1. Respect the daily requirements of sleep, exercise, and meditation.
2. Cultivate generosity and compassion, and watch carefully for opportunities to express them.
3. Gratitude, gratitude, gratitude.
4. Expect the unexpected.
5. Whenever possible, be the unexpected.
Happy New Year!
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Friday, December 27, 2013
Winter Photo Dump
I've really been enjoying walking around wintry Halifax and its beautiful parks over these holidays. I promised a couple of readers (Mom & Dad) some photos, so here are my latest Instagram pics.
Also, as a postscript to the top ten list, I wanted to add that there were a couple of dance-pop albums that didn't make the cut, but are definitely worth a listen. Daft Punk's Random Access Memories and Janelle Monáe's The Electric Lady are both super catchy and smart. They will cause you to shake your groove thing against your will. I would have liked to include either or both of them to make the list a little more well-rounded and fun, except that neither seems to compel my repeated listening like the chosen ten do. That doesn't mean they're not top-ten worthy — just that I am no fun.
Wednesday, December 25, 2013
Top Ten for '13
Don't get me wrong. I like carollers as much as the next guy — probably more. And jubilant church bells? Bring 'em on. But if Bing Crosby major-third-warbles and full-octave-glissandos his way through "White Christmas" one more time within my earshot, whoever has the misfortune of standing next to me is going to overhear some seriously impatient muttering. There may also be pronounced brooding.
Luckily, the odds of any of that happening are slim. Now that Christmas is just a fond memory and some indigestion-fuelled nightmares, we can rejoice in the ban on "holiday music." And what better way to cleanse our ears' palates [Can one sense apparatus be a metaphor for another? Seems suspect... cf. "The cold blue sky gave frostbite to the fingers of his eyes." —Ed.] than with a sampling of the past year's best rock, pop, and electronic music?
As always, my top ten favourite albums from the year are listed in no particular order. New this year, I've put together a compilation of songs from all the albums for you to download. So I guess they are in some order, which is the sequence I thought the sample tracks sounded best in. Anyway, just click the link under the cover image up there to get the mix.
And no capsule reviews this time around. You can find out everything you need to know about all these albums elsewhere, plus how many different ways are there to say I like something? Probably fewer than ten.
(OK, you might not find out too much about that Husband & Knife recording, which is a local download-only release available by buying a booklet of spooky black & white Dartmouth-at-night photographs from dronemaster KC Spidle, who wrote and recorded all the songs with the appropriately spare help of a few likeminded pals. But seriously, everything else on here is not exactly languishing in obscurity.)
Here's the album/track list:
Arcade Fire—Reflektor
Sample Track: "We Exist"
Dog Day—Fade Out
Sample Track: "Sunset"
My Bloody Valentine—mbv
Sample Track: "If I Am"
The Knife—Shaking the Habitual
Sample Track: "A Tooth for an Eye"
Atoms for Peace—Amok
Sample Track: "Ingenue"
Boards of Canada—Tomorrow's Harvest
Sample Track: "Cold Earth"
Oneohtrix Point Never—R Plus Seven
Sample Track: "Chrome Country"
Flaming Lips—The Terror
Sample Track: "Be Free, A Way"
Husband & Knife—Husband/Knife & The Drone
Sample Track: "Bring It Down"
Kurt Vile—Wakin on a Pretty Daze
Sample Track: "Was All Talk"
For maximum enjoyment, listen loud on headphones while getting lost in a snowy forest.
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Monday, December 23, 2013
On Yuletide Retreat
Dear Edie,
I have a lot of things to teach you now, in case we ever meet, concerning the message that was transmitted to me under a pine tree in North Carolina on a cold winter moonlit night. It said that Nothing Ever Happened, so don't worry. It's all like a dream. Everything is ecstasy, inside. We just don't know it because of our thinking-minds. But in our true blissful essence of mind is known that everything is alright forever and forever and forever. Close your eyes, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, stop breathing for 3 seconds, listen to the silence inside the illusion of the world, and you will remember the lesson you forgot, which was taught in immense milky ways of cloudy innumerable worlds long ago and not even at all. It is all one vast awakened thing. I call it the golden eternity. It is perfect. We were never really born, we will never really die. It has nothing to do with the imaginary idea of a personal self, other selves, many selves everywhere, or one universal self. Self is only an idea, a mortal idea. That which passes through everything, is one thing. It's a dream already ended. There's nothing to be afraid of and nothing to be glad about. I know this from staring at mountains months on end. They never show any expression, they are like empty space. Do you think the emptiness of space will ever crumble away? Mountains will crumble, but the emptiness of space, which is the one universal essence of mind, the one vast awakenerhood, empty and awake, will never crumble away because it was never born.
The world you see is just a movie in your mind.
Your eternal old man,
Jack
—Jack Kerouac
(courtesy of whiskey river)
Friday, December 20, 2013
Hospital Food
Wow, I had such a crazy dream last night. It was like a combination of Fight Club and Shaun of the Dead. People around me were getting into this fad called the "Zombie Diet." It involved finding discarded parts of humans from hospitals and eating them. I thought it was disgusting, but everyone said it was super healthy and would be the way all people ate in the future.
The whole thing really bothered me, so I tried to just ignore it as yet another aspect of my own culture that I would never understand but that hopefully would go away soon or at least leave my little subculture of one alone. But more and more people started getting involved in "ZD" and trying to convince me it was a good idea.
Eventually I ended up in some creepy old forgotten hospital basement with a bunch of zombified looking "dieters." Their eyes were all sunken in, and they had a crazed look to them. I guess human flesh was addictive, because they were all anticipating their next fix. It was like a dark, mouldy parking garage/morgue full of Smigels from Lord of the Rings. On the concrete floor, there was a detached arm around which they were all gathered.
One person in the middle was announcing to everyone else that he'd realized it could be dangerous to eat raw human flesh that was possibly diseased and anyway had been sitting around unrefrigerated for some time. This relatively ingenious hypothesis for some reason provoked mixed reactions. Some of the Gollums seemed to feel that the danger of ingesting who knows what manner of horrible bacteria was what made this diet exciting enough to stick with, as opposed to, say, the Canada Food Guide's conservative recommendations (yawn).
While folks were grumbling and debating, the guy pulled out an electric fork he had invented. He said it would cook the "meat" they were all hungering for, one bite at a time, thereby rendering their nutritional proclivities safer, if hardly any less nightmarish. He demonstrated by skewering a loose piece of the bare male arm on the floor. Holding up the fork — which looked a lot like the carving fork my dad always used on the Christmas turkey — he pressed a button, whereupon the flesh began to sizzle and brown quite quickly.
I thought it was a pretty good invention, if one could temporarily forget the despicability of its purpose. But someone else in the crowd was too impatient for such refinement. One of the more sunken-eyed ZD'ers lunged forward and grabbed the hunk of half-cooked elbow off the fork, stuffing it greedily into his mouth. That display was too much for the rest of the hungry crowd, who roared forward en masse to start ripping whatever they could get off of the rest of the arm with their teeth, like a pack of hyenas around a rotting zebra.
And then I woke up to this Satie piece coming from my alarm clock. Put me in a very weird mood for the rest of the morning.
The whole thing really bothered me, so I tried to just ignore it as yet another aspect of my own culture that I would never understand but that hopefully would go away soon or at least leave my little subculture of one alone. But more and more people started getting involved in "ZD" and trying to convince me it was a good idea.
Eventually I ended up in some creepy old forgotten hospital basement with a bunch of zombified looking "dieters." Their eyes were all sunken in, and they had a crazed look to them. I guess human flesh was addictive, because they were all anticipating their next fix. It was like a dark, mouldy parking garage/morgue full of Smigels from Lord of the Rings. On the concrete floor, there was a detached arm around which they were all gathered.
One person in the middle was announcing to everyone else that he'd realized it could be dangerous to eat raw human flesh that was possibly diseased and anyway had been sitting around unrefrigerated for some time. This relatively ingenious hypothesis for some reason provoked mixed reactions. Some of the Gollums seemed to feel that the danger of ingesting who knows what manner of horrible bacteria was what made this diet exciting enough to stick with, as opposed to, say, the Canada Food Guide's conservative recommendations (yawn).
While folks were grumbling and debating, the guy pulled out an electric fork he had invented. He said it would cook the "meat" they were all hungering for, one bite at a time, thereby rendering their nutritional proclivities safer, if hardly any less nightmarish. He demonstrated by skewering a loose piece of the bare male arm on the floor. Holding up the fork — which looked a lot like the carving fork my dad always used on the Christmas turkey — he pressed a button, whereupon the flesh began to sizzle and brown quite quickly.
