Remembrance of Things Past

With the temperature hovering around minus 11 Celsius, and knowing that by cycling, I would create a wind chill on top of whatever the wind chill was this morning, I dressed warmly for the ride in to work. The choice of clothing included my new Caribou Sorel boots (good to minus 40 degrees), a winter coat, (suitable for cycling), and two additional layers below. I pulled on my Hot Paws mitts that have never failed to keep my hands warm. Below my helmet, I wore one of those furry hats with the earflaps. The only thing that was cold was my face, and I can't do anything about that because a scarf causes my glasses to fog up and then freeze, leading to a potentially dangerous situation.

I wheeled around the corner and the fist thing I saw reminded me of my youth. A high school student ambled along in nothing more than a hoodie. He had no mitts or gloves, no hat, and no boots. He reminded my of my winter high school days, but even then, I elected to wear mitts and a coat. I just avoided hats, mostly because I hated to disturb my nicely coiffed hair.

I reflected for a moment about how old I have been feeling recently. Happily, I noted that I don't really care if anyone sees me wearing a hat anymore, just as long as it lacks those ridiculous pom-poms.  I hate pom-poms, and I have previously owned hats that forced me to hack off the dumb pom-pom.  Who created this abomination anyway?

I wonder if this kid will be found later, frozen and blue.  I would have said frozen in s snowbank somewhere, but there really isn't any snow to speak of in Tdot at the moment.

A Look at my CD Collection, part 3

Because I have nothing else to write about ...

Africanesque

It's often difficult to recall when or why I have acquired certain CDs. I have no memory of when I bought this one, but I think I picked it up on the basis of its price and on the fact that it contains a track by Ali Farka Touré and Ry Cooder (Diaraby) and another by Henri Dikongué (Ndol'asu). Also, I was really interested in African Music, at one point, especially musicians like Babatunde Olatunji. There's something about African drumming that really appeals to me.  I love Brazilian drumming too.

Africanesque is a fabulous introduction to African music, containing roots music and well as other genres, like European fusion.  It represents many, but not all, African nations.  But, unless you like African music, you probably wouldn't like this.

Arabica - A North African Voyage into Sound 


It's often difficult to recall when or why I have acquired certain CDs. I have no memory of when I bought this one, but I think I picked it up on the basis of its price, since I had no idea who any of these musicians are.  The CD contains traditional North African musical styles fused with Arabian, Middle East grooves and European electronica.  Some tracks are better than others.  It's not a brilliant collection, but it's not too bad.


My goal for today is to finish my Christmas shopping.

ZF has a New Pair of Boots

Yup, I bought a pair of Sorel Boots.  My feet have never been so warm. As a matter of fact, as I cycled home this evening, I wondered if perhaps they were too warm.  But, the temperature will drop lots more, and I will be grateful for the superior warmth of these fine boots.  Sorel ought to pay me for such an endorsement.

A Look at my CD Collection, part 2 - John Hudak

I downloaded two releases (legally) by John Hudak with -1348- from The Internet Archive some time ago.  The Internet Archive is a great source for all kinds of things, especially music.  If you are a Dead Head -- and I am not -- you should definitely check it out.

I am really interested in musical experiments, and I am fond of minimalism, drones, and repetition.   That's not to say that I don't enjoy a fine melody, because I do.  There is something about extended drawn-out soundscapes that contain very little in the way of variation.  Of course, this reminds me of a dinner party I had at my house once for an association of which I was president.  I put on Steve Reich's Music for Eighteen Musicians, thinking that it would be a pleasing accompaniment to dinner and conversation.  About 15 minutes into the piece, someone (perhaps the secretary or the treasurer) complained that the music was giving her a headache.  Good thing I hadn't put on Gavin Bryars' Jesus Blood!

Reich's piece has much more going on in it that I require.  There have been times when the drone of a piece of machinery has struck me as the perfect piece of music.  I also like symmetrical structures.  If you add these two together, it says a lot about what I like photograph, normally. Brian Eno's Thursday Afternoon is a fine example of ambient minimalism.  It's 61 minutes of perfect music, and not just for Thursday afternoons.  I also like noise, or music from the avant-garde that employs dissonance and atonality. There are lots of examples of this genre, of course, but to give you some examples, I would suggest the music of John Cale and Tony Conrad from the Inside the Dream Syndicate years, as well as the music of Lamonte Young right through to Sonic Youth and Lou Reed's Metal Machine Music.

I think I am getting sidetracked.

