I had a long list of activities, projects, issues, self-improvements and miscellaneous to-dos. Then I realized that it could all be summarized into two goals:
1) Be less lazy
2) Be less afraid
The only thing I can add to that is the 2005 leftover:
3) learn to drive. seriously.
Wish me luck.
Name of Coworker / Description of Offense
Mark - drew devil's horns on his picture and then made said picture my desktop
Yuval - took his joke about wearing assless chaps and forwarded it to the entire department
Beau - pestered him to let me borrow his (professional, expensive) camera to take pictures of silly stuff
Jens - that whole thing with the goose
Berenice - implied she was a pervert in a departmental e-mail (several times, actually)
Jon - stated he was an even bigger pervert than Berenice, also in a departmental e-mail (but only once)
Grant - called him a geek in the comments sections of his own blog
Mike - abused his easygoing nature and connection to the colour printer
Bryce - threatened him with bodily harm because he forgot about a meeting
Brock - accidentally sent him the threatening e-mail intended for Bryce, because I still mix these two up
Jonathon - kept calling him Chris
Chris - kept calling him Jonathan
Issa - implied he looked like a crazed suicide bomber in one of his flickr photos
Christine - negatively impacted her productivity by sending her pictures of cute baby animals
Rupa - mocked his suggestion in the name-this-junkfood contest
Jay W. - told people about the time he wore a dress to work ten years ago at another job
Jay B. - sent him a mean drawing in response to a technical question
Bassim - tried to pass problems off to him as often as possible (not that bad, since he passed them right back)
2005. To summarize:
Good Things
-got married
-had a very lovely honeymoon in BC, going to Hornby Island, Victoria, Sooke and Vancouver
-actually liked my job. And I didn't have to spend half my time dreading the end of my contract, because, finally, it's a permanent gig
-went on a cool 2-day bike tour with the MS Society
-came in last in a 10k trail run and didn't care at all
-turned 30
-started writing again
Bad Things
-endless wedding planning arguments with my mother. It may be a genetic inevitablility-all mothers seem to lose it when weddings are involved. But that didn't make bickering about silverware any easier.
-not only did I fail to get my driver's license before I turned 30, I didn't get it at all.
-spent the last couple months of the year in a depressed rut
-applied for a job, concocted a complete alternate reality based around said job and then didn't get it. I've really got to stop doing that
I think this the fourth time I've changed my template. I'm satisified with one for about a week and then I have to try out something else. I haven't really learned how to adjust the details, so instead I just scrap the whole thing and choose another.
It reminds me learning MS Word circa 1997. I tried out every single bit of word art and clip art and every stupid template. What can I say? I was a secretary. Knowing how to insert a wacky graphic into a memo was actually a marketable skill at the time.
Books I Read in 2005 That Actually Came Out in 2005
What can I say? I'm still trying to catch up on last year...
Blink by Malcolm Gladwell
Gladwell's previous book, The Tipping Point, had one major advantage over Blink: when I read it I was still blissfully unaware of the sheer obnoxiousness of Gladwell's hair. With Blink, I had to approach everything he said knowing that it was coming from a guy who decided that '"hey everyone! look at my rebellious head!" should be the central aspect of his public persona. And while I tried not to let the hair ruin my perception of the book, it was difficult. Because Blink is dull. I hate to say it because I loved the Tipping Point, and Blink could have been an even better book. It just seemed to get bogged down in providing endless examples of people making brilliant snap judgements. Also, isn't the idea that experts with experience and knowledge will usually make better decisions than the uninformed, kind of, I don't know... obvious?
