So the Iraqis have executed Saddam Hussein. I'm opposed to the death penalty, so I don't like the idea of his having been killed. But, like so many things in Iraq, there seems to be no good answer to the problem. If he had been sentenced to life in prison in an Iraqi jail, would he have been summarily executed by one faction or another? Or would he have been liberated by another faction? Given the chaos in Iraq, I think that there always was a possibility that Saddam would return to power. And I'm sure that he had a list of people that he was planning to torture to death if given the chance.
One thing from the Globe's article caught my attention, and showed how bad things really are in Iraq these days:
There was no sign of a feared Sunni uprising in retaliation for the execution, and the bloodshed from civil warfare on Saturday was not far off the daily average — 92 from bombings and death squads.
Not far off the daily average. Whoa.
One of today's spam messages contained a paragraph that reads like a description of a Dali surrealist painting:
A light bulb related to the wedding dress prays, and the unstable support group reads a magazine; however, a bowling ball around a dolphin pours freezing cold water on a pork chop. A soggy bullfrog seldom throws an apartment building around the polar bear at a graduated cylinder for the ball bearing. Furthermore, the purple bowling ball self-flagellates, and a turkey feverishly is a big fan of a jersey cow inside a chestnut. Sometimes a green submarine hides, but a girl scout always sanitizes the paper napkin! Indeed, another fried judge figures out an avocado pit defined by a short order cook. A pig pen starts reminiscing about lost glory, and an obsequious crane takes a coffee break; however, the chestnut living with the tomato makes love to an ostensibly stoic customer.
I want some of whatever they're smoking.
Okay, now I'm really worried about the weather. The forecasted highs for Toronto for the next few days are 5, 7, 3, 6 and 8C. This is winter we're talking about here. I hope that we humans haven't totally screwed up the planet, and there's still time to fix things up.
So it's the end of another year. 2006 was a weird and difficult year for me and a lot of people I know - I, for one, will be glad to see the end of it. I don't make New Year's resolutions - if I could change my behaviour that easily, I'd have done it already - but I hope that I can help make 2007 a better year both for me and for the people that I care about.
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Me me me
I've always been fascinated by trivial facts about people. I mean, wouldn't you want to know what Stephen Harper likes to eat for breakfast, or whether Jack Layton is afraid of spiders or not?
In that spirit, here's a bunch of trivial facts about me, just to let you know who you're dealing with here, and also because I'm self-absorbed as all hell.
In that spirit, here's a bunch of trivial facts about me, just to let you know who you're dealing with here, and also because I'm self-absorbed as all hell.
- I'm a little over 6'2" now, but I was short when I was growing up: when I started Grade 10, I was 5'4". In public school class pictures, I was always the little kid sitting in the front with his legs crossed.
- I can't touch my toes from a standing position without bending my knees - in fact, I can get about as far as my knees. This is because some tendon or other in my legs is shorter than average.
- Related to the above: I walk funny. I bounce a bit when I walk. It used to be worse, but I went to a physiotherapist a few years ago when I started having trouble with my right knee. I've always wanted to know whether there is a name for this condition, but I've never found one.
- And sitting cross-legged is very comfortable for me. I'm doing it right now, in fact.
- I'm older than I look. When I tell people how old I am, I sometimes have to show them my driver's licence before they believe me. (But I'm starting to go a bit gray now, so this won't last long.)
- My first job was selling tickets at the CNE when I was a teenager.
- My second job was working in the back room at a Consumers Distributing in Leaside. Yeah, I still remember what catalogue number 407-122 was for.
- I only sleep six hours a night. It seems to be all I need. The night before I wrote this, I went to bed at 11:30 and woke up at 5:30.
- Mind you, if I go too long without eating, and then eat a big meal, I inevitably drift out of consciousness for an hour or two.
- I'm allergic to house dust - if a shirt has been hanging in my closet for longer than a couple of months, I have to wash it again before I can wear it.
- I'm also allergic to lawn grass, cats, dogs, penicillin, and about 50% of Mother Nature.
- I can't eat Shreddies or shredded wheat. I won't go into details as to why not.
- I stopped drinking beer a couple of years ago, as I can't seem to handle it too well either. Nowadays, I drink red wine. Usually cheap French red wine - the kind that comes in screw-top bottles. The French probably use this to clean out their car engines.
- Or I drink Scotch.
- I grew up in Don Mills, a suburb of Toronto: the nearest cross streets were Lawrence and the Don Valley Parkway. I spent way too much time as a kid waiting for the Lawrence East 54 bus.
- Because I grew up near an expressway, I like having the sounds of car traffic in the background. I live near an expressway now, and I love it.
- I have a relatively large nose, high cheekbones, and sunken eyes. This means that I have never found a pair of glasses that suits me. But I hate the very idea of contacts. Put things in my eyes? You have got to be kidding.
- Until I was about 27, I could eat absolutely anything I wanted and never gain weight. (When I was a frosh, I once ate something like 14 grilled cheese sandwiches in one sitting.) My metabolism isn't quite as forgiving now. I wish I could drink more chocolate milkshakes.
- My front teeth aren't real: I was hit by a softball when I was 12.
- Except for 2003, I have been unemployed for at least part of every year this century.
- Until a few years ago, I wore size 10 1/2 shoes, until I noticed that I was getting blisters on my feet. Then, I discovered that I needed size 11 1/2 shoes. I still don't know whether my feet grew or got flat or what.
- I need a lot of solitude in order to function. I live alone by choice.
- I've voted every chance I've gotten.
- Politically, I'm mildly lefty - though I'm pragmatic by nature. I distrust all ideologies.
- I'm a third-generation agnostic.
- I'm legendarily bad with tools. (My university roommate once told me, "I thought people like you only existed in books.")
- I hate the sound of whistling. Don't do it around me, please.
- Certain women's perfumes give me sneezing fits. I can tell instantly whether a particular perfume is going to set me off.
- My best 18-hole golf score ever on a regulation-length course is 116. But I once broke 70 on an 18-hole par 3 course. I don't play golf any more.
- I've never broken a bone in my life. But I've had several bad sprains (left little finger, left leg, right ankle, lower back).
- I catch colds very easily.
- I'm a binge cleaner: I get my apartment nice and clean, and then wait a long time before I clean it again. (Right now, I'm at a low point.)
- My hair grows like crazy, especially on the top of my head.
- I could grow a passable beard in about a week. But I hate beards.
- Years ago, when I lived in Kitchener/Waterloo, I forgot where I parked my car, and had to call a cab to go look for it.
- I once had my car stolen and driven to Orillia.
- I last owned a car in 2003.
- I worry a lot. I mean a lot. More than you. I'm a compulsive ruminator.
- I like writing about myself.
- But I'm deathly afraid of boring people. I apologize in advance if I've been boring you, dear reader.
Friday, December 29, 2006
The Special Forces Elite Documentation Squad
(Note: I'm kind of cheating with today's entry: this is a rewrite of something I wrote elsewhere. Hey, recycling is fashionable nowadays.)
Before I begin, a disclaimer: Nothing really bad has happened to me, or ever was likely to. Please read this last sentence again.
Now, let me tell you my skin cancer story.
Early this year, I developed a reddish spot on my upper right arm, just below the shoulder. At first, I thought it was a skin fungus: I was doing a lot of swimming to stay in shape, and I'd had a couple of these before. Finally, in June - ironically, after reading a story about somebody who had a nasty type of skin cancer - I went and had it checked out at the medical clinic near where I live. The diagnosis: ringworm, which is a kind of skin fungus (with a really yucky name).
The doctor gave me a small tub of cream, which I was to rub into the spot twice a day. It apparently was going to take several weeks for it to go away, as these beasties can be stubborn. I diligently applied the cream as prescribed, and enjoyed my summer.
In August, I noticed that the damned thing hadn't changed one bit, despite repeated applications of cream. I wondered what was happening. I didn't think it was skin cancer: it didn't look like the pictures of skin cancer that I saw on the net, and it was on a spot on my arm that doesn't normally see much sun. (I love being outdoors in the summer, but I don't go around shirtless. I am old enough that I look better clothed than unclothed.) I wasn't sure whether to do anything about it, but I developed an ear infection, and a repetitive strain injury in my elbow that just wouldn't go away, so I had to go to the clinic again anyway.
At the clinic, I got pills for the ear infection, and physio appointments for the elbow, and figured, let's have the doctor look at the arm while I'm here. He took a look at it, went "hmmm", and gave me a referral to a dermatologist who was booked up one month in advance. Okay, I thought. Something's up.
In September, I went to see the dermatologist, and got a diagnosis of basal cell carcinoma, which is the least harmful and most common form of skin cancer. It can take years to appear - apparently, this probably resulted from a sunburn I got when I was growing up. The doctor told me not to worry - this type of cancer virtually never spreads anywhere in the body. I was in no danger. I found out later, from my father, that the success rate is something like 99.999999% - I'm far more likely to be hit by a bus than be killed by this kind of cancer. In fact, some people don't even call this cancer any more. But, still, it was kind of weird.
In the September appointment, I had a biopsy done, and another appointment was set up for October, in which the diagnosis was confirmed. A date in November was booked to have the darned thing removed. The only really unpleasant parts of the surgery were (a) waiting in the lobby and not knowing whether I was going to have to endure any pain, and (b) the local anaesthetic, which felt like a bunch of bee stings and was much less painful than the pulled leg muscle I sustained this spring. Once the local had kicked in, I felt no pain at all, modern science be praised. I exchanged small talk with the nurse while I studiously avoided looking down and to my right. I figured I didn't need to know what was happening.
The nurse and I talked about representational versus non-representational art, of all things. I told her that non-representational art is to painting as jazz is to music: taking things such as colour, shape and line as far as they can be taken. (This is probably a lousy explanation - if you are an artist, please do not shoot me.) This achieved her assumed goal of keeping my mind off of what was happening - but, actually, since I wasn't in pain, I was blithely unconcerned. It was much less unpleasant than having a tooth shaved down. (Long story - I have bridgework instead of front teeth, thanks to being hit by a softball when I was 12.)
When the procedure was over, the doctor slapped a rather large bandage on my upper arm, and gave me a written list of instructions as to what to do next. ("Don't shower for 24 hours; shower with bandage on, then replace bandage; swimming is right out.") I had to go to four drug stores before I found one that had bandages large enough to serve as replacements. They put in about six large stitches in my upper arm, which seems to be a fairly large wound, given that the original patch was significantly smaller than a dime. I guess they wanted to make sure they got it all.
When they took the stitches out, they told me that the lab report indicated that they had, indeed, gotten it all. Yay! I was left with a scar on my right arm that's about an inch and a quarter long. Naturally, I wanted to be able to come up with a cool and totally fabricated explanation of how the scar got there.
When I went to Christmas Eve dinner with friends, they suggested that I could claim that the scar was from having a Special Forces tattoo removed. Of course, the only way I could have joined Special Forces of any kind was if they have an Elite Documentation Squad, ready and willing to use FrameMaker behind enemy lines.
Here is a page on basal cell carcinomas, if you're curious. Mine doesn't seem to match any of the descriptions here. I think it's closest to the Superficial one, since it was mistakenly diagnosed at first.
The moral of this story: if you've got any weird blotches on your skin, get them checked out. I was lucky - all I have is a place where an Elite Documentation Squad tattoo used to be. But I could have been less lucky than I was.
Before I begin, a disclaimer: Nothing really bad has happened to me, or ever was likely to. Please read this last sentence again.
Now, let me tell you my skin cancer story.
Early this year, I developed a reddish spot on my upper right arm, just below the shoulder. At first, I thought it was a skin fungus: I was doing a lot of swimming to stay in shape, and I'd had a couple of these before. Finally, in June - ironically, after reading a story about somebody who had a nasty type of skin cancer - I went and had it checked out at the medical clinic near where I live. The diagnosis: ringworm, which is a kind of skin fungus (with a really yucky name).
The doctor gave me a small tub of cream, which I was to rub into the spot twice a day. It apparently was going to take several weeks for it to go away, as these beasties can be stubborn. I diligently applied the cream as prescribed, and enjoyed my summer.
In August, I noticed that the damned thing hadn't changed one bit, despite repeated applications of cream. I wondered what was happening. I didn't think it was skin cancer: it didn't look like the pictures of skin cancer that I saw on the net, and it was on a spot on my arm that doesn't normally see much sun. (I love being outdoors in the summer, but I don't go around shirtless. I am old enough that I look better clothed than unclothed.) I wasn't sure whether to do anything about it, but I developed an ear infection, and a repetitive strain injury in my elbow that just wouldn't go away, so I had to go to the clinic again anyway.
At the clinic, I got pills for the ear infection, and physio appointments for the elbow, and figured, let's have the doctor look at the arm while I'm here. He took a look at it, went "hmmm", and gave me a referral to a dermatologist who was booked up one month in advance. Okay, I thought. Something's up.
In September, I went to see the dermatologist, and got a diagnosis of basal cell carcinoma, which is the least harmful and most common form of skin cancer. It can take years to appear - apparently, this probably resulted from a sunburn I got when I was growing up. The doctor told me not to worry - this type of cancer virtually never spreads anywhere in the body. I was in no danger. I found out later, from my father, that the success rate is something like 99.999999% - I'm far more likely to be hit by a bus than be killed by this kind of cancer. In fact, some people don't even call this cancer any more. But, still, it was kind of weird.