Since I really do not like listening to music on a computer, I burned the two John Hudak releases to CD.  They are:

-1348- and John Hudak - Tacitus Journey
-1348- and John Hudak - The Idiot

These releases contain hints at some of the things I mentioned above. You might not like it, but you just might.  Hudak's discography is quite long and he has made appearances on many other recordings, if you care about that.

Three more days of work, and then I am off until January 4th :-)

A Look at my CD Collection, part 1:
1-Speed Bike: Droopy Butt Begone!

This was the first release (2000) from Aidan Girt, the drummer from Godspeed You! Black Emperor and Exhaust.  I believe that he played drums on the first release from A Silver Mt. Zion entitled: He Has Left Us Alone but Shafts of Light Sometimes Grace the Corner of Our Rooms.

For this release, Girt re-used some of his old beats. He cut them up, looped them, and added some field recordings.  The last thing you will hear is the sound of a toilet flushing to compliment the final track, Any Movement That Forgets About Class Is A Bowel Movement.

Constellation records describes the CD as follows:

The heart of the record finds slow loping beats ebbing and flowing around a beautiful palette of melodic figures and harmonic whirrs on “Just Another Jive-Assed White Colonial Theft”; a sustained hip-hop groove anchoring the playful sample stew of “Why Are All The Dogs Dying Of Cancer” and the house-inflected beat workouts of “My Kitchen Is Tiananmen Square.” link

I couldn't have said it any better, so I won't even try.

Some Recent Reads

OK, so here are a bunch of mini reviews/comments on some of the books that I have read recently, which probably means within the last couple of months, or so.  I am sure that I have missed a few.

Justin Cartwright - In Every Face I Meet

I still fail to understand why Justin Cartwright is not more famous.  He ought to be.  This book was short-listed for the Booker Prize.  It didn't win.  I am not certain that it should have won.  It's good, for sure, but not his best.  I still prefer White Lightning, but this is certainly a good book.  I'll give it an 8/10.

Jess Walter - Citizen Vince

I don't normally read crime fiction.  There might be crime in the fiction I read, but the genre is not something I normally check out.  I can't really say why that is.  It just is.  So, I read Citizen Vince mostly because I liked what was written on the back cover.  The blurb mentioned sex, drugs, prostitution - all good things, really.  It mentioned mobsters and a cross-country chase.  While it is true that all of these elements are part of this book, I have to say emphatically that the blurb is over-written.  That's not to say that I was disappointed. After all, the book is a lot more subtle than the blurb would have you believe.  The protagonist is not such a bad guy, for a bad guy.  He's truly reformed, though still earning some money on the side by means of a few illegal activities.  So, yes, he's a bad guy doing bad guy things, and yet we like him in a noirish way.  He's alright, in many ways, and one feels for his plight. The book is alright too, but I wouldn't suggest that you read it.  I would suggest that you read the blurb and then decide if you want to read it.  Just remember that the cover copy is over-written.  I give this book a 6.5/10. If you are one of those crime fiction readers, you would probably rate it higher, maybe even an 8.5/10.

Paul Quarrington - King Leary

Paul Quarrington could be my favourite Canadian writer.  Sadly, he has been diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer.  I have read many of his books and recently read King Leary while on the train to Montreal. Leary won the Stephen Leacock Memorial Medal for Humour.  Stephen Leacock was a funny Canadian writer who wrote lots of funny things, by the way.  This book is probably deserving of the award, as it is funny and a good read.  But, I have very little to go on, since the only other Leacock winner I have read is Jake and the Kid by W.O. Mitchell, but that was really read to me in public school by the teacher a long time ago.  I tried to read Barney's Version, another Leacock winner, but found it unbearably boring.  My fav Quarrington novel has to be Whale Music, but his best piece of writing is The Boy on the Back of the Turtle.  I give King Leary 8/10.

Jim Thompson - After Dark, My Sweet

I don't normally read crime fiction.  Wait, I already said that.  This book, however, might better be described as pulp fiction, but not in a Tarantino kind of way.  It may be that Jim Thompson has been overlooked as a writer, despite the evidence that he was on to something.  This book was made into a film.  I know, that's not really a good indicator of a book's relative value, but it is interesting to consider, especially when you note that other Thompson books were book filmed as well. These books include The Grifters and The Getaway, which was filmed twice, I believe, the first time by Sam Peckinpah.

Anyway, I liked this piece of noir pulp fiction and I am thinking that I should locate the film.  I'll rate this book a 7.5/10.

