstairs and one down. The downstairs one is next to the kitchen. The upstaires ones are steamy hot. Since I generally sleep in a few hours later than most people in my house I moved upstairs.

LEISURE IN MAY

Since graduating from university (where I took the most leisurely course of studies) I've been offered a few jobs, all of which I've turned down. Why! Why would I do this? I'll tell you: leisure. It's not any more complicated than that.
This means that I'm high and dry financewise- not a bad thing. It's freed me up to pursue more simple pleasures, which are always the most leisurely fulfilling. I spent much of the last two days in my bed, alternately snoozing and reading The World According To Garp, a truly fine book by a guy who probably doesn't get it, leisure style. Today I'm off to Edmonton for some degenerate entertainment. Hopefully I can sleep in the car.
Some of my leisure pals have disembarked from the gravy train for more strenuous pastures; indignantly, I said farewell.
Despite my devotion to repose and dear Vacuna, I'm looking for a job. Hook me up, reader.
I plan on attending the MAY MELT concert dust bowl in Inglewood 'pon my return from the wildlands near Edmonton. I'm gonna blog that shit. If only to try and finagle a press pass. LEISURE OUT