I'm Not the New Me by Wendy McClure
Wendy McClure is the woman behind the wonderful blog at Poundy.com. Her writing there was awesome enough to make me want to buy the book. It's hard to explain how out of character this is for me, considering that the main focus of her blog is weight loss, and more specifically, Weight Watchers. The only reason that I'm not running away screaming is that McClure finds writing about dieting to be just as repulsive as I do. It's hard to describe this book, because it covers a lot of the same territory as women's magazines, yet not for a second does it remind me of any of the crap I've read before. There are no tips. I did not learn to love myself. I like that we had the same approach to Weight Watchers: hold your nose and dive in. But I swear, I like it because it's a funny, mean and honest book. Point-counting experience is not required to enjoy it.
Under the Bridge by Rebecca Godfrey
Everyone in Canada knows about the murder of Reena Virk. She was only 14, and her attackers all around the same age. I was barely in my 20s when it happened, but already I couldn't understand. Like everyone else, I wondering what was wrong with kids today. Teenage life is based on subtle signs and differences - the ability to recognize them and to send back the right messages. It seems like we lose that ability as soon as we leave that stage in our lives. We forget the feelings and suddenly we can't speak the language and we get shut out. Rebecca Godfrey never forgot. She is the only writer I know of that truly understands teenagers. She's like an articulate and convincing interpretor, making the secret language comprehensible again. To me, the most amazing part of the book was that she made me remember how important and real everything is when you're young. Like the whole idea of gangs in small Canadian cities. I mean, it's insane. These little 13-year-olds can't really think baggy pants and the right color baseball cap makes them gangsters, can they? Or that rap lyrics are talking to them? But they do, and, in a way, they are. It might be too limiting to say that Rebecca Godfrey understands teenagers, because she seems to understand everyone. Every person in this book is a believable character, and no one is painted as entirely sympathetic or not. I hope this book doesn't end up in the true crime section in the States, because it is much more than that.
My Faith So Far by Patton Dodd
Okay, I'm cheating with this one. It actually came out in late 2004, but I read in it early 2005, so I figure it's close enough. This is another out-of-character one for me. It's an autobiography of a man who changed from a borderline, disinterested, sort of Christian and became an evangelical Christian in his late teens. He was so determined to fulfill the role of a committed evangelicist that he enrolled at Oral Roberts University and spent a year studying there. This book is so much more interesting than the typical 'undercover reporter goes to religious school to look for nutcases' story I've read a dozen times. Because, rather than looking for things to point and laugh at, Dodd really meant it. He wanted to believe and he wanted to learn how to be a good Christian. I have to admit that suspicion towards Christians is a long-standing prejudice of mine. And really, it's one of the few prejudices that it is totally okay to admit to. Bunch of freaking fundies and their freaking family values. So, and I was kind of sad to realize this, I was really, really shocked to realize you could be a hard-core Christian and still have a brain. No, seriously, it never occurred to me before. Not only that, but be a full person, with doubts and anger and all that other stuff. I identified with his desire to find something spiritual in his life and his belief that faith could make him complete. I never felt driven to chase faith like he did, but it was amazing to watch.
I'm so ashamed. Yeah, that's me, second from the left. (btw, what's going on with my jacket? Did I walk around all day with the collar twisted up like that? Probably.)
I was waiting outside the Coup when a writer from Dose asked to interview me about violence and the Boxing Day shootings in Toronto. I should have said no. Please see my entry about street evangelists for other examples of being far too nice to random people on the street.
She asked me a few questions about violence in Calgary and whether I felt safe living here. My answers were basically: yes I feel safe, no I don't think the city is getting more violent, no I'm not worried about random shootings, yes random shootings are sad.
I'm surprised they managed to find anything usable in that milquetoast, but I guess they were desperate for 'commentary.'
I'm embarrassed because I now have printed proof that I'm just as full of shit as everyone else. What do I know about poverty and urban violence? Nothing. But that doesn't mean I won't talk about it into your tape recorder. And hey, would you like to know my feelings on Bush's exit strategy for Iraq? Because I'm ill-informed on that, too!
