Okay, maybe “obsessed” is a bit strong — If I was truly serious about my health, I probably wouldn’t be living in a smog|noise|light|stress-polluted major city like Toronto, really — but my interest in maintaining my physical well-being has definitely increased exponentially as each year goes by.
I suppose this is par for the course. Taking care of your body could be like owning your first car in some ways. At the beginning you’re all in awe of this thing you have and what it can do, and before you know it you’re taking it for granted as you’re flying down the highway 50 kilometres over the speed limit with the stereo blasting Deep Purple’s Highway Star and the back seat filled with empty Doritos bags, slurpee cups, and cigarette butts.
After a while, though, you’re sitting on cracked upholstery begging it to “please, just start, I’m already late for work” as it’s drooling oil and antifreeze and god knows what else all over your driveway.
So before I start prematurely leaking fluids I’m getting more serious about what I do with my body as well as what I put into it.
Winning the Genetic Lottery
Being Asian, I’m totally aware that I won the youthfulness lottery. My body has basically maintained the same shape it was when I was in my earlier twenties, and for the most part I look younger than I really am. In the past, this made me complacent. If I wasn’t a vegetarian for most of my twenties I probably would have spent my days gulping back mugs of pure lard while eating twinkies sprinkled with chocolate-flavoured trans fats. Delish!
Even then I still did a lot of damage to myself, including maintaining a nearly pack-a-day habit for fifteen years as well as ingesting a lot of things I definitely would not want the Googlebot to index.
Now, I’m allmostly trying to be about the healthy.
Not Screwing With My Shit (not to be taking literally)
A big part of this commitment to not screwing with my shit involves eating better. I’ve been trying to spend more time eating cuisines that are considered healthy such as Japanese, Greek, and Italian. Heck, if nutritional scientists discovered that a diet consisting of twigs and leaves and steaming mugs of your own urine guaranteed you would live to be 150 in perfect health, I’d probably consider it.
No bathing in the blood of virgins like crafty old Elizabeth Bathory, however — one has to draw the line somewhere.
The point of this obscenely rambling post is to kick start a series of thoughts I’ve wanted to explore about eating healthy in the 21st century. I’m interested to talk about decisions I’ve made and experiments I’m trying out and I’m interested in what you’ve done (or are doing) to keep the gas in your tank sugar-free and high-octane.
And I vow that’s the last of the automobile metaphors you’ll see on this site.
Everyone’s favourite photographer Rannie Turingan presented his two minute video piece at last night’s annual 20x2. The question participants had to work with was “What’s the Difference?” and Rannie’s piece is just awesome.
It doesn’t hurt that my gorgeous family is one of the 20 couples that Rannie asked to participate. Thanks, Rannie!
Five posts since April. It’s not as though I haven’t been busy, though the cobwebs and ne’er-do-wells sleeping in the doorway of this joint might make you think otherwise.
This isn’t one of those grandiose “return to form” posts that some people do after an incredibly long absence. I’m not going to dazzle you with months of pent up brilliance and wisdom, nor am I going to pontificate on some wildly personal jibber-jabber (thanks Frank, for bringing the jibber back).
This is more of a virtual clearing of the throat.
«ahem»
For those of you who have been patiently waiting for optimized Firefox builds, some good and bad news. The good news is I’m still planning to build and release some optimized builds, and I now have access to a G4 machine so hopefully G4 builds should make a reappearance around these parts soon.
The bad news is I upgraded all of my home machines to OS X 10.5, and wouldn’t you know it, the Firefox 2.x branch doesn’t build on OS X 10.5 without patching. I’ve managed to successfully build Firefox 2.0.11 but it crashes on launch. So it may be a little while before updated builds are available.
In the meantime, I’m working on writing down a step-by-step “how to build optimized versions of Firefox” for your incredibly geeky enjoyment. It should be up before the holidays are completely upon us, assuming I manage to eke out enough sleep to remain semi-human.
Speaking of which, if anyone has any tips on getting a six-month old baby to stop waking up every two hours at night I’d sure be thankful.
World, please welcome a new addition to the global roster: our son Alec, born June 1st at 12:32 am and weighing 6 pounds, 3 ounces. For anyone who is waiting for a phone call, returned email, or smoke signal you may have to wait a while as our life shoots off into new and exciting tangential space.
We are currently accepting well wishes, offers of food, maid service, or deep tissue massages, or any tips or tricks on how to squeeze a day’s worth of sleep into 20 minutes.
Meeting Craig, Greg, Clarke, and Mike and working on the Globe and Mail redesign; releasing Path Finder 4; King Noodle; Nikon D50; Renée in Colombia; skype; a new job; romantic reunion in Costa Rica; Monday nights at Volo; Globe nerds night at The Foggy Dew; Neko Case’s Fox Confessor Brings The Flood; the 20“ Intel iMac; SXSW 2006; ”jheeks“; ”yeti“; Oscar night at James’ & Brooke’s; Everyday Italian; Good Eats; pop77 mixes; House MD; trips back home; Kevin and Jeremy visiting Toronto; The National at the Horseshoe; Montreal in the fall; Ze Frank’s The Show; New York Sub; Stephen Colbert; John Hodgman; Califone’s Roots & Crowns; Tinto Coffee House; 30 Days; The guys and gals of 3rd year Graphic Design 2004; Café 668; September 10th; October 1st; Lollapalooza 2006 in Chicago; Yo La Tengo at The Phoenix & the best album title of 2006, I Am Not Afraid of You and I Will Beat Your Ass; My Morning Jacket’s Okonokos; The Decemberists; Malajube and Final Fantasy at the Polaris prize awards show; One Degree; making new friends and hanging out with old ones; Nintendo Wii; Parallels Workstation for Mac; Daily Dose of Imagery; working across the street from St. Lawrence Market; remembering to just breathe; High Park in the fall; family; happiness; feeling cozy; being in love.
I've been back from another lovely (but snowy) trip home and trying in vain to wrap my head around the concept that yet another year has already slouched its way into the history books.
2007 is officially in the house, but for me this will be the Year of Bond, where I try to live every day like _007_ would. I've already quit smoking, I don't drink, and I stopped inhaling / eating / injecting / licking illegal substances years ago, so the only self-destructive thing left for me is to strut around like I'm wearing an extra hairy man-vest, insist to random women I meet that I have the sexual prowess of an engorged leprechaun, and generally act like a completely masculine, bungee-jumping, machismo-sprewing man basket.
_Ahem._ That's what happens when I write stream-of-consciousness after watching the preview for Casino Royale.
Actually, I've decided that this year will be the year I try to not screw shit up.
Hopefully the site should be back up for everyone — my DNS provider (ZoneEdit) was suffering under a major denial of service attack on a bunch of their nameservers for the past two days, but it seems to have been contained.
So, in brief:
Yes, I’m aware that Firefox 2.0.0.1 is available. Seeing how it’s only three days until Christmas and the fact that I’ll be away for a bit means it may take a while before I get to building some optimized builds. (Aside: oh dear god, they’ve added another decimal point — does this mean we’ll see version numbers like Firefox 2.5.4.2?)