In the September appointment, I had a biopsy done, and another appointment was set up for October, in which the diagnosis was confirmed. A date in November was booked to have the darned thing removed. The only really unpleasant parts of the surgery were (a) waiting in the lobby and not knowing whether I was going to have to endure any pain, and (b) the local anaesthetic, which felt like a bunch of bee stings and was much less painful than the pulled leg muscle I sustained this spring. Once the local had kicked in, I felt no pain at all, modern science be praised. I exchanged small talk with the nurse while I studiously avoided looking down and to my right. I figured I didn't need to know what was happening.
The nurse and I talked about representational versus non-representational art, of all things. I told her that non-representational art is to painting as jazz is to music: taking things such as colour, shape and line as far as they can be taken. (This is probably a lousy explanation - if you are an artist, please do not shoot me.) This achieved her assumed goal of keeping my mind off of what was happening - but, actually, since I wasn't in pain, I was blithely unconcerned. It was much less unpleasant than having a tooth shaved down. (Long story - I have bridgework instead of front teeth, thanks to being hit by a softball when I was 12.)
When the procedure was over, the doctor slapped a rather large bandage on my upper arm, and gave me a written list of instructions as to what to do next. ("Don't shower for 24 hours; shower with bandage on, then replace bandage; swimming is right out.") I had to go to four drug stores before I found one that had bandages large enough to serve as replacements. They put in about six large stitches in my upper arm, which seems to be a fairly large wound, given that the original patch was significantly smaller than a dime. I guess they wanted to make sure they got it all.
When they took the stitches out, they told me that the lab report indicated that they had, indeed, gotten it all. Yay! I was left with a scar on my right arm that's about an inch and a quarter long. Naturally, I wanted to be able to come up with a cool and totally fabricated explanation of how the scar got there.
When I went to Christmas Eve dinner with friends, they suggested that I could claim that the scar was from having a Special Forces tattoo removed. Of course, the only way I could have joined Special Forces of any kind was if they have an Elite Documentation Squad, ready and willing to use FrameMaker behind enemy lines.
Here is a page on basal cell carcinomas, if you're curious. Mine doesn't seem to match any of the descriptions here. I think it's closest to the Superficial one, since it was mistakenly diagnosed at first.
The moral of this story: if you've got any weird blotches on your skin, get them checked out. I was lucky - all I have is a place where an Elite Documentation Squad tattoo used to be. But I could have been less lucky than I was.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
My shopping cart story
I'm an agnostic. But not an atheist. Basically, I don't have any idea whether there is a God or not, because I'm not smart enough. And I don't believe anybody else is smart enough, either: I could never accept the authority of any priest, parson, minister, or other religious leader. (I don't play well with others.)
There's a specific reason why I'm an agnostic, and it is because of a shopping cart.
A while back, I went out to a grocery store, and it had a bunch of coin-operated shopping carts out front. You know the ones I mean: you put in a quarter, and you get to take the cart. When you're done with it, you put it back and get your quarter back. This is supposed to prevent theft.
Anyway, the carts in front of this store used a slightly different mechanism than what I was used to, and I was having trouble figuring out how to put in the quarter and extract the cart. Then, it occurred to me: if I can't figure out how to operate a shopping cart, perhaps I might not be smart enough to know whether God exists.
And, to this day, that's where I've left it. I have more than my share of existential terror, but I've never bothered trying to read any philosophy or religious writings. They won't help me, as nobody else has really figured out whether God exists, either. So I spend my time thinking about other stuff.
Note to any hard-core scientific materialists out there, the ones I call "aggressive atheists": scientists haven't figured out why the universe even exists, why the Big Bang happened, or why everything in history hasn't already happened yet, since time is infinite. Try figuring out answers to those questions, why don't you?
So I just went out and bought a new external hard drive. For $220, including tax, I now have 465GB of new storage. Whoa.
I've always had a soft spot for failed spam. Today, I got email from somebody calling himself "SYSTEMS". The subject header was "update". The message was blank. It's like the spammers who send messages from "%SENDER%".
And, in the latest news: the Globe reports that a giant ice shelf has snapped free from Canada's Arctic. The ice shelf is the size of 11,000 football fields, and the explosion was loud enough to register on earthquake monitors 250 kilometres away. I'm starting to get a little scared of what might happen. It could get ugly.
There's a specific reason why I'm an agnostic, and it is because of a shopping cart.
A while back, I went out to a grocery store, and it had a bunch of coin-operated shopping carts out front. You know the ones I mean: you put in a quarter, and you get to take the cart. When you're done with it, you put it back and get your quarter back. This is supposed to prevent theft.
Anyway, the carts in front of this store used a slightly different mechanism than what I was used to, and I was having trouble figuring out how to put in the quarter and extract the cart. Then, it occurred to me: if I can't figure out how to operate a shopping cart, perhaps I might not be smart enough to know whether God exists.
And, to this day, that's where I've left it. I have more than my share of existential terror, but I've never bothered trying to read any philosophy or religious writings. They won't help me, as nobody else has really figured out whether God exists, either. So I spend my time thinking about other stuff.
Note to any hard-core scientific materialists out there, the ones I call "aggressive atheists": scientists haven't figured out why the universe even exists, why the Big Bang happened, or why everything in history hasn't already happened yet, since time is infinite. Try figuring out answers to those questions, why don't you?
So I just went out and bought a new external hard drive. For $220, including tax, I now have 465GB of new storage. Whoa.
I've always had a soft spot for failed spam. Today, I got email from somebody calling himself "SYSTEMS". The subject header was "update". The message was blank. It's like the spammers who send messages from "%SENDER%".
And, in the latest news: the Globe reports that a giant ice shelf has snapped free from Canada's Arctic. The ice shelf is the size of 11,000 football fields, and the explosion was loud enough to register on earthquake monitors 250 kilometres away. I'm starting to get a little scared of what might happen. It could get ugly.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Nothing to lose and a lot to reap
Today, according to my call display, two people called me at home while I was away at work. One of them was NAME/NO. UNKNOWN, which usually means "telemarketer":
Hi! Sorry I missed you! Have you ever really considered the advantages of a luxury resort time-share/efficient and reliable mover/comprehensive investment plan/low-cost prepaid funeral?
But the second one was just plain weird: the caller left no number, and the caller ID was SEENTHATTINKER1. What the? Is this call display spam? A Google search for this turned up absolutely nothing.
And I got this spam in my inbox a few days ago, from somebody whose first language is obviously something other than English:
Eliminate all you owe not even sending another dollar. Stop the
embarrassing telephone calls. End the payments!
Believe it or not a good number lendors not following the banking laws
here. Implausible but valid!
Join us for in-depth details as regards our procedure at 0 charge or
obligation. You have nothing to lose and a lot to reap.
Contact us at:
xxx.xxx.xxxx
Meticulous info or to cease getting or to read our address
Zeb was greatly astonished at his defeat, and when the pretty Princess
joined her people in laughing at him he proposed a boxing-match with the
Munchkin, to which the little Ozite readily agreed. That is one force I
refer to, said the Demon
And then there's this one, whose subject header is "Your neighbors lost their alarm-clock":
Soft Cialis Tabs cause erection exactly when you need it.
Wanna hold a brick on your dick? Try our Soft Cialis Tabs. (Warning: don’t try it).
Well? Should I try it, or shouldn't I? Make up your minds, people!
I probably won't read this editorial - it's likely to increase my stress level.
Hi! Sorry I missed you! Have you ever really considered the advantages of a luxury resort time-share/efficient and reliable mover/comprehensive investment plan/low-cost prepaid funeral?
But the second one was just plain weird: the caller left no number, and the caller ID was SEENTHATTINKER1. What the? Is this call display spam? A Google search for this turned up absolutely nothing.
And I got this spam in my inbox a few days ago, from somebody whose first language is obviously something other than English:
Eliminate all you owe not even sending another dollar. Stop the
embarrassing telephone calls. End the payments!
Believe it or not a good number lendors not following the banking laws
here. Implausible but valid!
Join us for in-depth details as regards our procedure at 0 charge or
obligation. You have nothing to lose and a lot to reap.
Contact us at:
xxx.xxx.xxxx
Meticulous info or to cease getting or to read our address
Zeb was greatly astonished at his defeat, and when the pretty Princess
joined her people in laughing at him he proposed a boxing-match with the
Munchkin, to which the little Ozite readily agreed. That is one force I
refer to, said the Demon
And then there's this one, whose subject header is "Your neighbors lost their alarm-clock":
Soft Cialis Tabs cause erection exactly when you need it.
Wanna hold a brick on your dick? Try our Soft Cialis Tabs. (Warning: don’t try it).
Well? Should I try it, or shouldn't I? Make up your minds, people!
I probably won't read this editorial - it's likely to increase my stress level.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
The Action Hero's Handbook
I got a cool Christmas present from a friend of mine: The Action Hero's Handbook. Here's the back cover blurb for this awesome book:
For everyone who's ever wanted to be as smooth as James Bond, as clever as Captain Kirk, or as tough as Charlie's Angels, The Action Hero's Handbook is the ultimate guide to the essential skills every action hero needs to survive and thrive in this dangerous but exciting world.
Well, yes. Chapter titles include (capitalization is theirs):
For everyone who's ever wanted to be as smooth as James Bond, as clever as Captain Kirk, or as tough as Charlie's Angels, The Action Hero's Handbook is the ultimate guide to the essential skills every action hero needs to survive and thrive in this dangerous but exciting world.
Well, yes. Chapter titles include (capitalization is theirs):
- How to Track a Fugitive
- How to Interrogate a Suspect
- How to Drive a Bus at High Speed
- How to Negotiate a Hostage Crisis
- How to Take a Bullet
- How to Dirty Dance
- How to Communicate with an Extraterrestrial
- How to Perform the Vulcan Nerve Pinch
- How to Take a Hit with a Chair
- How to Evade a MiG
- How to Win a High-Speed Chase on Foot
- How to Be Ready for Anything
- Be suspicious of everyone and everything, but don't let on that you're suspicious.
- Always make a mental note of exits and entrances to any building you enter.
- Be aware of what's happening around you.
- Control and utilize your fear.
- Don't get caught off guard.
- If you must engage in a physical confrontation, attempt to stun your opponent with a finger gouge or throat chop and end the fight quickly.
- Stay on the move.
- Pick up useful items after you've disabled your opponents: these include weapons, equipment bags, walkie-talkies, uniforms, and key cards.
- How to stop a modular robot
- How to spot a robot mimicking a human
- How to prepare for the coming uprising
- How to deactivate a rebel servant robot
- How to enhance yourself with cybernetic implants
- How to recruit human allies
- Last ditch methods for obliterating all robots
Monday, December 25, 2006
Retro Christmas goodies
Here's some cool retro eye candy to help you celebrate Christmas, as provided by the Archives of Ontario web site. A lot of this material is related to Eaton's.
- A 1953 Eaton's Santa Claus Parade colouring book and one from 1956 (you can also find 1951, 1952, 1960, and 1961 colouring books on the same page)
- Some 1955 TV commercials
- Footage of the 1953 Eaton's Santa Claus parade
- Collections of childhood toys
- A celebration of winters long ago, including a big, beautiful 1903 Eaton's catalogue cover
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Do it yourself
There are very few things I feel really strongly about, but one of them is this: the division between artists/performers and those who don't do creative things is an artificial one. Or, to put it another way: anybody can be a creative person if they want to be.
I have reached A Certain Age, so I am old enough to remember the first wave of punk rockers (the Sex Pistols, the Clash, and so on). Before they arrived, music was complicated and fancy, and took years to learn how to play; think Emerson, Lake, and Palmer. But the punk rockers showed up and said, in effect, "We're doing simple stuff - you can do it too, if you want to." One British punk music fanzine published pictures of three chords with the message, "Now start a band." (My friends and I actually did, though we never performed anywhere but in my parents' basement. I was the rhythm guitarist. I wasn't particularly good, but I was loud.)
By the way: punk, as originally conceived, wasn't about the look, nor did it originally have anything to do with violence. That all came later. (The Sex Pistols wore safety pins in their clothes because they couldn't afford clothes that weren't patched together with safety pins.) At first, it was about doing your own thing.
Without punk musicians to serve as an example, it would never have occurred to me that I could do creative things myself. (To this day, sometimes I'm still not quite sure, but that's a common fear shared by many people who write, sing or perform: what if, in reality, I'm no damn good?)
When I first started performing, I would regularly run into people who couldn't imagine themselves on stage. I would tell them: I couldn't either, until I started doing it. And it was the same thing with photography: I basically just went out, bought a camera, and started taking pictures. I don't pretend to be good at it - I have very little formal training in photography - but I figure that I'm better than all of the people who aren't taking pictures.
Picture me grabbing you by the lapel as I say this: Listen to me - if I can do it, you can do it. I don't have discernible musical or visual talent, and I'm very shy. If I can go up on stage, or play a guitar, or take a picture of something interesting, you can do it too.
I have reached A Certain Age, so I am old enough to remember the first wave of punk rockers (the Sex Pistols, the Clash, and so on). Before they arrived, music was complicated and fancy, and took years to learn how to play; think Emerson, Lake, and Palmer. But the punk rockers showed up and said, in effect, "We're doing simple stuff - you can do it too, if you want to." One British punk music fanzine published pictures of three chords with the message, "Now start a band." (My friends and I actually did, though we never performed anywhere but in my parents' basement. I was the rhythm guitarist. I wasn't particularly good, but I was loud.)
By the way: punk, as originally conceived, wasn't about the look, nor did it originally have anything to do with violence. That all came later. (The Sex Pistols wore safety pins in their clothes because they couldn't afford clothes that weren't patched together with safety pins.) At first, it was about doing your own thing.
