War & Peace

After wanting to read it for years, wishing I had already read it, and generally just putting it off, I'm finally reading Tolstoy's War & Peace. I'll let you know how it goes.

Somebody...

...on the west coast has severely pissed off the weather gods. I'm not sure who or how, but sacrifices may be required to set things right. First it was the torrential rains and turbidity, then the arctic front with it's snow, ice, and sub-zero temperatures. Now it's the wind. We've been hit by at least 3 windstorms this week and as far as I know there are more on the way. As I lay in bed last night listening to the wind and rain pound against my windows, I wasn't entirely sure that my home was going to make it through the night. The neighbour of a friend of mine had their skylight blown off and she herself lost her eaves. There were many downed trees this morning and plenty of other damage including 180 000 or so homes without hydro. I have two friends who are in Vietnam right now, worried about a typhoon that may or may not be touching down. Forget that. They should be happy they're not here. Too bad when they come back they are going to find that their building has blown away.

Santaweb

I was at the post office today buying stamps to mail all of my Christmas cards, when the lady in front of me in the line-up asked the clerk whether sending a letter to Santa required national or international postage. It isn't something I'd given much thought to as when I was young enough to write to Santa Claus, postage was not one of my concerns, and then when postage did become one of my concerns, I was too old to write to Santa. The answer is national which I strongly agree with as it shows Canada Post is exerting Canada's territorial claims to the arctic. But I digress. Back at the office I told my boss about it and she asked, "where do letters to Santa go?" I'm not really sure where they end up, but according to the Canada Post website they are answered by volunteer elves in a number of languages. In searching, I also found this. Santa's online now. Why bother with paper and post office when you can e-mail him direct?

Fire #2 or The Lights Are On But...

I have a friend who reads my blog but is afraid to comment on it. She is intimidated by my erudition. She told me of a comment she wanted to make on my fire entry about how a gas fire can't replace the smell of a real wood fire. Which it can't. But it got me thinking...

The gas fire place looks nice, even provides some warmth but it is a shadow of a proper wood fire place or pit. There are flames, but there isn't the smell of wood smoke, the crackle of the fire, the hiss of sap from the logs hitting the flames, the blaze of heat, the red hot coals, the smoke in your face and so on. It doesn't end with fire of course; It seems this is the direction our entire culture has been heading for quite some time now. It is the prevalence of image over substance. How many vacuous starlets traipsing their way through the tabloids, how many poorly-written, meaningless best sellers, how many drivel-filled Hollywood blockbusters, how many schmaltzy sugary sweet pop songs, how many repetitive formulaic "reality" shows, and so on and so forth, until people say enough is enough, I'd like a little meat with my gravy. I realise that there are more substantial cultural products out there and also that there is a place for escapism, but when the dominant cultural entertainments are devoid of depth how long will it be until the culture itself lacks any meaning? Or are we already there? I have been accused of snobbery before and I must say I embrace the label somewhat. Why? Because I think we can all aspire to something better.

Mary Poppins!

I always thought there was something creepy about that woman.

Lock Up Your Camels!

A Christmas party at a riding school in Ireland was postponed after a camel that was part of Santa's Magical Animal Kingdom show got out of his pen, which had been left open. While the staff were getting ready for the party, Gus, the camel, got loose, ate 200 mince pies and drank 6 cans of Guinness. By all reports, Gus is fine. And why shouldn't he be? Guinness is goodness.

Story

Fire!

I've been thinking about fire recently, for a couple of reasons. Firstly, I heard a man on the radio a few weeks back talking about his inability to sleep and he suggested that perhaps it was ingrained, genetic even. His thought was that he was somehow programmed to be the guy who would stay up all night and watch the fire. My own inability to sleep made that resonate with me. Maybe I'm just not supposed to be sleeping at night; perhaps I too am the guy who should be up all night making sure the fire doesn't burn out, then when daylight comes, I go and sleep in a cave. The second reason is that I've just moved into a new home. It has a fireplace. Our ancestors survival was very much predicated on their ability to control and maintain fire...for warmth, cooking, light, protection, and so forth. This was the case well into the last century before the advent of electric or gas heating and is still the case for much of the world. But in our modern, western society, not so. Fire is now for many of us a luxury. And a luxury that doesn't even require the skill of fire building at that. In my new place, I turn the fire on by the flick of a light switch. It's all about atmosphere. Is this what has become of homo sapiens struggle for survival? I guess we won. I'm not really complaining, but I'd be lying if I said that there isn't a part of me that longs for that other way.

First Snowfall!

Doo, doo, doo, looking out my back door...


I know it isn't much snow. But this is the rainy city. And there's more on the way.

H to the O!

Do you remember when we used to be able to drink water from here?


I do but the memories are fading. Those were good times. On the bright side, all of Vancouver has learnt a new word: turbidity. It means crappy brown water that you can't drink.

Soup Is Good Food!

Anyone who has seen enough of my photographs knows that I have a thing for taking pictures of place settings with food or drinks. Anyhow, to counter this crappy, cold, drizzly weather, here is a yummy bowl of garlic soup served in a loaf of bread that I had in Český Krumlov last January.

Insomnia!

I'm not a good sleeper. I've written about that before. I'm not sure if I have ever been a good sleeper. I know that for a long time I thought sleep was a big waste of time and tried to do as little as possible of it, and that as a teenager and into my twenties I wished that I didn't need to sleep. As I've aged I've come to appreciate sleep more; thus I'm more aware of it just not happening for me. My entirely non-medical and non-professional diagnosis, based on reading various websites about insomnia, is that I suffer from intermittent insomnia, which falls somewhere between transient insomnia and chronic insomnia. I've also written about how I'm making at least some effort to work on that by laying off the caffeine in the afternoons/evenings, though I've not been entirely successful with that (Hello, lifestyle change takes time!). There are other things that I do, like not exercising too late in the day, not eating too late etc. But there are things I don't do. Supposedly you shouldn't read things that are too mentally challenging at night as it gets your mind working. That just is not going to work out for me, as I like to read a lot, and being a literary snob, I don't like reading mindless books. There are other things I don't do. The one that is in my mind most lately, and it has been a lot lately, as I've been up late a lot lately, is that if after 15 or so minutes you don't feel like you will fall asleep, you should get up. You need to train yourself to associate your bed with sleep. If you spend most of your time in bed not sleeping, that won't work. So up you should get. Or up I should get. But I don't. I know full well that it is good advice and I should follow it, but I'm too attached to the idea of sleep. I feel that somehow, despite years and years of evidence to the contrary, if I lie there for just a few more minutes, I'll fall asleep. I don't know what changed tonight, but I finally got up. So here it is, 2h45, and I'm up writing this. Isn't there some saying about being careful what you wish for?