I thought it was a pretty good invention, if one could temporarily forget the despicability of its purpose. But someone else in the crowd was too impatient for such refinement. One of the more sunken-eyed ZD'ers lunged forward and grabbed the hunk of half-cooked elbow off the fork, stuffing it greedily into his mouth. That display was too much for the rest of the hungry crowd, who roared forward en masse to start ripping whatever they could get off of the rest of the arm with their teeth, like a pack of hyenas around a rotting zebra.
And then I woke up to this Satie piece coming from my alarm clock. Put me in a very weird mood for the rest of the morning.
Saturday, December 14, 2013
Sunshine and Frost
We got a bunch of snow yesterday that stuck around on the ground. Tomorrow promises more of the same, up to 30 cm, followed by freezing rain and then just plain rain. But today was a gorgeous sunny in-between day, good for walking around and enjoying the beauty.
It was also cold as heck, mind you, but at least there was little in the way of wind. I'm still pretty phlegmed up and woozy from the rotten head cold I ended up getting Tuesday night, so I decided not to rush or try to get too much done.
I drank some coffee and did some slow yoga and an extra long meditation in the indoor sun before heading out into the cold air for a late brunch and a few Christmas-related errands. Something about the weather/walking/open-schedule combination made me happy to be alive, even while realizing how sad the world I happen to be alive in is. It was almost like a kind of joyful sympathy, if that makes any sense.
I had also just finished reading Charles Bukowski's Women (thanks for the recommendation, Dave), which might have had something to do with my bittersweet mood. The novel was hilarious and dirty and tragic and hopeless and full of real love complicated by desperate desire. Highly readable, in other words.
But so I just wandered around in the freezing cold, in love with everyone I encountered: the helpful girl at the post office, the excitable man in the video store, the couple arguing about soup recipes, and the old lady in her car who smiled when I waved thanks from the crosswalk. They were all so real and fragile and temporarily satisfied with their own impermanence, like delicate flowers in the snow.
Maybe the extreme cold makes us each a bit more aware of our own and each others' mortality, so we become a little more genuine and thoughtful. I don't know. But I easily got all my Christmas presents bought and sent off without resenting any other shoppers, clerks, corporate retail franchises, Christianity, Canada Post, Stephen Harper, late capitalism, or anything. Then I came home to finish the Sunday NY Times crossword and listen to the Lowlife soundtrack in my warm living room. The cats enjoyed the tuba drones on the other sofa and helped me with some of the longer themed answers. There was also time for a pot of tea, some light house-cleaning, and a chat with my mom. It was a great day.
I drank some coffee and did some slow yoga and an extra long meditation in the indoor sun before heading out into the cold air for a late brunch and a few Christmas-related errands. Something about the weather/walking/open-schedule combination made me happy to be alive, even while realizing how sad the world I happen to be alive in is. It was almost like a kind of joyful sympathy, if that makes any sense.
I had also just finished reading Charles Bukowski's Women (thanks for the recommendation, Dave), which might have had something to do with my bittersweet mood. The novel was hilarious and dirty and tragic and hopeless and full of real love complicated by desperate desire. Highly readable, in other words.But so I just wandered around in the freezing cold, in love with everyone I encountered: the helpful girl at the post office, the excitable man in the video store, the couple arguing about soup recipes, and the old lady in her car who smiled when I waved thanks from the crosswalk. They were all so real and fragile and temporarily satisfied with their own impermanence, like delicate flowers in the snow.
Maybe the extreme cold makes us each a bit more aware of our own and each others' mortality, so we become a little more genuine and thoughtful. I don't know. But I easily got all my Christmas presents bought and sent off without resenting any other shoppers, clerks, corporate retail franchises, Christianity, Canada Post, Stephen Harper, late capitalism, or anything. Then I came home to finish the Sunday NY Times crossword and listen to the Lowlife soundtrack in my warm living room. The cats enjoyed the tuba drones on the other sofa and helped me with some of the longer themed answers. There was also time for a pot of tea, some light house-cleaning, and a chat with my mom. It was a great day.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Favourite Song on the New Dog Day Album
Sunset, by a mile. So far, anyway. It sounds like a Christmas Carol to me. I could totally hear a nice children's choir singing this over the tinny speakers in a crowded Gap store. It's pretty positive, in a weird Dog Day kind of way: Life is mostly hard work and there isn't time to get it all done, but I won't be ashamed when I die, because at least I tried and saw some beauty along the way. Ho ho ho, pass the egg nog.
Sorry you can't listen to the song without opening a new window. I thought I'd find a video of it or at least an embeddable YouTube still of the album cover, but all that came up was this.
Sorry you can't listen to the song without opening a new window. I thought I'd find a video of it or at least an embeddable YouTube still of the album cover, but all that came up was this.
Sunday, December 08, 2013
Last Night at the Marquee
Proof that I am not a complete loser. It was nice to see Greg Clark again and play on this stage for the first time in probably eight years or so.
And Dog Day were amazing; no surprise. I bought the CD.
And Dog Day were amazing; no surprise. I bought the CD.
Thursday, December 05, 2013
Nice Quiet Day
Sick in bed today. I stayed home from work with a sore throat and headache. Hoping to sleep off whatever's trying to get me, although I ended up having basically as much work to do from home as I would've had if I'd gone in. But it was sunny out and pleasant to look out the window from my hospice.
Anyway, not feeling very talkative. Or typative. But here are a couple of (I think) beautiful Chinese prints that were posted on 50watts today. They're both woodcuts by an artist named Li Qun. The first is from 1957, and the second from 1980. Now I'm starting to look forward to the first snow on the trees, when they get that pretty, three-dimensional, highlit effect as if they're being illuminated from the side by blinding white light.
Anyway, not feeling very talkative. Or typative. But here are a couple of (I think) beautiful Chinese prints that were posted on 50watts today. They're both woodcuts by an artist named Li Qun. The first is from 1957, and the second from 1980. Now I'm starting to look forward to the first snow on the trees, when they get that pretty, three-dimensional, highlit effect as if they're being illuminated from the side by blinding white light.
Three More Days
Another late Psychic Fair practice tonight. We are ready for this show on Saturday! Plus our album is ready too. Just have to figure out how to release it as a physical object and what sort of event to make out of that. It'll be called Bees on Ice. Here's the first preview track, available on our bandcamp page.
Saturday's gonna be a really fun show, with Cold Warps playing a set between us and Dog Day. I haven't heard the new DD album yet, but I plan on devoting some serious time to it tomorrow. You can stream the whole thing here. [12/05/13 OK, I've checked it out, and it's just as great as I expected. Maybe even better than their last one. Two ardent thumbs up! —Ed.]
I know I keep going on about this show, but I am seriously excited about it. Dog Day are one of my favourite bands, so I'm doubly psyched that they have a new batch of songs and that I'll get to play with them in celebration thereof. What could be cooler?
Saturday's gonna be a really fun show, with Cold Warps playing a set between us and Dog Day. I haven't heard the new DD album yet, but I plan on devoting some serious time to it tomorrow. You can stream the whole thing here. [12/05/13 OK, I've checked it out, and it's just as great as I expected. Maybe even better than their last one. Two ardent thumbs up! —Ed.]
I know I keep going on about this show, but I am seriously excited about it. Dog Day are one of my favourite bands, so I'm doubly psyched that they have a new batch of songs and that I'll get to play with them in celebration thereof. What could be cooler?
Tuesday, December 03, 2013
Humbuggery
"I read somewhere
just waking up can kill you."
—Elizabeth Ross Taylor
Days are getting shorter and colder. And yet the warm comfort of sleep eludes me. I feel that dark December mood creeping up on me again. I want to spend more and more time indoors, eating rich foods, and less time doing things that will make me feel better, like being active or contemplative or creative. Better stay away from the stores as much as possible, with their ugly Christmas displays and saccharine music...
And it also probably wasn't a great idea to watch this super bummer of a Bergman melodrama about a mother coming to visit her two estranged daughters, one of whom is severely handicapped and the other of whom hates her guts and spends a whole night telling her why. Ingrid Bergman as the mother really shines, though, in her final role (and the only film she ever made with Ingmar Bergman). Still, it's not exactly Elf, if you're looking to tame the "holiday season" blues.
Tomorrow I will try to find a way to visit some nature. A walk in the woods, or a half hour staring at the ocean. That's usually the most reliable way of staring down "Black Pete."
Meanwhile, I had a really great band practice tonight with Psychic Fair, which always offers some relief. We're playing a show Saturday night at the Marquee, opening for Dog Day, who are releasing a new album. I believe I already mentioned that in another post, but it's worth repeating. Bring your friends!
just waking up can kill you."