Louis de Bernières - The War of Don Emmanuel's Nether Parts

This book is a satirical, magical, and hilarious look at a fictionalized nation in South America.  The writing is so genuinely terrific that it is a difficult book to put down.  Other words that might describe this book could be zany and beautiful and violent.  At the heart of this book is a parody of third world banana republics, filled with unusual characters and with hilarious yet poignant observations.  It might not be everyone's cup of tea, but I loved it.  I have almost finished the second book in the trilogy: Senor Vivo and the Coca Lord, which is funnier that it's predecessor.  The third and final book in the trilogy - The Troublesome Offspring of Cardinal Guzman - is waiting for me on my bookcase.  The first two books in this trilogy deserve a rating of 9.9/10.

Don Delillo - Falling Man

I never thought that it would happen, but Don DeLillo has finally penned a novel that I did not like.  Sure, there are the usual pieces of genius and his poetical use of the English language, but this book left me unimpressed.  Let me just say that the dialogue irritated me. No one speaks the way they do in this book.  It doesn't mater who the character is, everyone speaks in a jarring, fragmented fashion that is difficult to accept.  I appreciate what DeLillo is trying to achieve, but I am not convinced that he pulled it off.  For that, I have to give this a 6/10.

Graham Swift - Out of this World

This is perhaps a minor work from Swift and, while I think I enjoyed it, it really didn't stay with me.  I have no complaints, no praise, and not much at all to say about it.  The book is fine, but not at all out-of-this-world.  If you are planning to read Swift, better start somewhere else, say with Last Orders.  6.5/10 for this one.

Gao Xingjian - Buying a Fishing Rod for My Grandfather, Stories

Are these really stories?  They feel more like random pieces of prose.  I suppose that they qualify as both.  This is an entertaining book and it's extremely well-written.  It's enjoyable, but I didn't think too hard about what I was reading.  The words just flowed over me and I absorbed them.  8.5/10

Wet

So, I cycled today, which may have been a mistake.  I discovered that my boots are no longer water-proof and so my feet were swimming in cold water by the time I was less than halfway through my ride.  I have a dry pair of shoes in my office, which I am wearing without socks.  I hope the socks dry before my cycle home, but it probably will make no difference, since the boots have no chance of drying in such a short period of time.

It's a shame because I bought a crazy-ass pair of boots that are good to minus 40 and water-proof.  In fact, I used them to shovel the wet wintery sludge from my sidewalk this morning.  I felt that they were too cumbersome to cycle in, but they would have been a much better choice.  Fashion should never trump comfort.  That fashion can lose out is a sign of age, if you ask me.  By this logic, I am not yet old.

I remember walking the 1.5 KM trip to and from high school in minus 20 or worse weather and foregoing a hat.  I was too concerned that someone would see me.  Dumb, you say and I agree.  On those days when it was even colder, I would take the route less travelled, with my toque on, taking a risk that someone would see me, and then removing the hat for the last part of my journey, as I closed in on the school.  Yes, it was dumb, but I never got any frostbite.  Oddly, I wore my hat after school during winter track when we ran around the frozen streets, but I guess the coach prevailed upon us.  At least I am now comfortable wearing a hat, so maybe I am aging after all.

OK, well, maybe I can dry my socks using the hand dryer in the bathroom ...

The Road (The Movie) - Two Ratings

If the success of a movie is to be measured by how faithfully it translates the written word to the big screen, then The Road deserves a score of ten out of ten.  The cinematography is sublime.  The disintegrating post-apocalyptic world is rendered hauntingly and precisely.  It's a grey world with little to no colour.  It's a depressing landscape filled with dead trees, an ashen sky, burnt out cities, and roving bands of cannibals.  All of this is impressive and faithful to my reading of the book.

The plot, too, follows very closely that of the book and I have no issues with omissions or minor changes.  For this, I give the movie a ten out of ten and would argue that this film is the best possible adaptation of Cormac McCarthy's novel.  But, that doesn't necessarily make it a good film.  At the conclusion of the film, C. assessed it at 6.5 out of ten.  She might be right.

I really like the novel.  It is a gripping story and I read it compulsively.  Good books don't always make good movies, and The Road is a prime example of that phenomenon.   So, while it may well be a great book, the movie just doesn't work.  Still, I would give it a 7.5 because I liked the novel so much.

With the exception of Wonder Boys (as I often mention), I generally prefer the novel to the film adaptation, and so it holds true for this film too.  Read the book; skip the movie.

Happy Birthday to....

Me.

I'll be in an all-day colloquium today and an all-day meeting tomorrow :-(

Down with Twitter!