Without punk musicians to serve as an example, it would never have occurred to me that I could do creative things myself. (To this day, sometimes I'm still not quite sure, but that's a common fear shared by many people who write, sing or perform: what if, in reality, I'm no damn good?)
When I first started performing, I would regularly run into people who couldn't imagine themselves on stage. I would tell them: I couldn't either, until I started doing it. And it was the same thing with photography: I basically just went out, bought a camera, and started taking pictures. I don't pretend to be good at it - I have very little formal training in photography - but I figure that I'm better than all of the people who aren't taking pictures.
Picture me grabbing you by the lapel as I say this: Listen to me - if I can do it, you can do it. I don't have discernible musical or visual talent, and I'm very shy. If I can go up on stage, or play a guitar, or take a picture of something interesting, you can do it too.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Ten random thoughts
I'm listening to WFMU over the Internet as I type this, and they're playing a version of "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" that uses the music from "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida". What? Why?
It's raining again. Again.
The time between the last day of work and Christmas is like pushing the PAUSE button on life.
I hate the telephone. I especially hate calling people on the phone. I much prefer either email or face-to-face contact. If I'm communicating with someone by email, I can take the time to try to write something clever, or at least try to avoid saying something stupid. And I can be sure that I'm not imposing on my recipient, as he or she can read my message at a time that is convenient. Face-to-face contact is fine: when you're talking with someone in person, there's lots of ways to communicate besides words, and silence is sometimes okay too. A phone call, on the other hand, is an immediate demand, and I'm uncomfortable with making immediate demands on people.
2006 has been a difficult year for a lot of people that I know, including me. What the hell is going on out there?
At the rate things are going, there will be no parking lots left in downtown Toronto in 2010. They'll all be replaced by condominiums. Eventually, I envision that developers will try to lobby for a law that forces all apartment dwellers to go out and buy a condo, already. (A few years back, one large landlord tried to convert his high-rise to condos. This was disallowed. If it hadn't been, there would be no high-rise apartments for rent - they'd have all gone condo by now.)
I have a goal in life: as I get older, I don't want to give up. I see so many older people on the subway who look despondent, as if life has gotten to be too much for them. I hope this doesn't happen to me. I want to go down fighting.
I used to eat in restaurants by myself all the time. I hardly ever do this any more, as it's too depressing. I guess I'm saving money this way.
My advice to you: if you're feeling lonely, never go to a coffee shop on your own. Especially on a Saturday night. You'll be surrounded by equally lonely people, and the weight of loneliness will become too much to bear.
Am I the only one who can't go to certain places because they bring back bad memories? For me, Toronto is sprinkled with no-go zones. On bad days, I have to plan my excursions carefully. I'm grateful that downtown Toronto is laid out in a grid system - I can always find another way to get where I want to go.
(Edit: here's an 11th: I just found a link, via Warren Kinsella's blog, to a video of Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros doing Bob Marley's "Redemption Song". Remember: the future is unwritten.)
It's raining again. Again.
The time between the last day of work and Christmas is like pushing the PAUSE button on life.
I hate the telephone. I especially hate calling people on the phone. I much prefer either email or face-to-face contact. If I'm communicating with someone by email, I can take the time to try to write something clever, or at least try to avoid saying something stupid. And I can be sure that I'm not imposing on my recipient, as he or she can read my message at a time that is convenient. Face-to-face contact is fine: when you're talking with someone in person, there's lots of ways to communicate besides words, and silence is sometimes okay too. A phone call, on the other hand, is an immediate demand, and I'm uncomfortable with making immediate demands on people.
2006 has been a difficult year for a lot of people that I know, including me. What the hell is going on out there?
At the rate things are going, there will be no parking lots left in downtown Toronto in 2010. They'll all be replaced by condominiums. Eventually, I envision that developers will try to lobby for a law that forces all apartment dwellers to go out and buy a condo, already. (A few years back, one large landlord tried to convert his high-rise to condos. This was disallowed. If it hadn't been, there would be no high-rise apartments for rent - they'd have all gone condo by now.)
I have a goal in life: as I get older, I don't want to give up. I see so many older people on the subway who look despondent, as if life has gotten to be too much for them. I hope this doesn't happen to me. I want to go down fighting.
I used to eat in restaurants by myself all the time. I hardly ever do this any more, as it's too depressing. I guess I'm saving money this way.
My advice to you: if you're feeling lonely, never go to a coffee shop on your own. Especially on a Saturday night. You'll be surrounded by equally lonely people, and the weight of loneliness will become too much to bear.
Am I the only one who can't go to certain places because they bring back bad memories? For me, Toronto is sprinkled with no-go zones. On bad days, I have to plan my excursions carefully. I'm grateful that downtown Toronto is laid out in a grid system - I can always find another way to get where I want to go.
(Edit: here's an 11th: I just found a link, via Warren Kinsella's blog, to a video of Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros doing Bob Marley's "Redemption Song". Remember: the future is unwritten.)
Friday, December 22, 2006
Let it snow, let it... never mind
It's raining and raining and raining in Toronto as I write this. The temperature has averaged about 6C for the last week or so. This is not winter as I remember it.
Remember when ski resorts used to do lots of business around Christmas time? You might remember skiing: it was a winter sport in which people took bits of wood or plastic, strapped them onto their feet, and then travelled at varying rates of speed down hills covered with snow. You might remember snow.
I tried downhill skiing when I was a teenager, mostly because all of my friends were doing it. (This was before I found new friends.) I never really enjoyed it, mostly because I never learned how to stop properly. Expert, or even marginally expert, skiers learn how to parallel stop, which is where the skier suddenly and gracefully turns his or her skis 90 degrees and comes to an abrupt halt, sending out a elegant spray of snow while doing so. I never figured out how to do this.
My method of stopping consisted of turning my skis inward at about a 30 degree angle and digging the inside edges into the snow. Eventually, I would come to a stop. Most of the time, that is: I still recall the two times I went hopelessly out of control.
Time number one was at Mount St. Louis. There, the hill was straight, and there was a lot of deceleration room at the bottom (with hay bales at the very back just in case), so I let myself plummet downwards and hoped that nobody as clumsy as me was in my way.
The other time I lost control could have been more serious, I guess. I was at Blue Mountain, on one of their easy hills. I think it was called Happy Valley or Cute Fluffy Bunny. All my friends were better skiers, and were on hills called Total Nuclear Death, while I was stuck on hills whose very existence branded me a nerd. Anyway: Blue Mountain is a huge mother of a hill, or was when I was last on it (this was a long time ago). When I started to lose control, I had about like half a mile still to go, including a couple of places where I would have had to turn. Going out of control all the way down would have meant certain doom, so I headed for the trees, hoping for a relatively smooth stopping place. Luckily, I found one, and didn't end up like Sonny Bono.
I also remember sometimes falling when getting out of the chair lifts. This was not only embarrassing but dangerous, as I was at the total mercy of the group of three behind me. If any of them were as bad at skiing as me, I would have been skewered. It may very well be a miracle that I am still alive.
Actually, now that I think of it, I am lucky to be alive. In 1990, I was a passenger in a 1984 Chevette heading from Guelph to Kitchener. It was late at night. Suddenly, unexpectedly, a car came out from a side road and turned onto the highway right in the path of the car I was in. My friend who was driving had the presence of mind to take evasive action, and successfully dodged the other car. If she hadn't done that, the Chevette would have been T-boned at highway speed.
I was wearing my seat belt, but a Chevette has no actual padding to speak of, so I likely would have been very badly hurt at best. Perhaps I should remember this more often, and be grateful to be alive and breathing and all that.
Remember when ski resorts used to do lots of business around Christmas time? You might remember skiing: it was a winter sport in which people took bits of wood or plastic, strapped them onto their feet, and then travelled at varying rates of speed down hills covered with snow. You might remember snow.
I tried downhill skiing when I was a teenager, mostly because all of my friends were doing it. (This was before I found new friends.) I never really enjoyed it, mostly because I never learned how to stop properly. Expert, or even marginally expert, skiers learn how to parallel stop, which is where the skier suddenly and gracefully turns his or her skis 90 degrees and comes to an abrupt halt, sending out a elegant spray of snow while doing so. I never figured out how to do this.
My method of stopping consisted of turning my skis inward at about a 30 degree angle and digging the inside edges into the snow. Eventually, I would come to a stop. Most of the time, that is: I still recall the two times I went hopelessly out of control.
Time number one was at Mount St. Louis. There, the hill was straight, and there was a lot of deceleration room at the bottom (with hay bales at the very back just in case), so I let myself plummet downwards and hoped that nobody as clumsy as me was in my way.
The other time I lost control could have been more serious, I guess. I was at Blue Mountain, on one of their easy hills. I think it was called Happy Valley or Cute Fluffy Bunny. All my friends were better skiers, and were on hills called Total Nuclear Death, while I was stuck on hills whose very existence branded me a nerd. Anyway: Blue Mountain is a huge mother of a hill, or was when I was last on it (this was a long time ago). When I started to lose control, I had about like half a mile still to go, including a couple of places where I would have had to turn. Going out of control all the way down would have meant certain doom, so I headed for the trees, hoping for a relatively smooth stopping place. Luckily, I found one, and didn't end up like Sonny Bono.
I also remember sometimes falling when getting out of the chair lifts. This was not only embarrassing but dangerous, as I was at the total mercy of the group of three behind me. If any of them were as bad at skiing as me, I would have been skewered. It may very well be a miracle that I am still alive.
Actually, now that I think of it, I am lucky to be alive. In 1990, I was a passenger in a 1984 Chevette heading from Guelph to Kitchener. It was late at night. Suddenly, unexpectedly, a car came out from a side road and turned onto the highway right in the path of the car I was in. My friend who was driving had the presence of mind to take evasive action, and successfully dodged the other car. If she hadn't done that, the Chevette would have been T-boned at highway speed.
I was wearing my seat belt, but a Chevette has no actual padding to speak of, so I likely would have been very badly hurt at best. Perhaps I should remember this more often, and be grateful to be alive and breathing and all that.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Happiness is not losing your keys
I discovered the true meaning of happiness at about 9:30 this morning.
I got to work a little early today, so I decided to sit in a chair in the lobby and read. I didn't realize that, while I was sitting down, my keys had slipped out of my pocket and onto the chair. This happened silently, so I didn't notice that anything was wrong as I got up and headed up the escalator to work.
A half hour later, I noticed that my keys weren't in my pocket. My first thought was that I had stuffed them in my coat pocket or in my knapsack. I'm notoriously absent-minded, so I do things like that. No luck. So I searched all the pockets of my knapsack. Still no luck. Uh oh.
I tried to visualize the scenario. I'd have to go home right away - my building's rental office closes before 5 today. I'd have to go to the rental agents, get them to let me into the building, then somehow get new keys for everything. I don't know whether this would mean that a locksmith would have to come and put new locks on my apartment door or what. Plus there's my safety deposit box key, my locker key, and so on and so on. And, because I'm a contractor being paid by the hour, I'd lose billable time doing this, which would cost me money. This wasn't looking good at all.
Before telling my boss that I would have to leave, I headed down to the lobby to ask the guy at the front desk whether, by chance, somebody had turned in a set of keys. I fully expected him to not know what the hell I was talking about. But, miracle of miracles, someone had spotted my keys on the chair, and had turned them in to the front desk. It was an enormous relief to find my keys again.
To whoever turned the keys in to the front desk: you don't know me, and I don't know you. But, whoever you are: I hope that good things are happening to you right now.
A little mini music review while I'm here: today, I listened to the Dandy Warhols' Thirteen Tales of Urban Bohemia. I find the Dandys fascinating because they seem to be two or three different bands on this album. I think "Sleep" is a really great song because it's kind of atmospheric and melancholy, which you already know that I like. And "Bohemian Like You" is a catchy little single. But those two songs sound totally different. The allmusic.com site is down right now, or I'd check to see whether they had more than one songwriter in the band.
I got to work a little early today, so I decided to sit in a chair in the lobby and read. I didn't realize that, while I was sitting down, my keys had slipped out of my pocket and onto the chair. This happened silently, so I didn't notice that anything was wrong as I got up and headed up the escalator to work.
A half hour later, I noticed that my keys weren't in my pocket. My first thought was that I had stuffed them in my coat pocket or in my knapsack. I'm notoriously absent-minded, so I do things like that. No luck. So I searched all the pockets of my knapsack. Still no luck. Uh oh.
I tried to visualize the scenario. I'd have to go home right away - my building's rental office closes before 5 today. I'd have to go to the rental agents, get them to let me into the building, then somehow get new keys for everything. I don't know whether this would mean that a locksmith would have to come and put new locks on my apartment door or what. Plus there's my safety deposit box key, my locker key, and so on and so on. And, because I'm a contractor being paid by the hour, I'd lose billable time doing this, which would cost me money. This wasn't looking good at all.
Before telling my boss that I would have to leave, I headed down to the lobby to ask the guy at the front desk whether, by chance, somebody had turned in a set of keys. I fully expected him to not know what the hell I was talking about. But, miracle of miracles, someone had spotted my keys on the chair, and had turned them in to the front desk. It was an enormous relief to find my keys again.
To whoever turned the keys in to the front desk: you don't know me, and I don't know you. But, whoever you are: I hope that good things are happening to you right now.