DID I JUST SAY THREE DAYS UNTIL CHRISTMAS?! (has short but vicious panic attack)
It’s too damn warm here. It’s quite daunting to rouse the festive spirit when you’re walking around in a light fall jacket with nary a flake of snow to be found…
On that note, I better throw myself into some last minute “holycrapIhavenogiftsyet” Christmas shopping before it’s too late and everyone on my gift list gets Kraft Dinner and a hand-drawn facsimile of something they might have actually wanted.
When I was a kid, I used to think that shingles was this disease that really, really old, evil men got where their hair spontaneously turned black, hard, and crusty and their hearts filled with loathing and grizzled spite. I also remember when shingles was the reason David Letterman took a month off of work.
Now I know firsthand just what shingles is all about. There goes three weeks of my life that I’ll never get back.
Noodles #2, Coconut Cream Pie, and a cup of chai (must be eaten as a group) from The Hunger Hut, somewhere on the East Side of Vancouver, BC (originally in Winnipeg, though)
Tandoori Chicken from India Palace, 770 Ellice Avenue, Winnipeg, Manitoba
Renée and I started taking Arabic tonight. All I have to say is holy crap is it hard. Still, it’s very cool to learn a language that doesn’t use the roman alphabet. The arabic alphabet is gorgeous - above is a photo of my name in Arabic.
This preoccupation with naming entries with titles of Raymond Carver stories will probably end at some point, but for now they seem fitting, so what the hell.
Hey, a new post! See, I haven’t given up on you, BeatnikPad - I just needed to go out for a long walk in the woods and stare at the raccoons for a while. I’m working on ideas for some new posts, started carrying a journal and camera to help feed the muse, and even kicked around some concepts for a redesign.
I wouldn’t call this the beginning of a renaissance, but I’m feeling more inspired lately than I have in months, so I suppose it’s the start of something. Only time will tell if it’s sustainable and not the blogging equivalent of the dead cat bounce, but who knows (or cares, really).
Renée is going to kill me for using that expression.
I recently had the pleasure of seeing (and meeting) Dave Grey (head honcho at XPLANE) at his workshop on Visual Thinking held at MaRS last week. Both the workshop and meeting Dave kicked all kinds of ass, and were great reminders that getting the opportunity to meet cool people like Dave is as good a reason as any to continue maintaining this site.
Dave talked a lot about giving yourself the tools so that you can quickly capture visual ideas - tools like index cards, journals, and small digital cameras. At one point Dave remarked, “I’m no longer buying a product, I’m buying a process.” I love that.
So I went out the next day and picked myself up a brand new process - the Canon SD700. Ever since I bought my Nikon D50 I’ve been carrying around my camera less and less, and the irony that having a really nice camera meant that I’d take less photos seemed ridiculous. But, having to lug my laptop to work every day didn’t really make me want to add my SLR to the pile. So now I have a nice and light point and shoot to carry with me during the week, and my SLR for the heavy lifting on the weekends.
Expect more photos to appear on my flickr page posthaste.
Besides meeting Dave, it’s been mostly business as usual. I’m fighting off yet another cold, which leads me to believe that my immunity to germs that I built up as a teacher has fled. That, or germs are starting to take lessons from the hardcore viruses that hang out by the garbage bin behind the 7-11.
A movie was shooting in our area last week, which screwed up transit and made me rather exasperated. It didn’t help that they were shooting a remake of John Water’s Hairspray that featured John Travolta as Edna Turnblad. That means John Travolta was acting in drag. <shudder>.
Now I will recommend a very good book that you should read right away: Claire Messud’s The Emperor’s Children. And that’s enough rambling for one post, methinks.
Looking over the homepage reveals that I’ve posted a grant total of eight posts over the past three months - two of which were Firefox updates so they totally don’t count. All in all I think it’s safe to say I dropped the semi-regular blogging baton a while ago and never picked it back up.
I suppose this web site is easing its way through what might be the plot arc for a cheesy Hollywood romance movie starring a mid-90’s era Ethan Hawke: at first, the novelty and the newness of the relationship is intoxicating: Ohmygod you are such a good listener and you really care about what I’m saying!
After a while a narcissism-induced hangover sets in. Faster than you can say maybe we should just be friends the affair is over, and all you’re left with is a shoebox full of letters, photos, and the distinct feeling that you no longer have anything meaningful to talk about.
I originally started posting online because I enjoyed writing and wanted to improve, and like the truly self-absorbed I didn’t think it was worth doing unless I had an audience. At the same time I thought this site could be my “designer’s playground”: a place for me to experiment and grow as a designer.
The problem of course is the urge to write has faded a lot over the past year or so. I no longer plan and scheme post ideas days (or even weeks) ahead of time, and my flickering desire to inform the world of what I’ve been up to / doing / seeing / thinking hasn’t exactly overwhelmed me into action. At the same time I stopped redesigning the site because a) I was too busy working, and b) my self-induced pressure to knock the redesign out of the ballpark pretty much paralyzed me instead into doing nothing.
You know you’ve jumped the blogging shark when you’ve stooped to posting about the fact that you’ve lost the wherewithal to post in the first place. The obvious next question is, what’s next?
I'm back from five days in Chicago, spent mostly trying to wrap my arms around the behemoth that was Lollapalooza 2006, cavorting with some lovely friends, acting like a social retard, and suffering from a mild generational crisis. The brain is sun-dazed, the body a teensy bit achy (and oh-so tanned), and the ears have been both pampered and pummelled with three whole days of music.
This was also my first time back in Chicago since the early nineties (and my first real trip where I actually had time to explore), and while there wasn't much time or energy outside of the festival for sight-seeing, I did get a bit of a chance to look around. I gotta say: Chicago, you're one damn fine-looking city. Toronto should aspire to look so good.
For the many people who commented or emailed me: yes, I know Firefox 1.5.0.6 is out, and at some point in the next couple of days once I get caught up on sleep / work / quality time with the girlfriend I'll try to update my builds.
We’ve been back from our trip to Costa Rica and Nicaragua for a week. I would have posted an “I’m back” sooner, but both Renée and I caught elephant-sized colds within a couple of days of returning home. I’m just now beginning to hold my mental shit together long enough to stare at the computer for a bit, though even five days after impact I’m still a bit bleary-eyed.
Costa Rica is easily the most beautiful country I’ve ever seen. Travel guides kept referring to Costa Rica as being especially verdant, so I was expecting lots of shrubbery. I wasn’t disappointed.
With this being the so-called “Green Season” (Costa Rica’s rainy season) I expected bad weather but was surprised at how nice the weather ended up. Yes, it’s hot and often insanely humid (so much so that my glasses often fogged up when I went outdoors) but we barely had any rain at all. The exception was one massive downpour during the drive back from a day trip to Arenal Volcano and Tabacon Hot Springs (which, I might add, is a Must See if you ever go to Costa Rica).
One big first for me on this trip was the fact that we stayed at an all-inclusive resort. This was my first time staying at a resort, and while it was pleasant, it also was very much like staying on a land-locked cruise ship. The convenience was great, but with not much else to do but eat, drink, swim, and attend suspiciously titled live music revues with titles like “Hooray for Hollywood” (replete with purple sequined costumes) the experience got kind of stale really fast.
