Good Bye TOMson

Another week, another going away party. This time though, it's for the guy over to the right. That guy!

What's wrong, can't see his face? That's because he is a mystery.

TOMson is heading out west, to take up a new position with GreenPeace. It's funny, you'd think with all those dirty hippies on the west coast they'd be able to find someone to fill their management position, but apparently not.

So now they're poaching our very own dirty hippies to help run things.

Greedy, greedy west coast. Don't you have enough dirty hippies?

Okay, that's enough attempting to raise readership through scandal and conflict. Who needs that stuff anyway?

Dirty hippies.

Cheese and Fancy were there, looking, I believe the term is non-plussed.

Fancy has no excuse to scowl, but Cheese...well her feet are broken. Slowly healing. This was the first time she'd been out since she had surgery and her feet were feeling a bit heavy and uncomfortable. We got her there slowly but steadily. One third shuffle, one third crutching and one third exhilarating piggy back ride. After all day on the bus yesterday I was happy for the exercise. At least she was able to pull off the plastic bag and enormous protective booty combo stylishly. I know I couldn't.

By framing the shot thus ways, with Daydream's hands, I turned it into art.

I've been claiming a lot of my photos lately are art. Hopefully I'm not getting too pretentious. If I am, someone smack my head (but gently so as not to hurt me).

The Golden Girl was there, wearing a colour for the first time (that I can remember). It turned her into a light fixture obsessed demon of some sort, but no one is perfect so that's okay.

Then a series of fingers and thumbs appeared.

Followed by a red Toon. Doesn't she look happy? She keeps saying she's really happy and I would tend to agree.

And after a whole lot of hugging it was time to go. Someone in this picture smells funny. My guess is it's me.

Bye TOMson. You'll be missed but not forgotten. Heck, I might even see you out and about tonight for nuit blanche.

A brief trip

My bus left the coach terminal this morning at 9:30. It arrived in Kingston at 12:30, where I caught a 12:45 bus downtown. I walked to the Queen's campus where I had a brief meeting before saying hello to a few people. I then bought a wrap from the Swedish chip truck (out of beet salad...grrr) and walked up Division Street to catch another Kingston Transit bus that returned me to the bus station. There I caught the 3:15 bus (actually 3:08 for the math kids) back to Toronto that deposited me at the Bay and Dundas terminal at 6:30 or so.

What a day. I ate light, but I think even that was too much for the effort expended.

I was in Kingston to meet a prof. She provided a reference for my BCPV job and subsequently offered me some marking work. This was the first get together and paper pick-up. I'm still not sure how the job is going to work because the prof had to bolt to pick up her son, but I'm hoping she will be able to organize some more funding so I can make the trip to Kingston a few times over the term to meet with students if needed and still actually be making money. $100 per return bus ticket is a bit much, no matter how much of The Count of Monte Cristo I get to read. I'm going to be investigating both cheaper ticketing and craigslist options for future journeys.

Or, screw the students and I'll do everything by surface and email. Nothing says extrapolating on nuanced points of academic argument like email!

Grunt.

On an unadulterated positive note (ie what you are looking for when you read this blog) I got to ride with this guy!

On his bus.

It's a fun colour scheme! What do you want from me?

olympic clothing and provincial logos

HBC launched the Canadian uniform (outfit?) today for the upcoming Olympics. My thought, good.

I'm not going to say too much, just that I appreciate the aesthetic. If you're going to go for stereotypes you might as well go all the way.

Also, I appreciate the '80s styling, particularly on the toque. Childhood nostalgia? Probably, but who cares.

The other thing that caught my eye is the font, or more specifically the 'A'. It looks good. It reminded me of Alberta's recent decision that a unique stylized 'A' needed to be dumped in favour of an ugly, generic piece of script.

Whoever decided the Alberta logo needed to go just as it was reaching its pinnacle of retro chic needs to have their head examined. Similar to whoever thought dull, generic style would be a good idea to promote the province. Hey world! We're like everywhere else, only orange.

We were discussing this on Streem a few months ago and there seems to be a pattern. Look at Ontario's new trillium.

Meh anyone? I get it, if we work as a team we can be a better province. Very good. As Imran said, "It does lend credence to my theory that all modern day graphic design is done by 14-year-old Photoshop-proficient nephews of agency directors."

Just look here and try to tell me the older ones are not better. I think the green is the best, both in design and colour.

Alas. Governments in the '60s were bold and brave. Expo '67 and whatnot all said Canada was the future, we were going to change the world. It was reflected in legislation and the coolness of graphics too apparently.