A little mini music review while I'm here: today, I listened to the Dandy Warhols' Thirteen Tales of Urban Bohemia. I find the Dandys fascinating because they seem to be two or three different bands on this album. I think "Sleep" is a really great song because it's kind of atmospheric and melancholy, which you already know that I like. And "Bohemian Like You" is a catchy little single. But those two songs sound totally different. The allmusic.com site is down right now, or I'd check to see whether they had more than one songwriter in the band.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Signs of advancing age, Part XVII
Yet another sign that I'm growing older: I went to wrap Christmas presents today, and discovered that I had some wrapping paper saved up from last year. I even had some left over - I might be able to use it next year too.
A small consolation: most older people don't listen to Clem Snide while they wrap their Christmas presents. Clem Snide is what Wilco would sound like if they didn't bother to get out of bed in the morning: they're so laid back that they're practically bent over backwards. I like them. "Tonight I feel like Elvis looking for his long-lost twin."
Short shameful confession: I have become addicted to Nethack again. Maybe it's because this version is so damn hard: I think I've made it to level 10 once. But, each time, I think I got killed because of some dumb mistake - a mistake I won't make next time, no sir. I probably need a life. Or maybe two.
If I had to reduce my music collection to just one artist, I'd pick Neil Young. Who else can both rock out and write such wonderful slow sad songs? (For some reason, "Star of Bethlehem" always breaks my heart when I hear it.) And he still thinks of himself as Canadian, even though he has lived in California for so many years: he went to the trouble of performing at Live 8 in Barrie a couple of years ago.
Metafilter has a link to a New York Times article which lists 15 questions couples should ask each other before marrying. Question 7 in this list is Will there be a television in the bedroom? I suppose that this is equivalent to Would you prefer watching television to having sex?
Metafilter readers have suggested the following questions to be added to the Times list:
A small consolation: most older people don't listen to Clem Snide while they wrap their Christmas presents. Clem Snide is what Wilco would sound like if they didn't bother to get out of bed in the morning: they're so laid back that they're practically bent over backwards. I like them. "Tonight I feel like Elvis looking for his long-lost twin."
Short shameful confession: I have become addicted to Nethack again. Maybe it's because this version is so damn hard: I think I've made it to level 10 once. But, each time, I think I got killed because of some dumb mistake - a mistake I won't make next time, no sir. I probably need a life. Or maybe two.
If I had to reduce my music collection to just one artist, I'd pick Neil Young. Who else can both rock out and write such wonderful slow sad songs? (For some reason, "Star of Bethlehem" always breaks my heart when I hear it.) And he still thinks of himself as Canadian, even though he has lived in California for so many years: he went to the trouble of performing at Live 8 in Barrie a couple of years ago.
Metafilter has a link to a New York Times article which lists 15 questions couples should ask each other before marrying. Question 7 in this list is Will there be a television in the bedroom? I suppose that this is equivalent to Would you prefer watching television to having sex?
Metafilter readers have suggested the following questions to be added to the Times list:
- Let's assume an electric train had departed from Boston at 6:35 am. As it travels en route to Chicago, it accelerates to a rate of 45 miles per hour...
- Bon Scott AC/DC or Brian Johnson AC/DC?
- If Lemmy and God got into a fight, who would win?
- What do you like the temperature of the air around you to be?
- Are you now, or have you ever been, a member of the Communist Party?
- Have you EVER considered letting me win?
- Lennon or McCartney?
- Is the the toilet paper supposed to unroll 'over' or 'under'?
- Which operating system?
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
One of those days
You know those days when you feel positive and upbeat and full of energy? This isn't one of those days for me, so I apologize in advance.
I still think that the new spiral fluorescent light bulbs are cool, but I see a potential problem showing up if they become popular: each of these bulbs contains a tiny bit of mercury. This isn't enough to cause a health hazard, but it does mean that you can't just throw your old CFL bulbs out - you have to take them to a special place where hazardous stuff is taken care of. If millions of consumers start buying CFL bulbs, how many of these consumers are just going to throw the bulbs out when they burn out? Will that create an environmental hazard a few years down the road?
The problem is that new inventions sometimes have unexpected uses or consequences. The telephone was apparently originally intended as a broadcast medium, not as a method of person-to-person communication. The development of universal broadband Internet access has accelerated the trend towards outsourcing - if you can send megabytes of files from North America to countries such as India (and vice versa) quickly and efficiently, outsourcing your company's computer needs becomes more practical. And DDT, now considered lethal to the environment, was once hailed as a saviour because it reduced the threat of malaria.
The blank verse spam poetry I got in my email today is hauntingly beautiful, at least up until the ending:
Winds blow sharp, what then?
Silence. Your way of being. Your way of seeing
Allowing me to let your picture form and wake
Are muffled into silence that refuses
Preface to the 1970 Edition
III. Earliest Recorded Northern Explorers: The Greeks and the Vikings
I am sleeping, and dreaming, and wandering along
That open before me? What I see
At four, the spectators leave in pairs, off
Brush the lone giant in that somber pall.
I do not betray you, I still go forward,
Where lamps are lit: these, too,
That desire has ever built, have approached
Microsoft Windows Vista is now ready to download!
I love F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby to pieces. I can't really tell you why. It's set in the 1920s, which helps: I've always been a sucker for that period of history. Perhaps it's the ending:
Lately, I've been on a mission to try to get caught up on what's new in music. I fell behind a bit after emusic.com stopped offering unlimited downloads for a fixed monthly price, but am trying to catch up now. Now, I think I'm up to what was cool about six years ago!
Three different friends of mine have directly or indirectly recommended Sigur Rós, so I got hold of a copy of their Ágætis Byrjun album. (I had to cut and paste to get the proper special characters - I have no idea how this will read on your browser.) This is perfect for a gloomy late fall day: it's atmospheric and it kind of swoops at you.
I like moody, atmospheric bands (as I mentioned already, I've been listening to a lot of Slowdive lately). Given my tendency to feel gloomy lately, I should probably be listening to more cheerful songs - such as "Pop Goes The World" by Men Without Hats, which is the most fun dumb song I know - but fuck that. I'm going to save the cheerful stuff for when I feel cheerful. Besides, I'd rather feel intense emotion, even if it's bad, than feel nothing at all. I get scared when I go numb.
I still think that the new spiral fluorescent light bulbs are cool, but I see a potential problem showing up if they become popular: each of these bulbs contains a tiny bit of mercury. This isn't enough to cause a health hazard, but it does mean that you can't just throw your old CFL bulbs out - you have to take them to a special place where hazardous stuff is taken care of. If millions of consumers start buying CFL bulbs, how many of these consumers are just going to throw the bulbs out when they burn out? Will that create an environmental hazard a few years down the road?
The problem is that new inventions sometimes have unexpected uses or consequences. The telephone was apparently originally intended as a broadcast medium, not as a method of person-to-person communication. The development of universal broadband Internet access has accelerated the trend towards outsourcing - if you can send megabytes of files from North America to countries such as India (and vice versa) quickly and efficiently, outsourcing your company's computer needs becomes more practical. And DDT, now considered lethal to the environment, was once hailed as a saviour because it reduced the threat of malaria.
The blank verse spam poetry I got in my email today is hauntingly beautiful, at least up until the ending:
Winds blow sharp, what then?
Silence. Your way of being. Your way of seeing
Allowing me to let your picture form and wake
Are muffled into silence that refuses
Preface to the 1970 Edition
III. Earliest Recorded Northern Explorers: The Greeks and the Vikings
I am sleeping, and dreaming, and wandering along
That open before me? What I see
At four, the spectators leave in pairs, off
Brush the lone giant in that somber pall.
I do not betray you, I still go forward,
Where lamps are lit: these, too,
That desire has ever built, have approached
Microsoft Windows Vista is now ready to download!
I love F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby to pieces. I can't really tell you why. It's set in the 1920s, which helps: I've always been a sucker for that period of history. Perhaps it's the ending:
Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter—to-morrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And one fine morning——
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.
I'm getting old enough that I know this feeling all too well. The Great Gatsby is in the public domain: you can check it out here or here.Lately, I've been on a mission to try to get caught up on what's new in music. I fell behind a bit after emusic.com stopped offering unlimited downloads for a fixed monthly price, but am trying to catch up now. Now, I think I'm up to what was cool about six years ago!
Three different friends of mine have directly or indirectly recommended Sigur Rós, so I got hold of a copy of their Ágætis Byrjun album. (I had to cut and paste to get the proper special characters - I have no idea how this will read on your browser.) This is perfect for a gloomy late fall day: it's atmospheric and it kind of swoops at you.
I like moody, atmospheric bands (as I mentioned already, I've been listening to a lot of Slowdive lately). Given my tendency to feel gloomy lately, I should probably be listening to more cheerful songs - such as "Pop Goes The World" by Men Without Hats, which is the most fun dumb song I know - but fuck that. I'm going to save the cheerful stuff for when I feel cheerful. Besides, I'd rather feel intense emotion, even if it's bad, than feel nothing at all. I get scared when I go numb.
Monday, December 18, 2006
An inconvenient truth, part 2
The book version of Al Gore's An Inconvenient Truth lists a bunch of things we ordinary consumers can do to try to maybe ensure that Florida isn't under 20 feet of water by mid-century. Like most of us, I'm doing a few of them, but probably not enough; some of them, I have no control over. Here's a couple of them:
Choose energy-efficient lighting. I did not know that compact fluorescent lights (CFLs) use much much less energy than standard light bulbs: a 13-watt CFL is as bright as a standard 60-watt light bulb. And it lasts longer, too, if the promotional material on the CFL packaging is to be believed: apparently, the bulbs I just bought will last until 2011.
According to Gore, if every household in the U.S. substituted one CFL bulb for one ordinary bulb, it would be equivalent to removing one million cars from American roads. (Fast Company magazine has an article describing the potential energy-saving and cost-saving benefits of CFLs in more detail. The numbers are kind of startling.)
Use your appliances efficiently: For example, your stove shouldn't be next to your refrigerator. That makes sense. (And reminds me of the old Steven Wright routine about buying a dehumidifier and a humidifier, putting them in the same room, and letting them battle it out.) They also suggest only using your washer and dishwasher with full loads; me, I've never owned a dishwasher in my life. So there.
Heat and cool your house efficiently: I've never lived anywhere where I had control of my own heat. Seriously. I've mostly been in high-rises, except once when I lived in a duplex and the downstairs neighbours controlled the heat. (Which is a story in itself.) Right now, my apartment is way too warm, as it's set for weather that's colder than what we've had recently. It's also set warm enough so that people who face north don't freeze under normal winter conditions. I face south, and I had to open a window just now.
Bag your groceries in a reusable bag: I don't do this, but I reuse my plastic grocery bags for wrapping my kitchen garbage in, so that I can dump it down the garbage chute of my building. I don't know whether I get part marks for this.
Carry your own refillable bottle for water and other beverages: I used to be really bad about this, as I bought a bottle of water a day for the longest time. A few months ago, I bought one of those water purifier thingies that filters tap water. And, today, I finally found a refillable bottle - I was going to buy milk at the grocery store, and the refillable bottle display was right there. Woo hoo!
Reduce air travel: I haven't flown anywhere since 2001. This isn't because I'm an eco-warrior: it's because I can't afford it right now. (The moral: to become more energy-efficient, become poorer.)
Right now, my biggest environmental offense is my love of takeout food. That's a lot of packaging, alas. If it weren't for that, I'd be doing pretty well. Sorry about that, everybody.
Choose energy-efficient lighting. I did not know that compact fluorescent lights (CFLs) use much much less energy than standard light bulbs: a 13-watt CFL is as bright as a standard 60-watt light bulb. And it lasts longer, too, if the promotional material on the CFL packaging is to be believed: apparently, the bulbs I just bought will last until 2011.
According to Gore, if every household in the U.S. substituted one CFL bulb for one ordinary bulb, it would be equivalent to removing one million cars from American roads. (Fast Company magazine has an article describing the potential energy-saving and cost-saving benefits of CFLs in more detail. The numbers are kind of startling.)
Use your appliances efficiently: For example, your stove shouldn't be next to your refrigerator. That makes sense. (And reminds me of the old Steven Wright routine about buying a dehumidifier and a humidifier, putting them in the same room, and letting them battle it out.) They also suggest only using your washer and dishwasher with full loads; me, I've never owned a dishwasher in my life. So there.
Heat and cool your house efficiently: I've never lived anywhere where I had control of my own heat. Seriously. I've mostly been in high-rises, except once when I lived in a duplex and the downstairs neighbours controlled the heat. (Which is a story in itself.) Right now, my apartment is way too warm, as it's set for weather that's colder than what we've had recently. It's also set warm enough so that people who face north don't freeze under normal winter conditions. I face south, and I had to open a window just now.
Bag your groceries in a reusable bag: I don't do this, but I reuse my plastic grocery bags for wrapping my kitchen garbage in, so that I can dump it down the garbage chute of my building. I don't know whether I get part marks for this.
Carry your own refillable bottle for water and other beverages: I used to be really bad about this, as I bought a bottle of water a day for the longest time. A few months ago, I bought one of those water purifier thingies that filters tap water. And, today, I finally found a refillable bottle - I was going to buy milk at the grocery store, and the refillable bottle display was right there. Woo hoo!
Reduce air travel: I haven't flown anywhere since 2001. This isn't because I'm an eco-warrior: it's because I can't afford it right now. (The moral: to become more energy-efficient, become poorer.)
Right now, my biggest environmental offense is my love of takeout food. That's a lot of packaging, alas. If it weren't for that, I'd be doing pretty well. Sorry about that, everybody.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
An inconvenient truth
Today might be a good day to write about global warming, as the temperature hit 13C in Toronto. That's kind of unusual, given that it's eight days from Christmas and all.