Water Advisory? Whatever.

Because of the heavy rains and winds of the past few days Vancouver is currently under a boil water advisory. Basically the weather has stirred up the reservoirs, increasing the amount of silt in the water which makes it more difficult to filter. So Vancouverites are either buying bottled water or boiling their water beforehand. I fall into the latter category. However the big issue here is not the drinking water but rather an unforeseen victim of the advisory. Namely, coffee. In spite of some popular misconceptions about what the drug of choice is here in our fair city, the fact of the matter is that Vancouver is a city fuelled by caffeine, powered by the bean if you will. As someone said to me on the phone this morning, "All of the newspaper headlines should be,'Vancouver grinds to a halt.'" Here's something you may not know: coffee should ideally be made using water just under boiling temperature. So how does one make good coffee and still serve safe water? Well, apparently one doesn't. Unable to get enough safe drinking water, many of the city's coffee shops have closed down. Lots of people make their morning brew at home, but a large percentage of Vancouverites like to leave their morning cuppa to the pros. And the pros just aren't providing. Which means a lot of cranky and tired people are running about, not quite able to function at their full capacity. It should all be back to normal in a few days, but until then, please spare a thought for the poor, caffeine deprived, headache addled Vancouverites. Be patient with them.

Red Green In The House!

Wow, you really can make a wallet out of duct tape.

Dub Selector

While we're on the dub trip (see below) here is my new favourite website. It's the Dub Selector. You can choose your own rhythm tracks, add your own effects, and watch hours slip away as you find your inner King Tubby, Lee Perry or Mad Professor. Now if only there were a way to record it.

Scratch

I went to see Lee "Scratch" Perry on Sunday night at Richards on Richards. The opening band, Dub Is A Weapon, who also were the backing band for Scratch, were excellent. I wasn't really sure how dub music, which relies heavily on studio effects would translate to a live show, but it worked well. After the opening set and a short break, the band came out again, started playing and then out came Scratch, wearing a crazy metal plated hat, carrying a sceptre with a plastic skull and tinsel on it, covered in rings and necklaces and bracelets, and with a shoulder bag that looked like a ghetto blaster. Oh yeah, if you don't know already, Lee Perry is bonkers. We're talking about a man who burnt down his own recording studio, the legendary Black Ark, because he thought it was jinxed. For the next hour and half or so, Scratch performed. I'm not certain, but it seems to me that he made up the entire show as he went along, often talking gibberish, other times less so, on subjects such as voodoo, bodily functions, politics etc. I even think he was making up the lyrics as he went along, which somehow makes his shows special as each concert is a one off experience. Scratch is now 70, so obviously not at the top of his game anymore, but seeing him perform live was still a treat. It was a pleasure to just stand and watch a man who has been such an originator and innovator with reggae and dub, music that has been so important to me.

Cowards!

Stephen Colbert calls the 2006 mid-term elections.

Movember 2-Claudio Grows a Moustache

I don't know if it had anything to do with me writing about Movember, but Claudio Lopez, in spite of being follicly challenged in the facial hair department, has taken up the gauntlet and is growing a moustache to raise money for prostate and testicular cancer research at Princess Margaret Hospital throughout November. So if you see him this month with a caterpillar on his upper lip, slip him a twenty. Now, I have no idea what a moustache on Claudio will look like, what type of moustache he intends to grow, nor what type of moustache he is even capable of growing. But I'm hoping it ends up looking a little something like this:


Good work, muchacho!

Rain Rain Go Away 2-The Update

Apparently what is up with this rain is a weather system called the Pineapple Express. And while the name makes me think that I should be enjoying tropical fruity beverages in the sun, what it actually means is torrential downpours and flood warnings in the Lower Mainland. I feel ripped off.

Rain Rain Go Away!

What is up with this rain? This is not Vancouver rain. I suppose technically it is Vancouver rain, as it is in fact raining and this is in fact Vancouver, but to me Vancouver rain is light, misty and drizzly and lasts for days on end. But this? This is hard driving, windshield wipers on high, umbrella wrecking, slanted sideways pouring rain that lasts for days on end. Hmm. Rain often reminds me of one of my favourite Deep Thoughts. It goes something like this: If a child asks you why it's raining, it's fun to say, "Because god is crying." And if the child asks, "Why is god crying?" it's good to answer, "Because of something you did." But anyway, back to this new variant of Vancouver rain...I don't like it. It makes me want to not leave the house. It makes me want to sit on a couch, eat chili, and watch football all day long. Which is pretty much what I did today. When will it end? Paul says May, I say April, Donna says we're being pessimistic. But she's wrong, as it could end in June. Or never.

Movember

May used to be my favourite month because I got to celebrate Moustache May. But now November is my favourite month. Because it's Movember and it starts tomorrow. That means if I choose to, I can grow a moustache to raise awareness and money for men's health issues such as prostate and testicular cancers and male depression. And Donna, you can't say anything about it because it's for a good cause. So let the growing begin. Now, which moustache shall I grow?

A Visit From Jack Frost

Somehow it seems wrong that I've had to scrape the windows of my car for the past two mornings. Wrong because it's Vancouver and it's not even November yet. But I don't mind too much. I like the cold. Bring it on I say.

Monkeys

"We've all heard that a million monkeys banging on a million typewriters will eventually reproduce the entire works of Shakespeare. Now, thanks to the Internet, we know this is not true."

~Robert Wilensky

In Exile

A U.S. highschool teacher was convicted for having sex with a fifteen year old student. For his sentence he was given a choice between a year in prison or a three year exile to Canada. He lives in Fort Erie, Ontario with his wife and children. So while there may be some reasoning behind it, the legality of it remains to be seen, particularly whether or not Immigration Canada will go along with it. That will depend on his residency status, among other things. My questions are not about the legality or morality or what-have-you about it. My questions are these: Exile to Canada? WHAT? Are we the new fricken Siberia? Will he be living on watered down Borscht and stale rye bread while doing forced labour in crappy boots for the next three years? Okay then.

On Being A Grown Up.

