Blogging the Light Fantastic.

Video

Sat, 12 Apr 2008 17:46:34 -0400

Today is the one-year anniversary of the point in my life where everything started moving really, really fast.

Sun, 16 Mar 2008 00:01:20 -0400

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day!

On a whim, 365 days and a couple of weeks ago, I applied for a job in San Francisco, California, one evening when I should’ve been writing a philosophy paper. I had illusions of grandeur and major procrastination issues working in my favour, and to my great happiness I got a very positive response. I flew out of Detroit Metro Airport and landed at SFO the day before Saint Patrick’s Day, 2007. I’d never been to California before, or, hell, to a serious job interview before. I had to talk my way into being hired in retail a few times, but that’s it.

I remember feeling unprepared. I wore a blue suitcoat and tan pants, with a tie that made me look as young as I must have felt - schoolboy stripes all across. My university’s colours, however unintended. I had convinced one of my professors to give me an extension on a major paper, and I figured I’d have to spend some time writing it in my hotel. When we landed, I decided it would probably be best if it just waited until I got home to Windsor.

San Francisco can be a very intimidating place. It’s very urban compared to what I was used to - suburbs the light fantastic. The only truly urban place around Windsor, that is to say, Detroit, wasn’t the sort of place you’d feel alright walking around most nights. I was running late, and didn’t bother to check in at the hotel - I took a cab to the pier where the interview was taking place.

It took four hours, and it was done. I felt good about it. I went back to the hotel and ordered a steak at the restaurant downstairs, and then I walked around chinatown for a spell. I started noticing that things had been sped up - I didn’t much care to sit around anymore. I walked from the financial district to fisherman’s wharf, and back town into tenderloin where I proceeded to look for apartments (note: city is expensive - even in tenderloin).

I was in SF for long enough to envy it, but there was no semblance of “home” there; it felt like I was living in a new-age sitcom. Everybody seemed happy and the city seemed too clean. Even the shitty areas of town had some sort of glint to them that felt appealing, but not familiar of comfortable.

Back in Windsor, a few weeks later I found out that I didn’t get the job. I was bummed out, and part of me thought that moving so far away was beyond my means anyhow, but I kept an eye out for the things that interested me, with a few more interviews along the way. Things had changed, and I didn’t feel like I belonged as a student anymore. I graduated with my best grades of any of my undergraduate years. The day after my very last exam, I was at an interview in Phoenix, got hired, and the rest is the rest. Things never slowed down. I still feel a bit alienated here. Even if they wanted to, most of my friends couldn’t pack up and move to Phoenix to be with me here - I hear they’re not even taking new dual citizenship applicants anymore. But, I couldn’t be happier with my job or the pace at which things are moving. Change moves fast, and I’ve learned to appreciate that.

Even the Government of Canada's CSS comments are bilingual!

Sat, 23 Feb 2008 21:30:15 -0500

Even the Government of Canada's CSS comments are bilingual!: seriously though, that’s pretty funny.

Things for Sale that I will Mail You

Wed, 20 Feb 2008 20:41:23 -0500

Things for Sale that I will Mail You

IKEA's The Complete Bedroom

Sun, 10 Feb 2008 21:43:26 -0500

IKEA's The Complete Bedroom: If you ever wondered how to market to designers, this would be it.

Pink Floyd - Oh, By The Way

Sun, 10 Feb 2008 17:23:48 -0500

Pink Floyd - Oh, By The Way: Stunning!

The 2007 Feltron Annual Report

Mon, 14 Jan 2008 20:53:20 -0500

The 2007 Feltron Annual Report: NYC Designer Nicholas Feltron composes a infographically beautiful report on his past year. Via Kottke.

Saturdays

Sat, 12 Jan 2008 23:56:01 -0500

(Blog Soundtrack: Jolie Holland - Demon Lover Improv. Open it in a new tab/window and read along)

Strange days, theaudience. Strange days.

I don’t remember how or when I woke up. I remember that I dug around my fridge and pantry before deciding on crackers and cheese for breakfast out of a lack of viable morning-food options. It had been awhile since I’d done groceries, or really, since I’d even left the house for a reason that wasn’t for work.