Oh, if you were wondering, some people were shot in Toronto on Boxing Day. The police think they were all bystanders - just people out shopping. Since this is Canada, this is national news. Which is kind of comforting, really. Or, as comforting as a story about random sidewalk shootings can be.
Another great Christmas tradition. Heading out to do some frenzied shopping the day after receiving a pile of gifts—why not? The whole idea might cast a bad light on the Canadian national character, except that we can blame it on the British. They started it, we're just here for the sales.
I haven't actually gone shopping on Boxing Day for almost ten years. Combat shopping and a history of retail-induced panic attacks do not mix. I decided it might be safe to try the Bay. At the very least, I wouldn't be bothered by any excessively cheerful sales staff. I think it's actually a policy for Bay staff to ignore shoppers unless you are waving cash in their face, begging to pay so you can get the hell out of there. They may also acknowledge you if you set yourself on fire, but don't count on it.
The whole store had a cheerfully apocalyptic feel, with women fighting over denim and tottering piles of cashmere blend. A little bit of elbow work and I came away with a pretty nice sweater. Embolded, I decided to venture out to the mall, where the real carnage happens. I tried to look around a couple of the trendier shops, but I was scared away by the line-ups for the change rooms and the steely-eyed determination of the other shoppers. They knew I was an amateur and ignored me as such. Sparkly shirts were snatched out of my hands before I could even talk myself into such a useless purchase.
I decided to flee pretty quickly. My last stop was the lucky one, though. I found some half-price books and grabbed a couple huge Taschen art guides. If I start reading now, I'll be hip by this time next week.
So I guess it was worth it, despite leaving me with a bad taste (what with it being an 'orgy of consumerism' and all). I think I'll stay away for a few more years, unless I hear rumours of cheap books. Then it's every man for himself.
Christmas this year felt more like an ordeal and an obligation than anything celebratory. Usually I enjoy having a reason to get people gifts and to indulge my obsession for toys and books. This time, I just sort of forgot.
Not that anyone can really forget about Christmas. Six weeks of decorations and terrible music will ensure that anyone leaving their home knows it's magic time once again. I guess I forgot that it actually applied to me. That being stressed and distracted was no excuse for not feeling the joy.
I started to pull it together a week ago, giving myself just enough to get a few gifts and the odd festive bow. And since I didn't nag him, Shawn also forgot. Until Thursday he was under the impression that Christmas Day was sometime next week. I didn't really feel bad about this until everyone started to congratulate us on our first Christmas as a married couple. Isn't it just the most exciting thing ever? And aren't we going to have so many special memories? Uh, definitely.
The worst part was on Christmas Eve, when we ran out of time doing our last-minute stuff and ended up eating dinner at McDonald's. So much for special memories. But then I remembered that I actually had a precedent. When I was young, my parents had lobster for dinner every Christmas Eve. Since we were too young and picky to waste good lobster on, Dad would buy McDonald's for the kids. We rarely had fast food, so it was a huge treat for us, much preferable to the lobster our parents were stuck with. So really, scarfing down fries on Christmas Eve is actually a cherished family tradition.
Okay, that might be pushing it, but at least it made me laugh. But it made hanging out at McDonalds on Christmas Eve feel a little less pathetic.
Last night we went out to see a show at Broken City. Chris Vail, Chad Van Gaalen and Kara Keith were playing a Christmas benefit show. It looked like it was going to be a good night, but we ended up having to leave before we saw any of them play.
Shawn quit smoking three years ago, but he was a heavy smoker for ten years before that. Being in a smoky room doesn't always bother him, but when it does, it's practically unbearable. Within minutes of arriving, I could tell this was going to be one of the bad nights. Shawn immediately got a glazed-over look, signifying a deep longing for nicotine. Soon he looked ready to beat down some random indie kid and steal their cigarettes. This particular look is the signal that it is now time to go.
