The French Dispatch
Night off, take advantage of the big city to see a movie.
I liked this. Wes Anderson, he's a master of visual storytelling - embodying humor, irony, satire, nothing too "meaningful", but therein lies his charm.
The instantly recognizable visual styles, the amusing and irrelevant camera tricks, background "jokes", he is - after his own fashion - a genius.
A wonderful ensemble cast (the same players as always), 3 stories on diverse themes - love, art, crime, not every one as much to my taste, but all brilliant.
Worthwhile.
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- Category: Film
Bronze Axes & Albrecht Durer
Busy, busy, and no time really to get out and about on the world wide web. But a couple of interesting treasure finds I should share - not mine:
#1 - 13 Year Old Metal Detectorist finds Bronze Age Axe Hoard:
#2 - $30 drawing proves to be by Albrecht Durer and is worth millions:
Which gives one a taste, survive the winter, get a Jeep and lets get this ball rolling!!
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- Category: Found
1 Page Manifesto
Steve, Chapter book, serialized, out every day in Gastown trying to pitch his book, getting in with the university students, going for dinners, being feted.
He's doing well - but - not so much.
He's Anti-Vax, refuses, his intuition won't let him get it, can't get job as a result, and the stress is killing him.
He's not the only one. The Europeans, Travelers, they've all had the jab. The Canadians, not so much...
Steve's come up with a 1 page manifesto that he's selling for $1.00, flogging on the street, to drum up interest in future work.
He's committed to writing one a week. A full page. Different manifesto each week. He's spot-on with the price-point.
We chat, conversation, standard coffee shop brainstorming, no solutions, merely ideas, superficial, skirting the edge of more dangerous topics, don't discuss public health, common sense, modern medicine, science, everything else is fine. I've practiced for these conversations in the Kootenay's, I'm good to go...
Sometimes you just have to listen
***
This self-publishing, not the route I want to go, would require me to illustrate things in my distinctly bumblefuck inept style, but - seeing him do it, I realize it's an option I'd never seriously considered, it's an option on the table and I should work in that direction - just in case. The back-up plan.
***
Meanwhile, Hostel, people come and go. There seems to be a core of regulars - English Acid Dude, moving out - found a place in GasTown, sounds like a deal.
Steve, still here. "Krishna", still here, a few others.
The EuroTrash comes and goes, listen to the most grating accents, no conversations to be had there, don't even try and if they try do not - under any circumstances - reply.
Persian girl, been here a week, looking for a place to live, studying medicine, today's her meltdown. Sitting in the lounge, wrapping herself in her arms, foot shaking. Her boyfriend comes in looking for her - I point. She's in the throes of a full-on panic attack.
***
The restaurant - first "paid" shift last night - there's a formidable amount to know. Every style of wine - cabernet - pinot noir - chardonnay - cab-franc- shiraz - etc, etc - has it's own glass. And - to confound matters further - depending on the room you take your wine in, the glass will vary. Every dish has it's own separate mis-en-place.
Take in the atmosphere of the place. Almost all of the waiters effeminate to an extraordinary degree. I would say "All" - but - I have not yet met them all. They chat - conversations that I can only overhear - bow-ties, scarves, tight-fitting jeans, fitted shirts, brown dress shoes, I'm excluded as a result of my newness, more conservative dress, the cliques that have formed I can't be a part of, and even if I could why would I? Still, it's all - not merely new - it's surreal. This is it. Surreal.
I have perhaps a hundred bow ties. A dozen fitted shirts. Cuff-links, watches, all the accoutrements and accessories - all in lockers across the country. What did I bring with me? Nothing superfluous. A fitted white shirt with a collar that won't close. A pair of black trousers with a broken zipper. A wireless microphone and Bunsen-campfire fuel and bag full of balloons...
***
This morning, coffee, the same place in GasTown, the same as every morning, I can't shake the feeling that I'm a "Stranger in a Strange land" - I've had it for a while - not just me - but - just being here - weird - like "Imposter Syndrome" - not just the job, the being here, even in Nelson - my comfort was only ever skin deep, I'm missing something, can't put my finger on it...
The restaurant will close - Christmas to New Years. I've heard rumors, don't know the dates, but it somewhat throws a wrench in my plans. Do I find a place to live - before? Or after? If after I can abandon the Hostel for a bit, go to Edmonton for Xmas, visit family, friends, save money, or at least spend it with people I know -
***
Time passes.
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The Job
It goes without saying that I've never worked anyplace so fancy as this.
The manager introduces himself, French, a proper Sommelier, young, perhaps early 30's, the other staff range in age from early 20's to what I might guess at as late 60's or 70's. I'm paired with a girl working a private party - 25 people.
And I'm schooled. Here, what with the 120 page wine list you don't open the wine. Take the order, let the Sommelier know. They will take care of it.
Absolutely no modifications to food orders without Chef's permission.
You don't touch the food. There's expeditors for that.
You don't make drinks - the bartenders do that.
And I could go on.
Suffice it to say, I'm in over my head - there's more "standing around" and being available than there is actual serving.
The table - they spend approximately $6000, with an automatic gratuity of 15%. For 2 servers - not bad - but - I don't count as a server, I'm on "Observation", unpaid apprenticeship as it were. And even for 1 server - well, factor in the abundant support - Bartenders, Hostess, Bussers, Expeditors, Sommeliers - you get it.
Wait and see.
At the end of the night I'm offered the job. I don't even know what the job is - merely get told precisely what i have to do and do it. This will quite possibly the longest apprenticeship I've ever had in a restaurant. Worth it? I don't yet know. Fingers crossed. But - one down, now to deal with housing and wheels.
And - worse come to worse I can always throw on my resume that I got a job offer from ... - which alone should be worth it's weight in gold.
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