—Elizabeth Ross Taylor
Days are getting shorter and colder. And yet the warm comfort of sleep eludes me. I feel that dark December mood creeping up on me again. I want to spend more and more time indoors, eating rich foods, and less time doing things that will make me feel better, like being active or contemplative or creative. Better stay away from the stores as much as possible, with their ugly Christmas displays and saccharine music...
And it also probably wasn't a great idea to watch this super bummer of a Bergman melodrama about a mother coming to visit her two estranged daughters, one of whom is severely handicapped and the other of whom hates her guts and spends a whole night telling her why. Ingrid Bergman as the mother really shines, though, in her final role (and the only film she ever made with Ingmar Bergman). Still, it's not exactly Elf, if you're looking to tame the "holiday season" blues.
Tomorrow I will try to find a way to visit some nature. A walk in the woods, or a half hour staring at the ocean. That's usually the most reliable way of staring down "Black Pete."
Meanwhile, I had a really great band practice tonight with Psychic Fair, which always offers some relief. We're playing a show Saturday night at the Marquee, opening for Dog Day, who are releasing a new album. I believe I already mentioned that in another post, but it's worth repeating. Bring your friends!
Monday, November 25, 2013
First Satori of 46
What a nice birthday weekend. It was really the best one I've had in a long time. Thanks to everyone who came over and/or otherwise helped me celebrate. I feel very lucky to have so many kind and interesting friends.
The week leading up to Friday was kind of cranky in general, so birthday fun at the end was especially appreciated. I'd been feeling a little alienated and overwhelmed at work, plus wondering why I forced myself to invite people over when I generally hate parties and hadn't had time to properly prepare the house for guests.
But then, on the way to work Friday morning, I was hit with this spiritual insight out of the blue that made life seem a whole lot easier and more fun. The sun was shining on my face, the air was a little warmer than it had been recently, and out of nowhere the thought occurred to me: You are neither the inside nor the outside, but the window between the two.
Usually we think of ourselves as a soul inhabiting a body from the inside and having to deal with an outside world that limits the options of that soul but has only partial access to it. Avoiding the limits and allowing the access both take work. Plus, we know that it is morally correct to empathize with other souls, so we try to imagine ourselves as the world outside our body at the same time, which also requires a lot of will and energy. Mostly all this hard work makes us angry and resentful.
But if I'm only the window, I can suddenly drop all that. The inside and the outside will continue to do what they are designed to do, and all I have to worry about is keeping my particular window as clean as possible. This character I've created on the inside doesn't need my protection, and this world I've separated myself from doesn't need my judgment. All they really want is to see each other clearly, and that's my whole job in this life. What a huge load off if you can really feel that way, because clear perception and genuine self-expression are the most pleasant things you can do, once the striving is taken out of them.
So far, this existential stance has persisted into this week, I'm happy to report. We'll see how long it lasts before my author starts identifying too strongly with his characters again. But, for now, I'm just really enjoying the break.
Amber sent me this birthday poem tonight that happens to capture what I'm talking about poignantly and beautifully:
Soul
What am I doing inside this old man's body?
- David Ferry
The week leading up to Friday was kind of cranky in general, so birthday fun at the end was especially appreciated. I'd been feeling a little alienated and overwhelmed at work, plus wondering why I forced myself to invite people over when I generally hate parties and hadn't had time to properly prepare the house for guests.
But then, on the way to work Friday morning, I was hit with this spiritual insight out of the blue that made life seem a whole lot easier and more fun. The sun was shining on my face, the air was a little warmer than it had been recently, and out of nowhere the thought occurred to me: You are neither the inside nor the outside, but the window between the two.
Usually we think of ourselves as a soul inhabiting a body from the inside and having to deal with an outside world that limits the options of that soul but has only partial access to it. Avoiding the limits and allowing the access both take work. Plus, we know that it is morally correct to empathize with other souls, so we try to imagine ourselves as the world outside our body at the same time, which also requires a lot of will and energy. Mostly all this hard work makes us angry and resentful.
But if I'm only the window, I can suddenly drop all that. The inside and the outside will continue to do what they are designed to do, and all I have to worry about is keeping my particular window as clean as possible. This character I've created on the inside doesn't need my protection, and this world I've separated myself from doesn't need my judgment. All they really want is to see each other clearly, and that's my whole job in this life. What a huge load off if you can really feel that way, because clear perception and genuine self-expression are the most pleasant things you can do, once the striving is taken out of them.
So far, this existential stance has persisted into this week, I'm happy to report. We'll see how long it lasts before my author starts identifying too strongly with his characters again. But, for now, I'm just really enjoying the break.
Amber sent me this birthday poem tonight that happens to capture what I'm talking about poignantly and beautifully:
Soul
What am I doing inside this old man's body?
I feel like I'm the insides of a lobster,
All thought, and all digestion, and pornographic
Inquiry, and getting about, and bewilderment,
And fear, avoidance of trouble, belief in what,
God knows, vague memories of friends, and what
They said last night, and seeing, outside of myself,
From here inside myself, my waving claws
Inconsequential, wavering, and my feelers
Preternatural, trembling, with their amazing
Troubling sensitivity to threat;
And I'm aware of and embarrassed by my ways
Of getting around, and my protective shell.
Where is it that she I loved has gone to, as
This cold sea water's washing over my back?
All thought, and all digestion, and pornographic
Inquiry, and getting about, and bewilderment,
And fear, avoidance of trouble, belief in what,
God knows, vague memories of friends, and what
They said last night, and seeing, outside of myself,
From here inside myself, my waving claws
Inconsequential, wavering, and my feelers
Preternatural, trembling, with their amazing
Troubling sensitivity to threat;
And I'm aware of and embarrassed by my ways
Of getting around, and my protective shell.
Where is it that she I loved has gone to, as
This cold sea water's washing over my back?
Friday, November 22, 2013
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
New Dog Day Album!
Yes! It's coming out really soon! I can't wait! And Psychic Fair will be opening for their release show at the Marquee on December 7! Double yes! Here's a preview video for the album.
Also, Amber better dump that military guy on Parenthood, or she's going to wind up like every other lame-o white-bread family member on the show...
Monday, November 18, 2013
More Yoko
Wow, Yoko Ono is really everywhere right now. I've been working on a piece about her for the March issue, as I mentioned the other day, and suddenly she keeps popping up all over the place. I guess she just turned 80, is partly why. (My mom says 80 is the new 50, and it looks like she may be right.)
I've started reading a book about her by the author of the upcoming piece, Lisa Carver, called Reaching Out with No Hands: Reconsidering Yoko Ono. Rod, one of the editors at work, loaned it to me. So far, it's just the author finding different ways to say how fabulous her heroine is, yet it's managing to hold my interest somehow.
Rod also directed me to a current Spin magazine interview with Yoko today. Pretty admirable stuff. I found this last passage especially inspirational:
Each time I create a work, I get so much energy and awareness I grow rapidly. People think it is the other way around — that I have energy and therefore things get created with that energy. No. I create, and therefore, I get the energy. I want to address this to artists who are feeling a bit low. Just start creating something, without consulting your critical eyes, ears, and brain. Keep creating even if you are laughed at. Good luck and I love you with all my heart!And then there's this new video, mentioned by reminiscethis in the comments a few posts ago:
Hilarious and sweet. I just might have to buy her new album, though it could never be as good as this:
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
A Cautionary Tale
When I was visiting my family a couple of weekends ago, my sister got me into this silly game you play on your phone. It's called Candy Crush Saga. Have you heard of it?
Yeah, well, I hadn't. It's a Tetris-type game where you have to make objects disappear by maneuvering them into rows, only to have more drop down from above. "Watch out," she told me. "It's super addictive."
I tried it out and thought, "Oh yeah, that's a cute little bit of fun. Whatever." But then I made the mistake of trying it out a few more times at home during bits of downtime, and pretty soon I found out what she meant.
Once the levels started getting more complicated, I found myself obsessively needing to complete them. Failing to do so started making me more and more frustrated. I got in an argument with Amber because I hadn't been listening to her instructions while I played it over at her place and ended up ruining a pomegranate. I started looking up tricks to cheat the game into giving me more lives and watching online videos offering tips for specific levels. (The number one tip on one of the many Candy Crush Saga advice websites, by the way, is stop playing Candy Crush Saga.) Playing while eating lunch in a coffee shop one day, I accidentally yelled "No!" so loud that everyone else stopped talking and looked over.
Then, a few nights ago, I went to bed at 10:00, hoping to get a nice long sleep. I decided to try one more time to get through Level 35 before turning out the light. Level 35 is really hard. I had been trying to conquer it for a couple of days, always having between one and three "jellies" left when I ran out of moves.
I guess you can figure out what happened. At 1:30, I plugged in my dead phone and did my best to stop muttering and fuming so I could get some sleep. The next day at work I was exhausted and angry all day long.