I kinda miss Vancouver for this reason alone. The blanket ban on smoking in public spaces seemed excessive when it was first passed, but within weeks I loved it. Going out at night and not coming home drenched in the stench of stale smoke was amazing. In Calgary you can't even have a quick drink without carrying the lingering scent of the bar with you for the rest of the day.
I remember that not everyone in Vancouver was so happy with the smoking ban, and a few bars risked the fines and opened themselves up to the displaced smoking masses. I went to one of these modern-day leper colonies a few times. It was a small, featureless dump on the edge of Chinatown. The tables were filled with grumbling hipsters smoking their evil cigarettes and drinking -wait for it- echinacea infused beer. And trust me, discussion of the irony was not appreciated.
It's going to take a couple years for the smoking ban trend to finally reach Calgary. Until then, I guess I'll just wait and complain. And keep a close eye on Shawn whenever some skinny indie kid lights up too close to him.
Dodging steet evangelists is an essential urban skill. They're easy enough to spot. Avoidance techniques aren't sophisticated - don't answer, don't make eye contact, and, most importantly, never slow down. Everybody knows this. So what's wrong with me?
Lately, I can't seem to do it. At least once a week I find myself standing on the street corner, clutching handfuls of pamphlets and nodding politely. Yesterday I went so far as to accept a Mormon bible. Written on the inside cover were several verses the young missionary though I would find beneficial. I don't know what I'm going to do with it. I can't just throw it away. I mean, it's somebody's bible. Just the thought of tossing it in the trash makes me feel like an infidel.
It's the eyes that get me. And the pink cheeks. They all look so fervent and committed. Not even a hint of doubt flickers over their shining faces. That kind of conviction is rare, and quite lovely. As I stumble through my theology workbooks, trying to build a coherent set of ideas, the missionaries' conviction becomes more fantastical and alluring. I mean, wouldn't it be great to already know everything? Past, present and future all laid out. I think it might be like having a cheat sheet for the universe. You'd never need the The Ethicist again.
That's not to say they'll never have doubts. But right now, out there walking around in matching sets, they know. And they want me to know, too. Which is nice of them, really. To care like that.
I know I can't keep doing this. Okay, next time, I'm not going even look. I'll keep my head down, speed up, and run them down if necessary. They'll forgive me, I know it.
Early last week I read a very bizarre piece of advice:
"If you have to eat shit, don't nibble."
Disgusting. And, at the time, it didn't even make sense to me. Ah, blessed innocence. Days later I came to appreciate the wisdom of this statement. Don't you hate it when life turns into a hackneyed screenplay, complete with foreshadowing and unheeded warnings?
Never happened to you? Piss off, then.
I know I don't have any options other than swallowing it and moving on. And I know it's better than simmering with bitterness and resentment. But still, part of me wants to throw a tantrum and refuse to do what's best. But the satisfaction of making people squirm will be fleeting compared to the pain of dealing with an enduring reputation as a nutbar.
Guess I'll just have too dig in. And remember to smile while I'm doing it.
(part deux of The Canon, also known as sorting through my old books as I get them ready for storage...)
Got a really crappy job working in the mailroom of a right wing 'family values' organization? Quitting or going postal are the obvious choices. But thwarting your employer's fundraising drive by rerouting cheques straight to the shredder? So much more satisfying.
An entire book celebrating the disgruntled employee and raising their antics to the level of myth. It was published by AK Press in 1992 and I found it at Sloth Records in 1996. I was floating from one crappy job to another and instantly seized upon this as a book filled with great wisdom. I was never so disaffected that I would have actually held 'free days' and refused to let customers pay for anything. Nor could I se myself smashing Christmas ornaments before wrapping them up and mailing them like nothing was wrong. But I had my share of crappy days and it made me immensely happy to know that somebody out there was getting revenge.