I still feel a little bit uncomfortable if I’m on vacation and not making at least a bit of effort — probably part of the whole journey is the destination thing I was brought up in — and the resort seemed a little too easy. We ended up using the resort as a home base and spent most of our time taking day trips into the surrounding Guanacaste countryside, which worked out well.
If you’re interested in seeing some of the places we checked out, take a look at my Costa Rica / Nicaragua Flickr photoset. For some of the photos I’ve added little micro-posts that might make them more interesting, or not.
This was our first true vacation in over five years, and my first full week unplugged from email, the web, cell phones, information overload, news, and the rest of that nuttiness. In the end of it all the country, the people, my sweet travelling companion, and the gloriously disconnectedness of it all: pure bliss.
Sticky, smoggy air has pushed its way into every nook and cranny of the apartment. The notoriously humid, hot Toronto weather has started baking the city, releasing aromas even the raccoons find rather disturbing. Grown men have taken to unleashing seat-rumbling flatulence through perspiration-soaked cutoffs on packed subway trains.
Hello, summer!
The business around Casa del Beatnik has been pretty bizzy these days, with the new job slowly revealing itself in a multitude of non-perverted ways, and anticipation growing for a well-deserved trip to a Central American paradise. I’ve been getting back into bike-riding (to the chagrin of my 90-pound-weakling body) and hanging out withallofthecoolestTorontonerds and neighbours whenever I’ve a chance.
This summer my goal is to squeeze the lemon ‘till the juice runs down my leg. That, or maybe figure out if big-legged women really don’t have soul. At least that’s what a dude on the streetcar was pontificatin’ in a rather loud voice a few days ago.
There’s something truly awesome about cheese-ball lyrics belted out loud on a crowded streetcar at 9am without any context whatsoever. The world needs more dada.
All in all, it’s shaping up to be a very unboring summer.
I don’t understand how I’ve started slipping into posting once a month but I don’t like it. Things are hopping here so I guess I have an excuse. Still, my site has taken to leaving little post-its around the apartment with increasingly forlorn messages on them. — Are you okay? — Was it something I said? — You know, you can just write me a note if there’s something you want to talk about. — Why haven’t you returned my calls? — I’m going to mother’s and you can phone me there when you’re ready to talk.
Sigh.
Inexplicable high CPU usage on MacBook Pro
If you’re seeing high CPU usage on your MacBook Pro (or any Intel-base mac) that you can’t seem to track down in Activity Monitor or top, try checking the Sharing preference pane in System Preferences. If Windows File Sharing is checked, try toggling its checkbox off and on. I had this issue with a new MacBook Pro that was driving me nuts - nothing was listed in Activity Monitor or top, but the CPU was hovering at 80% and my machine was overheating.
Turns out samba (which powers the Windows File Sharing feature in OS X) was launching and then crashing over and over and over and driving CPU usage nastily high, but toggling the sharing pref fixed the issue.
Gotta love the Apple Store
Speaking of MacBook Pro’s, it turns out my new work machine has a buggered screen. It has a very strong blue / cyan cast that I can’t get rid of through calibration. So I went down to the new Eaton Centre Apple Store to visit the Genuis Bar for the first time.
I didn’t even have to show the issue to the technician. I explained the problem and she promptly asked, “do you have your receipt?” and said that I could exchange my machine for a new one if it was purchased within 14 days.
Unfortunately I was a few days past the cut-off date, but they’re going to order a replacement screen and logic board for me anyway. I explained that I can’t really go without the machine for too long as I need it for work, so they’re going to schedule the repair over the weekend. If that still doesn’t fix the issue she said they’d go ahead and replace the laptop with a brand new one, which is pretty cool. I’ll keep you posted how it turns out.
Oh, besides the screen issue it’s not too bad of a machine, though it does have the whining issue and did get rather hot until I installed the latest SMC firmware updater. But it’s fast and feels pretty much the same as my G4 Powerbook, which is a good thing.
Firefox 1.5.0.4
Jumping jehosophat, people, I know a new version of Firefox is out. I get the internets here too, you know.
I gotta say, every person who emails me or posts a comment that tries to:
Guilt me into building a new version,
Assume that insulting me or my intelligence will make a new build magically appear (if you really think this works, I fear for your loved ones), or
Repeatedly email me every day asking when the new build will be available
… makes me not want to post builds at all. Here’s a hint: haranguing me just pisses me off. Please stop.
For everyone else who is patiently waiting for new builds, they’re coming, and if you could kick the idiots in your midst in the ass for me, I’d appreciate it.
For the record, the new builds will take a bit longer as I’m looking into how to set up a Firefox update server. I don’t want to have to build the entire application when it’s just a teensy update that’s been released, and I’m sure you would appreciate being able to update your optimized build from within the browser, too.
So give me a few days and hopefully I should have some new builds posted. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to shut the computer off and go have a life for a bit.
I wish I could remember where I read this, but one quote that has stuck with me since elementary school goes something like this:
“To live free and happily, you must give up boredom. It is not always an easy sacrifice.”
(edit - it was author Richard Bach. Thank goodness for search engines.)
Life around here is going to get rather unboring (sorry, Ikea) quite quickly.
In just over seven days Renée leaves for a six-week business trip to Bogotá, Colombia. This is both very exciting and equally disturbing in a “freak my shit up” way. Colombia is, after all, a country where western tourism has been almost non-existent for so long it’s almost impossible to find maps for sale or travel information that doesn’t mention the FARC, paramilitary groups, or the Colombia drug cartels.
I’m going to be joining her at the end of June for a couple of weeks, so I’ll get to see first hand what life in Colombia is like. We’re both trying to be positive about it all, and from what I can tell the security situation in Bogotá is much better than, say, five years ago. I’m sure the trip will be uneventful and incredibly rewarding. But the unknownness of everything leaves me feeling more than a little queasy. I wish the newly revised Lonely Planet guide was available.
This will also be the longest that Renée and I have been separated since we started dating, which will be strange and lonely in itself.
Luckily, I will have my own new challenges and changes to keep me busy. I have just accepted a position with Yahoo! as an highfalutin Senior User Experience Designer working out of the Canadian office. My first day is in a couple of weeks.
It seems weird in a way to be moving back into full-time employment after living as a freelancer and consultant for so long; having the luxury of the occasional two hour lunch and bi-weekly “underpants-only” work days has definitely been pretty sweet. But it was time for something new.
There’s something beguiling about getting a chance to tackle some of the big-ass design challenges like those a huge media company like Yahoo! can provide. It doesn’t hurt one bit either that Yahoo has been gettinginvolvedwithsomereallycoolstuff as of late. So colour me jonesed.
As usual for this site, that’s probably most of what you’ll hear about my work. I don’t write about work very often (for obvious reasons) and this will probably be no different. But now you know.
I’ve been so busy lately I completely forgot to wish the BeatnikPad happy birthday. Last week marked five years since I started this site, and it’s been six and 1/2 years since I started self-publishing online. I had been hoping to roll out a redesign that I’ve been sitting on for ages as long-overdue birthday present — there’s nothing like some new duds to cheer up a slightly ignored friend — but alas, it’ll have to wait.