A couple of months back, I wrote about my milestone of ordering decaffeinated coffee for the first time in my life. Since then I've had it a few more times, though maybe not as consistently as I ought to, because, let's face it, I prefer the real deal or at least the thought of the real deal. Anyhow, today I took that one step further. Today I bought whole bean decaffeinated coffee. That's right, I brought the stuff into my house. I ground it in my coffee maker. I brewed it in my espresso maker. I'm drinking it right now. It's okay, though not as good as the usual espresso I like to have in the evening. A number of things have brought this on. A few recent nights of being awake until after 3h00. (Though only one of those can be blamed on coffee. (You're right Donna, it was crazy of me to have that Americano at the movie on Tuesday.)) As well, the onset of the rains (yes, they're coming) and the dark nights means more evenings at home. And if I'm sitting at home of an evening, I really like to drink coffee. I guess I'm now at an age where I can't drink real coffee too late and expect to sleep well. And though I'd actually rather be awake well into the night, I have this job that I have to go to in the mornings. So for now, decaffeinated coffee it is. Sometimes.

Ouch #2

I don't really watch the UFC, not having much interest nor a television. But a friend told me of a fight he had seen recently, that made me want to see it. I didn't want to see it for the fight specifically, but rather for what the loser, Ed "Shortfuse" Herman, said after the fight. He had been expected to win, but the underdog, Jason "The Athlete" MacDonald, got him into a leg-lock-triangle-hold-thing, so he tapped out. Clearly disappointed with himself for his performance, he had this to say about it:

"I should have went to sleep like a man, but I tapped out like a little bitch."

Here is the video should you wish to see it. The interviews are at the end.

Ouch!

A school in Massachusetts has banned the playing of tag, touch football and any unsupervised chasing games, according to a CBC report. They have done this for fear of a child getting hurt and the school being held liable. Now, I can understand this somewhat, as we live in a ridiculously litigious society. What I don't understand is this: a culture that wants it's children to grow up in a bubble. By not allowing children to participate in activities where they could possibly hurt themselves takes away from them the possibility of learning valuable lessons, such as, if you're not careful, you could get hurt. This may seem like a bit of a contradiction, allowing people to get hurt to learn that they could potentially get hurt, but come on, it's tag. How seriously can someone get hurt playing tag? I haven't been around a schoolyard for many years now, so I'm not up on the latest manifestations of the game, but I'm guessing it's a lot like it was when I was a kid. Unless the kids are playing tag with guns these days, then forget everything I'm saying.

I realise this is only a handful of schools with such bans, but to me it is just one example from a larger problem. Another example: The amount of kid-proofing that goes into houses with small children seems to me ridiculous. I understand parents want their children to be safe but removing any possibility for even the smallest of injuries assumes that children do not have the capacity to learn from their surroundings and experiences, which is, by the way, a valuable skill to learn. A case in point: those little plastic electrical outlet covers. My house never had those. I once jammed a pipe cleaner into an outlet. I never did it again.

If children aren't allowed to experience any danger, how can they be expected to understand and deal with potentially dangerous situations. How can they be expected to be responsible if they don't learn to be responsible for themselves? How can they be expected to face adversity, and you can be damn sure they're going to have to, if they have never had to before? How can they be expected to learn from their mistakes, if they aren't allowed to make any? It is when they are children that you want them to learn these things, when the situations they are in that they will learn from are relatively minor with the consequences not so great. Otherwise you end up with a culture of people afraid to take risks, unwilling to take responsibility for themselves, and ill-equipped or unable to deal with the crap that life is going to throw at them.

Song Of The Day

There are many times when, for whatever reason, a certain song somehow encapsulates my mood perfectly. It could be the lyrics or the music, or both, or the song could evoke an emotion or a time and place I want to get lost in, or the mood of the song echoes my own, or the mood of the song is the mood I want, or, you get the idea. When that happens I have an uncanny ability to listen to a song over and over and over. And over. And over. Recently, on such a day, I listened to the same song 5 times in a row on my drive to work. If I worked twice as far from home, I'd have listened to that same song (Belle & Sebastian's Another Sunny Day, if you're wondering) 10 times in a row. And then I listened to it more at work. And then on the drive home again. I know it could drive some people crazy, hearing the same song repeated again and again. But for me, listening to that song is a little reverie scattered throughout my day. These are some of the songs that have caught me in that way recently:

Pink Bullets-The Shins
New Slang-The Shins
Atlantic City-Bruce Springsteen
Youngstown-Bruce Springsteen
Tijuana Lady-Gomez
Help Me Make It Through The Night-Johnny Cash & June Carter Cash
Crazy-Gnarls Barkley
Meadowlake Street-Ryan Adams
I'm Waiting-Ryan Adams
Cocody Rock-Alpha Blondy
Yolanda-Pablo Milanes
Scholarship Is The Enemy Of Romance-Billy Bragg
Chances Are-Bob Marley
Paradiso-The Chameleons
The Prisoner-The Clash
Lodi-CCR

And most recently:
I Wish I Never Saw The Sunshine-Beth Orton

Dessert!

Introducing the little bit of heaven that is the lava cake. At first it doesn't look like much more than a simple little chocolate cake. But wait, oh just wait, until you take a spoon or fork to it.

Yes, that is warm chocolate oozing out. Simply divine. Thanks for the recipe, Mom.

Blocked!

If I write about not having anything to write about, does that then mean I am lying?

Little Superstar!

It's a dancing, smoking Indian midget. Wicked.

Champions!

The Vancouver Whitecaps are the 2006 USL Champions. Well played, muchachos!

Opsal Steel

Another sunny day. Another trip to photograph a rundown building in Southeast False Creek. And a remarkably similar shade of paint. Hmm. Must have been on sale. Here are the photos.

Little People!

I love this. Basically, the guy takes little people figures, paints them, puts them in various public places, photographs them, then posts the photos to his blog. As the description on his blog says: "Little hand-painted people, left in London to fend for themselves." It's a tiny street art project. I like that you get the close-up photo, but then the wide photo showing how tiny they actually are. As well, the site serves as a warning of what will happen when the giant flies come.

Arrggghhhh!

Ahoy mateys! Today be International Talk Like A Pirate Day. Avast me hearties!

