V. Sa. Para. Noia

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I do not know where the day goes, particularly when I feel I get bob all accomplished. Such as today. I decided I would spend the entire day devoted to getting my visa issues sorted. Trying to iron them out so that I could move on to more fun activities like writing my funking sitcom spec! This, the visa issue, is well and truly the most excruciating side of my life at the moment. Forms, rules, regulations and pages of nonsense. No, I have never joined a cult. Or started one. Or intend on starting one. No, I have never laundered money. Or intend to. Or plan on throwing the present government out of power when I get into the States. Or have tried to before. I wonder if anyone has ever actually said yes anyways to these questions. Yup, while others were wasting their time playing pool and chasing girls, I oversaw a genocide regime in my misspent youth.

I am a bit paranoid about saying too much, in case it somehow cropped up on their system. And, obviously, above I am referring to my buddy who is applying for his Canadian visa. All jokes aside, I can see why those questions are in there. Daft and all as they are, if you were to actually have committed any of those crimes or weird things they ask, it might just throw you off enough not to bother applying. I find it hard with the basic sections. I mean, I seriously got stuck and worried today, when I had to fill in the section with the question… “What exactly do you do? Describe briefly.” I have no real clue what I do, so this had me staring at the screen for a while. Far too long. I know what I want to do, but can you really say you’re doing it, until you get a significant validation first i.e t.v show, sitcom, Oscar etc. So I was flummoxed and moved on.

Worse part of all my confusion as well at the moment, is that I actually tried to get a lawyer on board to help me out. This sound guy in California who had been giving me advice and help for free. Unfortunately, to save me money, he told me that I could manage these forms on my own no problem. Just fill them out and send them in. Should be no problem. I don’t think he realized whom he was speaking with. Perhaps he somehow got the impression I was capable, but today has shown me that it will take a few attempts.

Slowly but surely it is dawning on me that it is fairly important that I get the wording exactly right. I can’t see them ruffling my hair and telling me not to worry, we’ll fill in what you meant to say here, there and everywhere else I got it wrong. After spending about 2 hours filling one long form out today, I left the last few pages until I came back from lunch. To my delight, when I returned, the system had timed out (15 minute limit), so I had to start it all over, wuu huu! On the up side, not having to fork out money on an immigration lawyer, means I now have more to spend on bribing t.v folk, which is handy.

Still though, if tomorrow proves to be another day of confusion and 50/50 answers, I think I will have to get back on to the lawyer dude and demand he starts to over-charge me for his help. And by that I obviously mean by buddy who is trying for his Canadian visa should get onto his lawyer. Obviously. I was thinking of why I am paranoid about saying certain things, in certain places, or about certain people at certain times. Usually, it is because that certain person somehow magically appears as I mention his/her name. Here is a prime example…

Every single time I go to San Fran, on my first night out galavanting, I always bump into the same odd dude who I know from college. Just know him, never really great buddies, never had his number or anything, that kind of acquaintance. Whenever I ask him, after just bumping into him, what are you up to, the answer is always the same… “Whatever you’re doing, I’m with ye now for the night.” The job. Harmless (I think, ha), but he is an odd fellow. Not really the intriguing kind of odd either. The scare strangers off, kind of odd. 

First night I ever went out in San Fran, he shows up next to me at a urinal in a bathroom of some pub. He didn’t say anything at first either. Just staring at me with his big One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest gaze. I thought he still lived in Cork, so it was a bit strange seeing him there. Just gazing.

One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest

The next time I was in San Fran at some weird club, maybe a year later, I’m telling my buddy that story while we’re at the bar waiting to get served. How I bumped into him the last time, didn’t even know he lived in San Fran and all that. In that club a little later, I’m chatting to a random girl from South America, not Irish, no link at all to her, just met her that night out. She is there with her sister. And who is chatting to the sister, in this a very random club in San Fran… the same dude!

No joke, a year later, I am in a bar, again on my first night getting into San Fran, telling someone who I was there with, how I hope to God I don’t bump into Geoffrey X again. The minute I said his name, literally, I hear “What’s that meant to mean?” as I look to my right, and see who sitting at the bar…! I mean what the funk?! None of this is made up either, bar the name Geoffrey. Finally, this January, first night I went out in SF while I was there, waiting for a taxi, hundreds of people coming and going around me on the street, I get a tap on the shoulder… Geoffrey! Luckily I was sober enough to think of playing the -too drunk to know who he was or what I was doing- card, and managed to slip away. None of this occurred in the same bar or area even. All different locations. Still though, I am always looking over my shoulder in SF, paranoid that Geoff will crop up to start shouting and tugging at girls in a nutter, yet lovable, manner.

And, obviously, it was Geoffrey who I was referring to about his visa for Canada. I hope he doesn’t mind. Ha, possibly the weakest linkage ever!

Two songs. First is from a band which sound like their album will be slickaruu. This song is on repeat…

Free Energy

Dark Trance – Free Energy

Song which just popped up on my iTunes, odd enough, but good…

Sunset Rubdown

Up On Your Leopard, Upon The End Of Your Feral Days – Sunset Rubdown

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