This year’s birthday resolutions: write more and ramble less (too late), crack more stupid jokes (because it feels good), post more photos, and redesign the damn site before Christmas is upon us. Come back next year to see how I do.
There’s no real tangible reason for me to feel this way, but I’m glad that this week is over. It’s been a tiring five days and I’m not exactly sure why, but I fumbled my way through the week with a cloud of lead ball bearings enveloping my head and shoulders. It felt as if someone had fastened bowling balls to my kneecaps, filled my ears with cotton and UHU Stic, and pushed me into the middle of a highway.
Renée has been feeling the same way all week, too, so either we’re both fighting off another round with the plague, or someone is secretly piping eau de laudanum into our apartment. I blame the patriarchy.
Jane Jacobs died earlier this week, and the first thing I thought when I read the news was, “damn”, followed by, “this is exactly what it felt like when Pauline Kael died.”
Jane Jacobs was another person (like Pauline Kael) whose writing made me feel smart. Discovering and reading The Death and Life of Great American Cities while in high school… well, it was one of those so-called watershed moments. I remember finishing the book and having a sense of my place in the world and a feeling of great potential. Considering at the time I barely had a grasp on my own hormones this was a pretty big deal.
I remember actually thinking that I wanted to become a politician afterwards; the book made you feel like the only proper response to reading it was to act. That was her gift, really - this incredibly intelligent, articulate, unmistakably human voice that made you want to jump up and make shit right.
There was something about the fact that Jacobs chose to live not only in Canada but in my adopted home of Toronto that make me feel proud. It seemed like a little smidgen of proof that Toronto has been doing at least some things right all along.
36 years old at some point this morning, not sure when. Still sick with a nasty flu.
When I was a kid, on my birthday I used to double my age and say, “when I’m x years old, I’m going to…” and make up some outlandish thing like visit Mongolia, tweak the nose of the Prime Minister, or shave my head like Mr. T.
Just as I took this photo I thought, “When I’m 72 I’ll going to… be 72.”
That gave me a moment’s pause. But only a moment - J’aime ma vie beaucoup.
I’ve been keeping a fairly low profile since I got back from SXSW a couple of weeks ago. Upon my return I was immediately swamped by Stuff That Needs Immediate Attention, Too Many Clothes That Fail the Smell Test, and of course Quality Time With The Girlfriend and Cats — all priorities to be sure. Things were going just smashingly until last Saturday, when I got walloped by an über-cold that left me quivering, fragile, and phlegmy.
The cold I’m currently playing host to is one of those apocalyptic ailments that left me feeling literally like I was getting the snot kicked out of me (insert emphatic eeeewwwww). Needless to say I haven’t been good for much this week except shaking my fist feebly (but passionately) at shitty daytime television and making a casual attempt to read melodramatic American fiction written by uneasy, balding white guys.
One thing that I did ended up doing this week was start and scrap about a dozen attempts at writing my thoughts on SXSW 2006. My feelings about this year’s conference are complex to say the least, and I was getting stress wrinkles on the back of my neck trying to figure out a way to communicate how I felt.
Thankfully I can unclench myself because my SXSW roommate / good buddy James McNally posted his thoughts on the conference. He nailed what I was feeling more eloquently, passionately, and succinctly than I could possibly have. Thanks, James! I’m still going to go next year, but my expectations will definitely be much lower.
Even with the somewhat disappointing SXSW, 2006 is turning into a very interesting year. There’s a very good chance in a couple of months I will leaving for Bogota, Columbia, where I’ll be staying for 3-6 weeks. If anyone reading this is or knows anyone from there, please get in touch or let me know in the comments any advice, places to visit, or things to see that you can recommend.
Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for the daily clearing of the lungs (A-HEM!) and a hearty session of researching the intricacies of FARC.
One of the decisions I made while down in Austin surrounded by lots and lots of intimidatingly smart people was: I need to read more long fiction.
Before I got involved with the dirty succubus called The Web I used to read fiction. A lot. Working full-time as a bookseller for a few years probably had plenty to do with this. I would spend hours pouring through The Quill & Quire, the New York Times Book Review, and other collections of book reviews looking for new, interesting books to read. Back then I read a new book probably every two weeks.
Now? Not so much. I read a fair bit of short fiction courtesy of McSweeney’s and other excellent anthologies, but I haven’t read a novel in quite some time. I intend to change that.
Every month, starting April 1st, I want to read a different novel.
So, what should I read? Give me some suggestions in the comments. I tend to prefer literary fiction, but I’ll try anything (except fantasy) for at least 50 to 100 pages.
It’s that time of year again when designers, web gurus, nerds, and other ne’er-do-wells congregate like party-hungry lamprey in Austin, Texas for another kick at the can that is South by Southwest, version 2006. I’m off bright and early tomorrow morning with my friendly travelling companion James McNally for this year’s conference cum 5-day party, and I’m looking forward to reconnecting with friends and meeting new people.
For those of you attending, see you soon! For those of you who are content to watch from the sidelines, I’ll be sure to bring you back some sunshine, BBQ meat, and stories of frivolity and derring-do. Austin-ho!
It’s been quite since I’ve written anything remotely journal-like for this site. This isn’t for lack of ideas of what to write about, however.
The last four or five months have been some of the busiest ever. Everything has been a crazed flurry of running around, and screaming, and gnashing of teeth, and moments of stressed-out, involuntary buttock clenching, and laughing out loud with just a teensy sliver of mania present, and a lot of swooning in damp, dark rooms with a moist towelette on the forehead like Greta Garbo in Grand Hotel, but a hell of a lot less elegantly.
A big part of this was my involvement for the past five months on the redesign of the Globe and Mail, which finally launched a few weeks ago. It was a huge job with six of us working full-time to build out and integrate the new design (by G&M newspaper designer Adrian Norris) with the Globe’s somewhat antiquated content management system.
The new site won’t win any design awards, but it’s a huge improvement over the previous design and we worked our geeky asses off on it. It only has two validation errors on the homepage (both ads-related), and it’s an all-CSS, semantic layout that’ll hopefully garner some poindexter cred with the too-cool pocket protector crowd.
Sporadic victories aside, it’s been a crazy time. I massively over-committed myself to too many projects and have been teetering on the verge of burn-out more than a couple of times - something I promised myself I would be more careful to avoid. The industry is just hopping these days, though, and it’s sometimes hard to say no when big, high-profile projects somehow manage to plop onto the dance card.
I don’t know if it’s something in the air in Toronto, but something about this city brings the workaholic out in me, and I don’t like it. I’ve been so busy lately that my social skills are starting to resemble rotting eggplant. Come to think of it, I’m not smelling so great, either.
The good news is that SXSW 2006 is rapidly approaching, and if that doesn’t knock me hard on my ass in the best way possible, nothing will. I’m heading back down with James McNally, the Zen Master General himself, and I expect to play swing-eights and slam dunk the moon more than a few times. I can’t wait.
In a lovely, affordable house in a nice, friendly city owned by Renée and I that isn’t located above a rendering plant, next door to a sulfur pit, or within a thousand metres of Mike Fleiss.
Hanging out with my brother and nephew, listening to my dad complain while my mom shakes her head and sighs.