Dancer In The Dark

I watched Dancer In The Dark again last night. I hadn't seen it since it's theatrical release. It reminded me of why I think Lars von Trier is one of the most challenging, important and all around best film directors working today. In Dancer In The Dark, he takes any sense of innocence, naivete and nostalgia associated with the traditional Hollywood musical, smashes it into a thousand little shards, then drags our faces through the shards. It hurts, but we needed it. If art is part of a dialogue, and I'd like to think that it can be, then Dancer In The Dark is the final word about musicals. They're done.

As an aside, I love the following review from the film's official website's front page: "A 2 1/2 hour demo of auteurist self-importance that's artistically bankrupt on almost every level." Good stuff.

Thumbs!

Today I overheard a guy on Commercial Drive saying: "I lost a piece of my thumb downtown. I can't believe my thumb is still downtown. My thumb is still downtown." Not surprisingly, he wasn't actually talking to another person. So, if anyone finds part of a thumb downtown, there's a guy on the Drive looking for it.

And speaking of thumbs, a friend of mine recently had surgery to fix the tendons in his thumb. With the broken tendons his thumb was permanently bent and he had no control over it. They fixed it by taking the tendons from his forefinger and attaching them to the thumb. So now to move his thumb he has to concentrate on moving his forefinger. Seriously.

Rubberneckers!

Apparently I'm the type of guy who would walk a few blocks out of his way to watch a building burn down.

Southeast False Creek

Vancouver's Southeast False Creek area has lots of visually interesting, somewhat dilapidated industrial buildings. The area is set to be developed for the 2010 Olympic Village, then turned into Condoland, so I imagine many of these structures will be torn down or renovated. With that in mind, yesterday I went down to the area to photograph a building that often catches my eye as I cycle past it. You can see some of the photos here.

Nighty Night!

I know it isn't nice to mock people for their religious beliefs, and who knows what will rain down upon me for doing so, but some times it is just too hard to not.

Introducing Armour of God Pyjamas.

I've got a few friends with birthdays coming up.

Terrorized?

I've had enough of the War on Terror. When does the War on Stupidity begin? Recently, the BBC reports, a man of Iraqi descent was not allowed to board a plane in New York, until he removed his T-shirt. The problem with the shirt? It had Arabic script on it. It also had written in English, "We will not be silent," which is what the Arabic text said as well. Apparently other passengers had complained about it and officials asked him to remove it. They did, at least, buy him another shirt to wear. Now here's my thinking. If he was in fact a terrorist, how would having him remove his shirt foil the plot, if you're going to let him on the plane once he had done so? And if he was not a terrorist, why would it matter what he had on his shirt? I don't mean to say that security officials should not be vigilant, but surely there is a way to do so without being irrational, over-reactive or outright xenophobic. I don't want to over simplify the issue, but there is one obvious, common element to all terrorism. It sets out to terrorize the targeted population, to make those people live in fear. If, as George W. recently pointed out, we are "at war with Islamic fascists who will use any means to destroy those of us who love freedom," and we are frightened into curtailing that freedom in response, who do you think is winning? If people are afraid to go about their lives as usual, who do you think is winning? If people are afraid of a person of Arabic descent wearing a T-Shirt with Arabic script, who do you think is winning?

Now Or In A While?

Apparently my usage of the word presently in my previous post has caused some concern. Granted, it was a small amount of concern, voiced by one, but concern nonetheless. When I look up presently in my Oxford Dictionary Of Current English the first definition it gives is: soon; after a short time. The second definition is: esp. US & Scot. at the present time; now. Thinking I should give our American friends a chance to state their own case, I looked the word up in Encarta. Their first definition is: soon, not at this exact moment but in a short while. Followed by: at present time, now, or during the current period, especially if not at some other time. This second definition is followed by the tag: some people object to this usage. Well, here is me saying that I am one of those people. But honestly, that is based on little more than the fact that I am an erudite grammar snob. Wanting to dig a little deeper, I looked up the word in my Oxford Concise Dictionary Of English Etymology. Their first definition is a now obsolete one: so as to be present. The second, dating back to the 15th century is: now, followed by their third definition, from the 16th century: soon. That means that back in 1537 there may have been a young scholarly gent deriding this modern usage of presently to mean soon, when clearly to him it should be used as now. Prejudices aside, there are two ways to look at this. The right way, of course, is that language is fluid and ever changing, which is what makes it an interesting, exciting thing. The other view, which is not wrong, is that there are rules to the language which make it useful as a system of communication and that system functions best when those rules are followed. So, the linguist in me accepts that language always has and always will change, and that grammar is a way to codify that language at any given time, but, damn it all, the staunch grammarian in me doesn't have to like it.

A Wee Break...

Sorry for the inconvenience. Normal service will resume presently...

Big Papi (or How I Joined The Red Sox Nation!)

Last week, my good friend Rob from Boston was in town. (Not that one, but if you must, North Attleborough Rob would be more appropriate.) As I assume all Bostonians are, Rob is a very serious Red Sox fan. So a certain amount of Rob's visit was spent watching the Red Sox on-line, following the games, looking up the scores, etc. And talking about their feared line-up. The most feared batters in baseball, Rob would say, talking about the one-two punch of David Ortiz and Manny Ramirez. Now, I've got to say, I'm not much of a baseball fan. I'll watch a couple games a year, with someone who likes it a whole lot more than I do, and if the World Series is interesting, maybe I'll tune in. But I do like sports, and so it is easy for me to get into any sport with someone who is excited about it. So with Rob's interest in the Sox, my interest went up. Anyway, it's Rob's last day in town, we're drinking a couple of Krusovices, watching the Red Sox game and making pizza. It's the 8th inning, Boston is up 4-3 against KC and Mark Loretta's at bat. Rob says, "You know who's up next?" To which I say (guess) "Papi!" "That's right," Rob says, "You're in the Sox Nation now." All for knowing that Big Papi's 3rd in the order. We sealed the deal with a high five and a swig of beer. And that's that. Go Sox!

New Camera On The Block

Sorry Sparky, but there's a new best camera ever. It's called the SD600. And it's coming soon to a Whitecaps game near you. I didn't set out to upgrade, but somehow that is exactly what happened. And I've got to say, I'm glad I did. Everybody sing it...SD600!

But What Type Of Hat Is It?