That night, I swore I would beat Level 35 or die trying. And then quit the game for good. And that's what I did. It's now deleted from my phone, replaced with an app that determines your sleep cycles and wakes you up when you'll feel most refreshed. Thanks, Erika!
I tried it out and thought, "Oh yeah, that's a cute little bit of fun. Whatever." But then I made the mistake of trying it out a few more times at home during bits of downtime, and pretty soon I found out what she meant.
Once the levels started getting more complicated, I found myself obsessively needing to complete them. Failing to do so started making me more and more frustrated. I got in an argument with Amber because I hadn't been listening to her instructions while I played it over at her place and ended up ruining a pomegranate. I started looking up tricks to cheat the game into giving me more lives and watching online videos offering tips for specific levels. (The number one tip on one of the many Candy Crush Saga advice websites, by the way, is stop playing Candy Crush Saga.) Playing while eating lunch in a coffee shop one day, I accidentally yelled "No!" so loud that everyone else stopped talking and looked over.
Then, a few nights ago, I went to bed at 10:00, hoping to get a nice long sleep. I decided to try one more time to get through Level 35 before turning out the light. Level 35 is really hard. I had been trying to conquer it for a couple of days, always having between one and three "jellies" left when I ran out of moves.
I guess you can figure out what happened. At 1:30, I plugged in my dead phone and did my best to stop muttering and fuming so I could get some sleep. The next day at work I was exhausted and angry all day long.
That night, I swore I would beat Level 35 or die trying. And then quit the game for good. And that's what I did. It's now deleted from my phone, replaced with an app that determines your sleep cycles and wakes you up when you'll feel most refreshed. Thanks, Erika!
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Oh Yoko!
I'm working on a piece about Yoko Ono for the March issue of the magazine. The focus is on her life and work as a visual and conceptual artist. There are lots of great images of her with her artwork I could try to get for the opening page, but most of them are either not very colourful or actually black & white.
Then I had this idea of using a bunch of her Instagram photos. She posts pictures almost every day of herself — usually from the back — in whatever surroundings she happens to be in. She's so iconic that I think readers wouldn't actually need to see her face, which might be kind of interesting. And this way I could get a bunch of colour onto the page while giving a sense of what it's like to be Yoko.
I don't know whether folks here will go for this idea or even whether I'd be able to get the rights to use these images. But right now, I'm leaning sharply in this direction:
Although, honestly, if I could do whatever I wanted, I'd totally create something like this:
Friday, November 08, 2013
Put a Bird on It
Found this old tire ad today on my favourite animal-themed image blog, Animalarium. Isn't it lovely? It's from 1923, by Polish graphic artist Tadeusz Gronowski. Do you think it was the inspiration for some of the cards in Mille Bornes, the excellent and beautiful French driving-themed card game designed by Arthur/Edmond Dujardin in 1960?
Or do I just wish everything looked like Mille Bornes? Oh, when is Mad Men going to come back?
Thursday, November 07, 2013
Another One about Religious Belief
I really enjoy working for a Buddhist publication. Everyone is so kind and thoughtful, and they all practice a certain methodical awareness that I find makes for a very healthy workplace atmosphere. Plus, they encourage genuine self-expression, which makes me feel welcome and appreciated.
But I also like my job a lot because it helps to remind me of the reasons why I'm not a Buddhist. Mostly, it seems to come down to the problem of organized religion always equating spiritual truths with belief systems. There is so much talk around the office about the beliefs espoused by different strains of Buddhism, or by the religion as a whole, that it sometimes gets, well, unbelievable.
I'm all for contemplative, meditative practice of any kind, or any other personal method people may discover for becoming more aware of their own (unconscious, culturally constructed, insane) mental processes and coming to see reality more clearly. And that direct perception can get pretty weird and even supernatural-seeming relative to our usual (unconscious, culturally constructed, insane) worldview; I'm fine with that. But regular readers will know (from many previous posts) that I also see beliefs as one subset of the problematic mental processes such practices seek to uncover — a subset that is particularly good at preventing us from the clear perception that is their aim.
To accept beliefs about the nature of reality based on someone else's spiritual experience is, to my mind, misguided. Even if the person handing them down seems to have reached a state of extraordinary perception, to take on their beliefs as a way of augmenting your own spiritual progress is to put the cart in a dangerously pre-horse position.
Of course, the party line is that there is no belief required in Buddhism, which distinguishes it from other religions. But believe me (or at least maintain a skeptical attitude toward my naysayers), there's plenty of stuff snuck in there that you're expected to take on faith first, and then find a way of perceiving directly.
Karma is a good example. It may be that seeing a complex moral cause-and-effect system at work in our universe is beneficial to one's sense of belonging and equanimity. It could even be a stage on the way to experiencing oneself as an expression of that entire universe, through which it can observe itself, i.e. a perfectly integrated, compassionate being, aware and accepting of all truth.
But believing in it because someone says it's so is not going to get you to the state where you might perceive things that way. If anything, observing the relative world of time and causation through that belief lens is going to prevent you from experiencing the timelessness that is the only reality from which such a mystical stance makes sense.
Maybe that's too abstract. Here's a better example. My boss marches into my office today and announces that he has thought about it, and there is no difference between death and enlightenment. He's not trying to describe a new way of experiencing the world he's suddenly discovered phenomenologically, mind you. He has THOUGHT ABOUT IT, and this is the conclusion he's reached.
Well, that's just crazy, on the face of it. His point is that to become enlightened, our self as we know it must be surrendered each moment, i.e. it must die. Therefore, once you have become truly enlightened, to the point that your self has been given up entirely, never to return, you are exactly the same as physically dead.
"If you become enlightened," I say by way of testing the waters, "I could still talk to you." This is a particularly important distinction right now, because a very greatly loved young woman from the Halifax Buddhist community was killed by a drunk driver last week. Many people wish they could still talk to her. There was a funeral yesterday for her, widely attended by Buddhists and non-Buddhists alike. But mostly by Buddhists, all of whom are still grieving their tragic loss, and some of whom work in the very offices where this ridiculous discussion was taking place.
His answer to my apparently airtight rebuttal is that I wouldn't actually be talking to him in that case, but to the forces of the universe finding a way of expressing themselves. I just stare after him as he walks smugly out the door.
If I wanted to get into a real argument with him about it, I'd point out that those universal forces were what he was all along, and that enlightenment would merely be the recognition of that fact by the forces themselves, as expressed through him. Inasmuch as you can be said to exist in the first place, you will presumably still exist after attaining enlightenment.
And I'd probably then observe that if he really believes what he's claiming to believe, he should be locked up in a nice cell where he can't hurt anybody. Because if enlightenment = death, then death = enlightenment. And anyone who thinks he'd be doing his fellow human beings a religious favour by killing them is no less dangerous than the craziest of suicide-cult leaders.
But really, the root problem here is that he just shouldn't be making any claims about enlightenment, not being enlightened himself. How could he possibly know anything about what the experience is like? From reading what enlightened people have said about it? Those writings are just attempts at describing ways of being that we have no direct access to until we are able to experience them ourselves. The descriptions may encourage us to keep observing ourselves and our own experiences as carefully and open-mindedly as we can, knowing that other angles are possible. But taken as expressions of truth, they will necessarily be misunderstood by those who are not apprehending those truths directly.
Of course, this is all just my opinion based on my own experiences. I happily preach to the choir, and all others should feel free to walk out on the sermon. Please don't quote my words to unbelievers. Amen.
But I also like my job a lot because it helps to remind me of the reasons why I'm not a Buddhist. Mostly, it seems to come down to the problem of organized religion always equating spiritual truths with belief systems. There is so much talk around the office about the beliefs espoused by different strains of Buddhism, or by the religion as a whole, that it sometimes gets, well, unbelievable.
I'm all for contemplative, meditative practice of any kind, or any other personal method people may discover for becoming more aware of their own (unconscious, culturally constructed, insane) mental processes and coming to see reality more clearly. And that direct perception can get pretty weird and even supernatural-seeming relative to our usual (unconscious, culturally constructed, insane) worldview; I'm fine with that. But regular readers will know (from many previous posts) that I also see beliefs as one subset of the problematic mental processes such practices seek to uncover — a subset that is particularly good at preventing us from the clear perception that is their aim.
To accept beliefs about the nature of reality based on someone else's spiritual experience is, to my mind, misguided. Even if the person handing them down seems to have reached a state of extraordinary perception, to take on their beliefs as a way of augmenting your own spiritual progress is to put the cart in a dangerously pre-horse position.
Of course, the party line is that there is no belief required in Buddhism, which distinguishes it from other religions. But believe me (or at least maintain a skeptical attitude toward my naysayers), there's plenty of stuff snuck in there that you're expected to take on faith first, and then find a way of perceiving directly.
