An Escapologist’s Diary. Part 13.
Resolutions. My resolve to bake fresh bread every couple of days has fallen by the wayside. Not the result of laziness exactly, but a lack of motivation in the face of steep competition: there are just so many Portuguese bakeries and Jewish-style bagel outlets offering cheap and delicious goods nearby.
My resolution to walk everywhere, however, is still in full force. Resolve was tested on Thursday by the prospect of a long walk in the hot sunshine and the knowledge that I’d have to do the very same walk a day later. In the end, I packed a canteen of water and a couple of cookies and walked anyway. I may have failed the bread project slightly but my enthusiasm for walking remains exceedingly intact.
It was a wonderful walk. I was able to observe that the seasons have changed slightly since last week. We must be entering the second half of summer now. Last week was about ants (swarming underfoot and in the air) but this week was about bees (busily commuting from flowering plant to flowering plant). The cicadas have also begun making their impossibly loud noises from the trees. It must have been this time last year when I first heard cicadas in Montreal. It sounded like a powerful electric current, emanating from somewhere unseen in the rooftops. I had stopped in my tracks and my girlfriend had to explain that the noise was the song of a harmless summer insect.
I had taken a slightly different route to usual, going via the main shopping precincts and Quartier des Spectacles. The Quartier is still very much under development and even though I was treated to some live Latin-style music from one of the public stages and saw some Papier-mâché sculptures of Charlie Chaplin and the Three Stooges, I was also accosted by several genuinely desperate-looking homeless people. A teenage boy with a German accent offered to give me a blow job for 25¢, though he may have been joking and I wasn’t sure who he intended to be on the receiving end.
Read the rest of this entry »
An Escapologist’s Diary. Part 12.
Yesterday, I stayed indoors because of the amazing rain. This incidentally resulted in a day of zero expenditure, if you overlook the 12$ daily rent.
Here are some of the things I did for free:
– Read the final quarter of George Orwell’s Coming up for air. It was a library copy, which I had retrieved on foot).
– Watched the torrential rain from our balcony. I had to stay close to the wall to avoid getting wet but it was remarkable to watch and listen to rain like this. Even though I’ve largely acclimatised to Montreal’s sunshine and French language, the heavy rain is always a reminder that I’m abroad
– Edited four articles for the pending fourth edition before passing them to our sub-editor for approval.
– Posted yesterday’s blog entry and spent a little time reading Matthew‘s blog.
– Baked bread (not technically free but at 70¢ for two loaves, it’s hardly worth acknowledging as an expense).
– Took a nap. Possibly the sweetest afternoon activity for any non-worker. I kept the balcony door open and drifted off to the sound of foreign rain.
– Played twenty minutes of free online Pacman, my favourite computer game ever. This version (designed by Neave) is an unlicensed clone of Namco’s original, but I think it’s the best version ever made. I don’t generally advocate spending time playing computer games but I have an occasional penchant for Pacman and Asteroids. I like to make up stories about these strange and simple games. I believe the pilot of the Asteroids spaceship is a criminal sentenced to the penal servitude of rock-breaking in outer space with only an amazingly fragile hull between him and the eternal void. Not bad for 2KB ROM code.
– Ate home-baked cake (again, at a negligible cost) while listening to the weekly podcast of Richard Herring and Andrew Collings: a comedy double act who’ve provided hundreds of hours of free entertainment since they went live in July 2008. It is shabby and hard on the ears but that is kind of the point. I’m looking forward to a month-long visit from my friend Dan in October, with whom I’ll make a smaller contribution of a similar fuzzy quality.
– Drank home-filtered water from a mason jar and pretended alternately to be Epicurus and Robinson Crusoe. Anyone who suggests my day of solitude drove me temporarily insane might be onto something.
– A daily ten-minute French language lesson using MP3 versions of Michel Thomas‘ method tapes.
– Spent quality time with my rainsoaked girlfriend upon her return from work. We made dinner and watched Star Trek DVDs from my compact and well-stocked DJ case.
Yesterday was like one of those ‘wet lunches’ at school when the teachers allow you to stay indoors and play board games instead of getting wet at lunchtime, except that it was an all-day ‘wet lunch’ and it was pretty alright.
An Escapologist’s Diary. Part 11.
Last weekend, we attended the Montreal Anarchist Bookfair, taking along a stall from which to sell copies of our little publication.
Anarchists of different stripes had come from far and wide, and plenty of likeminded and interested members of the public came along to see what we were up to. I don’t think I’ve seen an Anarchist event so well organised and well attended. Inspiring all round.