I hadn't looked at it for years, but I just pulled it out recently and was filled with the same evil glee. The book is organized by industry, so no matter where you are on the career spectrum, there's someone stuck in the same mess you are. This time, I came across a story about librarians creating catalogue entries for non-existant books. It's a slowburn kind of joke - it might be years before someone realizes that Roman Orgies:Then and Now just doesn't sound right. It reminds me of the all the obscure jokes I've inserted into the use/definition field of the keywording application at work. Not exactly sabotage, but a way to keep myself entertained during the more boring patches. Nobody's said anything yet, but I know it doesn't fit with the intense precision with which other employees approach the job. But hey, whatever keeps me sane
"I've often thought that the entire point of computer programs like Illustrator and Photoshop, based on the way they are advertised, is to enable anyone to create their own Boston cover "
I'm totally enthralled by the trailer for Sofia Coppola's upcoming Marie Antoinette. Who would guess that New Order was the perfect soundtrack for what appears to be a straightforward period costume drama? who would even think of that combination? But for some reason it works - Age of Consent sounds fresher than anything and it adds a real sense that this film has vision and a sly approach interpretation. However, I'm started to feel like one of those crazed true believers because nobody else likes it - at best they think it's silly but somewhat amusing. At worst, "John Hughes with wigs."
I haven't learned the nice way of doing links, so I'll just have to leave it like this:
http://movies.aol.com/movie_exclusive_marie_antoinette_trailer
Yesterday at work I told one of the art directors/photographers about my job making Shawn look nice and non-threatening to parents.
She said "Yes, that's the one advantage women photographers have. They can take pictures of people without anyone wondering about their motives. It can be hard for male photographers. When men try to shoot candids of children or women, everyone assumes they're a pervert...
...But what are you going to do? They brought it on themselves."
Last night I went down to the local skating arena with Shawn. He needed to take shots of kids wearing helmets to use in the City recreation guide. Apparently, all the old skating shots are unusuable now that helmets are the rule. The powers that be cannot be seen as encouraging children to risk knocking their tender, unprotected skulls on the cold, merciless ice.
My main role was to stand next to Shawn, proving to wary parents that he was not a pervert. It's good that I went, too. Shawn hasn't had a haircut in ages and his wildman afro is at odds with the friendly photographer/civil servant personae he was trying to convey. However, my presence, along with my silly and supremely non-threatening striped toque, seemed to reassure everyone and he got lots of great shots.
My second role was to keep an eye out for any non-white kid. It's too easy to end up with photos that are all Aryan, all the time. So I scanned the ice, occassionally nudging Shawn, "pssst - cute little Asian kids wearing helmets, five o'clock!"
All of the parents were easygoing and happy to lend us their children for a few shots. The kids were all hams and I'm sure they'll be smiling out from the cover of every winter activity guide for years to come
I finally gave up on the local community centre and it's teeny room filled with aged equipment and line-ups. I've been checking out other gyms looking for a replacement. I've been going to downtown Y across from the Cecil Hotel for years, but had to cross it off the list. The first time I brought Shawn with me, someone busted open his locker and stole his wallet. The response from the front desk? "yeah, that happens a lot"
Yesterday I went down to SAIT to try out their fitness centre. It's pretty damn swanky compared to the low-ceiling city facility I'm used to. Every piece of cardio equipment has a television screen. I know I'm hopelessly behind the times because this is first time I've seen that. It seems kind of strange for a college gym though - usually they have book rests so freaked-out students can study while they sweat.
I did a quick tour of the weights and then ended up on the treadmill, trying to haul my ass through an 8K run. I haven't run more than 5 in months, so it was pretty freaking painful. I need to get ready for the Resolution Run on the 31st, leaving me exactly 20 days to get into shape. Running around after dark on New Year's Eve can get pretty damn cold so I don't want to walk any of it. I missed it last year because I was sick, and I've superstitiously drawn a direct correlation between that and the fairly crappy year I've had, health-wise. So this year I plan to be out there with the rest of the freaks, running around downtown dressed in multiple layers.