Karma is a good example. It may be that seeing a complex moral cause-and-effect system at work in our universe is beneficial to one's sense of belonging and equanimity. It could even be a stage on the way to experiencing oneself as an expression of that entire universe, through which it can observe itself, i.e. a perfectly integrated, compassionate being, aware and accepting of all truth.
But believing in it because someone says it's so is not going to get you to the state where you might perceive things that way. If anything, observing the relative world of time and causation through that belief lens is going to prevent you from experiencing the timelessness that is the only reality from which such a mystical stance makes sense.
Maybe that's too abstract. Here's a better example. My boss marches into my office today and announces that he has thought about it, and there is no difference between death and enlightenment. He's not trying to describe a new way of experiencing the world he's suddenly discovered phenomenologically, mind you. He has THOUGHT ABOUT IT, and this is the conclusion he's reached.
Well, that's just crazy, on the face of it. His point is that to become enlightened, our self as we know it must be surrendered each moment, i.e. it must die. Therefore, once you have become truly enlightened, to the point that your self has been given up entirely, never to return, you are exactly the same as physically dead.
"If you become enlightened," I say by way of testing the waters, "I could still talk to you." This is a particularly important distinction right now, because a very greatly loved young woman from the Halifax Buddhist community was killed by a drunk driver last week. Many people wish they could still talk to her. There was a funeral yesterday for her, widely attended by Buddhists and non-Buddhists alike. But mostly by Buddhists, all of whom are still grieving their tragic loss, and some of whom work in the very offices where this ridiculous discussion was taking place.
His answer to my apparently airtight rebuttal is that I wouldn't actually be talking to him in that case, but to the forces of the universe finding a way of expressing themselves. I just stare after him as he walks smugly out the door.
If I wanted to get into a real argument with him about it, I'd point out that those universal forces were what he was all along, and that enlightenment would merely be the recognition of that fact by the forces themselves, as expressed through him. Inasmuch as you can be said to exist in the first place, you will presumably still exist after attaining enlightenment.
And I'd probably then observe that if he really believes what he's claiming to believe, he should be locked up in a nice cell where he can't hurt anybody. Because if enlightenment = death, then death = enlightenment. And anyone who thinks he'd be doing his fellow human beings a religious favour by killing them is no less dangerous than the craziest of suicide-cult leaders.
But really, the root problem here is that he just shouldn't be making any claims about enlightenment, not being enlightened himself. How could he possibly know anything about what the experience is like? From reading what enlightened people have said about it? Those writings are just attempts at describing ways of being that we have no direct access to until we are able to experience them ourselves. The descriptions may encourage us to keep observing ourselves and our own experiences as carefully and open-mindedly as we can, knowing that other angles are possible. But taken as expressions of truth, they will necessarily be misunderstood by those who are not apprehending those truths directly.
Of course, this is all just my opinion based on my own experiences. I happily preach to the choir, and all others should feel free to walk out on the sermon. Please don't quote my words to unbelievers. Amen.
Sunday, November 03, 2013
Happy Birthday, Erika
I've just spent the weekend visiting my family in Ontario. It was a surprise visit for my sister Erika's 40th birthday. Her husband, Mike, flew me up. Thanks, Mike, for such a nice present. I felt like it was my birthday too.
Got to see everyone, including my grandmother, in what was a bit of a whirlwind but also just a really fun couple of days. There was a large gathering of family and friends at a pub last night and a family-only dinner tonight at a local restaurant. Here are some Instagram pictures of weekend moments. Mike looks super tired in the last one because he was. Poor guy deserves a long rest after so much planning, spending, and herding.
Now I'm hanging out in the Air Canada "Maple Leaf Lounge" at the Toronto airport, waiting for my flight back to Halifax. It's very nice — free coffee, food, and booze, with comfortable seating and WiFi. Best of all, there are no loud announcements every 30 seconds about planes boarding. This place is meant for the hoity toity special folks who spend a lot of money for all the first-class features, but I got in here with a guest pass, again courtesy of Mike. A million thanks, buddy!
Friday, November 01, 2013
The Joy of Performance
Psychic Fair played a Gus' show on Wednesday night, opening for an Edmonton two-piece called The Famines. I'd like to tell you they were great, but I was too tired to stick around, running home as soon as we were finished for an "early" 1 a.m. bedtime. I'm sure they actually were good, though — I checked out some of their songs online the next day, having been impressed by Raymond Biesinger, their gregarious guitarist. He's also a really great illustrator/designer, it turns out.
Anyway, the show went really well, as had the Reference Desk one the week before. Late weeknights are not a lot of laughs for an old man like me, but it almost seems worth it when I get to have such a fun time playing music for appreciative kids. At least, I'm glad my streak of dreading playing live seems to be over.
I really think having decent equipment has a lot to do with it. As bourgeois a concept as that seems, it makes a huge difference to a musician's performance if he can actually hear what he's playing. I got to use really nice amps at both these last shows. They were loud and clear, so the performance became less a matter of gauging how many mistakes were being made and more about playing around with the rich sounds I was hearing myself make. That's a much better scenario for both the band and the audience.
When I was younger I didn't care nearly so much about what the music sounded like on stage. Loud, quiet, clear, muddy… it all sounded good to me. Maybe as I've matured as a musician, my sonic judgment has become more refined, requiring extra clarity to be satisfied. Or maybe my hearing is just slowly disappearing as I get closer to the scrap heap at the end of life's conveyor belt. I'm gonna take it easy on myself and assume that it's a bit of both.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Ride Into the Sun
Been singing this VU song all day. I forgot I made this mashup of two wildly different recordings way back in 2004. I liked them both a lot, so thought they should be stuck together into one ultimate version. Possibly a misguided idea, but I also think the song is kind of unruinable. You can judge for yourself.
Monday, October 28, 2013
For Lou
Some nights a dark emotion
Rolls in upon the ocean
Indomitable motion
Outside you can't be certain
No sky beyond the curtain
Don't cry it only hurts your heart
You can never stop the tide
And there's nowhere you can hide
With nothing left inside
It's over once you start
Watch the castles fall apart
Moonlight and violent motion
Turn now to blind devotion
Learn how to love the ocean
So shy and unappealing
Birds fly beyond the ceiling
Don't try to lose this feeling
You'll forever be the tide
And there's nowhere you can hide
When everything's inside
You'll hear it in your heart
Once the castles fall apart
Give your body to the sea
Someday I'll write a song that's not about drowning. But not yet.
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Bring It Down
The Pop Explosion's over now. Time to clean up all this gross pop everywhere.
Friday night I had a date with Amber to have dinner and see the Husband & Knife (with The Drone) show at Gus'. H&K(wTD) were amazing. Quietly, undynamically trucking through KC's beautiful and subdued songs on guitar, cello, keyboards, and a couple of drums — it was exactly what I felt like hearing. KC has released an album of new material on Bandcamp that you can buy from him as a gorgeous booklet of black-and-white night photography that comes with a download code for the music. Here's one of the songs on it.
Unfortunately, the date itself was kind of a drag. I was really tired going into it and had a 20-minute nap beforehand to try and energize myself. That turned out to be a big mistake. I woke up in a super cranky mood and couldn't seem to shake it. I warned Amber upon arrival that I felt crabby, and I tried not to aim it in her direction. But I ended up treating her meanly. After unsuccessfully trying to cheer me up for awhile, she started treating me meanly in return, and we passed that bad mood back and forth all evening.
Dinner at our favourite sushi spot was awful. They were busy and couldn't serve us fast enough that we would make it to the Gus' show on time. We sulked, bickered, and generally embarrassed each other and ourselves in public. There were some tears.
The music and friendly atmosphere at Gus' really helped, as did a couple of beers. Or at least they seemed to. But the mood came back as soon as we went back to Amber's place. By that time we were both exhausted, so we went to sleep without resolving things. In the morning, the beers and late night came back to haunt us by turning a discussion about what had gone wrong into a full-blown argument. We both felt attacked and got defensive. All remarks and behaviour taken badly due to the bad mood became the other person's fault. She cried, and I left.
I'm sure we'll resolve this. We've had worse fights before. But the awful feeling of the original bad mood has stuck with me all weekend. I saw Moonsocket and Besnard Lakes at the Marquee last night with Alison and a couple of other friends, and both bands made some undeniably great music. Yet, even as I was enjoying it, I was still somehow not enjoying MYSELF, if that makes any sense. I again had a couple of beers to try and remedy that, which was probably the worst of all possible solutions. It didn't help, anyway. This morning is cold and rainy, and I'm glad because all I want to do is lie in bed and feel bad about myself. What a long and self-perpetuating funk!