During the past few years, when Al Gore wasn't attempting to run for President of the United States and either failing or getting ripped off (depending on whom you believe), he's been trying to warn people about the Earth's changing climate and the possible nasty side effects thereof. Here, according to Gore, are the undisputed facts on the subject:
Also, the warming oceans could disrupt the Gulf Stream, which is the flow of warm water from the Atlantic Ocean to Western Europe. It's the Gulf Stream that makes Europe a pleasant place to live: Paris is actually farther north than Montreal, and London is as far north as James Bay.
By the way: there is a reference to global warming on Robert Fripp's Exposure album, released in 1979. This album features Peter Gabriel singing a version of his "Here Comes The Flood". The intro to this song includes a recording of J.G. Bennett claiming that many cities near the ocean were likely to be flooded in 50 years or even sooner.
During the past few years, when Al Gore wasn't attempting to run for President of the United States and either failing or getting ripped off (depending on whom you believe), he's been trying to warn people about the Earth's changing climate and the possible nasty side effects thereof. Here, according to Gore, are the undisputed facts on the subject:
- The pre-industrial concentration of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere was 280 parts per million. By 1960, the CO2 level was roughly 315 parts per million. In 2005, the level was measured at 381 parts per million. This is the highest total in 650,000 years.
- Mount Kilimanjaro was covered in snow and ice as recently as 1970. As of 2000, the snow and ice is nearly gone, and it may be completely gone by 2010.
- Of the 21 hottest years on record, 20 have been in the last 25 years. The hottest year on record is 2005, in which world temperatures were over 0.6C higher than their 1961-1990 averages.
- In 2005, there were so many hurricanes that the World Metereological Organization ran out of names for them, and had to use letters of the Greek alphabet. Floods and tornadoes are also at historic high levels.
- Global precipitation has increased by 20% in the last century, but deserts have been growing at a faster rate in the last two decades.
- Many houses and buildings built on permafrost in Alaska and Siberia have had to be abandoned, as the permafrost is melting, causing the buildings to collapse.
- The Alaska tundra was frozen over 200 days a year in the early 1970s. This number has now fallen to fewer than 80 days per year.
Also, the warming oceans could disrupt the Gulf Stream, which is the flow of warm water from the Atlantic Ocean to Western Europe. It's the Gulf Stream that makes Europe a pleasant place to live: Paris is actually farther north than Montreal, and London is as far north as James Bay.
By the way: there is a reference to global warming on Robert Fripp's Exposure album, released in 1979. This album features Peter Gabriel singing a version of his "Here Comes The Flood". The intro to this song includes a recording of J.G. Bennett claiming that many cities near the ocean were likely to be flooded in 50 years or even sooner.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Back from the dead, sort of
Hmmm. My computer isn't completely dead. I think. Maybe. But it's not at all a well computer.
Yesterday evening, when I got home from work, I turned the computer on one last time, with everything but the mouse and keyboard disconnected. I wanted to make sure that it was really dead. Lo and behold, it came back up again. Even better, I was able to plug in my external drive, and write to my CD burner. This gave me the opportunity to do the following: backup, backup, backup, backup and backup. After a couple of hours, I had copied just about everything that I wanted.
After that, my friend Scott and I opened up the case, poked about a bit, and removed some extraneous dust. Then, I thought, what the heck, and hooked everything back up again. I started the computer. It died again. Yikes, part 2.
Suddenly, I had a rare flash of inspiration. (I last had one in about 2004.) I unplugged everything from the USB ports, and fired the computer up. Bing! It was working again!
The good news: it's not my hard drive. The bad news: when plugging something into one of the USB ports causes the computer to die, it's probably a bad thing. And there are some other signs of potentially lethal illness: my Thunderbird inbox still takes way too long to load, and my computer just seems a little sluggish, somehow.
This morning, I plugged in almost everything before starting the computer again, but left the top two USB ports empty. I started the computer, and it worked; I'm typing on it now. But I'm going to back up absolutely everything constantly, and operate under the assumption that it could die completely, forever, at any minute. It's like working with a sword over your head.
According to the Globe, Christmas shopping in Alberta is a difficult experience. Not due to financial constraints: lots and lots of people are making all kinds of money. The problem is that it's hard to spend it. There's a labour shortage in Alberta, and they can't find enough people to staff the stores during Christmas rush. It's also difficult to find taxicabs, as there's a shortage of drivers. Complaints about businesses are up by 30 percent over the last two years, as services of all kinds are affected by the lack of available people.
However, the Globe also reported that Ontario adults are still spending more at Christmas than their counterparts in Alberta: we're at $1068 per grownup, whereas they're coughing up a mere $1042. Sure, they have an oil boom - but we have credit cards, and we're not afraid to use them.
Yesterday evening, when I got home from work, I turned the computer on one last time, with everything but the mouse and keyboard disconnected. I wanted to make sure that it was really dead. Lo and behold, it came back up again. Even better, I was able to plug in my external drive, and write to my CD burner. This gave me the opportunity to do the following: backup, backup, backup, backup and backup. After a couple of hours, I had copied just about everything that I wanted.
After that, my friend Scott and I opened up the case, poked about a bit, and removed some extraneous dust. Then, I thought, what the heck, and hooked everything back up again. I started the computer. It died again. Yikes, part 2.
Suddenly, I had a rare flash of inspiration. (I last had one in about 2004.) I unplugged everything from the USB ports, and fired the computer up. Bing! It was working again!
The good news: it's not my hard drive. The bad news: when plugging something into one of the USB ports causes the computer to die, it's probably a bad thing. And there are some other signs of potentially lethal illness: my Thunderbird inbox still takes way too long to load, and my computer just seems a little sluggish, somehow.
This morning, I plugged in almost everything before starting the computer again, but left the top two USB ports empty. I started the computer, and it worked; I'm typing on it now. But I'm going to back up absolutely everything constantly, and operate under the assumption that it could die completely, forever, at any minute. It's like working with a sword over your head.
According to the Globe, Christmas shopping in Alberta is a difficult experience. Not due to financial constraints: lots and lots of people are making all kinds of money. The problem is that it's hard to spend it. There's a labour shortage in Alberta, and they can't find enough people to staff the stores during Christmas rush. It's also difficult to find taxicabs, as there's a shortage of drivers. Complaints about businesses are up by 30 percent over the last two years, as services of all kinds are affected by the lack of available people.
However, the Globe also reported that Ontario adults are still spending more at Christmas than their counterparts in Alberta: we're at $1068 per grownup, whereas they're coughing up a mere $1042. Sure, they have an oil boom - but we have credit cards, and we're not afraid to use them.
Friday, December 15, 2006
Yikes
So I got home from work yesterday and figured that I'd spend a few minutes reading mail and surfing the web while I chowed down. But when I tried to start up my computer, it stalled. It got about three-quarters of the way through the "BIOS loading" message and then just stuck. Yow. I guess this means my computer is dead.
Specifically, I guess it means that my motherboard is dead. There were a couple of warning signs, which I hadn't really connected into a coherent picture: my iPod was having trouble synching with iTunes, and my Inbox in Thunderbird was taking longer to load than normal the last couple of days. Or that may be a coincidence. I can't tell.
Thankfully, most of my important files were backed up, and all of my MP3s are on my external drive, so this is just a royal pain, not a calamity. And large parts of my hard drive may very well still be functional, unless one of its crucial sectors died, or malevolent sprites decided to invade, or bit rot set in, or something. (I'm not all that technical any more.)
I am typing this on my old computer, which was manufactured in, roughly, the Bronze Age. I've gotten it functional - I've got Thunderbird and Firefox working, so I can access the net and send and receive email. But this sucker is antiquated. It's only got two USB ports, and neither of them are USB 2.0, so I can't plug in my external drive. And I can't swap the hard drive from my recently-deceased computer into this one, as this computer's motherboard isn't built to handle disk drives larger than about 20GB or so - when it was manufactured, nobody envisioned that hard drives would get as big as they have. The largest hard drive available was something like 12GB.
The only major hassle I face is that I won't be able to email some of my friends, unless they email me or I manage to successfully guess their email addresses. So if you don't hear from me for a bit, I'm not ignoring you, honestly.
Here's some random stuff to make today's entry (hopefully) a bit more interesting:
Hi ho. Now it's off to surf some sites for stores that sell computers. Hmmm... I'm working now, so maybe I can afford to buy something new...
Specifically, I guess it means that my motherboard is dead. There were a couple of warning signs, which I hadn't really connected into a coherent picture: my iPod was having trouble synching with iTunes, and my Inbox in Thunderbird was taking longer to load than normal the last couple of days. Or that may be a coincidence. I can't tell.
Thankfully, most of my important files were backed up, and all of my MP3s are on my external drive, so this is just a royal pain, not a calamity. And large parts of my hard drive may very well still be functional, unless one of its crucial sectors died, or malevolent sprites decided to invade, or bit rot set in, or something. (I'm not all that technical any more.)
I am typing this on my old computer, which was manufactured in, roughly, the Bronze Age. I've gotten it functional - I've got Thunderbird and Firefox working, so I can access the net and send and receive email. But this sucker is antiquated. It's only got two USB ports, and neither of them are USB 2.0, so I can't plug in my external drive. And I can't swap the hard drive from my recently-deceased computer into this one, as this computer's motherboard isn't built to handle disk drives larger than about 20GB or so - when it was manufactured, nobody envisioned that hard drives would get as big as they have. The largest hard drive available was something like 12GB.
The only major hassle I face is that I won't be able to email some of my friends, unless they email me or I manage to successfully guess their email addresses. So if you don't hear from me for a bit, I'm not ignoring you, honestly.
Here's some random stuff to make today's entry (hopefully) a bit more interesting:
- iFilm's most popular videos of the year
- YouTube's most popular of all time
- Retrolounge brings you the best of bygone eras!
- The Art Renewal Center is apparently "the largest online museum on the Internet" (which is redundant, when you think about it)
- The Victorian Web is a whole bunch of stuff about England (and elsewhere) in the time of Queen Victoria
Hi ho. Now it's off to surf some sites for stores that sell computers. Hmmm... I'm working now, so maybe I can afford to buy something new...
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Odds and sods
It's much warmer than normal in Toronto as I write this: today's forecasted high is 10C. This would be the sixth-warmest December 14th in history. The warmest December 14 in Toronto was in 1901: on that day, the high was 13.9C, the low was -4.4C, and there was 26.9 mm of rain and 4.6 cm of snow. That's a lot of weather. How do you dress for that?
From the News Headlines That Are Fodder For Cheap Jokes Department:
Man with no pulse considered a medical breakthrough: a 65-year-old Quebec man received a long-term mechanical heart last month. The heart provides a continuous flow of blood, and could last as long as ten years.
New bill for blind Texas hunters: Legally blind hunters may soon be allowed to use laser-sighted pointers when hunting in the Lone Star state. At present, visually-impaired hunters require a sighted person to look over the blind man's shoulder and advise when and where to shoot.
Metafilter has a link to an interesting Google page: the Google Patent Search. This page randomly displays five patent applications from a database of about seven million. My search turned up patent applications for a calculator, a cheesecake wedge, an electric guitar, a zipper, and "display devices".
You, The Viewer has posted a copy of the first picture ever posted on the web. And, no, it's not porn: it's a picture of four women in a band called Les Horribles Cernettes. Check out the blog to find out more.
From the News Headlines That Are Fodder For Cheap Jokes Department:
Man with no pulse considered a medical breakthrough: a 65-year-old Quebec man received a long-term mechanical heart last month. The heart provides a continuous flow of blood, and could last as long as ten years.
New bill for blind Texas hunters: Legally blind hunters may soon be allowed to use laser-sighted pointers when hunting in the Lone Star state. At present, visually-impaired hunters require a sighted person to look over the blind man's shoulder and advise when and where to shoot.
Metafilter has a link to an interesting Google page: the Google Patent Search. This page randomly displays five patent applications from a database of about seven million. My search turned up patent applications for a calculator, a cheesecake wedge, an electric guitar, a zipper, and "display devices".
You, The Viewer has posted a copy of the first picture ever posted on the web. And, no, it's not porn: it's a picture of four women in a band called Les Horribles Cernettes. Check out the blog to find out more.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Everybody has a boss
I think I've figured it out: the world is the way it is because everybody has a boss.
The average employee works longer and harder because the boss is demanding more. And why is the boss demanding more? Because he or she has a boss, too. And that boss has a boss, and so on, all the way up to the CEO.
But the CEO is answerable to the company's shareholders. If the company isn't profitable enough, the shareholders will dump the CEO. And the shareholders, too, have bosses. And so on, and so on.
And corporations are competing with other corporations, both here and around the world. Which is why corporations do nasty things that individual people wouldn't do on their own: they have to compete as hard as they can, or they will perish.
Wasn't life supposed to get easier in the future?
Some cool people at Mechapixel have pointed me at a cool online comic strip: A Softer World. Who can resist a comic with writing like this?
i FREEDOM FIGHTER BOMBING love you
whether you reply or JIHAD not
if my GODLESS WESTERN PRESIDENT letters are flagged
our love will outlive us
in their SUBWAY SARIN GAS computers
When listing my favourite cover songs yesterday, how could I have missed Yo La Tengo's "Little Honda"? That was a horrible oversight on my part. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa.
The average employee works longer and harder because the boss is demanding more. And why is the boss demanding more? Because he or she has a boss, too. And that boss has a boss, and so on, all the way up to the CEO.
