fuck the American Dream....

This is the 1st post under the topic "USA vs Canada". What
that will entail will be observations on our differences.

The biggest and most annoying so far is that they say "zee" while
we say "zed".  I defer to the Queen's English in this case.

Ok, so Americans work a fucking lot!  Every person I've met, in
and outside of the hospital, work like mad dogs.  Their work ethic
is mindboggling.  I suppose this is why the 20th century was the
American Century.  THis is why we have cars, personal
computers, and the atomic bomb.  They work and work in
pursuit of that American Dream.  My work week is theoretically
40 hrs, of course I end up working more.  In Canada, the same job
would be 37.5 hrs.  Not a big difference, but really it is the little
things at the end of the day.

Canadians...we are so laid back in comparison.  We're the old
hippies of North America.   Hawaiians of the North.   Really.
I notice it all the time.  You think people are in a hurry and work
hard in Toronto?  Phew!  You ain't seen nothing, baby.  It's
almost pathological down here.  No wonder Americans are
high-strung, on anti-depressants, and end up shooting each
other.  They've pushed themselves to the edge.   Their minds
are on fire with fear, work, and ego.   Working here
you begin to fall into the same patterns as them.  Everyone
else is working hard, so I must too.  

If not for a thousand other reasons, then this alone makes
me want to come home.   I don't want to work THAT hard.
I'm not THAT ambitous.  I want my little corner where I
can work and be done.  I don't need the fancy house, car, or
entertainment center....ok, maybe the enterainment center.

Fuck the American Dream and hand me a bowl ....

appendium to 'my life?'

You want to how bad it is?

I'm turning down 1st dates with women because
I have to work.

my life?

I know it seems like all I do is complain on this blog,
but this is an outlet.  I have nobody here to talk to,
nor time to call friends or family.  My father is very
ill and I can only call my parents once a week
because of how late I work, which tears at me.  I do
have plenty to write about here.  I want to update
with an account of my friend Melissa's trip to
Chicago, but I haven't had the time to compose
my thoughts.  I have movie reviews, but again
time is is the problem.  And I will write about
my recent trip to T.O. once I process it more.
But now I complain, so deal with it.

I spent most of my 20s buried in study with the
shadow of  a social life poking up on occasion.  
After grad school, I started to come out of my shell
and started to become a normal functioning adult.
The past 3 yrs in Toronto, I actually lived for once
in my life and felt like I actually belonged somewhere.

Now, here in Chicago,  it's all gone.  I'm working
longer hours than I ever have in my life.  Grad
school pales.  I have no social life with little
chance of respite.  I feel myself regressing.
I have no idea how long I can keep this pace up.
I dread waking each day.  This is no way for a
person to live.  I feel like my life is wasting
away and I'm helpless, completely helpless,
to stop it.  I envisoned more to my life than
this.  Now all I have is work with no change
from that in the immediate future.  Not very
hopefull, heh?  Such is my life....

Saturday night

Saturday night in Chicago and its another lonely one in this beast
of a city.

I walked through the side streets of Lincoln Park.  The leaves are out
and the tree-lined streets feel more closed in, yet warmer even if the
temperature isn't.  The cold, leafless nights of February are gone.

The buildings in the neighbourhood are an assortment of styles.  
Most are  brick and stone with big blocks, warrened entrance ways,
and high staircases leading to large front doors.   Clean brick lined
alleyways snake between the crowded buildings.  It feels European,
but still distinctly American.   Solid feeling and looking.  The influence
of the waves of immigrants that settled this city.  

I emerge back on to one of the main streets, Lincoln Avenue.  The
quiet of the back streets gives way to buzz and hustle of Saturday
night in a big American city.  People walk purposefully as they tend
to do down here.

I walk under the trestles of the El as it slashes diagonally across
Lincoln.  Everywhere you walk has the feeling of a movie set.  You
hear the tracks begin to rumble, then roar as the train thunders
overhead, like the sky is about to fall on you.  Blue light from the
train flickers on the grey wall of a building for an instant, like
lightening.  Then all you're left with is the rumble of the tracks
again.

My night so far is at a bar called Lilly's, listening to mediocre
live music. The walls are painted a deadly forest green, obviously
meant to spark depression and encourage drinking.  They advertise
all-you-can drink PBR for $35.  Classy.  

The bar's been carved out of an old house.  It's layout is schizoprenic.
There are almost no good sightlines for the stage where the band
plays.  The best place, where I'm at, is the bar itself, with it's faux
gargoyles and christmas lights in the shape of reindeer.  It's a lousy
spot for a live band, but then again most people think the band is
simply additional decor for the bar.  Arched doorways divide the
bar up into bite-size pieces.  You can catch glimpses of faces and
other parts of the bar.  It's the drunkard's equivalent to Eco's
library from "Name of the Rose."  The balcony is simply a hole in
the ceiling to what was the second floor.   A radiator sits on a ledge
out of reach to anyone.  

The crowd here are that college-age crew the occupy so much space
in university neighbourhoods.  Neither jock nor artsy, they occupy a
neutral space of non-identity, a space of safety.   I'm the most 
audacius person there with my leather jacket, kangol hat, and
skull ring.  

I'm in Chicago. I can do better than this.  So I head to B.L.U.E.S.,
one of the best Blues bars in the city, not far from Lilly's and on my
way home.  It's a hole-in-the-wall kind of place, where you would've
expected to hear some  of the greats decades a go when the scene
was in it's heyday.  But its always packed and its aways jumping.  The
band is tearing it up and I'm wedged between tourists and locals.
People of all kinds.  All that matters is the music.  

ANGER, HATE

i am beginning to HATE this job and life.

i took this past weekedn off because melissa visited (yeah!).
but now i'm back here and it's the same as last week and the
week before and the week before. i'm left on my own to get
work done, but in many cases i'm not sure how to proceed
and i need help, but help isn't around. then i'm asked to do
more and i can't let anybody down cause i'm the new guy
and i can't slack off. i'm beginning to feel really really
stupid. i know i'm not, but that doesn't change the fact that
i KNOW i'm not getting enough done and i have no idea of
how to change that.

i'm 36 fuckin' yrs old. i've done 3 university degrees and
have worked and stressed my ass off resulting high blood
pressure and clinical depression and anger management
problems to show for it. i do not have time to socialize
which means i can't meet anybody or get involved in a
relationship.

am i whining? yeh, maybe. so fuckin what. if you felt as
shitty as i feel all the fuckin time, you'd want to complain
too. so piss off.

this is complete utter unmitigated bullshit. i fucking hate
this to the core of my rotting soul.....

p.s.-and before anybody says it: NO, it will not get better.
this is the way the job and life here is. it has not got better
in 2 months. it has not changed in 2 months.

p.s.s.-i do not socialize anymore. i have nobody to socialize
with. i have no time to do so. i am destined to be a bitter
old anti-social science guy. the fun loving socializing part
of my life has now passed.