Right. So, I don’t remember waking up.

I remember thinking how the toilets seemed to be flushing in a fairly odd way. I didn’t think anything of it then, but I thought a whole lot of it when my running water ran out completely.

I should mention that I’ve been living in this condo now for over six months. I’ve never had a conversation with my neighbours that got further than a rushed and gramatically improper sentence. My first thought, then, was to call my Dad.

“What do I do? I’ve got to shower and stuff”

“You know, you need to be able to figure this stuff out on your own now. You live by yourself, two thousand miles away from everybody here.”

and he’s right.

“call Etta”

Etta is the realtor that leased me this condo. She’s an older lady whose face never changes, and thus whose mood is never easily discernable. She unwisely gave me her mobile phone number when I signed the lease.

“Hello?”

I could hear the Green Bay/Seattle game on in the background.

“Etta, I think my plumbing is fucked”

then, after a long pause,

“is it just in your unit? or is it building-wide?”

shit. Her saying that put the chances that I was going to have to speak to my neighbours at about 95%.

“I’ll call you back”

I walked next door, a one-bedroom appartment of a middle-aged woman I’ve seen but never spoken with. Her wicker welcome mat used to say “Welcome!”, but now it’s been turned so that the printed side faces the floor and only after a few seconds of staring does one realize that it’s not a message in some foreign, backwards-looking tongue.

In any event, no answer.

I walked downstairs to the unit of Old-Woman-who-Parks-Too-Close-to-my-Car. OWwPTCtmC came to the door at my second attempt at a knock, hair in a mess and and sporting a newer model iPod than I’ve got.

“Sorry to be a bother, but is your water running?”

It’s been six months since I’ve had to introduce myself to somebody, so I’m rusty. Give me a break.

After a brief chat and a handshake, she tells me that she’s had the repairman over all morning because she was getting a constant drip. For some reason he must have shut off my water when he was trying to shut of hers, but it should be back on in an hour.

—-

I’m going to glaze over the part where Old-French-Man (OFM) and Guy-I-Met-In-the-Laundry-Room-Once (GIMitLRO) advised me to just take a dip in the condo estate’s pool instead of waiting for my own shower, because it occurs to me that this post is getting far too long. In fact, that Jolie Holland song I posted above might have already ended (I hope you liked it, it took awhile to grow on me). Here’s another song, just in case.

I had to go to the office to wrap up the second phase of a large project we’re right in the middle of at work. I left only half-assured that I’d have running water again when I got back. Slapping on an unholy amount of deodorant and sprucing up with my strongest cologne, I grabbed the movies I’d had sitting on my desk since NYE and took the 101 down to Tempe.

I’m a good saturday worker, which doesn’t bode well for my long-term sanity or ability to relate with others. I spent about five hours, missed all of one playoff NFL game and half of another, and got home just in time catch New England knock off Jacksonville, and to do my groceries.

If I ever needed to be reminded that Scottsdale is a city of pretentious jerks, doing my groceries at 10:00pm on a Saturday night is probably a good way to go about it. I can usually do my groceries in about 12 minutes flat, but tonigiht I didn’t know what to expect (who buys groceries this late? honestly.)

I push a squeaky cart from aisle to aisle and pick up the essentials (milk, eggs, peanut-butter-chocolate Lindor truffles), and head to the registers up front. There’s a line out of check-out row #4 and is about 15 people long. I can see a chubby kid with curly hair busting his ass bagging and scanning, and I’m calm. It’s saturday at 10pm and we’re doing groceries - it’s not like we’ve got anyplace to go.

A couple of women a few spots behind me yelled across the way to the chubby, curly-haired kid (CCHK), saying that he’d better open another line because there are a lot of people waiting in this one, to which he replied “The only other staff member is on break”, or something along those lines.

Whatever. People have to smoke, or use the facilities, or what have you. It’s nothing to get worked up over, right?