It's like a general dissatisfaction with everything in my life and a lack of hope that anything can be done about it. My job, my bands, my friends, every song I've ever written, and every way I've ever treated or felt about another person all suck. People in general suck. All my possessions are garbage. I'm out of shape and tired all the time. My meditation practice doesn't seem to be getting me anywhere. I can't trust myself or anyone else to come up with any practical suggestions, because we all have our own selfish, misguided agendas, and they all conflict with each other, as evidenced by the messed up modern world we are in the process of destroying by desperately clinging to it.
Never shoulda had that nap.
Friday night I had a date with Amber to have dinner and see the Husband & Knife (with The Drone) show at Gus'. H&K(wTD) were amazing. Quietly, undynamically trucking through KC's beautiful and subdued songs on guitar, cello, keyboards, and a couple of drums — it was exactly what I felt like hearing. KC has released an album of new material on Bandcamp that you can buy from him as a gorgeous booklet of black-and-white night photography that comes with a download code for the music. Here's one of the songs on it.
Unfortunately, the date itself was kind of a drag. I was really tired going into it and had a 20-minute nap beforehand to try and energize myself. That turned out to be a big mistake. I woke up in a super cranky mood and couldn't seem to shake it. I warned Amber upon arrival that I felt crabby, and I tried not to aim it in her direction. But I ended up treating her meanly. After unsuccessfully trying to cheer me up for awhile, she started treating me meanly in return, and we passed that bad mood back and forth all evening.
Dinner at our favourite sushi spot was awful. They were busy and couldn't serve us fast enough that we would make it to the Gus' show on time. We sulked, bickered, and generally embarrassed each other and ourselves in public. There were some tears.
The music and friendly atmosphere at Gus' really helped, as did a couple of beers. Or at least they seemed to. But the mood came back as soon as we went back to Amber's place. By that time we were both exhausted, so we went to sleep without resolving things. In the morning, the beers and late night came back to haunt us by turning a discussion about what had gone wrong into a full-blown argument. We both felt attacked and got defensive. All remarks and behaviour taken badly due to the bad mood became the other person's fault. She cried, and I left.
I'm sure we'll resolve this. We've had worse fights before. But the awful feeling of the original bad mood has stuck with me all weekend. I saw Moonsocket and Besnard Lakes at the Marquee last night with Alison and a couple of other friends, and both bands made some undeniably great music. Yet, even as I was enjoying it, I was still somehow not enjoying MYSELF, if that makes any sense. I again had a couple of beers to try and remedy that, which was probably the worst of all possible solutions. It didn't help, anyway. This morning is cold and rainy, and I'm glad because all I want to do is lie in bed and feel bad about myself. What a long and self-perpetuating funk!
It's like a general dissatisfaction with everything in my life and a lack of hope that anything can be done about it. My job, my bands, my friends, every song I've ever written, and every way I've ever treated or felt about another person all suck. People in general suck. All my possessions are garbage. I'm out of shape and tired all the time. My meditation practice doesn't seem to be getting me anywhere. I can't trust myself or anyone else to come up with any practical suggestions, because we all have our own selfish, misguided agendas, and they all conflict with each other, as evidenced by the messed up modern world we are in the process of destroying by desperately clinging to it.
Never shoulda had that nap.
Friday, October 25, 2013
Gotta Run
Pop Explosion's on in full force now. No time to chat. Tonight I'm going to see Husband & Knife open for Jon McKiel and Ghostkeeper. Tomorrow is Wet Denim, Chad VanGaalen, Moonsocket, No Joy, and Besnard Lakes. Tuesday I played with The Reference Desk, opening for Quivers and Obits. We played well and sold a couple of records. Wednesday I watched Andy McDaniel play in an art gallery. I have a plastic Artist bracelet that gets me into everything but wakes me up at night when it scratches my face. But who needs sleep anyway when there's so much rock to be enjoyed? Fun times!
Thursday, October 24, 2013
A Short Birthday Story
I found this one on an old cassette this evening. My sister, Dana, complains to me on tape (remember when people used to send each other tapes through the mail? I got this one my first year away at university. Seems impossibly quaint now...) about how our younger sister, Erika, got her in trouble the night before. Erika turned 40 today. Happy birthday, Er!
Gives you an idea of the kind of crap she has quietly put up with her whole life as the youngest sibling. Alison remarked this summer that Erika is the least complaining person she's ever met, and when I think about it, it just might be true.
I was actually looking for the tape where Eri plays a radio DJ who sings along with the entirety of Bryan Adams' "Summer of '69," not realizing that the mic is on. Funny stuff. But I don't seem to have it anywhere. Maybe someone could send me a copy?
Gives you an idea of the kind of crap she has quietly put up with her whole life as the youngest sibling. Alison remarked this summer that Erika is the least complaining person she's ever met, and when I think about it, it just might be true.
I was actually looking for the tape where Eri plays a radio DJ who sings along with the entirety of Bryan Adams' "Summer of '69," not realizing that the mic is on. Funny stuff. But I don't seem to have it anywhere. Maybe someone could send me a copy?
Monday, October 21, 2013
Post-a-Day Ends Here
I guess? It seems?
Too much fun stuff happening over the weekend to have time to write. If 1 picture = 1,000 words, are three pictures worth two missed blog posts?
Obviously, I went for a hike at Blomidon with Alison. Saturday afternoon was really nice for it. We tromped around for about three and a half hours and caught the Valley's beautiful fall colours just before they disappear.
Then I tromped around all night with Amber, catching Nocturne, Halifax's version of Toronto's Nuit Blanche. Well, I tromped; Amber wheeled. We went literally all over the city, even to Dartmouth, looking for fabulous art spectacles and hidden gems. Unfortunately, I have no photos of that to show you, because we never found any. The whole event was a pretty major letdown. I remember it being really fun and mind-expanding and inspiring the first couple of years they held it, but every year it seems to get a little worse. Lots of businesses putting advertisements in their windows and installations that looked like they were done by a third-grader who ran out of time and/or interest.
Oh well, we managed to have fun anyway, weaving a wheelchair through the hordes of philistines. Got home late and stayed in bed the entire next day with pizza, coffee, Project Runway, and The Seventh Seal. It was quite heavenly, and my legs thanked me for the rest.
Now I'm back in high-hecticity mode, trying to get January's issue of the magazine finished up at work and preparing for tomorrow night's Pop Explosion show with The Reference Desk. Meg is frighteningly ill with the flu, too sick even to practise tonight. If she can't manage it tomorrow, Kristina and I might have to go back to being a two-piece for the night — an unsavoury proposition, I don't mind telling you.
Too much fun stuff happening over the weekend to have time to write. If 1 picture = 1,000 words, are three pictures worth two missed blog posts?
Obviously, I went for a hike at Blomidon with Alison. Saturday afternoon was really nice for it. We tromped around for about three and a half hours and caught the Valley's beautiful fall colours just before they disappear.
Then I tromped around all night with Amber, catching Nocturne, Halifax's version of Toronto's Nuit Blanche. Well, I tromped; Amber wheeled. We went literally all over the city, even to Dartmouth, looking for fabulous art spectacles and hidden gems. Unfortunately, I have no photos of that to show you, because we never found any. The whole event was a pretty major letdown. I remember it being really fun and mind-expanding and inspiring the first couple of years they held it, but every year it seems to get a little worse. Lots of businesses putting advertisements in their windows and installations that looked like they were done by a third-grader who ran out of time and/or interest.
Oh well, we managed to have fun anyway, weaving a wheelchair through the hordes of philistines. Got home late and stayed in bed the entire next day with pizza, coffee, Project Runway, and The Seventh Seal. It was quite heavenly, and my legs thanked me for the rest.
Now I'm back in high-hecticity mode, trying to get January's issue of the magazine finished up at work and preparing for tomorrow night's Pop Explosion show with The Reference Desk. Meg is frighteningly ill with the flu, too sick even to practise tonight. If she can't manage it tomorrow, Kristina and I might have to go back to being a two-piece for the night — an unsavoury proposition, I don't mind telling you.
Friday, October 18, 2013
Supermarket Spleen
On the way home from work this evening, I found myself in line at the grocery store checkout in a very cranky mood. Tired, I guess, and I'm having a hard time getting all the stupid administrative work done that I have to do lately. Feels like people are constantly forcing me to do little things that there's no reason they can't do themselves except that they don't want to and don't care if that means I end up having to do them.
So, usually in this kind of social situation I would try to maintain some kind of a decent mood for the sake of my fellow shoppers, who I'm sure have enough problems of their own without having the emotional byproduct of my day inflicted on them. Or I'd at least try to experience what the mood feels like without getting drawn into acting on it, while cultivating an attitude of empathy toward the strangers around me.
