The Big Day is Here!

the end of the world as we know it

the end of the world as we know it

Well, yesterday was educational.

Three people volunteered, out of the blue, to meet me at noon and come help me pack up the apartment. How many showed up? None.

So much for NannyLula‘s desire to take one of my workshops, ever. If she showed up with Julian Assange hanging off one arm and Bono hanging off the other, covered in diamonds and waving fans of $10,000 bills, I’d turn her away. I was wrong about Nanny Lula: turns out I didn’t give her the time/place deets. All the above now applies to the others. As for the others, well, I’m sure the universe has something in store for them.

Tonight is the Big Meeting with the co-op board. They’ll want me to have $3000 and/or gotten my tax assessments up to date and correct for the last (I dunno, every time they mention dates they add years retroactively) five (currently) years. Given that the burglars took half my papers (thank GOD not the T4 for the work I did in Yellowknife) and I was stuck up in Penticton until a few days ago, and that since I got back I’ve been trying to pack up my apartment in case I get evicted effective tonight, that ain’t an option. Not in any universe governed by the laws of space and time.

Oh, and my very nice potential business partner insists on a meeting this afternoon. Like I’m gonna be any use at that.

Yesterday I did fifteen, count ’em, fifteen loads of laundry, since it doesn’t make sense to pack up dirty clothes. Today, the task is going to be bunging all of that into boxes since I don’t exactly have the time to curate my collection and will have to do a huge editing session wherever I end up.

Which brings me to Union Gospel Mission. A multi-service nonprofit on the Downtown Eastside, they have done great work and I’ve always been a big supporter, so when I realized I was going to be offloading a lot of things like my old bookcases, my hideabed, and some bedroom dressers, they were the first people I called. We organized a pickup time, and all seemed well. They’d even take the clothes that didn’t fit me anymore, provided they were in good condition. SUPER!

When I said three people bailed on me yesterday, what I meant was “three people and one multi-service nonprofit.” The driver emailed to say they were short-staffed and he didn’t want to put the volunteers to work helping him load my donation. That they are short staffed because they don’t have nice donated things in their shops to sell to raise the money to pay salaries seems not to have occurred to him. Seriously, after four or five days of emailing to organize this pickup, to bail on the afternoon before? UGH.

In any case, without a car, and with no working buzzer to let people in to pick things up, the donation scenario becomes complicated. Nigh impossible, particularly by the 31st. I may just toss it all out onto the sidewalk and watch the scavengers take it away.

In any case, I know by March 1 I’ll be in a better place one way or another, a place where the guy at the next table doesn’t pass out reeking of vodka at 10am) with or without my stuff (if the co-op decides to somehow hold it for ransom). There really isn’t any point holding on to my stuff, since I don’t have and am not likely to get $3000. And if they keep it, they have to store it somewhere more secure (Hello, break-in and flooding!) than the apartment anyway. Thank god I got the jewelry out when I did.

Wish me luck. And, if that doesn’t work, revenge.

soooooooon

soon

soon

yes, soon, very soon, it will be time. this would be a more emphatic post if my left caps key weren’t stuck but oh well, whatever, insert your own imaginary emphasis here.

vangroover, i’m leaving you.

assuming, that is, i can get all this crap packed up and thrown into storage. by tuesday.

at this point, for long, boring, paperwork-related reasons, my co-op and i have both had enough of one another. the showdown at the boardroom corral is on tuesday, and at that point they have, as i understand it, three options:

  1. evict me as of then and there, leaving the co-op legally responsible for the packing up and safe storage of my stuff. i do not think this will appeal to the board, but who knows, gordon might be there and swing the vote in favour of ‘toss her out on the street’ not knowing i have an offer of a free room at a b&b.
  2. accept my notice that i am leaving, which must by the rules be 90 days minimum. this doesn’t suit either of us very well
  3. work out a compromise whereby i have till the middle of february to pack all of this stuff up and get it the hell out of dodge.

because god knows, i am not going to get this entire apartment packed up by tuesday. ain’t happening. particularly not since yesterday i basically spent in the fetal position curled up in bed having a nervous breakdown.

so right now i am looking for two things three things:

  1. a truck, preferably 17′ or so for all my stuff, to move the stuff out once it’s all packed up
  2. a place to store it, reasonably priced and safe.
  3. someone, anyone, to help me pack. yes, it’s a hellava mess, and thinking ahead as i do, the power is off so it’s cold and dark, too. woohoo, party time eh? but i will buy pizza. and beer.

once that’s all done, pizza bought, beer drunken, i will be hitting the road via Greyhound limousine and doing some visiting. if i have the organizational skills to get my passport, i might come visit my friends in Yankistan or points south, or far east, particularly given what Raj says about the cost of living in Thailand. might hit yellowknife again, provided i get a ticket home lined up first, not like last time.

thank god i have one of those jobs that can basically be done from anywhere with an internet connection.

as for a more permanent landing pad, i have leads on a couple of very intriguing locales up in the Interior, on the reservation. if those don’t work, the island will be my next stop for sure. maybe even The Islands, who knows? Every single night since making this decision i’ve had dreams about how it’s the right decision; dreams of kayaking through the woods on a crystal stream, telling people how happy i am to be out of the city, dreams of riding across foothills of snow covered mountains, explaining how i used to live in the Big Smoke. that sort of dream, night after night. this is clearly the right decision, but the only question is, how to get the goddam packing done. thirteen years is a lot of history to put in boxes.

to say nothing of the fact that the boxes have to sit on a layer of styrofoam, because the carpet is soaked through thanks to the leaks in the building.

 

2012 in review for the ol’ raincoaster blog

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

About 55,000 tourists visit Liechtenstein every year. This blog was viewed about 340,000 times in 2012. If it were Liechtenstein, it would take about 6 years for that many people to see it. Your blog had more visits than a small country in Europe!

Click here to see the complete report.

SUCK IT LIECHTENSTEIN!

Julian Assange Yay

At Least SOMEBODY is happy for me

Breaking: the Space/Irony Continuum

Stupid People

Stupid People

Headline of the day:

It’s Not OK To Be Shitty: Guy Fieri, BuzzFeed, And The Tyranny Of Stupid Popular Things

on… Continue reading →

Two Christmas Stories

Darwin and Charlie Brown

Darwin and Charlie Brown

It’s a Christmas Tradition on the ol’ raincoaster blog to re-post this, the greatest Christmas story ever told (sorry, Jesus!): A Christmas Story, by Sarban. It is long, but if I can spend several hours typing it in, you can take an hour or less to read it. I recommend accompanying it with a bottle of Zubrowka and a box of Kleenex.

UPDATE: here is a link to the story that actually WORKS!

A Christmas Story
By Sarban (John W. Wall)

I will tell you a Christmas story. I will tell it as Alexander Andreievitch Masseyev told it me in his little house outside the walls of Jedda years ago one hot, damp Christmas Eve….

For our second selection, we have the entirely awesome Simon Callow reading one of Charles Dickins’ non-cloying stories, “The Christmas Tree,” a marvellous, metaphorical memoir. I’ve stolen this one from the Guardian.