But the CEO is answerable to the company's shareholders. If the company isn't profitable enough, the shareholders will dump the CEO. And the shareholders, too, have bosses. And so on, and so on.
And corporations are competing with other corporations, both here and around the world. Which is why corporations do nasty things that individual people wouldn't do on their own: they have to compete as hard as they can, or they will perish.
Wasn't life supposed to get easier in the future?
Some cool people at Mechapixel have pointed me at a cool online comic strip: A Softer World. Who can resist a comic with writing like this?
i FREEDOM FIGHTER BOMBING love you
whether you reply or JIHAD not
if my GODLESS WESTERN PRESIDENT letters are flagged
our love will outlive us
in their SUBWAY SARIN GAS computers
When listing my favourite cover songs yesterday, how could I have missed Yo La Tengo's "Little Honda"? That was a horrible oversight on my part. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
What's that smell?
Today's fascinating story: according to the Associated Press, many property owners are protecting their trees from Christmas tree poaching by spraying them with fox urine. This, you might guess, smells rather bad - especially when the tree is brought indoors.
I can't blame the owners of the trees for taking this preventive measure. But I have a question: whose job is it to spray the fox urine? Does this go to the unlucky slob who has the least seniority? Or is there a firm that specializes in fox urine spraying? And who is the even unluckier slob whose job it is to collect large quantities of fox urine? How do you persuade somebody to do that? How do you put this on your resume?
The Torontoist, a Toronto-based blog (as you probably already guessed), recently featured a Cover Song Catalogue. This is a collection of their favourite cover songs (you probably guessed that too). Lots of people are commenting on the list by providing favourites lists of their own, which makes the list even cooler.
Here's my list of favourite cover songs, starting with two I've mentioned here recently. I've probably missed some, so I reserve the right to sneak back here and surreptitiously add songs to the end of my list.
Johnny Cash, "Hurt"
Screeching Weasel, "You Are My Sunshine"
Ramones, "California Sun"
Damned, "Ballroom Blitz"
Galaxie 500, "Isn't It A Pity" and "Ceremony"
Smashing Pumpkins, "Dreaming"
Bangles, "Hazy Shade of Winter"
Cat Power, "Satisfaction"
Devo, "Satisfaction"
Sex Pistols, "No Fun"
Clash, "Pressure Drop" and "I Fought The Law"
Social Distortion, "Ring of Fire"
Shonen Knife, "Suzy is a Headbanger"
Husker Du, "Sheena is a Punk Rocker"
Japan, "Eight Miles High"
Temple City Kazoo Band, "Whole Lotta Love"
Camper Van Beethoven, "Pictures of Matchstick Men"
English Beat, "Tears of a Clown"
Nirvana, "Where Did You Sleep Last Night"
Author Christopher Hitchens has written an article in next month's Vanity Fair titled Why Women Aren't Funny. Hitchens, who is described in Wikipedia as being known for his "iconoclasm, anti-clericalism, atheism, antitheism, anti-fascism and anti-monarchism", once wrote a book that suggested that Henry Kissinger should be tried as a war criminal.
Oh, by the way, I know many funny women. Hitchens is wrong.
I can't blame the owners of the trees for taking this preventive measure. But I have a question: whose job is it to spray the fox urine? Does this go to the unlucky slob who has the least seniority? Or is there a firm that specializes in fox urine spraying? And who is the even unluckier slob whose job it is to collect large quantities of fox urine? How do you persuade somebody to do that? How do you put this on your resume?
The Torontoist, a Toronto-based blog (as you probably already guessed), recently featured a Cover Song Catalogue. This is a collection of their favourite cover songs (you probably guessed that too). Lots of people are commenting on the list by providing favourites lists of their own, which makes the list even cooler.
Here's my list of favourite cover songs, starting with two I've mentioned here recently. I've probably missed some, so I reserve the right to sneak back here and surreptitiously add songs to the end of my list.
Johnny Cash, "Hurt"
Screeching Weasel, "You Are My Sunshine"
Ramones, "California Sun"
Damned, "Ballroom Blitz"
Galaxie 500, "Isn't It A Pity" and "Ceremony"
Smashing Pumpkins, "Dreaming"
Bangles, "Hazy Shade of Winter"
Cat Power, "Satisfaction"
Devo, "Satisfaction"
Sex Pistols, "No Fun"
Clash, "Pressure Drop" and "I Fought The Law"
Social Distortion, "Ring of Fire"
Shonen Knife, "Suzy is a Headbanger"
Husker Du, "Sheena is a Punk Rocker"
Japan, "Eight Miles High"
Temple City Kazoo Band, "Whole Lotta Love"
Camper Van Beethoven, "Pictures of Matchstick Men"
English Beat, "Tears of a Clown"
Nirvana, "Where Did You Sleep Last Night"
Author Christopher Hitchens has written an article in next month's Vanity Fair titled Why Women Aren't Funny. Hitchens, who is described in Wikipedia as being known for his "iconoclasm, anti-clericalism, atheism, antitheism, anti-fascism and anti-monarchism", once wrote a book that suggested that Henry Kissinger should be tried as a war criminal.
Oh, by the way, I know many funny women. Hitchens is wrong.
Monday, December 11, 2006
This time, it's really personal
I'm a bit pressed for time today, so it's back to talking about spam again, I'm afraid.
Today, my spam is wishing people good morning. "Good Morning Eugene", reads one header. Other messages wish good morning to Elvis, Wilbur, Andrea, Eloise, Sonia, Marta, Orville, Alberta, Mohammad, Malcolm, Deana and Frederick. And, since the messages just started coming this afternoon, I'll soon be sent good morning wishes for about 38 other people. Now, isn't that just giving me a warm feeling all over.
And I wish that spammers would learn to spell. Here's some more subject headers:
Wholsale and retail inquiries welcome.
Re: new outsprea
Re: new castl
Fw: Obtain degrees from Prestigious non-accredtied Universities
And, one that regularly shows up:
We cure any desease!
While I don't want to rain on anyone's parade, I feel compelled to point out here that non-accredtied [sic] Universities can't possibly be Prestigious.
But the best spam subject header of the day, and possibly of all time, is this one:
Viagra Soft Tabs will give your dick enough strength to fight a shark
I think I can sell this one as a movie idea: "Jaws 6: This Time, It's Really Personal."
Here's something kind of cool, courtesy of Metafilter: restored excerpts from clergyman Ralph Josselin's diary, which he kept from 1617 to 1683. This may give him the title of World's First Blogger. By comparison, according to Technorati, I am currently ranked 2,323,552nd. Ha! Eat my dust, Mister 2,323,553! Feel my awesome writing power!
The Globe reports today that the United States Secret Service was secretly bugging Princess Diana's phone without approval from the British secret service. When I read this, my first thought was, "Why?" Then it occurred to me: she was an attractive woman, and I'll bet that the eavesdroppers were men. Like, duh.
One more reason why I love living in Canada (there are about 897 of them): yesterday, according to Environment Canada, Toronto's temperature soared to 8.6C. And we were all ridiculously happy. In how many other places in the world would people think that this was wonderful weather?
For some reason, this reminds me of advice I read somewhere: the best way to start your day is to eat a live toad. The reasoning is this: if you manage to do that, anything else that happens to you is bound to be an improvement.
Today, my spam is wishing people good morning. "Good Morning Eugene", reads one header. Other messages wish good morning to Elvis, Wilbur, Andrea, Eloise, Sonia, Marta, Orville, Alberta, Mohammad, Malcolm, Deana and Frederick. And, since the messages just started coming this afternoon, I'll soon be sent good morning wishes for about 38 other people. Now, isn't that just giving me a warm feeling all over.
And I wish that spammers would learn to spell. Here's some more subject headers:
Wholsale and retail inquiries welcome.
Re: new outsprea
Re: new castl
Fw: Obtain degrees from Prestigious non-accredtied Universities
And, one that regularly shows up:
We cure any desease!
While I don't want to rain on anyone's parade, I feel compelled to point out here that non-accredtied [sic] Universities can't possibly be Prestigious.
But the best spam subject header of the day, and possibly of all time, is this one:
Viagra Soft Tabs will give your dick enough strength to fight a shark
I think I can sell this one as a movie idea: "Jaws 6: This Time, It's Really Personal."
Here's something kind of cool, courtesy of Metafilter: restored excerpts from clergyman Ralph Josselin's diary, which he kept from 1617 to 1683. This may give him the title of World's First Blogger. By comparison, according to Technorati, I am currently ranked 2,323,552nd. Ha! Eat my dust, Mister 2,323,553! Feel my awesome writing power!
The Globe reports today that the United States Secret Service was secretly bugging Princess Diana's phone without approval from the British secret service. When I read this, my first thought was, "Why?" Then it occurred to me: she was an attractive woman, and I'll bet that the eavesdroppers were men. Like, duh.
One more reason why I love living in Canada (there are about 897 of them): yesterday, according to Environment Canada, Toronto's temperature soared to 8.6C. And we were all ridiculously happy. In how many other places in the world would people think that this was wonderful weather?
For some reason, this reminds me of advice I read somewhere: the best way to start your day is to eat a live toad. The reasoning is this: if you manage to do that, anything else that happens to you is bound to be an improvement.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Miscellaneous links
I want to rest my brain today, so here's a few of my favourite web sites I've found over the past few months. (A lot of these are via Metafilter.)
- The Newseum is a collection of American news-related artifacts. (This site includes a collection of front pages from today's newspapers.)
- I Don't Like You In That Way and The Superficial are handy sources for celebrity gossip.
- The Comics Curmudgeon is a guy who writes sarcastic things about current daily comic strips.
- Mr. Cranky does the same thing for current movies.
- Plan59 is a collection of retro graphics.
- Here's a page that allows you to tune your guitar.
- Funny Farm is a challenging puzzle. (I got partway into this, and gave up.)
- The Canadian Design Resource is a collection of - you guessed it - interesting things designed in Canada.
- Popurls provides links to the most popular pages on the Internet.
- Framing Canada is a collection of photographs from Library and Archives Canada.
- Peter Anspach's The Top 100 Things I'd Do If I Ever Became An Evil Overlord.
- Chewbacca's blog (sadly, not updated lately). A related link is the Uncyclopedia entry for AAAAAAAAA!
- A collection of crossword puzzles, and a collection of Sudoku puzzles.
- Old circus posters.
- A collection of photographs of abandoned buildings.
- Forgotten NY is a website devoted to old and abandoned things in New York City.
- Frank Jump's Fading Ad Campaign is a collection of old painted signs on walls.
- A George W. Bush speechwriter.
- A collection of the best quotes taken from chat rooms.
- The Tacky Postcard Archive.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
It takes all kinds
For many years, I worked for software development companies. One of the things I found fascinating about working in a software development environment was that, to be successful, a software company needs both good salespeople and good programmers. And salespeople and programmers are really, really different types of people.
It's easy to see why good salespeople are necessary if you're wanting to sell software for a living. Imagine a programmer trying to sell his or her product:
PROGRAMMER: We've just finished WhizzBang release 3.0. Or, it's more or less finished, except for six major bugs I'm not supposed to tell anybody about. But it's got some cool stuff in it. Want to buy one?
CUSTOMER: No, not really.
PROGRAMMER: Oh. Okay, then. Your loss.
Obviously, this isn't going to work out - you need somebody who can actually relate to clients, and maybe even talk them into buying something. (I myself totally lack this skill.)
However, there's one problem with having programmers and salespeople together: programmers require a private, quiet space in order to work, as they often have to spend time thinking very hard. Salespeople, on the other hand, need to spend a lot of time on the phone talking to customers, so their environment is always very noisy. In small companies, where there often isn't much office space, this can cause conflicts.
I'm currently working as a contract technical writer for the provincial government, and one thing I've noticed about working there is that there are no sales or marketing people around, as there isn't as much need to sell anything. This makes my workplace a lot quieter, which I'm enjoying very much.
It's easy to see why good salespeople are necessary if you're wanting to sell software for a living. Imagine a programmer trying to sell his or her product:
PROGRAMMER: We've just finished WhizzBang release 3.0. Or, it's more or less finished, except for six major bugs I'm not supposed to tell anybody about. But it's got some cool stuff in it. Want to buy one?
CUSTOMER: No, not really.
PROGRAMMER: Oh. Okay, then. Your loss.
Obviously, this isn't going to work out - you need somebody who can actually relate to clients, and maybe even talk them into buying something. (I myself totally lack this skill.)
However, there's one problem with having programmers and salespeople together: programmers require a private, quiet space in order to work, as they often have to spend time thinking very hard. Salespeople, on the other hand, need to spend a lot of time on the phone talking to customers, so their environment is always very noisy. In small companies, where there often isn't much office space, this can cause conflicts.
I'm currently working as a contract technical writer for the provincial government, and one thing I've noticed about working there is that there are no sales or marketing people around, as there isn't as much need to sell anything. This makes my workplace a lot quieter, which I'm enjoying very much.
Friday, December 08, 2006
Does Stéphane Dion like croissants?
The latest mini-controversy in Canadian politics is that new Liberal leader Stéphane Dion holds dual citizenship - he is also a citizen of France. Calgary Sun columnist Ezra Levant, in a column titled Question of Loyalty, wonders whether Dion will be influenced by France when deciding what to do about the "war on terror". Levant describes France as "a country that has taken up the role of lawyer and arms dealer for every terrorist state in the world, even defending Saddam Hussein until the eve of his overthrow". Whoa.