I have to hand it to the non-Anarchist members of the public for showing up in such impressive numbers. When I mention Anarchy to new friends, I’m often met with bemusement: either such a bold political stance seems out of place on such a mild-mannered individual as myself or the very concept of Anarchy in the modern day seems absurd to the average person. Yet here we were.
The fact that so many non-Anarchists attended the event meant that we (and presumably the other stall-holders and presenters) weren’t preaching exclusively to the choir. I spoke to plenty of people with conventional jobs who were beginning to consider various escape routes.
The New Escapologist stall sat between an American electro/punk band called Realicide and a semi-ironic Québécoise organisation called Front d’action stupide. I’m very glad I sat with the people I did because they were excellent company for the duration of the weekend, trading horror movie and music recommendations and discussing the nomadic lifestyle.
As the first morning progressed and I spoke to more and more people, I began to develop a sort of sales pitch for the magazine. I found myself describing the magazine as “a humour periodical from England” (at once explaining my accent to the largely Canadian audience and slightly adjusting their expectation that we’re a hardened political organisation) but that we offer “sincere advice and discourse on the art of living and how to escape the mindless drudgery of conventional career life”. I told them that we’re “pro-laziness and anti-work and we ask people to consider working less in favour of a low-impact, post-consumerist lifestyle”.
Whenever I used the expression “mindless drudgery” in my pitch, the Mohican-topped Robert Inhuman would chime in from the next stall with “As opposed to mindful drudgery!” knowing very well how much hard work has to go into producing zines and making money from indie exploits.
“Mindful drudgery” reminds me of my friend Tim who inverted the popular “Spiritual but not religious” maxim to “Religious but not spiritual”, admitting that he enjoys ritual and adhering to a strict code of ethics but refuses to believe in a spirit or to give himself over to a poorly-defined cause.
I’m glad I managed to explain the magazine so concisely: partly for the practical reason that I’d only have around two minutes with any potential reader, but also because I worry about Einstein’s words of wisdom: “If you can’t explain it simply, you don’t understand it well enough”. Did I definitely understand the nature of our harebrained scheme? It was now evident that I did.
We had been asked to work out of the zine room as opposed to the main books hall, which was fine, but I worried that our high cover price (by comparison to typical zines) would result in a lack of interest. I reduced our price as much as reasonably possible and told people that “we’re dedicated to making things of quality and have a pretty unique style of typography.” This technique proved fruitful and we managed to sell almost our entire stock over the course of the weekend.
On the second day, I was joined by Samara, our illustrations editor and frequent contributor, who had fun doodling personalised sketches on the reverse side of her business cards for people to take away. We also gave away sample content from Issue Three in the form of a new pamphlet designed by our usual typesetter, Tim.
People were invited to write their email addresses on a specially designated part of our tablecloth so that they could join our mailing list. In fact, they could write whatever notes or recommendations they liked on the same tablecloth. It was funny how many people commented on this idea but as a minimalist it seemed natural to me: I didn’t want to keep the tablecloth after the event and I didn’t want to have a bundle of note papers to cart sift through later. The contents of the tablecloth are now safely typed up into my computer.
I didn’t take any photographs beyond one of our own stall because I met a rough reception from a staunch off-gridder when photographing the crowded main hall, but I see that a few have made it onto Flickr.
Thanks to everyone at the bookfair for putting together such an impressive event. Whenever I organise a comedy show or an Escapology event, people always seem amazed that someone acheived something beyond the norm, yet these are always far smaller affairs than this one. Kudos to all.
I’d love to do another event like this soon. The next one I can identify as having a similar flavour is Expozine, for which I will be sure to register but doesn’t happen until November. If anyone has recommendations of similar events (anywhere in the world), we’d love to hear about them.
An Escapologist’s Diary. Part 10.
Life is good here in Montreal. I spend most of my time leisurely cooking in our little kitchen or reading George Orwell books in the sunny park. (We should hit 30°C this week!)
You don’t need much money for either of these activities: just a few quid for dinner ingredients and the occasional bus fare to the library. The good life is there if you want it. You just have to stop buying pointless stuff and quit your job as soon as you can.
Much like the protagonist in Orwell’s Keep the Aspidistra Flying, however, I’ve not been able to stop my mind from drifting periodically into the vulgar world of money.
The preoccupation is partly due to an idle interest in economics but also—less comfortably—an abstract and groundless fear that a life without significant income is somehow sinful or unsustainable and that my good life here and now is tantamount to hubris. I know my fears are the result of growing up in an environment in which the Protestant Work Ethic reigned over all of us; and I know very well that I can live here for a long time without sucking up to the money god. Yet there is a nagging homunculus on my shoulder insisting that I should be doing something more lucrative.