And now? Governments are concerned less with governing and improving our lot with bold gestures, and more with surviving the next election. The result is boring genericism that aims not to offend anyone rather than take a risk and possibly inspire.

Alexey Titarenko

Alexey Titarenko is a Russian photographer who takes some pretty fantastic pictures.

This is taken from Black & White Magic of St. Petersburg, the city he was born in.

I couldn't decide which of these two from his Time Standing Still set I liked more. Here are both.

I really like this close up blur effect he does. City of Shadows is a great title for the set, and I guess that's why he's the famous artist.
Don't know what he's doing to the sun here, but I like it. His Venice Series was apparently taken between 2001 and 2008 but everything feels nostalgic. Maybe it's because we might lose Venice in a few years?

See ya later Slippers

I'm going to miss this guy.

We had drinks in his honour at the Press Club.

There were pears in the trees above us, consumed before they were even picked. Insects win again!

Daydream wanted to look like some sort of beer-shouldered-behemoth, so I obliged.

The Pope was there, chatting business (no doubt) with Toon.
I was talking with Messy (I'm working on this nickname, but for the time being look at that facial shag) about improv stylings. I did not trust his words.

Then Toon put on her sexy face.
And these last two shots...they're what I like to call art.
Goodbye Slippers. You will be missed. Thanks for the CD, the good times and a great summer.

It's great when you make a new friend, it's shitty when they move to the west coast, but then it's good once more because you remember you'll see them again and when you do the good times will recommence. Friends are great like that.

See you soon!
Park?

moving

Slippers and TOMson are both pretty much vacated from their park pad and yesterday Daydream was finally kicking things into gear, so I went over to help him move. It was brief, as I had to scamper off to improv, but it got me thinking (surprise!).

Moving. It might be the thing that makes me crack. Makes me grow up.

The idea of going through my things, having to decide what to keep and what to toss, then sweatily stuffing it all in a vehicle lacks a certain appeal.

Don't get me wrong. Moves can be okay; I enjoy some sorting, tetrissing a vehicle to its absolute limits brings a smile, and there's always pleasure in finishing a task. I even have fond memories of moving myself and my sister after my first year at grad school. In that instance my life had been all brain and my body, feeling ignored, was happy to sweat it out.

BUT...

there's so much to loathe as well.

Finding a new place can be a pain, and until you know where you're going there's a fog of uncertainty perturbing life.

Then, when time syncs wonkily and you need to be out of your old the same day you're into your new, stress levels balloon.

Recruiting friends, securing vehicles then getting it all done. Limited muscle and space means choices must be made, and who likes to make those?

And this is all in terms of the relatively light life I currently lead. Half my stuff sits in my mum's basement but I still dread the thought of packing what's on hand. I'll eventually want to live in my own place (rented or owned) and that means more stuff even.

I like to imagine myself living lightly, but the reality of my room reveals my true nature. I've come into more than a few maps since arriving in Toronto, there are pieces of a child's bed and a three-legged chair across the room, and look at what I happily took off Slippers' hands in the last few days.

(If anyone wants to play board games...talk to me quick because I am turning some of these things into things. And by second things, I mean stuff for a wall [art?]. Bocce will remain bocce however - call me if you want to play. Anytime. I'm think a winter tourney...)

So... Moving and growing up.

I'm lost.

The premise of this post, now that it's written, seems to be growing up means getting lazy and rich - being able to collect stuff, wanting a place to keep the stuff and being able to arrange said stuff in a particular fashion.

I don't think I know what growing up means.

Let's try this.

Someday I want to live somewhere I know will be my home (base) for an extended period of years. And if I have to focus, find a career and make some money to do it, so be it.

Someday. If I have to.

Resolved!

the results of a rainy afternoon

I would like everyone to note:

-the handle

-the stitching, done inside out and reversed

-the cow

-the fowl

Oh, and by the way, that's my cell phone in there. Not scratched.

4 things about painting parking lots

It's raining outside. I'm bored and uninspired. Here is an entry that I started writing a while ago. Maybe if I do this job again I'll have more to add, but in the meantime...

Here are, in no particular order, 4 things I know (to varying levels of certainty) about painting parking lots.

1 - There can be a surprisingly large amount of filth on a lot and you can still paint successfully, so long as it's little filth. Rocks and liquid and sludge are all bad, but a thin layer of dust is nothing. It gets blasted away when the painting trolley starts blowing paint onto the ground. And if any dust is left, the paint particles eat them.

2 - Fancy touches are not helpful. Putting curves on the ends of double lines every few spaces not only cuts down on the overall number of stalls in a lot, but takes a hell of a lot longer to paint. It looks like a penis fer crying out loud!