Levant's column doesn't mention how Dion got his French citizenship. According to the Globe, his mother was born in France, and he inherited his citizenship from her. In their article, Dion is quoted as saying, "I'm born like that. It's part of me. It's my mother who gave that to me. And like all sons, I love my mother and I love what she gave to me."
Today's editorial in the Calgary Sun points out that Dion's loyalty is above reproach, but suggests that he should give up his French citizenship if he becomes prime minister. Dion has offered to do this if he has to, and my guess is that he will have to.
Metafilter has a link today to a blog that lists the top 50 music videos of 2006, which looks like a good way to waste some time, if you are so inclined. Short shameful confession: I've only heard of 12 of the bands listed - and even that total is because there are some repeats. I feel out of it.
As I write this, it's -10C in Toronto, and the wind chill is -17. Of course, this isn't anywhere near as cold as it's going to get at times in January and February. While I firmly believe that global warming is a real problem, it's going to be harder to muster up support for climate change policies at a time of year in which the average Canadian is having to wear several layers of clothing to venture outside.
Levant's column doesn't mention how Dion got his French citizenship. According to the Globe, his mother was born in France, and he inherited his citizenship from her. In their article, Dion is quoted as saying, "I'm born like that. It's part of me. It's my mother who gave that to me. And like all sons, I love my mother and I love what she gave to me."
Today's editorial in the Calgary Sun points out that Dion's loyalty is above reproach, but suggests that he should give up his French citizenship if he becomes prime minister. Dion has offered to do this if he has to, and my guess is that he will have to.
Metafilter has a link today to a blog that lists the top 50 music videos of 2006, which looks like a good way to waste some time, if you are so inclined. Short shameful confession: I've only heard of 12 of the bands listed - and even that total is because there are some repeats. I feel out of it.
As I write this, it's -10C in Toronto, and the wind chill is -17. Of course, this isn't anywhere near as cold as it's going to get at times in January and February. While I firmly believe that global warming is a real problem, it's going to be harder to muster up support for climate change policies at a time of year in which the average Canadian is having to wear several layers of clothing to venture outside.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Same-sex marriage and subway travel optimization
So the much-heralded vote on same-sex marriage failed to pass the House of Commons. Or, rather, the vote to maybe consider reopening the discussion of whether to continue the debate on how to initiate a dialogue on whether to partially restructure the law that might or might not no longer allow same-sex marriages or civil unions under certain specified circumstances - but of course even if couples of the same sex are or are not allowed to marry, ministers from certain specified religious groups are given the right to refuse to marry couples of the same sex if they so choose, unless it's Tuesday, on which day all bets are off. Or something.
All the evidence I've seen suggests that most Canadians don't particularly care one way or another about the issue. It doesn't affect their pocketbooks and it doesn't affect the quality of their lives, so why not allow gays and lesbians the right to marry? Can't we move on to more important things, such as who the Jays are going to get to fill the holes in their starting rotation?
The Guardian has a list of 50 great works of art you should see before you die (link courtesy of Metafilter). To see them all, you would have to visit 21 separate countries. I might have seen one, or maybe two. Sigh. I've led a dull life.
If you're waiting for a train on the Toronto subway, you will usually notice that people are constantly moving up and down the platform. If you're new here, you're probably wondering: why? The answer is that everybody is searching for the spot on the platform that corresponds to the location of the exit at their subway stop. (Each platform has its exit at a different spot, so that people won't bunch up in one car.) If you've lived in the same place for a while, you'll usually have figured out where the ideal spot is for your stop. There's nothing better than being able to waltz straight out the subway car door and right up the escalator, ideally without having to move left or right more than a foot or two.
My own stop is Broadview - after nearly six years in the neighbourhood, I can usually get it exactly right. This is essential in rush hour, as hundreds and hundreds of people are heading for the up escalator all at once. It's surreal to be walking up an empty flight of stairs, and then look over your shoulder to see an entire army close behind you. It makes you feel like a Fearless Leader.
For my new job, I have to get out at St. Patrick, and I think I've gotten that down now too. For optimal results, I have to position myself at the first door to the second car on the eastbound Bloor-Danforth train in the morning, because that's where the up staircase is located at St. George. Then, it's the second-last door in the last car of the Yonge-University train, which will position me at the location of the up escalator at St. Patrick.
This may seem startlingly anal-retentive, except that proper subway positioning can save a vital two or three minutes every morning. That's an extra 180 seconds of lying-in-bed time. Which, some days, is like manna from heaven.
All the evidence I've seen suggests that most Canadians don't particularly care one way or another about the issue. It doesn't affect their pocketbooks and it doesn't affect the quality of their lives, so why not allow gays and lesbians the right to marry? Can't we move on to more important things, such as who the Jays are going to get to fill the holes in their starting rotation?
The Guardian has a list of 50 great works of art you should see before you die (link courtesy of Metafilter). To see them all, you would have to visit 21 separate countries. I might have seen one, or maybe two. Sigh. I've led a dull life.
If you're waiting for a train on the Toronto subway, you will usually notice that people are constantly moving up and down the platform. If you're new here, you're probably wondering: why? The answer is that everybody is searching for the spot on the platform that corresponds to the location of the exit at their subway stop. (Each platform has its exit at a different spot, so that people won't bunch up in one car.) If you've lived in the same place for a while, you'll usually have figured out where the ideal spot is for your stop. There's nothing better than being able to waltz straight out the subway car door and right up the escalator, ideally without having to move left or right more than a foot or two.
My own stop is Broadview - after nearly six years in the neighbourhood, I can usually get it exactly right. This is essential in rush hour, as hundreds and hundreds of people are heading for the up escalator all at once. It's surreal to be walking up an empty flight of stairs, and then look over your shoulder to see an entire army close behind you. It makes you feel like a Fearless Leader.
For my new job, I have to get out at St. Patrick, and I think I've gotten that down now too. For optimal results, I have to position myself at the first door to the second car on the eastbound Bloor-Danforth train in the morning, because that's where the up staircase is located at St. George. Then, it's the second-last door in the last car of the Yonge-University train, which will position me at the location of the up escalator at St. Patrick.
This may seem startlingly anal-retentive, except that proper subway positioning can save a vital two or three minutes every morning. That's an extra 180 seconds of lying-in-bed time. Which, some days, is like manna from heaven.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
You can't get blood from an urban stone
Sorry - this is about to become a rant. I apologize in advance.
So I was heading home on the Bloor subway today on a very full train that was having trouble getting out of Sherbourne station. The driver's first assumption was that somebody was leaning against one of the car doors, as the train can't run unless all doors are completely shut. After three minutes of slowly sputtering along, the driver determined that there was a mechanical problem. Uh oh, I thought. Sure enough, everybody was ordered off the train at Castle Frank.
Is it just me, or are the subway trains getting older and creakier these days? There seem to be more mechanical problems than there used to be. And many of the TTC's buses are fifteen years old, or older: the buses I used to take to work in 1992 are still in service (I recognize their serial numbers).
Why is this, you might ask? It's because the TTC is underfunded. And why is the TTC underfunded? Because the city of Toronto doesn't have any money. And why doesn't Toronto have any money? Because the rest of Canada hates Toronto, and underfunding us is politically popular. And many Canadians outside of Toronto think that we're all filthy rich, so we should pay for everything out of our municipal property taxes. Did you know that the TTC receives less federal or state/provincial funding than any other transit service in North America?
Listen, I know that we in Toronto aren't perfect. There are some people here who are effete snobs or metrosexuals or rich bankers or (insert other stereotype here). But this city is my home. I was born and raised here. I love it, and would never dream of living anywhere else. And the city that I love is going downhill. The streets are grimier. The infrastructure is creaking. The skyline is being blotted out by condominiums. And Jim Flaherty, the Tory finance minister, is probably going to pay for his planned tax cuts by cutting back on urban spending.
Please. Don't hurt us any more. We're bleeding enough, thank you.
I'm still experimenting with Pandora, and their music range is a bit wider than I thought. There have been some interesting mappings so far:
DJ: So, what do you think of Courtney Love?
(PERFECTLY TIMED PAUSE)
Ig: I'd fuck her.
The final score: Ancient Stooge 1, Radio Voice 0.
So I was heading home on the Bloor subway today on a very full train that was having trouble getting out of Sherbourne station. The driver's first assumption was that somebody was leaning against one of the car doors, as the train can't run unless all doors are completely shut. After three minutes of slowly sputtering along, the driver determined that there was a mechanical problem. Uh oh, I thought. Sure enough, everybody was ordered off the train at Castle Frank.
Is it just me, or are the subway trains getting older and creakier these days? There seem to be more mechanical problems than there used to be. And many of the TTC's buses are fifteen years old, or older: the buses I used to take to work in 1992 are still in service (I recognize their serial numbers).
Why is this, you might ask? It's because the TTC is underfunded. And why is the TTC underfunded? Because the city of Toronto doesn't have any money. And why doesn't Toronto have any money? Because the rest of Canada hates Toronto, and underfunding us is politically popular. And many Canadians outside of Toronto think that we're all filthy rich, so we should pay for everything out of our municipal property taxes. Did you know that the TTC receives less federal or state/provincial funding than any other transit service in North America?
Listen, I know that we in Toronto aren't perfect. There are some people here who are effete snobs or metrosexuals or rich bankers or (insert other stereotype here). But this city is my home. I was born and raised here. I love it, and would never dream of living anywhere else. And the city that I love is going downhill. The streets are grimier. The infrastructure is creaking. The skyline is being blotted out by condominiums. And Jim Flaherty, the Tory finance minister, is probably going to pay for his planned tax cuts by cutting back on urban spending.
Please. Don't hurt us any more. We're bleeding enough, thank you.
I'm still experimenting with Pandora, and their music range is a bit wider than I thought. There have been some interesting mappings so far:
- Yo La Tengo's "The Pain of Pain" is an almost perfect match for Neil Young's "Barstool Blues".
- Beat Happening was matched with the Ramones. It's all good.
- The Talking Heads were matched with "30 Years In The Bathroom" by The Wonder Stuff. It wasn't a great match, but I love the song title.
- Fat Boy Slim was matched to "Sandwiches" by the Detroit Grand Pubahs. Which is a totally cool song.
- Joy Division matches up with Iggy Pop. But everything matches up with Iggy Pop.
DJ: So, what do you think of Courtney Love?
(PERFECTLY TIMED PAUSE)
Ig: I'd fuck her.
The final score: Ancient Stooge 1, Radio Voice 0.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Please please please buy this newspaper
The Toronto Star organized an all-out subscription drive in my apartment building today. An entire extended family seemed to be running the operation. The parents were at a display table in the front lobby; the table displayed samples of prizes that new subscribers were eligible to win. Other family members went door-to-door pleading with residents to sign up for a special low-price offer: the first week of papers was only a dollar. The pleading was heartfelt: the girl who canvassed me was desperate to use her subscription bonus money to build up her university tuition fund, or something like that. I still said no, but I felt terrible afterwards.
Later, in a burst of rationalization, I blamed the Star for employing such hard-core sales tactics. These tactics are especially bad if newspaper carriers are still paid the way they were when I delivered the Sunday Sun many many years ago. Back then, the carriers were responsible for collecting all the subscription money themselves, and had to turn most of it over to the newspaper. The amount left over was their pay. This meant that if somebody was never home when the carrier called, or was otherwise reluctant to pony up their subscription cash, the carrier lost money. It's a hell of a way to earn pocket money.
Years ago, when I lived in Waterloo, a community newspaper tried an even uglier approach. Once a week, they delivered a copy of their paper to every apartment in my building, whether the resident wanted it or not. Then, they sent the carrier around to ask for voluntary payments for the paper. The girl who knocked on my door told me that she only got paid if people gave her money for the paper. Yuck. My solution was to give her the money, and suggest that she should keep it for herself as a tip. I suspect that she might not have been allowed to do that, unfortunately.
A friend of mine recently reminded me of a way to listen to new music online: Pandora Internet Radio. The basic idea: you supply them with the name of a favourite song or artist, and their database creates a "station" that supplies you with music that is similar to the suggestion you gave them. The only drawback is that, in my opinion, some of the matches are too close to the original.
But they do allow you to create more than one station and then mix the results, so I'm going to try it. My seed artists, if you want to poke fun at my musical taste, are Brian Eno, Black Flag, the Psychedelic Furs, Fatboy Slim, Galaxie 500, Smashing Pumpkins, Joy Division, Beat Happening, Yo La Tengo, Death In Vegas, the Stone Roses, Slowdive, Toots and the Maytals, Dressy Bessy, Talking Heads, and Camper van Beethoven. (I do listen to some newer stuff, honestly!) We'll see how this goes.
Later, in a burst of rationalization, I blamed the Star for employing such hard-core sales tactics. These tactics are especially bad if newspaper carriers are still paid the way they were when I delivered the Sunday Sun many many years ago. Back then, the carriers were responsible for collecting all the subscription money themselves, and had to turn most of it over to the newspaper. The amount left over was their pay. This meant that if somebody was never home when the carrier called, or was otherwise reluctant to pony up their subscription cash, the carrier lost money. It's a hell of a way to earn pocket money.
Years ago, when I lived in Waterloo, a community newspaper tried an even uglier approach. Once a week, they delivered a copy of their paper to every apartment in my building, whether the resident wanted it or not. Then, they sent the carrier around to ask for voluntary payments for the paper. The girl who knocked on my door told me that she only got paid if people gave her money for the paper. Yuck. My solution was to give her the money, and suggest that she should keep it for herself as a tip. I suspect that she might not have been allowed to do that, unfortunately.