But today I felt like allowing the crankiness to have its way with my mind. Just let it go on a rampage and see what happens. It seemed like it could actually be entertaining. I began looking at all the stupid and ugly people in the store and judging them super harshly, no holds barred.
One jerk totally shoved his way into line in front of another idiot who couldn't figure out which tabloid she wanted to read. Meanwhile, a yuppy asshole was making business deals on his cellphone in front of the frozen pizzas, thinking we were all impressed by how oblivious he was to the hoodied loser couple he was preventing from buying their loser dinner. I started making up really nasty nicknames for all these characters.
And you know what? It was fun. I actually had to smile at the depth of my own cruelty. It's pretty amusing how mean you can get just from a trivial bad mood, if you let yourself. By the time I got to the checkout, I was smiling and feeling pretty friendly. The clerk and I had a nice conversation, and I didn't even want to wring his neck. Maybe sometimes it's best just to let anger work its way through you until it becomes transmuted into something more socially acceptable.
So thanks for the lesson, Punched-In Baby Face, Heroin Housewife, and Wannabe Barenaked Lady. I wish you all well and hope you find what you're looking for.
So, usually in this kind of social situation I would try to maintain some kind of a decent mood for the sake of my fellow shoppers, who I'm sure have enough problems of their own without having the emotional byproduct of my day inflicted on them. Or I'd at least try to experience what the mood feels like without getting drawn into acting on it, while cultivating an attitude of empathy toward the strangers around me.
But today I felt like allowing the crankiness to have its way with my mind. Just let it go on a rampage and see what happens. It seemed like it could actually be entertaining. I began looking at all the stupid and ugly people in the store and judging them super harshly, no holds barred.
One jerk totally shoved his way into line in front of another idiot who couldn't figure out which tabloid she wanted to read. Meanwhile, a yuppy asshole was making business deals on his cellphone in front of the frozen pizzas, thinking we were all impressed by how oblivious he was to the hoodied loser couple he was preventing from buying their loser dinner. I started making up really nasty nicknames for all these characters.
And you know what? It was fun. I actually had to smile at the depth of my own cruelty. It's pretty amusing how mean you can get just from a trivial bad mood, if you let yourself. By the time I got to the checkout, I was smiling and feeling pretty friendly. The clerk and I had a nice conversation, and I didn't even want to wring his neck. Maybe sometimes it's best just to let anger work its way through you until it becomes transmuted into something more socially acceptable.
So thanks for the lesson, Punched-In Baby Face, Heroin Housewife, and Wannabe Barenaked Lady. I wish you all well and hope you find what you're looking for.
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Good Times in the Maritimes
Oh, man, this weekend can't come fast enough. I am so worn out from this stupid cold. The coughing keeps me awake all night and tires me out all day. Tonight I had a Reference Desk band practice and found out that loud singing is one of the best ways to turn an occasional throat clearing into an uncontrollable hack session. Sorry, Meg and Kristina. I'm hoping my voice will be recovered in time for our Pop Explosion show on Tuesday.
But I'm also looking forward to the weekend because it promises to be super fun. Tomorrow night Alison and I go to see our housemate, Claire, play oboe in a small orchestra backing up one of my favourite local singers, Gianna Lauren. Saturday morning we'll get a car-share car and go for a drive and a hike to see the Nova Scotia autumn leaves. Then it's back into the city for dinner and Nocturne with Amber. I'll wheel her around to check out all the art, then we'll have a sleepover and spend some nice time together on Sunday. Weather's supposed to be very cooperative.
Yup, it's a pretty sweet life, if you can keep from keeling over.
Yup, it's a pretty sweet life, if you can keep from keeling over.
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Possible Omen
Today I saw a squirrel spontaneously fall out of a tree. I was talking to Alison out the window when it happened. She was wearing her bike helmet, getting ready to ride over to our friend Krista's place. A man and his young daughter were also there, having stopped strolling down the sidewalk to talk to me and Dave's cat through the open window. So there were plenty of witnesses, is I guess what I'm saying.
The squirrel fell about two stories and landed with a splat on the road behind the little girl. Then it got up, looked around, shook itself off a little, and scampered back up the tree it had just fallen from. It might have fallen from one of the power lines. I'm not sure. I'd never seen anything like that before. But it definitely happened.
Another guy happened by too, right afterwards, and he was laughing and shaking his head. It was one of those weird, friendly, apocalyptic, deus-ex-machina neighbourhood moments that crop up in magic-realist novels and bad horror movies. But it really happened. I swear.
The squirrel fell about two stories and landed with a splat on the road behind the little girl. Then it got up, looked around, shook itself off a little, and scampered back up the tree it had just fallen from. It might have fallen from one of the power lines. I'm not sure. I'd never seen anything like that before. But it definitely happened.
Another guy happened by too, right afterwards, and he was laughing and shaking his head. It was one of those weird, friendly, apocalyptic, deus-ex-machina neighbourhood moments that crop up in magic-realist novels and bad horror movies. But it really happened. I swear.
Monday, October 14, 2013
New Beck!
I heard a Beck song I'd never heard before in a coffee shop today. Of course I got all excited that he had put out a new album without my hearing about it. (The last thing resembling an album I'd heard of him putting out, since 2008's underrated Modern Guilt, was some collection of songs that existed only as sheet music. An interesting idea, but I could never be bothered to invest the time learning to play them just to find out what Beck songs might sound like if Beck had his less talented cousin record them.) Unfortunately, there turned out not to be any such new album yet.
However. The good news is that:
a) Beck has a new acoustic album in the works (maybe returning to the stripped down anti-folk of One Foot in the Grave, oh please, oh please?),
b) he has released three separate singles over the past few months that don't seem to be preview tracks from said album (seeing as they're decidedly electric in nature), the second of which was the one I heard today, and
c) they're all really good.
Did other people know about this? Why had no one alerted me? I really gotta start paying more attention.
However. The good news is that:
a) Beck has a new acoustic album in the works (maybe returning to the stripped down anti-folk of One Foot in the Grave, oh please, oh please?),
b) he has released three separate singles over the past few months that don't seem to be preview tracks from said album (seeing as they're decidedly electric in nature), the second of which was the one I heard today, and
c) they're all really good.
Did other people know about this? Why had no one alerted me? I really gotta start paying more attention.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Tunage to Taste Tom Tofurkey to
I'm sitting in Alison's kitchen right now with her and her roommate, Claire. We're waiting for our Housewide Thanksgiving dinner to be ready. I don't know why, but every year the roasted vegetables part of the meal takes way longer than we expect. You're supposed to be able to put a bunch of root veggies in the pan with the Tofurkey, covered in juice, and have them cooked and ready at the same time as the "bird." But we always forget that it never turns out that way, and then end up scrambling to think of ways to finish off the potatoes and carrots and parsnips quickly.
So now we're all sitting around the table, listening to the terrible song choices Songza comes up with while the vegetables sit in a pan under a hot broiler, giving off smoke that smells weirdly like plastic. We had been listening to a Nina Simone CD, and then some Nick Drake, but finally Claire realized we were all looking silently at the floor and generally feeling like all the life had been sapped out of us. Internet music to the rescue!
The "Dad-approved" playlist for dysfunctional family dinners started out OK with some Joni Mitchell, but it quickly devolved into Don Henley, Peter Gabriel, and the Doors. We've been taking turns hitting the "next" button. It's kind of fun, I guess, like The Gong Show.
Now if we can just get some food on the table, this dinner'll be perfect.
So now we're all sitting around the table, listening to the terrible song choices Songza comes up with while the vegetables sit in a pan under a hot broiler, giving off smoke that smells weirdly like plastic. We had been listening to a Nina Simone CD, and then some Nick Drake, but finally Claire realized we were all looking silently at the floor and generally feeling like all the life had been sapped out of us. Internet music to the rescue!
The "Dad-approved" playlist for dysfunctional family dinners started out OK with some Joni Mitchell, but it quickly devolved into Don Henley, Peter Gabriel, and the Doors. We've been taking turns hitting the "next" button. It's kind of fun, I guess, like The Gong Show.
Now if we can just get some food on the table, this dinner'll be perfect.
Saturday, October 12, 2013
New Favourite Record
Yesterday after work I went to the record store to pick up a few things I'd been meaning to grab for awhile. Sebadoh's new album and Cousins' split EP with Construction & Destruction, to be precise. But while I was there, I noticed this old Ravi Shankar album and decided I needed some more of that guy in my collection. And so far, it's been the record of the long weekend over here.
My roommate, Dave, has gone camping till Sunday night, so I have the place to myself for a couple of days. I haven't spent much time at home lately, so it's a nice feeling to lounge around in the Saturday sunshine, drink some coffee, work on a crossword, and enjoy these simultaneously mellow and exciting ragas. A perfect weekend, IMHO.