Tuscany, Italy (though I’d gladly settle for Cinque Terre)
Somewhere where they understand the concept of the Frictionless Life. Montreal is an excellent candidate.
Four people I’m tagging
I think I’ll leave it at that, thanks. To make up for this, I’ll add:
Four moments worth savouring:
The first time I successfully performed an ollie, summer 1980
Sleeping under the stars at Shuswap Lake while on tour, 1990
Walking down the backlane with my brother Kevin after playing pool at the UofM, 1986
Standing at the top of a hill in the Parc Guell with Renée, Barcelona, 2001
“Hey, aren’t you the bassist from Death Angel?” (note: he’s Filipino)
“OH MY GOD, you’re James Iha!” (half-Japanese, though I did have blonde hair at the same time he did, for what it’s worth)
Some guy named Terry, who apparently treated this girl rather badly (I got slapped in the face at the bar)
“Holy shit - you’re the guy from 21 Jump Street!” (Vietnamese. This was preceded by the same person saying that my aboriginal buddy was “totally Johnny Depp”.)
Repeatedly mistaken for a guy named Nick. Nick, Neil - they both sounds like verbs, I guess.
Someone with a deep, meaningful grasp of the dark martial arts. You would be amazed how often this still happens. Stop learning your racial stereotypes from 70’s action movies, please.
“Hey, aren’t you the guy from the Mighty Power Rangers?” (Archie Kao, now a semi-regular on CSI, and Chinese.)
Shauna’s boyfriend’s cousin Lance. Maybe this name-as-verbs theory does hold water…
The “surly, bitchy shop owner” from the convenience store down the street.
It’s that time of year again where every magazine, newspaper, weblogger, and opinionated man-about-town weighs in with their best of 2005 lists. I don’t have anything against such retrospection, but once you’ve read one, you’ve probably read them all. I mean unless it’s something incredibly unusual like Top Ten Songs Playing While My Neighbour Had Furtive, Ultimately Unsatisfying Sex With His Girlfriend or Top Six Actors Who Make Me Think Of Tapioca chances are it’s all stuff you’ve seem already.
My favourite songs of 2005 aren’t relegated to just albums that were released this year (though most of them were). These are just songs that struck a nerve, got stuck in my ear, had me quaking in my dancing shoes, or stabbed me in my wimpy little heart and made me bleed a little.
Here’s the list:
John Cale - A Child’s Christmas in Wales (1919)
Broken Social Scene - 7/4 (Shoreline) (Broken Social Scene)
Novillero - The Hypothesist (Aim Right for the Holes in Their Lives)
A Girl Called Eddy - The Long Goodbye (A Girl Called Eddy)
The National - All the Wine (Alligator)
Rogue Wave - California (Descended Like Vultures)
Sufjan Stevens - Casimir Pulaski Day (Illinois)
Josh Rouse - Streetlights (Nashville)
Sigur Rós - Hoppípolla (Takk)
The Decemberists - We Both Go Down Together (Picaresque)
Spoon - The Two Sides of Monsieur Valentin (Gimme Fiction)
Pernice Brothers - Amazing Glow (Discover A Lovelier You)
Calexico / Iron & Wine - He Lays in the Reins (In The Reins)
Howie Beck - Alice (Howie Beck)
The Cardigans - I Need Some Fine Wine (and You Need to be Nicer) (Super Extra Gravity)
The Go! Team - Junior Kickstart (Thunder Lightning Strike)
The Quantic Soul Orchestra - Pushin’ On (Featuring Alice Russell) (Pushin On)
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - Nature Boy (Abbatoir Blues)
Stars - Ageless Beauty (Set Yourself on Fire)
Archer Prewitt - O, Ky (Wilderness)
Max Richter - Organum (The Blue Notebooks)
And as a special gift to you all, here’s my first BeatnikPad radio mix featuring these songs. It’s 80 minutes of pure love and it’s my thanks to you for visiting, commenting, emailing, and generally being swell human beings. I’ll probably leave this up for a few weeks as the bandwidth usage might get a bit nutty (it’s 110mbs, after all), but please download it, enjoy, and let me know what you think.
Over the next week I’m going to start going into more detail on why I chose each of these songs. Hopefully it’ll be interesting enough for you to come back, visit, and add your own favourite tracks of 2005.
Yup, here is my 80’s hair in all of its splendour, vainglory, and majesty. Them’s some pretty choice folicles, I must say. I came across this photo on my old high school’s web site (brought to you by the wonders of FrontPage) and figured it was time to share.
Let’s dig those skeletons out of our closets and display them proudly! I don’t care if you had tresses that cascaded over your shoulders like Peter Frampton, a saucy Simon Le Bon whippet, or a egomaniacal Bono mullet, show your high school hair and show it with pride!
I just picked up an early Christmas present for myself. I bought a new camera: the Nikon D50.
I thought long and hard about this decision. I’m no great photographer by any stretch, and I’d like to improve my skills and develop photography into more than the occasional habit that it is right now for me. In my mind a big part of this means learning how to actually control the light that enters the camera. This means moving past the digital point-and-shoots that I’ve relied on for the past few years and buying a true SLR camera.
I hope everyone had a lovely Hallow’s Eve and are not already getting their eyes poked out by over-zealous retailers firing fake Christmas trees and garland all over the place. I noticed a couple of days ago that the big downtown mall in Toronto, Eaton Centre, already has their big-ass Christmas tree suspended high up in the air. It’s a glowing reminder to all who pass underneath that they are selfish bastards who should be spending their money on presents instead of another pair of gold-filigree denim jeans from Jakob.
That kind of pisses me off (the tree and not the denim, which makes my ass look absolute divine, thank you very much). As long as I can remember Halloween was the unspoken demarcation between the days of Not Christmas and the long run up to It’s Almost Christmas(So You Better Start Panicking And Buying Useless Shit For Your In-laws Immediately). No retailer dared pass this line without incurring the wrath of disgruntled parents and screaming in-laws the world over.
Now, it seems, the week before Halloween is fair game. Pretty soon we’ll have one week where there isn’t Christmas decorations up (between January 1st and 7th), and the rest of the time we’re going to be stuck listening to Feliz-fucking-Navidad and watching A Very Celine Dion Christmas until old age thankfully withers our eardrums and retinas. Frankly, I’m rather inflamed about the whole thing.
<beat>
As usual, I’m keeping myself pretty busy, which has lead to another long and rather depressing lull in posting to this site. Besides all of the excitement and incredible popularity that my post about musicians who have weblogs generated (which, I have to say, was possibly one of the most half-assed entries I’ve ever posted here - who said effort equals results?) not much has been happening around here.
The reality is after working all day in front of a computer, the last thing I want to do in my spare time is, well, sit in front of the computer. Of course, I end up doing that anyway, but it’s mostly aimlessly clicking on links in NetNewsWire and hitting refresh over and over again on 5ives, hoping for a fleeting moment of mirth. I seriously have no clue how people like Frank or Khoi manage to write such consistently good entries.
On that note, this made me laugh so hard I think I sprained my kidneys. Ow.