A friend of mine recently reminded me of a way to listen to new music online: Pandora Internet Radio. The basic idea: you supply them with the name of a favourite song or artist, and their database creates a "station" that supplies you with music that is similar to the suggestion you gave them. The only drawback is that, in my opinion, some of the matches are too close to the original.
But they do allow you to create more than one station and then mix the results, so I'm going to try it. My seed artists, if you want to poke fun at my musical taste, are Brian Eno, Black Flag, the Psychedelic Furs, Fatboy Slim, Galaxie 500, Smashing Pumpkins, Joy Division, Beat Happening, Yo La Tengo, Death In Vegas, the Stone Roses, Slowdive, Toots and the Maytals, Dressy Bessy, Talking Heads, and Camper van Beethoven. (I do listen to some newer stuff, honestly!) We'll see how this goes.
Monday, December 04, 2006
Darkness inescapable
I've got a bad case of the winter blahs, so this will be a short entry. Actually, it's more like the "not very much sunlight" blahs - I'm always very gloomy this time of year. It was my first day of work at my new job today, and by the time I finished work, it was already dark.
The strangest thing about a down mood is that occasionally it goes away for a bit. Then you realize that most of the bad stuff is in your head. It helps to know this, as then you can tune it out.
And I think I know why the ancient pagans used to celebrate at the time of the winter solstice. "At last," they're thinking, "The days are finally going to start getting longer." That's why February doesn't bother me as much as it does some people: sure, the weather is really crappy, but you know that the crappy weather isn't going to last much longer. Right now, we're just starting the crappy weather season.
My mailbox is full of spam - the Debora spammers are gone, but they have begotten Sons Of Debora. Two sets of Debora-like spam are clogging my mailbox. The worst part is that I might occasionally be missing email from real people, as a message from a friend might be accidentally deleted as I remove wave after wave of spam.
Blah. Blah blah blah. Blah.
A longer entry tomorrow, I promise.
The strangest thing about a down mood is that occasionally it goes away for a bit. Then you realize that most of the bad stuff is in your head. It helps to know this, as then you can tune it out.
And I think I know why the ancient pagans used to celebrate at the time of the winter solstice. "At last," they're thinking, "The days are finally going to start getting longer." That's why February doesn't bother me as much as it does some people: sure, the weather is really crappy, but you know that the crappy weather isn't going to last much longer. Right now, we're just starting the crappy weather season.
My mailbox is full of spam - the Debora spammers are gone, but they have begotten Sons Of Debora. Two sets of Debora-like spam are clogging my mailbox. The worst part is that I might occasionally be missing email from real people, as a message from a friend might be accidentally deleted as I remove wave after wave of spam.
Blah. Blah blah blah. Blah.
A longer entry tomorrow, I promise.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Stéphane Dion and Wreckless Eric
So the Liberals have a new leader. Though it took them a long time to count the final ballot - the CBC commentators speculated that they delayed the announcement of the final result until after 6:00 to ensure that it would be broadcast on all national news channels.
I have no idea what to expect from Stéphane Dion. I liked him better than the other leadership contenders, mostly because he didn't have any major negatives: Ignatieff supported the war in Iraq and has little political experience, Rae still generates significant hostility in Ontario, and Kennedy has no support in Quebec. The Globe and Mail, which endorsed Dion, praised him for being "the most courageous Canadian politician of his generation" and for "having mastered the art of politics". He will need all his mastery, if he has it, as there will likely be an election sooner than later.
Yesterday, I saw "Stranger Than Fiction". It was a good movie, though I disagree with its fundamental premise - if a middle-aged guy stops focusing on his job and learns to stop and smell the roses, he'll wind up dating somebody as cute and attractive as Maggie Gyllenhaal. Erm, no. I wish.
But what I want to know is this: who decided on Wreckless Eric's "The Whole Wide World" as the song that Will Ferrell plays on the guitar? Writer Zach Helm was born in 1975, director Marc Forster was born in 1969, and the song was released in 1978. How did either of them know of this song? Did they have an older brother or (sob) a parent that had a Wreckless Eric album in his or her record collection?
If you want to duplicate Harold Crick's achievement and impress a woman by playing this song on the guitar, don't worry - it's really easy to play, as you only need the A and E chords. Here's how it starts:
[E] When I was a [A] young boy
[E] My mother said to [A] me
[E] There's only one girl in the [A] world for you
[E] And she probably lives in [A] Tahiti
[E] I'll go the whole wide world, I'll go the whole wide world just to [A] find her
You can probably figure out the rest - good luck!
By the way, you haven't truly lived until you've heard Wreckless Eric sing "Final Taxi" - the chorus is "There's only one destination in the final taxi". Amen.
I have no idea what to expect from Stéphane Dion. I liked him better than the other leadership contenders, mostly because he didn't have any major negatives: Ignatieff supported the war in Iraq and has little political experience, Rae still generates significant hostility in Ontario, and Kennedy has no support in Quebec. The Globe and Mail, which endorsed Dion, praised him for being "the most courageous Canadian politician of his generation" and for "having mastered the art of politics". He will need all his mastery, if he has it, as there will likely be an election sooner than later.
Yesterday, I saw "Stranger Than Fiction". It was a good movie, though I disagree with its fundamental premise - if a middle-aged guy stops focusing on his job and learns to stop and smell the roses, he'll wind up dating somebody as cute and attractive as Maggie Gyllenhaal. Erm, no. I wish.
But what I want to know is this: who decided on Wreckless Eric's "The Whole Wide World" as the song that Will Ferrell plays on the guitar? Writer Zach Helm was born in 1975, director Marc Forster was born in 1969, and the song was released in 1978. How did either of them know of this song? Did they have an older brother or (sob) a parent that had a Wreckless Eric album in his or her record collection?
If you want to duplicate Harold Crick's achievement and impress a woman by playing this song on the guitar, don't worry - it's really easy to play, as you only need the A and E chords. Here's how it starts:
[E] When I was a [A] young boy
[E] My mother said to [A] me
[E] There's only one girl in the [A] world for you
[E] And she probably lives in [A] Tahiti
[E] I'll go the whole wide world, I'll go the whole wide world just to [A] find her
You can probably figure out the rest - good luck!
By the way, you haven't truly lived until you've heard Wreckless Eric sing "Final Taxi" - the chorus is "There's only one destination in the final taxi". Amen.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
Weather geekery
This morning, Toronto got its first snowfall of the winter. It just dusted the roofs (rooves?) a bit, and it's mostly gone now, but it reminds me of one of my favourite geeky things to do: look up stuff in the Toronto weather records provided by Environment Canada on a CD-ROM. This contains data from March 1840 to August 2002.
For example, the coldest December 1 ever in downtown Toronto was in 1875. The overnight low that day was -18.9C, and the high was -9.4C. And 27.9 centimetres of snow fell that day too. Ick.
Looking at the records, it's easy to believe that the Earth is getting warmer. Of the ten coldest December 1 days in history, nine of them were in the 19th century, whereas only one of the ten warmest December 1 days was before 1900.
And, thanks to a PHP program I wrote that crunched numbers for me, the evidence for global warming is more obvious when you look at larger samples:
As I write this, there's high drama taking place in Montreal: the Liberal Party convention is about to announce the results of the second ballot for the party leadership. This is the ballot on which all the delegates are free to vote however they choose, so anything could happen. Whee!
For example, the coldest December 1 ever in downtown Toronto was in 1875. The overnight low that day was -18.9C, and the high was -9.4C. And 27.9 centimetres of snow fell that day too. Ick.
Looking at the records, it's easy to believe that the Earth is getting warmer. Of the ten coldest December 1 days in history, nine of them were in the 19th century, whereas only one of the ten warmest December 1 days was before 1900.
And, thanks to a PHP program I wrote that crunched numbers for me, the evidence for global warming is more obvious when you look at larger samples:
- In the years between 1850 and 1859, the average December highs and lows were -0.7C and -7.6C.
- In the years between 1990 and 1999, the averages were 2.9C and -2.2C.
- The increase has been gradual: the average in the 1930s was 1.3C and -5.0C.
- The coldest temperature recorded in downtown Toronto was -32.8C, on January 10, 1859.
- The coldest 20th century temperature: -30C, on December 29, 1933.
- Most snow in one day: 48.3 centimetres on December 11, 1944.
- Most rain in one day: 98.6 millimetres on July 27, 1897.
- Warmest temperature ever: 40.6C, on July 8, 9 and 10, 1936. (July 1921 had four consecutive days over 36C, and July 1911 had three straight days over 36.7C.)
As I write this, there's high drama taking place in Montreal: the Liberal Party convention is about to announce the results of the second ballot for the party leadership. This is the ballot on which all the delegates are free to vote however they choose, so anything could happen. Whee!
Friday, December 01, 2006
Better living through technology
Sometimes, it's the small changes to gadgets and gizmos that make them more interesting or more helpful.
Take luggage, for example. I only own one suitcase - one of those big old-style mofos that you have to lift up and carry with you wherever you go. It does have wheels, and a long strip of fabric that you can attach to the suitcase to pull it along, but the suitcase inevitably falls over whenever I try to wheel it anywhere. I haven't travelled anywhere since 2001, so this isn't a big problem for me. (I've been experiencing cash flow problems: cash has been tending not to flow in my direction lately.)
Nowadays, people don't have to risk lower back injuries if they want to travel out of town. Suitcases come with handles that either can be left folded into the suitcase or can be extended to easy-grasping level. This allows for convenient transportation without unnecessary lifting, straining, bending, pushing, or otherwise aggravating your mind or body. Now, if they could only design airplanes that are comfortable for tall people to sit in...
Another new gadget that I saw lately was a new kind of Walk-Don't Walk sign on Adelaide Street West. When the light starts to flash Don't Walk, it also issues a 10-second countdown, which tells you how long you have to cross the street before the light changes from green to yellow. I thought this was cool.
This is all much more pedestrian-friendly than the setup that existed before about the mid-1980s or so. Back then, there wasn't even a flashing Don't Walk warning: when the intersection light changed to yellow, the pedestrian light instantly changed from Walk to Don't Walk. Little old ladies, lulled into a false sense of security by the reassuring Walk sign, were often left stranded, helpless, in the middle of an intersection as angry drivers zoomed around them. I can't say that we live in a kinder, gentler world now - for one thing, corporations pursue profit far more aggressively these days - but at least life is easier for pedestrians.
Apparently, the Liberal leadership race is likely to be close, with a real possibility of a deadlock between the third-place and fourth-place candidates (Dion and Kennedy). This leads to the inevitable question: how will they settle a tie? A coin flip? Rock-paper-scissors? Thumb wrestling? If thumb wrestling was the primary criterion, Ken Dryden would probably win the leadership outright - as a former goaltender, he probably possesses superior hand strength.
I have a new pet peeve: people walking on the sidewalk who aren't looking where they're going. Other pedestrians have to perform a quick two-dimensional path calculation to try to get out of the way, as there's usually lateral skew as well as forward movement to consider. It's doubly extra irritating if the offender has a small yappy dog on one of those long flexible leashes.
By the way, I'm gainfully employed again - woo hoo! I'll try to write here every day, but starting Monday I won't have as much free time, so we'll see what happens.
Take luggage, for example. I only own one suitcase - one of those big old-style mofos that you have to lift up and carry with you wherever you go. It does have wheels, and a long strip of fabric that you can attach to the suitcase to pull it along, but the suitcase inevitably falls over whenever I try to wheel it anywhere. I haven't travelled anywhere since 2001, so this isn't a big problem for me. (I've been experiencing cash flow problems: cash has been tending not to flow in my direction lately.)
Nowadays, people don't have to risk lower back injuries if they want to travel out of town. Suitcases come with handles that either can be left folded into the suitcase or can be extended to easy-grasping level. This allows for convenient transportation without unnecessary lifting, straining, bending, pushing, or otherwise aggravating your mind or body. Now, if they could only design airplanes that are comfortable for tall people to sit in...
Another new gadget that I saw lately was a new kind of Walk-Don't Walk sign on Adelaide Street West. When the light starts to flash Don't Walk, it also issues a 10-second countdown, which tells you how long you have to cross the street before the light changes from green to yellow. I thought this was cool.
This is all much more pedestrian-friendly than the setup that existed before about the mid-1980s or so. Back then, there wasn't even a flashing Don't Walk warning: when the intersection light changed to yellow, the pedestrian light instantly changed from Walk to Don't Walk. Little old ladies, lulled into a false sense of security by the reassuring Walk sign, were often left stranded, helpless, in the middle of an intersection as angry drivers zoomed around them. I can't say that we live in a kinder, gentler world now - for one thing, corporations pursue profit far more aggressively these days - but at least life is easier for pedestrians.
Apparently, the Liberal leadership race is likely to be close, with a real possibility of a deadlock between the third-place and fourth-place candidates (Dion and Kennedy). This leads to the inevitable question: how will they settle a tie? A coin flip? Rock-paper-scissors? Thumb wrestling? If thumb wrestling was the primary criterion, Ken Dryden would probably win the leadership outright - as a former goaltender, he probably possesses superior hand strength.
I have a new pet peeve: people walking on the sidewalk who aren't looking where they're going. Other pedestrians have to perform a quick two-dimensional path calculation to try to get out of the way, as there's usually lateral skew as well as forward movement to consider. It's doubly extra irritating if the offender has a small yappy dog on one of those long flexible leashes.
By the way, I'm gainfully employed again - woo hoo! I'll try to write here every day, but starting Monday I won't have as much free time, so we'll see what happens.
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