Reading Flaubert's Madame Bovary, I came across this description of a hat:

"His was one of those composite pieces of headgear in which you may trace features of bearskin, lancer-cap and bowler, night-cap and otterskin: one of those pathetic objects that are deeply expressive in their dumb ugliness, like an idiot's face. An oval splayed out with whale-bone, it started off with three pompons; these were followed by lozenges of velvet and rabbit's fur alternately, separated by a red band, and after that came a kind of bag ending in a polygon of cardboard with intricate braiding on it; and from this there hung down like a tassel, at the end of a long, too slender cord, a little sheaf of gold threads. It was a new cap, with a shiny peak."

And yet, for all of that descriptive language, I have absolutely no idea what this hat looks like. Perhaps something has been lost in translation, but how is it possible that I can read an entire paragraph in my mother tongue, understand all of the words, clauses, sentences, etc., and still not actually understand it. Have men's hat fashions become so mundane that I am just not able to imagine a hat so outlandish? Can anyone out there envision this hat? Can anyone make a drawing of this hat? Better yet, can anyone out there actually make me such a hat? Is there a milliner in the house? If I had such a hat, I would most certainly wear it. At least once.

In The News...

Sometimes newspaper headlines are just too damn strange.

Norway Fears Giant Crab Invasion

Too bad the rest of the article can't deliver. Norway is not actually about to be invaded by giant crabs.

Too bad. That would have been news.

Show Off

An absolutely inane conversation I was part of yesterday:

I'm walking towards my desk at work. J-Mac, who was napping on the couch wakes up and asks, "Was I snoring?" Bones says, "No." J-Mac then says, "Sleep apnea," though he has trouble with the apnea part. Bones says, "That's not as bad as Corey, he sleep walks." At this point, I, who am eating a chocolate chip cookie, say, "He's a somnambulist." "What?," Bones asks. I try and chew more rapidly. "He's a somnambulist," I repeat. Bones nods, as if he understands, but then says something about an ambulance. Because apparently when you're talking with your mouth full of cookie, somnambulist comes out sounding like that. The cookie now down my gullet, I say yet again, "He's a somnambulist." A quizzical look tells me I have to explain the word, but really, the moment is lost...

Mom, you were right. I shouldn't talk with my mouth full.

Note to self:
When you are trying to show off your superior lexicon, make sure you are not chewing a very crumbly and somewhat dry chocolate chip cookie at the same time. You just end up sounding stupid.

Milestones

I feel like I've entered a new stage in my aging process. I passed two milestones in my life this weekend. The first one was getting a pair of scissors...a tiny pair of scissors. We're all friends here so we can talk about body hair, can't we? The purpose of the scissors? Trimming too long nostril hairs. Now, having hair growing from one's nostrils is certainly not a new phenomenon for me and I assume for most men. And I've been trimming or yanking them out for a few years now, so that isn't the milestone either. Up till now I have used too big scissors, or nail clippers or any other implement I thought might get the job done. But now, I am the owner of a small pair of scissors whose sole purpose for me is to trim my nose hairs. Does that make me an old man now?

The next milestone has to do with my not very good sleeping abilities and a certain beverage of which I like to drink way too much. Coffee. For the very first time in my life, this evening I ordered a decaffeinated Americano. I've drank de-caf before but in those instances it was either forced on me, given to me unawares, or there was no regular good old caffeinated coffee to be had. Tonight I actually ordered and paid for a decaffeinated coffee of my own accord. Apparently my sleep is now more important to me than my coffee. That may take a little while to sink in. For the record, it tasted alright and no one seemed to notice. As I was up way too late last night and am tired, I don't know that this is a good night to judge whether or not the lack of caffeine affected my sleep at all. That said, I'm off to bed.

Gone Fishing.

Okay, not really. But I am heading back to the homeland for a week and a half. I am on hiatus after all. I intend to visit some good friends in Toronto, then visit my family and go to the cottage. Once there, I intend to read a lot, paddle the canoe around the bay, swim out to the big rock, take naps in the hammock, windsurf, eat good food, but most importantly, I plan to relax on this here deck with a boozy drink in my hand and tasty appetizers before me.

If you need to get a hold of me, you can try. There's a computer nearby, though I probably won't be checking my e-mail. And I sure as hell won't be bringing my cell phone. On second thought, don't even bother.

The Boss

I didn't realise it until very recently, but apparently I am a Bruce Springsteen fan. Nebraska just may be one of the best albums ever. Ever.

That Is A Comedy Too Much Pleasant

I recently acquired a book called "English As She Is Spoke." It has the wonderful subtitle of: Being a comprehensive phrasebook of the English language, written by men to whom English was entirely unknown. And that pretty much sums it up. It was intended to be an English phrasebook for Portuguese travelers. The work is credited to José de Fonseca and Pedro Carolino, though it seems Mr. de Fonseca has been dragged through the mud quite unwillingly and innocently. In 1837 José de Fonseca wrote an apparently perfectly competent French-Portuguese phrasebook. I say apparently as neither my French nor Portuguese is anywhere near competent, nor do I have the book. It was in 1855 that Pedro Carolino set out to write "The New Guide of the Conversation in Portuguese and English, in Two Parts." His problem...he didn't speak English. He did however have two very useful books; an English to French dictionary and... Mr. de Fonseca's phrasebook. Problem solved. The result is, well, the title of this entry for starters. And so many other linguistic gems, at times bordering on the poetic...

Let us go to respire the air.
At what o'clock is to get up?
Apply you at the studying during that you are young.
It is a noise which to cleave the head.
Give me some good milk newly get out.
It is not that very true.
He laughs at my nose, he jest by me.
It must never to laugh of the unhappies.

If that last one isn't a line to live by, I don't know what is. The book ends with a section called Idiotisms and Proverbs. This is where the real pearls of wisdom lie...

Four eyes does see better than two.
What come in to me for an ear yet out for another.
A horse baared don't look him the tooth.
That which feel one's snotly blow blow one's nose.
It must to break the stone for to have almond.
So many head so much opinions.

I could go on and on, quoting the entire book. But I won't. Having take my leave, I was going.