The women (middle-aged, blonde, dressed in lots of denim, a cart full of mostly inexpensive white wine) start throwing a tantrum. They begin (unflatteringly) emulating your stereotypical box-store public address system,

“Kchhhck, can we get a lane open on aisle five”

and when that didn’t work,

“Kkcchhhhhhkk, can we get a lane open on aisle six”

and when that didn’t work,

they walked past one of the roped-off checkout counters and demanded to speak with a manager. When they were informed that there was no manager on hand during the night shift, one suggested that they just get back in line and the other one opened her purse, slapped a bunch of money down, and started taking a few essentials out of her cart, saying “and don’t worry about the receipt” in her best, most facetious tone of voice.

The other grocery shoppers nervously shift their eyes to the scene, thinking the woman might make a run for it. Some groan, knowing this will delay their purchase even further.

The CCHK explains that they can’t do that, and maybe he used his particularly reasonble voice, because the less-than-crazy blonde woman told her colleague that they should just get back in line. The checkout process resumed, crisis averted.

When I finally made it to checkout (plastic, debit, $20 cashback for the washer/dryer), I said to the kid,

“Don’t worry, shit gets a lot better from here on out”.

So, that’s how I spent my Saturday. How was yours?

Rain in the Desert

Thu, 10 Jan 2008 20:38:00 -0500

(Blog Soundtrack: Tunng - Woodcat. Open in a new tab/window and listen along)

Phoenix is not a city built for stormy weather.

It rained fairly heavy the other day, and I thought how nice it would be to be able to use my windshield wipers for the first time in months.

I left the office for a bite to eat around quarter-to-noon and ventured o’er flooded sidewalks across from soggy buildings that never bothered to have gutters installed.

In Windsor, people drive thirty kilometers below the limit on the occasion of the first snow of the year. Here, people drive at a snail’s pace every time there’s a weak shower.

I’m feeling much better now, by the way. Eating my vitamins and holding down food just fine. Even the old snowbirds that inhabit the rest of my condo complex have taken notice.

I should mention that I play a little game whenever a stranger tries to strike up a conversation with me (not as often as I’d have expected, truthfully), in that I try to guess whereabouts they’re from. It’s the same game that I play in airports when I’m too early for my flight (certainly not as often as I should be). Everybody here is a transplant, and it’s sometimes as easy as picking up on an accent or hearing them hint at a sports team, but I’ll never work myself up to ask outright.

I think it’s because if someone were to ask me,

“so where are you from?”

and I knew they had no way of ever finding out the truth,

I bet I’d have a lot of trouble saying “Windsor” or “Detroit”.

But, I bet I’d feel the same way if I’d been born in Prague or Paris or Tuscany.

I haven’t the foggiest idea why that is. It’s just one of those nights.

This Peanut Looks like a Duck (dot com)

Mon, 07 Jan 2008 15:55:00 -0500

This Peanut Looks like a Duck (dot com)

SnūzNLūz WiFi Alarm Clock

Fri, 04 Jan 2008 11:30:32 -0500

SnūzNLūz WiFi Alarm Clock: Every time you hit the Snooze button, wifi-connects to your bank account and donates money to an organization you hate. Genius. Via Kottke.

Addiction of the Day: Cursor*10

Thu, 03 Jan 2008 19:50:56 -0500

Addiction of the Day: Cursor*10: Got it on my second last cursor, but a victory is a victory.

Comments

Mon, 31 Dec 2007 02:34:20 -0500

What do you know? This place suddenly got commenty.

Vinyl Sleeve Heads

Sun, 30 Dec 2007 01:18:13 -0500

Vinyl Sleeve Heads

like a clock with no hands

Sat, 29 Dec 2007 20:55:55 -0500

My internal clock is all fucked up today. I drifted in and out of sleep in my recliner last night while reading my book, and didn’t pass out all the way until about 4am.

I woke up to a (wonderful) phone call this morning around nine (I think), and then fell back asleep until about quarter-to-two int he afternoon, about eight hours past my usual wake-up-time.

I still can’t hold very much food down. Today my big conquest was managing to melt a couple pieces of cheese on a bagel and mow on that for about sixty minutes.