I usually deal with this by playing Louis Armstrong’s version of, “Lazybones” loud enough to drown out the homunculus’ ridiculous witterings:
Hey there lazybones, lyin’ in the sun, how you gonna get your day’s work done?
What day’s work, man? I’m too busy baskin’ in the noonday sun.
Read the rest of this entry »
An Escapologist’s Diary. Part 9.
On a train to London, a friend confides that he’s become a “light-switcher-offer”. That is, he finds himself devoutly switching off the lights in unoccupied rooms. To me, this is not a big deal: I’ve always been a light-switcher-offer. My friend, however, worries that his new habit is somehow miserly, and he interestingly describes it as ‘sexless’.
That it is sexless, I think, can be refuted. I suggested on the train that switching off unnecessary lights (and conserving power generally) contributes to a smaller carbon footprint. Being in-vogue, small carbon footprints are sexy. Therefore, so is the act of switching off lights. My friend remained unconvinced. Read the rest of this entry »
An Escapologist’s Diary. Part 8.
Some of our readers don’t enjoy fiscal solutions to The Escape Problem. If you’re one of those readers, you might want to look away now. Sorry about this.
A lot has been written online about Tim Ferris’ concept of Musing: creating a low-maintenance business capable of generating an ‘optimum monthly income’, enough to allow you to fulfil whatever dream you have.
To us, of course, the dream is one of maximum mobility (of not having to report to work every day) and of ending the relationship between submission and reward. That’s how Musing connects with Escapology. It has the potential to replace work and maximise mobility.
Read the rest of this entry »
An Escapologist's Diary. Part 7.
Bobbing for Apples
My podcast partner excitedly reports that he’s ordered a new iMac. Perhaps tellingly, I struggled to remember what an iMac even is. My first thought was that it was one of those total-immersion cinemas (an IMAX) but knew that my friend couldn’t possibly have bought one of those.
It’s a symbollic triumph that the iMac had drifted so far from my consciousness. Back when I started out as an Escapologist, I would periodically visit the Apple Shop in Glasgow to test whether I could be seduced by these sophisticated pieces of technology. If I could remain unseduced by a tablet computer or a slick handheld book-reading thing, I knew I could withstand most of what consumer culture could throw at me. Tom Hodgkinson told me he does the same thing with the Argos home-shopping catalogue. I recommend this practice to anyone: allow the salesmen in, refuse everything and build up those muscles of resistance.
Read the rest of this entry »
An Escapologist's Diary. Part 6.
My escape has taken me from Montreal, Quebec City, Ottawa, through New York, to Birmingham, Glasgow and Dudley. As I clean up cat sick in Dudley, I think “I saw the Statue of Liberty the other day”. Such is life when you defeat Bad Faith.
Read the rest of this entry »
An Escapologist's Diary. Part 5.
I’m still enjoying my planned escape, far away from home. Specifically I’m in Montreal.
In the city’s commercial districts, bilboards groan with high-profile advertising for a new interactive computer game called Beatles Rock Band. It’s an ingenious misappropriation of something that was once radical and important.
Forty years ago, John and Yoko conducted the third instalment of their Bed-In peace protest in this very city. Let us remind ourselves today that The Beatles wasn’t always an empty brand synonymous with inane, distracting tat:
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LvwkRihlZto]
Read the rest of this entry »
An Escapologist's Diary. Part 4.
I’m a month into my mini-retirement in Montreal. So far, so good. A typical day consists of a late rise, breakfast, bread-baking, writing, exploration of this new city and night-time festivity with new chums. I’ll write more about the joys of not working in New Escapologist Issue Three, which should be available early in the new year.
A few days ago, I enjoyed Charlie Chaplin’s Modern Times at a local cafe-theatre with live piano accompaniment from Roman Zavada.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2B3HGY_zLKk]
It’s an entertaining film for Escapologists in that it sympathises with the modern escape fantasy. Chaplin’s character attempts to escape humiliating work in factories, ship yards and department stores. He also ensures a brief spell in prison where he is taken after being mistaken for a the leader of a Communist demonstration. Tellingly, Chaplin begs the jailer to keep him locked up when the subject of his future employment is raised. Prison incarceration is preferable, it seems, to the world of work!
It’s fun that the film begins with the rapidly-spinning hands of a clock. To any worker, it prompts instant identification: a watched clock is surely the truest motif of modern division-of-labour-type work. Read the rest of this entry »