3 - You lose track of the day when painting an underground garage. There's no sun. There's no wind. The day passes not in terms of time but in stalls marked out in blue chalk, lines painted and numbers stencilled on columns.

4 - A building with a small footprint means more underground levels and that means way more walking. Stairs or car ramps if we're moving the machine about. Grunt.

but does it float

This site it generally pretty great, but the set Form is all we have to help us cope with fundamentally chaotic facts and assaults is particularly striking.

a chair

I found it walking home. I think it is nice. I will dismantle it, sand it, then use the pieces for non-chair-related enterprises.

I don't have much to say tonight and Annie was pretty chuffed she cleaned her and D-Hammer's room, hence the photo shoot.

What a clean floor!

The one where I say 'cock' in the correct context

I woke up at 4 this morning but I feel really good about it. My lights were out by 11, so I'd already slept decently, and I really needed to pee. As a general rule sacrificing sleep to not rupture internally is okay. It might have been nice to doze off more quickly after awakening, but the 2 hours I lay awake were excellent. They featured a comic book,

peanut butter on a rice cake,

Note: a rice cake was unavailable at the time of the photo shoot

a glass of milk,

and relaxed amusement with my current lot in life.

Then, as a bonus, when I slept again I had a dream featuring Toon and a shower.

Sexy time?

All the time.

Today at work was more of yesterday. Lots of wandering and learning about the buildings. I got to see the inside of the mill finally and it is freaking amazing. They don't have a mill interpreter right now due to cutbacks - the miller is currently the doctor and the cabinet maker once in a while - so the giant cogs and gears are motionless. But when they put that big ol' wheel back to spinning I'll never leave!

Gonna grind my grain so good.

I also met some new animals. We have some new Light Bramah fowl. That's one to the right. Imagine him, but even more handsome, strutting slowly across the barnyard with his feathered feet rustling on each stomp. That's what our cock looked like, and there were also some really pretty hens.

For him.

Not me.

I also met Jake and Ross, a Percheron and Clydesdale respectively (horses for the uninitiated), some Toulouse geese (I wish there had been only one) and their Embden cousins. Yesterday it was Hereford cattle and Leicester sheep along with some fancy-pants pigs whose breed I didn't catch.

We're all about the rare and heritage breeds at BCPV.

We're also all about dog powered butter churns. Or at least the example we have attached to one of the village homes. A quick interweb search tells me such things were not wholly uncommon, but unlike most of the pictures I'm finding ours looks more like a giant enclosed hamster wheel. The dog runs inside and his or her power is transferred to the butter barrel by way of a belt.

In the olden times even the butter was better.

It's my first day

Yawn. Stretch it out. Deep breath.

Oh who am I kidding? Nothing terribly vicious today. A bit boring, but that's what first days are for; paperwork and long explanations read from sheets.

This first day started well, out the door before 830, then became sad when the Ossington bus went past. I was nervy about the 7 minute wait for the next one and just missed a train at the station, but I hopped straight onto the 35 at Jane Station and the driver turned out to be a madman. In the end I had a leisurely 15 minutes to stroll a 5 minute distance.

Loverly.

Formalities were dull but mercifully short, and the rest of the day was touring, talking and asking questions. I would have enjoyed it more but the weather went weirdly humid (shorts tomorrow) and my knee has decided to play silly monkey. I just need to remember to walk carefully for a few days and I should be back to normal. Or at least to the point where I can forget it was sore then injure it even more severely next time!

We were told they received 170 applications for this job, and there were only 7 new people hired (plus 1 who had worked there a few years ago). Numbers like that make me feel good, and judging by the talent around the table I'm in a pretty top notch group. I think 4 of us had master's degrees of some type, 2 were just out of teacher's college and everyone had some form of current or past museum interpretation or education experience, some of it really impressive. Yikes. Good thing I had an awesome interview.

A few of them knew each other from already running in Toronto museum circles. The practice seems to be get a number of part time jobs at different sites and earn a living that way. I don't think the museum and culture game here is a closed circuit, but I am very happy to have my foot in the door.

STATS!

Departure (home) 8:27

Arrival (Ossington and Dundas) 17:14 (delicious heritage cherry tomatoes in the farmers' market distracted my homeward momentum)

COMMENTARY!

I get on the Jane bus at the station or at the opposite far end. Either way I get a seat fairly quickly. Also, the morning journey had lots of empty stops, so we flew north.

We met an old Scottish fellow named Gordon. He told us about how things were when everything was wind, water, solar or gravity powered then demonstrated toys to prove his point. Well met!

I slept really well, as in I fell asleep quickly and awoke at the needed time. My neck was really sweaty (been happening a lot) and I was lying across my mattress with my feet on the floor, but I can accept that.