Le Coup De Tête

Watching the World Cup Final on Sunday, I, along with the other billion people that were tuned in, was stunned when Zinedine Zidane turned around and firmly planted his head into the chest of Marco Materazzi, who then dropped like a sack of hammers. I couldn't believe what I had just seen. Had Zidane actually done what I had just seen him do in that slow motion replay? In the World Cup Final? In the final game of his career? Not surprisingly he was red carded and Italy went on to win the final on penalties. Talk of whether or not his sending off influenced the outcome of the game is largely irrelevant as no one can ever know. Which then leaves the question, why did he do it? What put Zidane over the edge? My initial reaction was that Materazzi, no stranger to controversy, had made some sort of racist slur, and there has been much speculation along these and other lines, but despite the various attempts of lip-readers to determine what was said we may never know.
Immediately following Zidane's long walk past the trophy and down the tunnel, there was talk of how Zidane had disgraced himself, shamed himself, destroyed his legacy and so on. I don't condone the violent act, but I'm not sure why people were so surprised by this behaviour coming from a man who was sent off 14 times in his career. Perhaps the setting and occasion did call for a little more decorum which made it that much more dramatic, but for all the footballing mastery and creativity that Zidane has, that darker side has always been a part of his game. He is one of only two players to have been red-carded in two World Cups. Hell, this wasn't even his first headbutt. Which brings us to the talk of destroying his legacy. Except perhaps for a sanctimonious few, this will only add to it. Zidane, one of the greatest footballers to ever play the game, is and will remain a symbol of possibility to millions of people around the world. For a poor kid growing up playing football in the streets of a rough area of Marseille to rise to this level of stardom and adoration, then bow out like this...it's the ultimate "fuck you" from one of the greats. It adds to the mystique of Zidane. People like their heroes to be flawed. To the question of Zidane being a role-model, I would argue that we want our sporting heroes to be competitive and aggressive, yet are then surprised when they act like that outside of a narrowly defined acceptable avenue.
I don't mean to suggest that Zidane planned it like this; I'm pretty sure he would rather his game not have ended in a sending off, but it did. And to me, who absolutely did not want Italy to win the World Cup, this is where it becomes a master stroke...Here it is three days after the Italians won their 4th World Cup, yet outside of the Italian fans and press, almost nobody is talking about them winning. They are talking about Zidane. Legacy assured.

Goalfest At Swangard (or Everybody Loves A Drubbing)

As much as I've been enjoying the World Cup (at least until Tuesday's setback that is), I've got to say that since the knockout stages began there has been a real dearth of goals. I understand that with the stakes being so high, modern football tactics being what they are etc., it's bound to be like that. Seeing two well organized tactical teams play can be fascinating, even exciting , but honestly, it's goals that we want and it's goals that we remember. And though a high scoring closely fought match will be the better game, there is something very satisfying about a good old fashioned ass-whooping. And that is exactly what the Whitecaps Women did last night. When they scored after two minutes I thought, "Well done." When they scored again after four minutes I thought, "It's going to be a long night for the Real Colorado Cougars." (I didn't think the team looked that old.) When they scored yet again after six minutes I thought, "If they can keep scoring at this rate, by the end of the game it will be 45-0." But sadly, they couldn't. They didn't score their fourth goal until the 12th minute and they waited until the 21st minute for their 5th goal. Then they really put the brakes on, and honestly, the game became pretty damn boring. What kind of football fan complains about a boring match when his team is up 5 goals? Happily in the 82nd minute the Whitecaps came to life again, and quickly scored three more before the end of the game. Final score: Whitecaps Women 8, Real Colorado Cougars 0 and a long bus ride home. Apparently, they came all this way just to lose, just to lose...

Back In The Oven

Those of you who remember the tragedy I suffered recently should be happy to know that I am to be numbered once again among those who have pizza stones in one solid piece. Thanks to Ming Wo for exchanging their faulty goods and thanks to Donna for arranging and performing the exchange. And thanks to whoever it was that invented pizza. Unless that person was an Italian, then I'm not sure I can be too thankful towards you yet, as I'm still not quite over Germany being knocked out of the World Cup by the Italians. Perhaps eating pizza is my first step towards healing. Anyway, I made my first pizza with new stone today. The toppings: zucchini, tofu, tomatoes, tomato sauce, garlic stuffed green olives, and mozzarella and cheddar cheeses.A tasty success and as you can see, the stone remains whole.

My New Hero is...

...Jens Lehmann, who saved twice in Germany's 4-2 penalty shootout victory over Argentina. The runner up is Argentina manager Pekerman, who made some crap substitutions to turn the Argies into a defence-minded team, then after losing the match, promptly quit. Thanks, Jose.

World Cup Fever

We're in the thick of the World Cup now. If you don't know that, I don't know why I know you. It's a thrilling, heartbreaking (Germany is still in it, so not for me yet), maddening, amazing tournament. But it's also a very long and tiring tournament. Here on North America's west coast, the early games are really early, though now that we're moving into the knockout stages that will be alleviated somewhat. To make it all the way through the tournament requires care, pacing, a good level of fitness and commitment to the cause. And I'm only talking about the fans. Rehydration is crucial. And to avoid burnout, I recommend diversions. Though being football addicted, it's hard to have non-World Cup related diversions. But diversions we must have, so as a service I offer you this...

The absolute worst hair I have seen in the tournament:

This guy is Loco. No, I'm not mocking him. Well I suppose I am but his nickname is actually Loco. If anyone has a worse haircut from this World Cup (Ronaldo's catastrophe was so 2002) that I should know about, let's have it. But Frank Ribery doesn't count, as I don't quite understand what is going on there and feel kind of bad for the guy.

The Best News I've Heard All Week!

It involves science and two of my favourite things. A new study has suggested that drinking a lot of coffee can greatly reduce your risk of contracting alcohol-induced cirrhosis of the liver. Minimal amounts had some effect, but those who drank more than 4 cups of coffee a day (I often find myself among those ranks) were 80% less likely to suffer the disease. The study was of 125 000 people over 22 years, which seems pretty exhaustive to me. The findings are by no means conclusive, as no findings ever seem to be, but still, this seems pretty positive for those of us who like both booze and coffee, often in flavourful combinations. The study authors did go on to say that this doesn't mean that people should start drinking lots of coffee in order to counter the effects of drinking too much alcohol, but you can't believe everything you read, can you?

The Conspiracy Theorist

Oh crap! Does anyone need a few rolls of tinfoil?

The Devil's A Noisy Guy...

For those of you looking for some way to mark 06/06/06 (at 6:06pm to be precise), for those of you who are demonically possessed or minions of Satan, for those of you looking for primal scream therapy, for those of you who would like to make an awful lot of noise, for those of you who enjoy complaining to others to keep the noise down, for those of you looking to either lose your hearing or help others lose their hearing, for those of you who have nothing to do tomorrow afternoon, or those of you who simply like big noisy crowds of people, here's what you've been waiting for...