All instances of Tara Reid, but most especially these horrifying photos (NSFW, and truly frightening)
Stealthy fart smells, especially on the subway and when taking the streetcar down King street. I used to think people were rude, then I realized that the city just smells bad. Well, and people are rude.
That time when I capped off staying awake for over eighty consecutive hours by eating a massive plate of Mongo Bongo (plastic-mall food-stir fry) and riding the so-called “Death Rollercoaster” in West Edmonton Mall. Dear innocent bystanders: I apologize.
Three words: 80’s hair metal. What was I thinking?
Actually thinking that doing the splits in front of Karen H. would impress her, and then trying to do so while wearing tight jeans. In front of many witnesses. Grade 7 was a very long year.
Feliz-fucking-Navidad.
The night when I got into a substance-induced bellowing match with a poor Salisbury House employee over the deluded idea that calling their hamburgers “nips” was a racist act.
Convincing myself she meant no, when she actually meant yes.
This thunderstorm occurred in mid July, just after I had started actually writing (not organizing, not outlining, not pitching) the book. I remember I had been sitting at the desk for almost three hours with a blank Word document in front of me. The flashing cursor was like an SOS signal. I was completely empty.
This spirited thunderstorm started farting and belching outside, and I went into the sun room beside our home office to watch lightning bolts flash into the park in the distance. I shot some shaky video with my Canon Elph, and then this hippie dude and his girlfriend went splashing by on their bikes in water that was at almost two feet deep.
I’d like to say the absurdness of the whole thing sent a lightning bolt of inspiration blazing into my ear, but the truth is I went back to the computer, fired up NetNewsWire, and threw in the towel.
Writing was like that for weeks until I got into the groove. There would be long days of sitting at the computer, cursing my quaggy brain and feeling absolutely moronic, and then one or two days of nearly manic productivity, where at least half of the stuff I wrote was utter shit. But at least I was writing.
The funny thing is even though that book has been cancelled, I’m throwing myself back into the fracas and starting work on another one. I can’t decide if this could be seen as the irrepressible passion of a man who has “something to say”, or just the final bit of drool out of the mouth of an absolute con.
This video proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that my iMovie editing skills absolutely suck. In my defense, this is only the second time I’ve tried playing around with iMovie. There’s only so much room in my brain, and every time I learn something new, something old has to get tossed to make room. Sigh.
(Note: if you’re reading this in your newsreader, you’ll have to visit the site to view the video. I’m using a Javascript method to embed the Quicktime so that it doesn’t break validation.)
I got some bad news this morning from my editor: my book has been cancelled. Kaput. Taken a long walk off of a short pier. Given up the ghost. Toasted. Et cetera.
I have to admit this news didn’t come as a massive shock to me. This is actually my second attempt at a book - my first was with a publisher that went out of business just over a month after the book was initially started. I’m keenly aware that the publishing industry can be a world of abrupt endings; the technology publishing industry is even more fragile. I’m not bitter, nor am I devastated.
But I can’t help feeling a little disappointed.
That said, I don’t begrudge the time I put into the book up to this point. My writing has vastly improved since I first started working on this project, and I have gleamed valuable experience in the book writing process. But it would have been nice to have taken things all the way.
My publisher is doing me well and making sure I get some compensation for my time, and the door isn’t closed to the possibility of future opportunities. I gotta say, though, if I get another kick at the can, I really hope the adage that “third time’s the charm” really does hold water.
Six days away from the computer, email, and responsibility. Montreal bagels (specifically St-Viateur bagels). Being told that my first chapter was “great” after weeks of waiting, worrying, and nail-biting. Open wireless access points at my favourite cafés. Clomicalm. The fact that Tom Cruise is no longer in the news every goddamn day. The slight chill in the air that signifies the beginning of autumn. The return of Arrested Development. Modern air flight. The Economist. Funny-shaped post-it notes. Sufjan Stevens. Path Finder. Ocean Spray cranberry juice. That Rockstar:INXS is finished tonight, so I can finally get back to avoiding all reality TV shows. Crumpler bags. Bittorrent (the new VCR poor man’s Tivo). Permanent press button shirts. TVBGone. Simon & Patrick Luthier guitars. Cheesy acoustic guitar ballads from the 80’s. A lovely girlfriend who enjoys “Talk like a pirate day” as much as I do. Cats. Giada De Laurentiis. Dickies work pants (aka “those old man pants of yours”). pop77 mixes (and the DJ, too). The fact that people still read this web site even though I post smelly turd-like posts like this one.
Well, that’s more like it. Had a fairly productive writing day, though the heat is being applied to my buttocks in higher and higher temperatures. The plan this weekend is to hide off in the bush somewhere and write my ass, well, off. Actually caught myself feeling a slight tinge of confidence about the whole project, though it could just be that chicken satay I ate for lunch playing tricks with my self-esteem…
Mood is back to its vaguely crabby but relatively normal self, which is also nice. I got enough work done today that I rewarded myself with a date with Renée to see a matinee of the new Jim Jarmusch movie Broken Flowers. It’s great. After watching the 75% steaming pile that was Coffee and Cigarettes, it’s nice to have the dead-pan, sardonic Jarmusch back again that we know and love.
Bill Murray gives a performance that could only be summed up as spartan. He strips away any excessive movement or facial expression and distills his performance down to the barest of essentials. It’s like the best use of white space you’ve ever seen in a movie; it’s not what’s being shown as much as what isn’t.
I don’t know why — maybe there’s a full moon tonight, I got up on the proverbial “wrong” side of the bed, there’s a disturbance in the Force, or someone secretly changed my Livejournal mood to “Crankypants”
— but I’ve been feeling unusually stressed out today.
No, scratch that. Stressed out isn’t quite the right way to describe it. It’s more like the mild level of panic, like I’m sensing that an airplane engine is about to come crashing down on our house, or I’m about to get a call from a long-lost fling with news that I’m the father of mutated. angry quintuplets. I would almost say it’s like my spidey-sense is tingling, but that makes me think about Kirsten Durst, and then I start to feel the rumblings of borborygmus deep in my bowels — so I won’t.
I suppose it could stem in part from writer’s anxiety, but that’s not it, really. Today I got into not one, but two arguments on the same mailing list about stuff that really is quite inconsequential; arguments I know better to avoid. A car cut me off as I was riding my bike up to one of the cafés that I write at, and I almost took out the guy’s rear window with my lock. A screaming match nearly ensued. I never get into screaming matches. All day the cats have been keeping their distance from me, like they smell a disaster that they want nothing to do with.
I even bought a freaking ice cream cone and dropped the damn thing on the ground like I was part of some kind of Charlie Brown reality performance art piece. SIGH.
So, yeah. I’m going to turn the computer off and back away slowly. It’s time to soak in the tub, put on some early Frank Sinatra, hang out with my sweetie, and ignore the world for a bit in the hopes that it’s all just a phase, and that tomorrow will, as the cliché goes, just be another (hopefully normal) day.
About a month ago, I received an email via this site asking me questions about a memoir I had written for Quebec filmmaker Jean-Claude Lauzon. After a quick flurry of emails, I confirmed that it was from Chicago Sun-Times movie critic Roger Ebert, who was doing some research on Lauzon for an upcoming article on Lauzon’s masterpiece Léolo.
