Another month of madness

Madness of noise in the city, that is. We had summery days, summery afternoons. These always inspire people to make noise. Bring out those clattery motorcycles.

Recently I made a road trip for business. At one point a motorcycle came up behind us in the car. It was so quiet, my friend was surprised. I saw it coming, but didn’t hear it. Impressive. Unlike the clattery Harleys that sound precisely like an amplified version of the most disgusting and embarrassing farts I have  ever had. I shouldn’t have to be reminded of those, although I could laugh at it, I suppose. But more likely I scratch my head as to how these people don’t recognize the fartiness of the bike clatter sounds they make! They cultivate these sounds. Perhaps they’re deaf, poor fellows.

Noise, one of the many human activities I hate. Things that are pointless and just annoying. Marijuana, the rancid farmed fish cooked and served in the divey places I go for comedy performances here in New West, overly loud music, smoking, waitresses dressed in tight skirts and cleavage hanging out, too many things. I don’t blame the waitresses. I blame the business and the culture in general. But, hey, at least I never had to work as a waitress. I could never accomplish the wardrobe and general style.

I felt sorry for the waitress tonight, run off her feet in that dive, pulling that tight skirt down, half her chest on view. Hopefully she got a lot of tips.

Enough! Too much.


Noise rant, physics, and assault versus common courtesy.

Noise rant, physics, and assault versus common courtesy.

I was just trying to do my drudge-work. Listen to the headset and type out the words. But this drumming kept intruding. Kinda sounded like someone practising march-style drumming, possibly more than one person. But then a really fast electronic beat happened, followed by a drum drop. I figured it was the teen centre a block away.

The teen centre, just some fun activity to keep them from becoming juvenile delinquents. But why should I pay the price? I go there and talk to the blank-faced city guy in charge. “These events happen every few months.” Sure, but every day, some other person is making noise “for just a few minutes”. Rinse and repeat.

How about y’all just tone down the bass? I shouldn’t have to hear it 10-100 metres away! It’s that simple. Get outta my life. Stop harassing me. You’re like a stalker, all of y’all. Get a clue. Take a physics class. Physics, ya know, the science of physical materials and all kinds of waves, including lowly sound waves that you study before all the others.

Instead Mr. Cityguy turned my home into a prison. Stole 3-4 hours of my life so some teenagers could learn that making pointless noise and bothering other people is A-okay. The City of New Westminster, BC sucks with their attitude about noise.

It’s simple to turn the bass down. CityIdiot said the music would go to 730. Great! I don’t give a rat turd about the music. It’s the B-A-S-S that’s the problem. The physics of it, ya know? The broader considerations? Enjoy your teenage music activity. I do not much care.

The invasion of my space, the disruption of my work, the inability to be at peace in my home – all these I care about. A sound wave is physical. You’re touching me with it, you disgusting pervert. Get out of my body.

I couldn’t do my work. Quite often when these noise events occur, I can still feel the beat despite wearing ear plugs and a noise-protection earmuff on top of it. Needless to say, I shouldn’t have to do all that. Mr. CityJob and the City itself should just turn the bass down.

I hope y’all burn in a fire while suffering painfully from incurable cancer and seeing your loved ones tortured. Not that I have any power to make this happen; therefore, it’s not a threat. Just a curse.


I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks. I have a huge rosemary bush in my garden behind the building. I live in a concrete tower, but I have a couple of garden plots here. People always ask me why I have them or how did I get them. Anyway, it’s nice to have a kitchen garden with herbs.

Since it’s Easter weekend, I cut a basket of rosemary and put it in a pile on the free shelf.  Something we have in our laundry room. I put up a sign saying it’s free for the taking. Most of it was gone in a few hours.

And that’s it. That’s my bit of human connection till I go to a meetup on Sunday.


Connecting with people matters so much to me, despite the fact I’ve failed so badly at it.

Not my fault in a way, given how I was raised. But anyway, my trials have not been too successful. I’m different, so people diss, dismiss, and reject me. They aren’t interested cuz I’m different. I’ve tried so hard. But I tend to talk too much, it seems. I’m interested in what other people have to say but I’m so desperate to speak that I probably don’t give them enough space. Perhaps I’m a “bore.” I try not to be and I’ve been told many times I’m a good conversationalist, but that doesn’t translate into long-term friends. I do have a few of those, but they aren’t the people who told me I’m a good conversationalist.