FestEVIL Vancouver.

If you're looking for me, I won't be there. It'll be too damned loud.

Snakes On A Real Plane

Okay, it was only one snake, and it was not Samuel L. Jackson (who has had it with the snakes) but there really was a snake on a plane. Here is the story.

Hairy Upper Lips Part 2

As I wrote earlier, it was Moustache May at work. It was truly a celebration of the moustache in all its varied and splendourous manifestations. We had Handle Bars, Fu Manchus, Cops, Walruses, Zapatas, Pirates, Pencil Lines, and one guy was even brave (read: crazy) enough to sport the Hitler/Chaplin for a few days. Here's what I wore throughout the month. I like to call it The Devolution Of A Moustache (A Drama In 5 Parts):


And that was that. Those of you who have been avoiding me, even leaving town so as not to have to see my moustache, I'm clean shaven now. You can call again. Until next May...

Building Buildings

I saw an interesting film by the Japanese filmmaker Teshigahara yesterday evening. Actually, I saw two interesting films by him, but the one that got me thinking most was called "Antonio Gaudí­." It was a visual essay of the Catalan architect's buildings in and around Barcelona, showing his influences, style, works, etc. Other than a small bit of narration at the end, it was just images. But the images were so visually interesting that nothing more was needed. Seeing the film did a couple of things to me. Firstly, it made me want to go back to Barcelona. Secondly, it reminded me of my first view of Gaudí­'s Sagrada Familia. I'm not sure if I had seen pictures beforehand, though I assume I had. I was walking down a street, following a not very good map, heading in the general direction of the temple, when I turned a corner and there it was, in all it's absurd, ridiculous and yet somehow majestic glory. As I stood on that corner looking at it, I started laughing, probably out loud (as only crazy people do when they're alone.) Remembering that tonight got me thinking about architecture. Now, I live in a city which many people would say is beautiful, but if I think about it what is beautiful about it? The mountains? The ocean? Did we build those? The geography surrounding Vancouver is beautiful, but what of the city itself? There are maybe 5 buildings in Vancouver that are noteworthy or visually interesting and I'm being generous in case I've forgotten a few. Sure, there are plenty of nice houses but nothing in the urban landscape here stands out, nothing is visionary or interesting or even absurd. Like this:


When I first saw this building I hated it, but the more I think about it, the more I love it. It is different, it stands out, and yes, it is crazy but you can't pass by without noticing it. It makes you aware of your surroundings. I've been in a few beautiful cities around the world, a few ugly ones, and a whole lot of mundane ones. I don't think Vancouver is ugly, but why can't our architecture be brilliant? Why can't we have structures that make me want to look at them, study them, love or hate them, talk about them, but most of all, not be oblivious to them? Sure, buildings need to be functional, but why can't they be fun and exciting too? Maybe I need to switch careers, become an architect and start designing the types of buildings I want to see. But then who would build them? Maybe I just need to move to Barcelona.

Desmond Dekker R.I.P.

Jamaican music legend Desmond Dekker died yesterday, a week before his next show.

Obituary

Trojan Records Tribute Page

As always, the music lives on...

Damn You, Hot Oven!

Last Christmas, Laura and I were given a pizza stone. For those unknowing, a pizza stone is a slab of super compressed sand that you put in your oven and bake pizza on. They're fantastic. Since we got ours, I've been making pizza a couple of times a week, minimum. Fantastically delicious pizza a couple of times a week, that is. I love the thing. I'm always going on about the thing. I'm a pizza-making fiend.

We're going camping this weekend, so I made pizza for dinner tonight, knowing I wouldn't have it again for a few days. It was a simple yet tasty affair with roasted red peppers, sun-dried tomatoes, olives, garlic and tofu.

Tragedy of all tragedies, sorrow of all sorrows, when I took the pizza out of the oven, this was the sight awaiting me:


The horror. The pain. The ecstasy of a freshly baked pizza mingled with the agony of knowing it could be the last one. I'm going to try to use it with the two chunks just pushed together, but I worry for both my future pizzas and the continuing integrity of the stone. This crack could, I fear, lead to many more, resulting in the eventual demise of my whole little pizza making enterprise. And I'm just not sure if I can deal with that right now.

Living A Cliché

I was walking down the street yesterday when I saw a dried banana peel lying on the sidewalk. It reminded me that I know two people that have actually slipped on banana peels. I am one of those two people.

Hairy Upper Lips

I'm not sure who came up with the idea, but this month at work has been declared "Moustache May." I guess that means I have to grow a moustache.

More Pictures

For those of you who actually look at these things, I've added a whack of Mexico City and Cuba pictures to my Flickr pages.

You can see them here.

Spurs Food Poisoning Update

Apparently the chicken and cow were fine, it was the lasagna that was dodgy.

Fourth Will Do Nicely!

Another happy football moment today. Arsenal went into the last day of the league season in a somewhat precarious position. They were 5th place, one point behind Tottenham Hotspur, the scum, Arsenal's main rivals. So Arsenal needed a win combined with a Spurs draw or loss to pip them into 4th place, which is the final Champions League spot for next season. (Unless Arsenal win the Champions League this season, then 4th place wouldn't matter, as the winner of the European Cup trumps whichever team has the lowest league position to qualify for the following year's tournament. And I've got to say, there would have been something very satisfying about the Scum getting 4th spot in the league and then being knocked out because the Gunners won the European Cup. But that is now neither here nor there.) Anyhow, Arsenal in their final game at Highbury, beat Wigan 4-2, with Thierry Henry (EPL top scorer, yet again) leading the way with a hat-trick. As for Spurs, apparently they ate some bad chicken or cow the night before, a number of them had food poisoning, and they lost to West Ham today. Maybe an Arsenal or West Ham supporter worked at the hotel where they had their dodgy buffet (the 2 teams are their 2 main rivalries); apparently there will be an investigation. Whatever. What it all comes down to is this: Today is now St. Totteringham's Day. For those unfamiliar, St. Totteringham's Day is the day when it becomes impossible for Spurs to finish the season with more points than Arsenal. Sure, it came very late this year, but it still came. A friend asked me a while ago if Spurs fans had an equivalent holiday. I'm not sure, but I do know this. If they do, it's been a bloody long time since they celebrated it. Happy St. Totteringham's Day folks.