Slippers' goodbye

I don't have much to say here. Really this post is an excuse to use some of Toon's pictures to liven up my blog.

The tall, bearded man in this photo is going away soon, so he had a party for him. It was nice of him to invite other people to his shindig. There was much musicianship and good times.

I'm only posting a few of Toon's pictures from the evening. If you want to see the rest, go to her place.

I chose to post this one to thank Toon for letting me use these. I didn't ask, but I'm sure it will be okay.

I took this picture.

This one too!

I used my powers of height to achieve this angle. If it was a yoga move it would be called Downward Babe. Note to readers: this is an optical illusion. Cheese and Toon are not the same height.

This last photo I feel is nice. I can't remember what we were going for but I like it. Because I'm so tired I look gruff. People will see this and think,

WOAH!

Not a fellow to be trifled with!

They will think that in very large, loud words because they are intimidated and know I am not one to take guff lightly.

Don't GUFF him, they will whisper. He won't abide it.

Aside from this sexy chest rub, the other highlight of the evening was a chat with a beautiful lady from Montreal. She is starting an MFA at York in dance. Hopefully she will not be busy soon and we can hang out.

Poppy

While I'm puttering around, struggling to find suitable, clever, original and meaningful nicknames for all the people in my life I forgot that the same might come back my way.

According to Toon my new nickname is Poppy. I like it. I don't know what it has to do with me but I'll be sure to ask.

Also, I've started listing some blogs I read to the right. Look at those.

Explicit Fantastic - 80's Glam Porno Slam

Surprise!

I thought I was going to see Sweatshop Hop, maybe dance my face off a little bit, then head home. It turns out they were only one of the acts for the evening, and the dancing was restricted to a thin aisle between the stage and the front row of seats at the Metro Theatre.

That Metro Theatre? Yes. The one on Bloor with all the lovely ladies on its posters. Lovely ladies not wearing any clothes.

Instead of straight up dancing the show was various bands and MCs - Kids on TV, Henri Faberge and the Adorables, Sweatshop Hop - doing their thing on the stage while porn played on the big screen behind them. It is a porn theatre, so what do you want?

Henri Faberge and the Adorables had some great 1920s films playing for their set, and porn from this era can best be described as frantic.

Filmed with the same technology as other movies of the time, the jumps and starts, slightly faster than life pictures contribute to the film's feel as much as the actual content (the medium is the message I guess). The effect has always struck me as particularly suited to the early silent comedies, think Chaplin, but it really adds something brilliant to people stripping one another down and *ahem* doing what one does once naked.

It's no surprise that new technologies are turned towards titillation early on, but I wonder if anyone has done a study focusing on how quickly this happens? Was Edison doing more than tinker in his work shop? Are there are a bunch of old timey radio sex noises stashed away in an attic somewhere? At least I now know that nuns and a bit o' the whip were early pornographic themes. Anyone who says the internet is ruining society needs to know we've been ruined but functioning for a long time already.

Kids on TV had much more stylistic and post produced stuff playing during their set. The images tiled on the screen, different effect filters used, altered contrast and lighting, etc. It was great that the bands' respective personalities were reflected so clearly through their choices in porn.

Pornography is the new hat.

Arriving before 10 for a cheaper $10 cover (yeesh) for a poorly attended and slightly confusing event might sound like a disappointing night all around, and while I could have come up with different things to do with my time and money I'm still glad I went.

For starters I got to dress up in my 80's glam outfit, which apparently means my brightest short and shirt combo. More than that though I now know what the inside of the Metro looks like. The above link tells me it was a late arriving art deco theatre, finished in 1938, and it really is a beautiful space. Soaring ceilings, varied crystal chandeliers strangely arranged in two clumps of three on either side of the auditorium, and row upon row of plush red chairs. The chairs were very comfy and had all sorts of spring and recline to them. When considering what normally shows in this place, I'm not sure if that's such a good thing at other times. The place smelled of incense, apparently to cover up the 'bleachy' smell the early arrivals noted, and I have subsequently found out it was probably better that I didn't closely inspect my chair before sitting.

Lovely.

Last night was also great because it was the first time I've seen sex toys in vending machines. Something else to check off the life list.

Finally, maybe I've been watching too much Mad Men lately and therefore contemplating the dawn of the counter culture that emerged through the beatniks et al during the 50s and 60s, but there was something pleasantly 40-50 years ago about a group of musicians and creative types renting out a porn theatre as a performance space to put on a show, subvert social norms, have a few drinks and a good time.

And if there's a beautiful girl playing keys on stage while shaking her nipple tassles the best she can, all the better.