The Sebadoh's just OK, by the way. And the Cousins is on neat blue vinyl, but kind of sounds like crap.
Friday, October 11, 2013
Performance
So, remember that blog post where I complained about how awful it can feel to fake your way through a musical performance when you're just not hearing the sound right, even if you can tell the audience is enjoying it? Well, Good Old Neil just spoke to me very succinctly about that very subject, via the book of his I mentioned I'm reading. Check this out:
It is a lonely job out there performing. I have to do it because I always have. I probably always will. I love the music part. I like it when the sound is right and the audience is into it and the music is relevant. If one of those elements is missing, you are screwed. You are killing yourself slowly. You need all three elements.
I love that guy.
That's still a very germane subject to me, because I'm playing a show with Psychic Fair tomorrow night for the first time in awhile. And it's in a weird space that's a sort of half-assed art gallery in the back room of an oddball consignment store. (Plan B on Gottingen, if you're in Halifax and able to attend — opening for Scribbler.) Who knows what the sound will be like in there? Well, unfortunately, I have a feeling I do... But anyway, I don't have to sing or anything complicated like that, at least.
That will come a couple of Tuesdays from now, when The Reference Desk plays the Halifax Pop Explosion. Gotta get this cold out of my system before then. That show's at stinky old Gus' Pub, so I'll be plenty familiar with the setup and sound, but still, you always want to be on top of your game for the HPX crowds. There's a real excitement that permeates the whole festival, what with all the out-of-town musicians to check out and hobnob with and whatnot.
Plus, that will be the official on-sale date for our split seven-inch with Beached Out. Kristina put the two tracks that constitute our side of the record on our Bandcamp site today. Take a listen, if you feel so inclined.
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Stuff I'm Reading
Hey, I skipped a day. So what? What are you gonna do about it? Yeah, that's what I thought... I can take days off whenever I feel like it — nothing wrong with that, he argued against no one.
For instance, I took the day off work today. I've come down with that cold I was fighting. Burning a lot of candles at a lot of ends, and it's catching up with me. E.g., I didn't have time to blog yesterday.
But so today I stayed in bed, ate some soup, worked on a new song, answered easy work emails, slept, and started reading Waging Heavy Peace, Neil Young's book that came out last year. So far, it's just a rambling, conversational bunch of reminiscences from his 65-year life, plus some depictions of his daily life while he's working on the book. In other words, highly compelling stuff, if you're a big Neil Young fan. Which I am.
I'm also in the middle of Martin Amis's Lionel Asbo. It's kind of a return to form for him — preposterous and funny in the same kind of way as London Fields, for instance, rather than ugly like Yellow Dog, limp like Night Train, or morbidly sad like House of Meetings. Self-consciously clever, sure, but that's just what you've got to be in the mood for if you're going to read an Amis novel. So far I've been consistently in the mood.
Finally, The Power of Divine Eros, a new A. H. Almaas book put out by Shambhala Publications, has been blowing my mind for a couple of weeks now. I borrowed it from work, so I'd better try to finish it up, in case someone else wants a crack at it. I was going to try to describe its premise myself, but I find that the back blurb is one of those rare ones that express exactly what the book is about:
If it's not apparent from the description, it's not just about convincing you through reason that the two kinds of love are actually one, but about helping you find the place within yourself where you can feel that to be the case. Great stuff!
For instance, I took the day off work today. I've come down with that cold I was fighting. Burning a lot of candles at a lot of ends, and it's catching up with me. E.g., I didn't have time to blog yesterday.
But so today I stayed in bed, ate some soup, worked on a new song, answered easy work emails, slept, and started reading Waging Heavy Peace, Neil Young's book that came out last year. So far, it's just a rambling, conversational bunch of reminiscences from his 65-year life, plus some depictions of his daily life while he's working on the book. In other words, highly compelling stuff, if you're a big Neil Young fan. Which I am.
I'm also in the middle of Martin Amis's Lionel Asbo. It's kind of a return to form for him — preposterous and funny in the same kind of way as London Fields, for instance, rather than ugly like Yellow Dog, limp like Night Train, or morbidly sad like House of Meetings. Self-consciously clever, sure, but that's just what you've got to be in the mood for if you're going to read an Amis novel. So far I've been consistently in the mood.
Finally, The Power of Divine Eros, a new A. H. Almaas book put out by Shambhala Publications, has been blowing my mind for a couple of weeks now. I borrowed it from work, so I'd better try to finish it up, in case someone else wants a crack at it. I was going to try to describe its premise myself, but I find that the back blurb is one of those rare ones that express exactly what the book is about:
What do desire and passion have to do with our spiritual journey? According to A. H. Almaas and Karen Johnson, they are an essential part of it.
Conventional wisdom cautions that desire and passion are opposed to the spiritual path — that pursuing desire will take you more into the egoic world. And for most people, that is exactly what happens. Wanting is experienced as self-centered. The Power of Divine Eros challenges the view that the erotic and the divine are separate. When we open to the energy, spontaneity, and zest of erotic love, we will find it holy and sacred. Thus desire and passion become a gateway to wholeness.
The authors reveal how our relationships become spiritual opportunities to express ourselves authentically, to relate with openness, and to discover dynamic inner realms with another person. Through embodying the energy of eros, we can learn to be real and alive in all our interactions.
If it's not apparent from the description, it's not just about convincing you through reason that the two kinds of love are actually one, but about helping you find the place within yourself where you can feel that to be the case. Great stuff!
Wednesday, October 09, 2013
Hollywood Hot Property Ryan Gosling Predicts his Upcoming Film Will Do Well at the Box Office
Went to see The Spectacular Now tonight with Alison before a late Psychic Fair rehearsal, from which I've just returned. The movie's a nice coming-of-age story with some understated acting that keeps you guessing at the depth of the characters' emotional denial. Tension builds very slowly, till you're almost grateful when it finally explodes more than two thirds of the way through. Kind of reminiscent of The Loneliest Planet in that way, though with more dialogue and action, fewer panoramic vistas.
But what is up with that woman who narrates the entire "preshow"? Bonnie Laufer of Tribute "magazine" "reports" the most uninteresting celebrity "news" imaginable, relentlessly, for half an hour before the movie starts. (Sorry for all the scare quotes, but really, who is actually supposed to enjoy this industry self-congratulation besides the celebrities' publicity agents? The commercials for cars and cellphone carriers, when they arrive, are literally a relief.)
Maybe the preshow would be less offensive if it weren't packaged as added-value entertainment, presented as though the audience is being rewarded for showing up early. But then there's that voice... I can't even describe how unpleasant it is to listen to. Bonnie Laufer activates cringe muscles I didn't know I had. She reads copy as if it physically pains her and the only enjoyment she can wring from her job is to cause as much suffering in the listener as she herself is experiencing. If Fred Allen was said to have a face for radio, Bonnie Laufer has a voice for newspaper!
But what is up with that woman who narrates the entire "preshow"? Bonnie Laufer of Tribute "magazine" "reports" the most uninteresting celebrity "news" imaginable, relentlessly, for half an hour before the movie starts. (Sorry for all the scare quotes, but really, who is actually supposed to enjoy this industry self-congratulation besides the celebrities' publicity agents? The commercials for cars and cellphone carriers, when they arrive, are literally a relief.)
Maybe the preshow would be less offensive if it weren't packaged as added-value entertainment, presented as though the audience is being rewarded for showing up early. But then there's that voice... I can't even describe how unpleasant it is to listen to. Bonnie Laufer activates cringe muscles I didn't know I had. She reads copy as if it physically pains her and the only enjoyment she can wring from her job is to cause as much suffering in the listener as she herself is experiencing. If Fred Allen was said to have a face for radio, Bonnie Laufer has a voice for newspaper!
Tuesday, October 08, 2013
Short on Hours, Long on Intentions
Ah, forgot to blog yesterday. I just can't figure out how to fit in all the things I want to do in a day. And with the days getting shorter, I find myself wanting to spend more and more time here:
This is what it looked like when I walked home from work yesterday. Sun's almost down already!
I guess that's what happens every year. I really should be used to it by now. Anybody ever tried one of those SAD lamps? Seems like they could be a good way to keep energy levels up in the dark days around Christmas. But then maybe sitting under them becomes one more thing you have to try to squeeze into your waking hours. Maybe I should just start sleeping in a tanning bed.
This is what it looked like when I walked home from work yesterday. Sun's almost down already!
I guess that's what happens every year. I really should be used to it by now. Anybody ever tried one of those SAD lamps? Seems like they could be a good way to keep energy levels up in the dark days around Christmas. But then maybe sitting under them becomes one more thing you have to try to squeeze into your waking hours. Maybe I should just start sleeping in a tanning bed.
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