Linocut #2

Spring Storm & Maypole Dancing

On my way to work this morning, as I passed an intersecting side street, a big gust of wind came my way and I was caught in a blizzard. Except it wasn't snow, it was soft pink cherry blossoms. Visibility was limited, yet pleasant. This is the time of year when Vancouver looks like it has pink snow in the gutters as the blossoms fall from the trees and gather there.

Happy mayday folks! I hope all of you workers of the world are out there uniting, and all you pagans are out there getting your freak on, baa-cha-bam!

Nemesis

I have two constant companions. I don't like them very much. One is doubt, the other indecision. Somehow I have managed to get this far in my life with those two hanging on my every word, echoing my every thought, mocking or chastising me constantly. They make it difficult to get anything done. At times I am able to ignore them, or get a step ahead of them so they are preoccupied with catching up, while I get on with what I need to be doing. But other times, it's as if they are a step ahead of me, they know exactly where I'm headed and have already figured out why I shouldn't go there and do that and they have no qualms about telling me what those reasons are and that, really, I'm an idiot for even thinking about it in the first place. I have a somewhat analytical mind, but when that analysis is turned to examine a problem or dilemma of my own, it becomes crippling. My ability to see all sides of an issue make it somehow impossible to actually make a resolution and follow it up with action. I just mull it over and over and over and over and over, ad infinitum, ad nauseam. And do nothing about it. When I get like that, I get stuck in my own head and it makes me a little crazy. It's like spending all of your time with someone that you don't really like, yet for some reason you can't make them go away. For a long time I assumed that all people were like this, that everyone had minds on overdrive that wouldn't just shut up, but I've since learned that this is not so. No, some people are actually able to think their way through a problem, make a resolution and then do something about it. Annoyingly, I am not one of those people.

Directions

I bought a new pair of headphones today, so I can listen to music at work and tune out all of my co-workers. These are the instructions that came with them:

Wear the earpiece marked "R" on your right ear and the one marked "L" on your left ear.

Thank you for the help.

Yiiiipppppeeeee!!!!!!!!!!

I really can't believe it. Today Arsenal scraped out a nil-nil draw against Villareal to earn their spot in the Champion's League Final, against either Barcelona or AC Milan. This is the worst season Arsenal have had in the English league in a decade, yet somehow, in the year when no one expected it, when everyone had written them off, they've gone and made it this far. I had a doctor's appointment this morning about some neck pain that the doctor suggested was probably stress related. So after my doctor's appointment, I went to an Italian cafe to drink lots of espresso and watch Villareal miss chance after chance after chance against some of the sloppiest Arsenal defending I've seen in a long time. How's that for a stress reliever. Idiot. As I was watching the game, I began contemplating something I often do when watching my chosen sport, which is: why do I watch this sport? It's often dull and uninteresting, other times it is downright maddening, and more often that not, particularly when a team you support is involved, it is far too stressful to actually be "enjoyable." It is supposed to be enjoyable, right? It is only a game, right? I was thinking about these things when the referee awarded Villareal a very dodgy penalty in the 89th minute and I knew exactly where this was heading. (For the record, the one goal wouldn't have been enough for Villareal to win, just to send the game into extra time, and give them a whole lot of momentum.) But, somehow Jens Lehmann the Arsenal 'keeper guessed the right way, and saved Riquelme's (of all people) shot. And then somehow, Arsenal held on for the 3 minutes of stoppage time and were into the final. Which I still can't believe. I was actually shaking for a good long while after. Part espresso, part nerves, part joy. And that was the answer to my own question of why I watch. It's about drama, the low points of which there are many, and the oh so sweet highpoints of which there are few. But damn do they make it worth it.

Flickr!

Alright, now that my digital camera is back from the shop after the robotic mishap, it's time for me to get serious about my photography career. So I've started a Flickr page where hopefully I'll be posting some photos. Here it is. Or you can link to it from the sidebar long after this entry has been buried under the weight of new posts.

Stop Thief!

I was having dinner at Sitar with some friends this evening. About 30 metres away from the front of the restaurant my bicycle was locked to a parking metre and my helmet was locked to the bike. After dinner, a lovely meal of malai kofta with naan and vegetable pakoras if you're interested, when I went out to head home, I discovered that I was the victim of a crime. The bike was still there, as was the helmet, but some jackass had taken one of the plastic clips that holds the two straps together, thus rendering the helmet useless. Who the hell does that? Who needs one plastic clip from a bike helmet? Sometimes I like to think that there is only ever one BMW with a missing hood ornament at any given time, and that the person who owns it will steal the next one to replace it, thus continuing the cycle. Maybe this is something like this. I guess I have to find a match and swipe it. But I don't want to do that. So, if you are the one who stole my one little grey clip from my bike helmet and happen to be reading this, I'll make a deal with you. Leave it in my mail box and there will be no questions asked. Otherwise, I will find you.

Enough With The Pictures Already!

I have a digital camera. I use it a lot. If I'm out walking, I'll take pictures of various things I find visually interesting. If I'm out with friends, I, and all of my friends it seems, will take random snapshots of the evening's goings on. Before I get started, I'll say right away that I am well aware of the contradictory nature of complaining about something that I do, but I'm okay with contradiction. It's one of my many middle names. But it has gone too far. I remember a time. A time not so long ago. Perhaps a better, if slightly less technologically advanced, time. It was a time when I could go out with friends, drink way too much, make an absolute fool of myself, feel a little embarrassed the next day, laugh about it with those friends, and move on. Those days are gone. Now, in every crowd, there's always some joker with a digital camera or phone just waiting to pounce. At the first sign of drunken tomfoolery, the snapshots start coming thick and fast. And when in the past you had that slight embarrassment the next day, it was coupled with vague stories and a blurry memory. But now, you have the blurry memory coupled with photographic evidence. Damn embarrassing photographic evidence at that. In some cases, edited into a montage with musical accompaniment. I believe that inherent in mockery, is a desire for social control. As in, we laugh at you, because you are acting somewhat out of line with our social norms. We laugh at you because that is a simple first attempt to bring you back into line. But the mockery that accompanies drunken photos, especially ones posted on the interweb, has none of that element to it. No one wants you to stop with the drunken shenanigans...they want it to continue so they can have more drunken shenanigan photos. It's downright mean spirited, I tell you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to sort through my digital camera photos to figure out which drunken friends I can embarrass here.