That in itself was yet another affirmation that the web rocks harder than Kiss Alive. Imagine my nearly-peeing-myself-in-shock surprise when I was looking at his web site today and came across his recent article on Léolo. Not only does he hat-tip me, he also quotes from my article.
I know this is total self-pimpin’, but I don’t care. I’ve been gradually sinking into a mild funk as the writing for The Book progresses (the usual writer’s self-flagellation of I suck, I’m a terrible writer, I’m a fraud, I don’t know my ass from a pomegranate, etc.), and this little pick-me-up comes at an opportune time.
So, thanks Internets, and thanks Roger Ebert, for so completely making my week. I’ll try to not let this idiotic grin plastered all over my face get too obnoxious. If you haven’t seen Léolo yet, run to your local video store / NetFlix account (update: Netflix doesn’t carry it) and rent it. It’s absolutely incredible.
You may have been wondering why I have not replied to your email. Or why your phone calls to me reach no one but the cold, robotic murmurs of virtual voice messaging or a lonely-sounding girlfriend. You may have been unlucky enough to run into me on the street and thought to yourself, “Damn, that boy is not looking very good these days,” followed by “why is his face so dirty? Wait, is that supposed to be facial hair?”
No, I haven’t joined a cult, and I haven’t lost my last shred of self-dignity and taken to surfing porn sites all day whilst wearing greasy sweat pants. While I’d love to be able to say something dramatic like, “have I ever told you about how absolutely delightful Scientology is?”, the truth is much more mundane. I’m writing a book.
Yes. After months of frenzied negotiations, frantic phone calls at 3am, and long periods of self-doubt interrupted with brief moments of Rock Star: INXS to make me feel temporarily superior, I’m writing a book for O’Reilly. The contract is finally signed and all that’s left now is for me to write, write, write like my life depended on it.
I’m reminded at this point by Joe Clark’s response to my statement, “‘I’ve been offered the opportunity to write a book,” which was simply “Don’t”. Or another experienced author’s sage advice that I “stay hydrated and shower often”. Needless to say, I’ve ignored both of their advice.
Assuming I get through this process without losing my mind (or my girlfriend), I will hopefully post more information as I get closer to finishing. But for now, if you send me email or call me and I don’t reply, please don’t take it personally. I’m probably off in a damp, dark room somewhere, staring blank-eyed at my computer.
That scouring the city for an air conditioner would make me very grumpy.
That getting the last window air conditioner available at Costco would almost precipitate a fist fight with a large, very sweaty and hairy man.
That attempting to install a window air conditioner in +34° temperatures (+42° with the humidity) would leave me feeling woozy and dizzy.
That window air conditioners often require wood shims underneath (less it fall on top of unsuspecting people below) that are very difficult to find in High Park and often mean negotiating with large, very sweaty and hairy men at lumberyards.
That after three hours of struggling and cursing it turns out that air conditioners cannot be installed on side slider windows.
Living less than 50 feet away from High Park, where there’s tennis to be played, trails to explore, pools to swim in, and Shakespeare to be spectated
Being pleasantly busy without feeling that sense of panic that usually accompanies lots of work (though I still need to find a good café with free wifi - anyone?)
Gallivanting about with Renée like madcap beatniks without a care in the world
Getting to see David Sedaris do a public reading (he’s just as funny in person)
The tickle of a cool breeze on a hot, sweaty day that makes your whole body shiver deliciously
Not having much of a plan for the summer, and being completely and utterly pleased with that state of affairs
i was having a dream last week about chris martins from coldplay. he was giving me a rather vigorous massage while weaving this convoluted and rather dull story about sexual conquests in the upper quarry of brazil. i have absolute no idea if there is such a place as the upper quarry of brazil, but that’s what the guy said and you gotta take the brits at their word, don’t you? for some reason stephen chow was there, frowning rather disapprovingly at the spectacle while teaching harry dean anderson the finer points of oyster shucking.
i often have dreams involving famous people. i don’t know if admitting this leaves me just one or two steps away from a life of pure cliché, but what the hell. at any rate, it’s late and i’ve decided i don’t like capitalization any more. well, at least right now, until i get a that dream job redesigning the lcbonhlabcibm etc. web site.
it’s been incredibly hot and muggy here. so hot that you start to feel like your brain has evaporated itself into an extended steamy vacation, and nothing but pure bullshit comes gushing out of your mouth in unstoppable waves. i would say that this post fits into that category (which normally mean that it gets regulated into the draft bin for an eternity) but i don’t care, and i’m sick of looking at the previous post. that’s why you subscribe to the feed for this site anyway, right?
okay, enough of that. to make up for this waste of your precious seconds and minutes, here’s a photo of a mace flower i took at the jardin botanique de montréal:
Renée and I are off this weekend to Ottawa for the Ottawa marathon. I’d love to say that I’m running the marathon this year (going to beat last year’s time by at least 45, yessir), but the sad fact is I’m merely a lazy ass spectator. I have started running, ‘tis true, but my report on the status of that endeavor will have to wait for another day when my self-esteem can handle the shame.
Renée has been training to run the half marathon for over eight months, and I’m going to cheer her on, run along side her trailing links of energy-providing bierwursts and kegs of Macedonian wheat grog, and generally make a complete idiot of myself screaming out the melody to Chariots of Fire until I’m hoarse. I would have made a killer cheerleader.
Normally anything that seems even vaguely “meme-like” or quizzy — such as the incredibly tired “what kind of fungus are you?”-esque questionnaires (holy crap, I’m a north-facing fuzzy purple lichen!) — earns a wide berth from this beatnik, but for music, I make an exception. Señor Hicks heaved the musical baton my way, and who am I to resist?
Total volume of music files on my computer (thus validating the title of this post in a big way):
51.67 gigabytes. 9305 individual tracks. 27.1 days of music. I have a serious problem.
The last CD I bought was:
Ryan Adams & the Cardinals’ Cold Roses. Not bad, but suffers from a bit of “let’s make a double album!” musical padding.
Song playing right now:
Jah Jah Bless the Dreadlocks by The Mighty Diamonds, off of the Trojan Roots Box Set, CD 1.
Five songs I listen to a lot, or that means a lot to me:
Following the former (songs I listen to a lot), this is the five that seem to be getting a lot of iTunes time:
Iron & Wine - Jezebel
Calexico - Not Even Stevie Nicks
Kathleen Edwards - Back to Me
Femi Kuti - 97
The Futureheads - Decent Days and Nights
Though I’ve been listening to Supergrass’ Supergrass is 10 quite a bit these days, too.
Holy crap. Four years of posting to and tending to and getting pissed off by this web site. Going from here to here to what you’re currently soaking in, and all the while musing and bitching and recording for some kind of virtual prosperity the various experiences of this particular carbon unit.
In that time, this site has introduced me to dozens of friends and acquaintances, followed me through two major relocations, listened patiently as I complainedaboutmyhealth and an endless parade of boring minutiae, helped me secure a multitude of consulting and design gigs, and made me feel guilty on numerous occasions when it languished unattended.