I used to always wonder how people who lived toward the polar extremes managed to not go absolutely insane having six months of darkness, or six months of sunshine, or whatever. I remember thinking that you’d stop believing that every day was a “new” day, that if you had a shitty night on a friday, since the sun never set or rose again, you’d feel just as shitty on Saturday morning, lik enothing had changed.

My mind was never made up about it, I guess, or at least,

as you might say,

things change.

Now, I look north to the Yukon with an envious eye. When days and nights blend together, anxiety doesn’t get the chance to set in over and over again. I felt calmer than usual today, opening the blinds after being awake already for a few hours, and already seeing that the sun was mostly set in the sky.

I don’t know, though. Don’t take my advice. My internal time is all fucked up and I feel eerily like a clock with no hands.

back in the desert

Wed, 26 Dec 2007 21:24:00 -0500

Woke up in the middle of the night last night and got sick a bunch of times over the course of a few hours. Had to make a gametime decision about getting on my flight back to Phoenix or trying to find a later takeoff.

Waited in line at the Canada/US border for 90 minutes and finally got to Detroit Metro airport, only to find my plane delayed for another hour.

I’ve been on a diet of apple juice and mandarin oranges (and I”m about to make some chicken noodle soup). I hate being sick, but it least it held itself off until after Christmas.

It was good to see my friends in Windsor. We went out to our favourite tavern and did what we used to do on a daily basis back when I was strictly a Canuck: played video games and drank cheap beer.

Got to see a bit of snowfall on Christmas Eve, but most of the snow was already on the ground when I got into town.

Went and saw the Lions win a game. Detroit still stinks just the way I like it.

I don’t think some of you will believe me when I write this,

but there is something frankly relaxing about driving through dead factory towns west of Detroit’s downtown.

So, that’s how I spent my holidays. I miss it back home already.

home for the holidays

Thu, 20 Dec 2007 19:43:09 -0500

In a few hours I’ll catch a cab to Phoenix Sky Harbor airport and hop on an overnight flight to Detroit (rock city, as it were) and cross the border into Canada to spend the holidays with my family and friends.

It’s been six months since I’ve moved out to the desert, and as the day goes by, I find myself getting genuinely nervous about going home again. I spent twenty-three years in varying large houses all within a 5-mile radius of eachother, and now I’ve setup shop in a two-bedroom condominium in Scottsdale.

Very little is familiar about this place, but I’ve been trying to work myself in gradually. Going to the dentist in this country is a lot more of a hassle (ps: got a root canal last thursday. Felt just dandy)

And, you know, lots of other things. I do my own groceries now and frankly, to make them seem less awkward, I try to time myself (I can do a week’s worth, from door to door, in about 8 minutes flat on a low-aisle-traffic day) and beat previous bests. There are all sorts of public-awkwardnesses that I can afford myself in a city where I really don’t know anybody outside of work (which has been absolutely fantastic).

So, I’m going back home for six days after being away for six months. I’m starting to worry if my accent has changed (I’m sensitive to my pronounciation of “about”), and I’m not sure it’s even dawned on me that I’ll have to cut back on the amount of time I walk around in my underpants.

So, here’s to a Merry Christmas. Bon Voyage and all that. If I don’t manage to post from Windsor, I’ll be back in Phoenix by the 27th.

Ebay Auction: Drive Someone Insane with Postcards

Tue, 18 Dec 2007 21:43:37 -0500

Ebay Auction: Drive Someone Insane with Postcards: dear everybody I know: I’m checking to make sure you’re not the winner.

The Rosewood Thieves - Lonesome Road

Sun, 16 Dec 2007 03:16:00 -0500

The Rosewood Thieves - Lonesome Road

"The problem is, after a week of intense googling, we’ve started to burn out on knowing the..."

Sun, 16 Dec 2007 02:09:39 -0500

“The problem is, after a week of intense googling, we’ve started to burn out on knowing the answer to everything. God must feel that way all the time. I think people in the year 2020 are going to be nostalgic for the sensation of feeling clueless”

- Douglas Coupland, JPod