Michael R. Barrick

Fer fuck's sake. In addition to the lame-o virus thing I noticed a crapload of (failed) DoS attacks against my webserver. Sorry, script-kiddies, if you want to find a vulnerable webserver, go attack a bank.

What an exciting life I lead. I spent my day in my cubicle writing code for a bank's intranet, then I came home and spent my evening writing code for a credit union's intranet. It is possible to interpret some of what I do as being important... the stuff I've made so far, at the moment, directly impacts or will have an impact on about three million people. How weird is that?

Do you have a bank account with HSBC? I my work affects your life.
Do you have a bank account with NSCU? I my work affects your life.
Are you a smoker in British Columbia or Newfoundland? My work will affect your life.

Yet I don't feel like I've done a blasted thing because it is all completely intangible and none of it means a damn thing to me. I don't like banks. Consumer credit is pure evil. Yet I support this system. I think the government suing the tobacco companies that they tax and regulate is absurd, yet my work supports this legal action (I took up smoking out of guilt).

I'm doing this all to pay off my fine art education and keep my studio space. Does that justify it? Does it matter one way of the other at all? Am I just an idiot for thinking about it too much? I'm groping for some meaning here. But there isn't any. I know that.

I'm just trying to be happy. Sometimes for a few hours here and there that happens. It helps not to have to worry about rent and food. I suppose that is reason enough for now.

I've really got to work this out, though. I can't keep flip-flopping between contentedness and discontent. I don't have any solid goals at the moment and without a goal I have no direction. I'm adrift. I'm getting seasick.

The system in place *has* to blow up eventually. I explained this to Trish at one point a while back. At the moment, in most countries, money is "created" by banks issuing credit. It makes no sense. If you look at a reduced model of how the world's economy works it becomes clear:

Imagine 99 people living on an island. They get along by trading value for value, for example the carpenter builds cabinets for the farmer who gives him a chicken in return. This works becomes complicated when the carpenter needs another chicken but the farmer doesn't need new cabinets. The baker, however does need cabinets, and the farmer needs bread. Then along comes the 100th person, the banker. "I'll make you something called 'money' to facilitate these complex trades" he promises. "And I'll only charge a tiny bit of interest, say 5% a year, so that I can get by too." So he prints a hundred dollar bills for everyone and everything works fine until the year is up. "OK, you owe me $105," the banker says. But there is only $100 to be had. The only way the islanders can "pay" is to borrow even more money from the only source, the banker.

That's it in a nutshell. That's what we are doing. The money doesn't mean anything and when the more is needed the banks simply loan more out with nothing to back it up. It just doesn't work.

So much fun. Today is "payday" and sure enough I got the difference from what was left from my advance on the 15th but it turned out to be a little less than I was expecting. That in conjunction with the unbelievable fuck ups by both the Royal Bank and the federal student load Guidos means I have just enough money to pay my rent, my provincial student loan payment and maybe enough left over to eat. Crap this is depressing. Hopefully the money from my late Uncle Floran will come in soon because I just can't take this anymore.

"How are you, monsieur Jerry?"
"I'm broke."
"Boke?"
"That means I have no money. And when I have no money I get depressed. When I'm depressed only one thing will help: wine and women."
"But this is Paris, that should be easy."
"Yes, but even in Paris that takes money, which is what I ain't got in the first place"

- An American In Paris

I'm determined to feign enthusiasm for political purposes, but an hour into my fifth week here and I am bored and depressed. My grey cubicle surrounds me like an anaconda. My mind's eye is fixated on the unfinished painting on my easel and three countdown clocks are ticking in my head... 7 hours left to the day, 4 more days in the week, 5 more months in this contract.

I'm even more bored than usual at the moment. I'm running these brutally
slow routines to update the corporate directory. Apparently this a regular
thing that has to be done every pay period. This is so lame. I have a
nibble for a much more interesting job in Toronto and have my first
telephone interview a week Monday. It's for a digital post-production
company, which would be a little more interesting than a bank. I am hating
banks in general lately. A few minutes ago I ran across the street to cash
a cheque at the Bank of Montreal and they wanted to change me $3 to cash a
$32 cheque - I could cash it cheaper than at a fucking Money Mart! I
protested and the teller waived the fee, but really, should I have to
haggle over a service charge at a major bank as if I were buying melons in
Casablanca?

At least I had some fun last night. There was an opening in one of the
galleries in my building and I went to have a look. I need to do more of
that, start getting out there and maybe get somewhere with my art, if only
to compensate for this lame-ass bank job.