My experiment with Twitter ended a few weeks ago.  I posted my last so-called tweet is late October, and now, I move on for many reasons.

1) Twitter is a dumb word.
2) Tweet is even dumber.
3) 140 words is too short for anything but a semi-grammatical grunt.
4) I kept attracting unsavory followers offering hidden links to scandalous sites.
5) Twitter is continually over-capacity.
6) I am all for Web 2.0, but Twitter's purpose is to limited that I only ever see things like: I am about to take a dump; I am off to the to store to buy condoms.  In other words, it is a constant source of useless micro-information.
7) I don't need constant reminders that people lead boring lives.
8) I already have a few Ego 2.0 outlets, and don't need another.
9) I really think Twitter inflates one's perceived sense of importance.
10) Twitter would have been much better if I had thought of it and had given it a good name.

I hope Twitter dies and soon. Down with Twitter!

Gormenghast

Recently, I read the first two books in Mervyn Peake's Gormenghast trilogy, Titus Groan and Gormenghast.  I really have no idea why these books are classified as fantasy.  I shy away from the category, lest anyone think that I spend my time in dark basements playing Dungeons and Dragons.  I have never played Dungeons and Dragons and don't want to start.  Let me also say that I have never read Lord of the Rings, so I can't really make any statements about it, beyond what I know about the films.  As you might recall, I had a hard time staying awake during the first two films and didn't bother with the third.  Even typing that statement about LoR made me very tired.  This is just to say that I am not very knowledgeable about fantasy.

I came to Gormenghast accidentally, having seen part of the TV series years ago, but then forgetting about it and not remembering what it was that I saw.  Such is my sieve-like brain.  Anyway, I read the first book on the strength of some really fabulous recommendations from many respected people, including Robertson Davies and Anthony Burgess, whom I greatly admired.  To my amazement, there is very little that is fantastical about these books (or, perhaps I really do not understand fantasy).  Having just read some Dickens, I would suggest that they fit more easily into that genre.  They are gothic and grand and thoroughly Dickensian, but maybe better written.  It's clear that Peake is a poet for his prose is indeed poetry.

Naturally, I had to watch the British mini-series after reading the books.  I am somewhat disappointed.   Except in the case of Wonder Boys, I always find that the book is better than the film or mini-series.  The Gormenghast books are vastly superior to the mini-series and I was left feeling a bit betrayed.

About the series, I will say this: I liked the casting, generally, but hated the music completely.  I found the numerous plot changes to be irritating.  I realize that certain things need to be edited out to fit running times and commercial breaks, but leaving out characters and changing fundamental plot elements baffles me.  I found myself becoming irritated by these many changes and hoping that perhaps someone with a greater sense of loyalty to the books will one day make a faithful adaptation.

C@#* Explosion!

So, there I was, walking down a peaceful tree-lined street in Toronto, just minding my own business, when I shoved my hand deep into my pocket and pulled out my iPod Touch.  Ah, I love this fine piece of equipment.  It's smooth, shiny, and wonderful to hold.  I inserted the earbuds into my ears to fire up the tunes.

Remembering that wifi was still enabled, I decided to turn it off, so as to save some battery power.  As I was doing this, I noted the names of the wireless networks in this fine neighbourhood.  There were several nondescript Bell networks with boring names like BELL127; there were a few people who had applied names to their networks, like Lisa this or John that, and many such derivatives with a few pet names thrown into the mix, and possibly a superhero or two.

But then I saw a most curious wireless network called - get ready for this - Cock Explosion!  I am not lying.  Lots of thoughts passed through my head, like, what if his mother comes to visit and wants to hop on his wireless network with her little pink netbook?

Dude's Mom: "What's your network name?"

Dude: "Cock explosion."

Dude's Mom: "What?"

Dude: "Cock explosion."

Dude's Mom: "You're network is called cock explosion?"

Dude: "Yeah, cock explosion."

Dude's Mom: "Why would you call your network cock explosion?"

Dude: "Why not?  Cock explosion is a great name. It's very visual."

Dude's Mom:  "I'm afraid to ask what your network key is..."

I am sure that his dad would understand all of this, but not his mom.  A colleague told me a similar story about a network in NYC he encountered that was called something like Porn-Loving Bi-Girl.  A father would understand that to, but not a mom.

But, back to the story.  You see that I made the assumption that this is a network operated by a male.  I mean, what women would called her network Cock Explosion?  I can think of a few good names for a racy female network, and this doesn't make the list.  CG later suggested that perhaps it belonged to an escort who was very good at her job.  I am not convinced, but I give him marks for coming (if you'll excuse the gratuitous use of that word) up with alternative suggestions.