I originally started this site on a lark. I never expected it to last longer than a few months, or for anyone to care in the least about its contents. The fact that over a thousand of you come here daily and that you’re here reading this now is still incredibly surprising and inspiring.
Happy birthday, beatnikpad. Let’s go and get some tasty libations into you.
Whether I like it or not, I’m a creature of (some) habit. That explains in part how I managed to get addicted to smoking, fizzy drinks, Macs, French, and countless other things. Probably one of my most tenacious and beloved addictions (besides my addiction to injecting black tar heroin into my — oh, nevermind) is my addiction to coffee.
There’s a Turkish proverb about the perfect cup of coffee that my old roommate Caelum once told me:
“Coffee should be black as hell, strong as death, and as sweet as love.”
(He actually made a movie with this as the title, but that’s another story for another time.)
And that pretty much sums it up for me. Every morning I wake up, scrub away the eye gremlins, pet the cats, and brew up a damn fine cuppa Good Morning America that gets poured into my favourite cup. I then sit down with the newspaper (or the laptop) and find out what’s going on in the world. This is all a simple but effective prelude to getting into a good work state of mind, and this ritual / habit has been a comfort for years and years.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe once said: Habit is a man’s sole comfort. We dislike doing without even unpleasant things to which we have become accustomed. There is some wisdom in this.
Yesterday morning, without warning, loud explosions, or blaring flugelhorns, my favourite cup broke.
This morning, I woke up, scrubbed away the eye gremlins, petted the cats, and brewed up a fine cuppa Good Morning America. I then sat down with the newspaper to find out what’s going on in the world.
A caveat: For those of you who are only here for the Firefox builds and the intermittent flurries of mirth, you might want to pass on this entry, because (and here comes the apt dooce all-caps): I TALK ABOUT MY HEALTH.
I’m back from SXSW, feeling exhausted but still vibrating from the exhilaration of the past six days. This was my first year at the conference and I wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but I was pretty much pleased with the whole experience. My brain still feels like oatmeal in a Baggie, so instead of writing a rambling 2000-word that might verge on the incoherent, I’ll summarize in bullet points.
I just stopped in at the hotel to grab a jacket and figured it was time to break the blog silence. The days have been absolutely spectacular, but it gets chilly in the evenings in Austin, didn’t you know. I’ve also learned that the native bird of Austin is the long-tailed Grackle, and that, when in Rome, it’s best to say, “y’all” whenever possible.
I am on my way to catch what I can of the Fray Café 5. I just had the extreme (extreme!) pleasure of hanging out for a spell with “The British Design Invasion”, which included someone I’d been looking forward to meeting, Jon Hicks. What a blast. I’ve had the great luck to meet lots of damn friendly folk here, and learn a thing or time while I’ve been at it.
Much more hot, sweaty post action on the festivities and the conference soon, as time permits. Ya’ll come back now, ya hear?
After years of sitting on the sidelines (due to busyness, laziness, or lack of financial wherewithal), I’m finally getting off of my duffel bag and headed down to South by Southwest. Judging by the list of panels and speakers, it looks like half the web is going, too.
It’s really exciting to finally get a chance to go to the festival, and will be equally cool and overwhelming to be around so many web nerds. The possibility of finally putting faces, and more importantly voices to names and URLs is going to be a blast.
If you see me wandering around with a glazed donut look on my face, feel free to grab me and say hello. At the very least, please be kind enough to point me in the direction of the nearest caffeinated beverage.
So what the heck have I been doing for the past three weeks that has prevented me from regaling you with tales of yore and derring-do? Well, work, mostly. Lots and lots of work. But it’s all cool and good, and I’m definitely much happier now than I’ve been in a while vis-a-vis le travail. Thanks for asking.
But, as Jack Nicholson said so eloquently, “All work and no play”… and after staring bug-eyed at CSS rendering bugs, Movable Type limitations, and the evil rat bastard that is Internet Explorer 5 for the Mac, I had to get some play in my system, stat. Renée has a very low tolerance for me busting down doors with axes and typing maniacally at a worn-out Underwood while drooling uncontrollably. She’s funny that way.
So it was the giddy rush of The Incredibles on Friday night, chased down Saturday evening by the deep blue sadness of Million Dollar Baby. Today, we ambled our way down to the St. Lawrence Market area, more to get out of the house than to shop. There was fog in the air, and an invigorating chill tickling the earlobes that made you glad you had blood in your veins, and a beautiful girl holding your hand.
Of course, like good little non-native Torontonians we never knew that the Market was closed on Sundays and Mondays - who knew?
It’s interesting to me that the front page article in today’s Sunday Star (which, by the way, is absolutely kicking ass with its new, gorgeous design and rejigged magazine-style content) was a big article on how the rest of Canada views Toronto, entitled Why do they hate Toronto? Of course, the article was replete with cries of unfriendly! and self-centred! and that hoary chestnut, uptight!
Being a non-native, it’s easy sometimes to see why people view Toronto this way. Every city has its share of uptight, self-centred, unfriendly assholes, and Toronto happens to have quite a few of them. But it’s also quite sad and equally ignorant how many people, who have never actually been to Toronto or spent any meaningful amount of time here, feel so strongly that this place is deserving to be known as the asshat of Canada.
Ah well. All I know is that on Friday afternoon I was riding the streetcar. I could hear a Chinese family talking in front of me, while girls gossiped loudly in Portuguese to my right, and two men held hands quietly just over my shoulder. Earlier that day, I heard Spanish and Italian and Arabic and Hebrew and French while walking down the street. Everyone is just living their lives and getting along. There’s outlandishly foreign soda pop available at the corner store, and my eyes are never bored. It makes me glad to be here, asshat of Canada or not.
It’s finally time to shimmy the last vestiges of the holidays out of the system and get down to business. Well, if posting to my site could be considered business, that is.
All told, my holidays were quite lovely, thanks. There was lots of visiting, lots of hanging out with friends and family, and much partaking of the “you’re a lucky bastard
Luckily, I will have my own new challenges and changes to keep me busy. I have just accepted a position with 
Jane Jacobs
I just picked up an early Christmas present for myself. I bought a new camera: the 
I don’t know why — maybe there’s a full moon tonight, I got up on the proverbial “wrong” side of the bed, there’s a disturbance in the Force, or someone secretly changed my Livejournal mood to “Crankypants”
— but I’ve been feeling unusually stressed out today.
I even bought a freaking ice cream cone and dropped the damn thing on the ground like I was part of some kind of Charlie Brown reality performance art piece. SIGH.
I just stopped in at the hotel to grab a jacket and figured it was time to break the blog silence. The days have been absolutely spectacular, but it gets chilly in the evenings in Austin, didn’t you know. I’ve also learned that the native bird of Austin is the long-tailed Grackle, and that, when in Rome, it’s best to say, “y’all” whenever possible.
After years of sitting on the sidelines (due to busyness, laziness, or lack of financial wherewithal), I’m finally getting off of my duffel bag and headed down to 
So what the heck have I been doing for the past three weeks that has prevented me from regaling you with tales of yore and derring-do? Well, work, mostly. Lots and lots of work. But it’s all cool and good, and I’m definitely much happier now than I’ve been in a while vis-a-vis le travail. Thanks for asking.