How the heck can I be lonely in an overpopulated world of 7 billion people? Dunno, but I am. So lonely.

Every time I spend time with people, I feel angst afterwards. I talked too much. I failed. Sorry to say this, and I don’t mean to be “negative” but my life is fail and I should not have been born.

Still I keep trying. Working on some huge changes right now, not that anyone cares.

My ex lives in the same building as me. More than 2 years since the separation, many moments of angst. I hate letting go.  But soon I’ll be moving far away. Torture.

Maybe I’ll actually get a life worth living, soon.

“Give me love, give me peace on earth.” An obscure album I bought in my teen years. I was a Beatles fan early.

Wish me luck. Suicide ain’t pretty, but neither is the pain of fuitile loneliness.

Feel good by doing the right thing.

That’s my insight for the day.

I’ve been keeping up with the biz podcasts. So many ridiculous businesses. Troll cakes – take some Internet troll insult, put it on a cake, and mail it to the troll? People spend money on that? What a waste of resources. Twenty-five bucks could have planted some trees or something. Made contraceptives available to people in third world countries.

Okay, people gotta have fun. I get that. But wooden bow ties? I’m not kidding. Fifty bucks for that, or a fancy wallet? Weird-ass shirts with a giant pocket over the entire front? Or even the endless POD t-shirt offers. Overpriced t-shirts, paying for a cute slogan. Art? Not really. Expressing yourself feels good, and that’s what such shirts are about. But ya know what? Expressing ourselves is a human characteristic that tends to be stifled generally. We don’t know how to handle honest speech. We don’t know how to listen. So, we purchase an approved form of communication, a safe form. Like stickers to ‘stick it to the man’ or magnet-messages for bad drivers. Amazing, fun, and so unnecessary. Like the essential oils blog full of woo advice, or the luxury tooth brushes – oh, sorry, “sustainable bamboo tooth brushes.” Right, sustainable. Or soy candles with essential oils “for the eco-conscious.” Just no.

That said, there are a lot of great businesses, too. And even the goofy ones provide meaningful lessons and how-to tips. Great podcast.

The difficulty is in seeing anything of value I could and would want to provide. I tend to be more frugal than frugal. And then I was thinking about what I really value. I really appreciate feeling good in my body. The massage school inexpensive therapeutic massage by gung-ho and talented students have been precious. I feel good. I want to feel good. That’s what people are often buying – something that feels good. The student I’m seeing this term is about to graduate. Graduate to a career where he’ll be greatly appreciated, no doubt. He’s talented. Wonderful non-pokey pressure, but he can also judiciously crush your fascial adhesions – a game changer for range of motion.

I wish I had that focus, talent, and ability to make people feel good. When you feel good, you don’t need a bunch of crap, to consume, buy, eat, indulge in. To use. I want people to feel good, but I also want to do good, do the right thing. I want people to feel good doing the right thing. Makes the right thing easier to do.




Been listening to the podcasts of Chris Guillebeau, of “Side Hustle School.” It’s really excellent. I’m fascinated by all the different ways people come up with additional income streams on top of their jobs. I love Chris’ attitude that this isn’t just about money – it’s about independence, freedom, confidence, as well.

Now, he says, “side hustle school” so fast it sounds like “sad asshole school” but I’m sure that’s just my Freudian projection. My life is basically a failure so far. I’m at rock bottom. I need something new and fresh. I’m 55, not ready to retire or just quit. I need more.

Wish me luck. I can’t go on the way it’s been. I’m on the edge.



Been a while since I’ve posted – November, last year.

Still finding it odd there’s 7 billion people on this rock, but I’m lonely. Many are lonely.

At the same time, there seems to be not enough space. It’s hard to own a little cottage and a garden, even if you move out of town. Pretty much impossible to own your home in town, near university and all other exciting amenities. Few people in Vancouver can own their home and most are renters.

I’m trying to get out, even if that means into some house in the middle of nowhere, such as Williams Lake, Greenwood, Port Alberni, whatever.

I wanna grow my own veggies and be free from paying rent on someone else’s investment, and putting up with people clattering overhead, next door, and on the street passing by. The city is killing me, even as it is the source of Meetup buddies, dance classes, and other amenities.

The world doesn’t agree with me and every so often topping myself seems like an easy out.