My immediate reaction is that this guy must be a porn hound.  I imagined him (but not in any great detail) ending up like Quagmire, once he had discovered the wonders of broadband.  Now, there was no way to figure out which house this Cock Explosion was emanating from, and even if I knew, I would have steered well clear of it.  There were no obvious signs anywhere as to which of these properties was home to Cock Explosion.  I couldn't see any Farrah Fawcett posters in the windows, at any rate.  I detected no one furiously closing curtain or blinds.  It was all peaceful, but I wondered, if I stood there long enough, if I would be able to hear any cock explosions.  I decided that this was not a good idea, and resumed my journey, up to a pub to meet two friends and have a beverage.

Carrie Prejean

Why is it that every loser on the planet has been on Entertainment Tonight but not me?  I deserve to be on that show as much as these other mercenary fame-hunting idiots.  Quite honestly, I don't know who most of the people are on the show, but the whole experience is like a train wreck.  I mean, the cult of celebrity has come to a point where the so-called celebrities are nobodies.  If you don't believe me, just check out Dancing with the Stars. This is the best they can do? The definition of star has fallen to such a point where even I qualify as a star.

Now, after that preamble, we come to Carrie Prejean.  I have a vague memory of Carrie Prejean saying something ludicrous and sexist about same-sex marriage.  She is a right-wing homophobe.  I just read that she had used some of her pageant winnings from the Miss USA pageant to buy breast implants.  I guess she has to prepare for a career in porn, should this beauty thing not work out.

Then there was a breach of contract and a settlement of some sort, and now she is selling her book.  I can tell you that even if I were trapped in a space ship for three or four months on my way to Mars with only her book for a distraction, I would not read it - well, maybe for a laugh, but reading it would probably lead to permanent brain damage.

Serendipitously, I clicked on a CNN video of her being a jerk on the Larry King Show.  Have a look as the spoiled brat has a tantrum on the air:



Talk about a little princess.  I have to say that the word inappropriate was an inappropriate choice or words. And then, I discovered that there is a sex tape.  Big deal.  I suppose she is trying to keep up with Verne Troyer.  I mean, who doesn't have a sex tape?  Even I have a sex tape.

I am angry with myself for giving this small-brained so-called beauty pageant queen with a face like a razor blade even more publicity.  The good news is that she will suffer the ignominy of having her book remaindered soon.

Shopping with the Ancient and the Insane

I took last Friday afternoon off to get some stuff accomplished prior to a busy weekend.  First, I decided to do the grocery shopping.  What's going on with Friday afternoons in grocery stores?  Why are so many weird people allowed to be in public on Friday afternoons?

Immediately upon entering the store, I was confronted with a man who seemed to like talking to pumpkins.  He then turned to me and discussed the prices of produce as compared with all of the other local stores.  Pumpkins, he assured me, were cheaper here than in the other shops, but then he seemed a little perplexed that I did not buy any, but then neither did he.  Pumpkin man moved sideways to examine the butter nut squash and he tried to persuade me to buy one, which I did, because I needed one.  He then went off to have a conversation with the avocados.

I had to wait to select apples, because someone had unfolded his flyer across the entire bin, as if it were his personal table.  And, let me tell you, all of these people were armed with flyers, man.  They were buying items simply because they were on sale.  How else do you explain someone buying liver?  I know, some of these people are from that age group that still believes that liver is good for you.  Suckers!

I put my earbuds in and walked the aisles with a great deal of difficulty because Friday shoppers seem to have no understanding of how to park one's cart so as to let others pass by.  I was stuck behind a woman accompanying her blind husband who, quite frankly, was squeezing the mangoes a bit too hard.  I felt worried for the melons in the next bin.  Is it possible that he thought that he was at home and that those mangoes were really his wife's ... ?  Well, never mind.

I continued around, marveling at the toothless hoards drooling over the saltines, the aged ambling about with able walkers, one of whom was sniffing chicken wrapped in plastic, and those who seemed to have no business in a grocery store whatsoever.

I quickly skirted the near riot by the Depends, and then made my way to the check out, where the person in front of me had all of her credit cards declined; she had no cash to speak of with her.  Quickly, I backed out only to end up behind some belligerent jerk who argued over the limits.  For some reason, he wanted more than 10 cases of pop.

So, my new rule is to avoid Friday afternoon shopping, unless I have no choice.