What ever happened to getting hopelessly drunk on New Year's Eve and looking for some random guy to make out with? Oh, I remember, that sucked, too.
Last night I went to the opening of Painting Under Pressure, the new graffiti show at the Art Gallery of Calgary. I'm trying to think of something positive to say so I don't sound like a complete bitch. So far, all I've come up with is: it was free.
I think the main problem for me was the disconnect between the show and the venue. The show is based on the question: Is Graffiti Art? I can almost see this working in a larger, more traditional institution. But AGC is a contemporary gallery, so I'd assumed they would have chosen the 'yes' side about 20 years ago. Seriously, I didn't think you could still base a show on something so broad and obvious. Which leads me to the second problem - when they say graffiti, they mean graffiti. All of it. No subfocus, no era or style or approach or artist. Just graffiti. That's like doing a show on painting. What about painting? Oh, nothing in particular, just painting. We're even going to have real paintings there to look at!
Anyway.
Most of the work was dull. Big multicoloured murals. Lettering style that was big 15 years ago. There was a really cool installation in the lower gallery. I think the artist was Evoke, but it might have been a collaboration between two artists. It was kinda hard to read the labels because the place was PACKED. There was a wall with stream-of-consciousness text, which I'm always a sucker for, and some bits painted in that flat, children's fairy tale style that's everywhere now. But there was a piece where the the paintings on two walls were connected by hundreds of threads. It was neat, but it had nothing to do with street art. You could never create something like that on a wall, not least because it would take endless hours of standing there tying pieces of thread. It wouldn't have seemed too out of place if the rest of the show hadn't been explicitly focused on illegal outdoor graffiti.
The feedback area upstairs was straight out of museum studies 101. Maybe it will get some interesting responses if school groups visit, because that's who the show seems to be aimed at. But the only people there last night were the art school allstars. Thus, the comment area was filled with smart-assed remarks and silly doodles.
But I can't really complain. It was free.
Oh! I do have something positive to say. Two thumbs up to the latest hipsterboy look! I saw a handful of guys working the Jonathon Richmond/early 80s sensitive boy look. Skinny jeans, short hair with a longer section in front, falling carelessly over one eye. Looking a bit malnourished and angsty, but careful not to overdo it. Sadly, I'm probably 10 years older than any of them and it kind of made me feel like a pervert to size them up.
In which I talk about books I'm obsessed with
Inconspicious Consumption by Paul Lukas has been one of my favourite books for years. It confirms to me that a rampant fascination with random stuff is an asset rather than an affliction.
The book is a collection of essays on aspects of our material culture (trans. he talks about stuff). The subtitle is "An Obsessive Look at the Stuff We Take for Granted, from the Everyday to the Obscure." And Paul Lukas makes a good run at covering it all: crayons, obscure lifesaver flavours, corned mutton. He has a great eye for design and advertising and can really break down the all messages conveyed through packaging, industrial design and even the initial concept for a product. He can evoke nostalgia for thing that were never even part of my experience. Do I miss the uniformity and solidity of old pole-mounted USPS mailboxes? No, but he makes them sound really cool.
I love his total glee at finding both absurbity and beauty everywhere. What's strange about reading this book now is that it doesn't seem anywhere near as original and brilliant as it did when I first discovered Beer Frame (the zine upon which the book is based). I think this is because I've absorbed his viewpoint so totally into my own that it just seems normal. Does a cereal box warrant hours of careful analysis? Of course. Isn't everyone mesmerized by the sheer awfulness and absurdity of the products aimed at us? If not, why not?
Every once in a while I check around to see what Paul Lukas is up to now. He wrote a column for Core77, which they still advertise even though the last one was ages ago. He's also got some stuff on business sites, usually ripping apart yet another hopeless marketing decision. Just recently I found him on ESPN, writing a column about team uniforms. It's cool to see that he's parlayed his natural obsessiveness into a hugely successful career. Gives me hope.
