Attention all west-end Vancouver hipster, cruiser bike-riding folks: on your next ride around the seawall, you might be struck with a little piece of Vancouver history, literally, as shoe-sized chunks of the Burrard Street bridge are falling off at random.
Vancouver Bridge drops chunks of concrete on bike path
Friday, April 30, 2010
An Intellectual Crush on Dave Eggers
It all started about five years ago when I was working as a bartender in a casual dining establishment. A thirty-something yr old man sat at my bar and ordered a glass of wine and took out a book to read (one of my favourite pastimes, I might add...) and, by way of making light conversation, I asked him what book he was reading. He answered with zeal, and was all too happy to recommend it highly, even taking a moment to read me a few notable sentences. He succeeded in selling me on the book, which was soon to become one of my favourites, and also exposing me to what would become my fixation on the brain of one, Dave Eggers, author (among many things) of "A Heartbreaking Work of a Staggering Genius," the book in question.
Okay, so he wrote this really fantastic book that I couldn't put down...and a whole bunch of others that I cherished for their raw, candid and un-selfconscious descriptions of the inner workings of his brilliant mind, as well as their startling witticisms, but it doesn't end there, folks. Good ol' Dave started a little publishing house (McSweeney's) that included a slough of young, innovative individuals who were as equally brilliant and quirky in their writing styles as he was. As if that wasn't enough, he really won my heart when he was 2008's TED Prize winner for his amazing talk on his amazing accomplishments with 826 Valencia, his publishing house-turned-after school tutoring centre and pirate supply store. Watch the TED talk and you'll see what I mean...
Brain-crush worthy? Heck yes...
Okay, so he wrote this really fantastic book that I couldn't put down...and a whole bunch of others that I cherished for their raw, candid and un-selfconscious descriptions of the inner workings of his brilliant mind, as well as their startling witticisms, but it doesn't end there, folks. Good ol' Dave started a little publishing house (McSweeney's) that included a slough of young, innovative individuals who were as equally brilliant and quirky in their writing styles as he was. As if that wasn't enough, he really won my heart when he was 2008's TED Prize winner for his amazing talk on his amazing accomplishments with 826 Valencia, his publishing house-turned-after school tutoring centre and pirate supply store. Watch the TED talk and you'll see what I mean...
Brain-crush worthy? Heck yes...
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Amazon.com: The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time (9781400032716): Mark Haddon: Books
Amazon.com: The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time (9781400032716): Mark Haddon: Books
A must-read.
A book from the perspective of a 15 year old boy with Asperger Syndrome (Autism) that will change the way you view not only those who suffer from this, but the world in general. The protagonist, Christopher, really gave the word, "observant" a new meaning for me.
A must-read.
A book from the perspective of a 15 year old boy with Asperger Syndrome (Autism) that will change the way you view not only those who suffer from this, but the world in general. The protagonist, Christopher, really gave the word, "observant" a new meaning for me.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Assumptions
I went to get my taxes done 2 days ago. For no particular reason I was in a bad mood; the kind that takes control over your face, making it sneer or appear perpetually bored without you even knowing it. I had a 3 o'clock appointment at H&R Block, and I was early, as I always am. I sat down next to an old man, neither of us initially seeming pleased by the company of one another...maybe he was in a bad mood too.
He made a quick recovery from his bad mood and asked me if I had tried to do my taxes on my own before I came to see the accountant. I hadn't, and I told him so. My first sentence to him was a little louder than I normally talk (I am a quiet talker) because I am not sure if his hearing is still in tact, an assumption I make based on his age. (Assumption # 1 - Dude is old and probably can't hear shit. Or in a nicer way: Old people are often hard-of-hearing)
We continue talking and, in response to his questions, I provide vague details of my job and what about it made my taxes difficult enough to forgo attempting to do my taxes on my own. I realize that I am being vague because I'm not sure if he'll know what I'm talking about if I'm slightly more specific, and I don't feel like being very specific. (Assumption #2: Old people have no idea what young people are talking about...they can't keep up....brutal assumption, I know)
I don't reciprocate the question asking, which is very uncharacteristic of me, as I generally dislike people who are unaware of proper conversation etiquette and omit the reciprocity. (I blame this on my aforementioned "bad mood")
Example:
normal person: "Hey, how was your weekend?"
socially awkward/inept person: "My weekend was awesome.."
(awkward pause where normal person waits for awkward person to ask how her/his weekend was....still waiting, still waiting...nope. Conversation over.)
Thankfully, cute, chatty old man isn't phased and he tells me about his taxes and work anyway. He tells me that he is retired, but still does some publications of things that he likes to write about. I think this is awesome, but it surprises me slightly, and I am now intensely curious both about what he writes about, and about what his profession was. I assess the situation for clues:
1) He has a thick European accent (which may or may not be Italian, Greek, or Croatian. The fact that I have no idea and all of these accents are quite different makes my thoughts digress slightly while I'm listening to him and I wonder, briefly, what it would be like to be a linguistics expert..."Excuse me sir, I couldn't help but notice that you draw out your long A sounds and curl your R's. You wouldn't happen to be from the east-side of Zadar, Croatia, would you? Hmm, yes, I thought so....")
2) He is short and stout, with a very kind face and demeanor
3) His warm smile shows two gold teeth on the upper right side of his mouth, the side that I am looking at from where I am sitting.
4) He's dressed casually, in a fleecy jacket and baseball cap and cotton slacks.
Sooo, certainly not an accountant, given that he was getting his taxes done at H&R Block. He's a retired cobbler? He ran a bakery? A tradesman? His hobby writing is about the old country? I had no clue, but I'll tell you that he did not strike me as a banker, doctor, lawyer or the likes. I don't know why, something about the kind, down-to-earth demeanor, and some compartment of my mind connecting that to simplicity of mind? (Assumption # 3: He is an immigrant to Canada, so possibly worked as a labourer and is not likely university educated)
We continue talking, and I'm sure about one thing: I like this man. I really don't care what he did for a living or what he writes about, because it won't change the fact that he's a nice man, but I'm still curious. I won't lie to you, I was nothing short of shocked when I discovered that his "hobby" writing is about tectonic plate movement and seismic activity and how it relates to building and engineering, and that he still gives guest lectures at local universities who study one of this three books on the subject. PhD. Energy efficient urban research and design, and green architecture.
Cobbler? Baker? Skimping on specifics of my job at the university because I wasn't sure he'd get it? Egg on my face...
This man was a class-act: obviously intelligent, but didn't need to flaunt it or condescend you with it. His profession didn't define who he was, which was a kind man who turned my bad mood into a good one.
He made a quick recovery from his bad mood and asked me if I had tried to do my taxes on my own before I came to see the accountant. I hadn't, and I told him so. My first sentence to him was a little louder than I normally talk (I am a quiet talker) because I am not sure if his hearing is still in tact, an assumption I make based on his age. (Assumption # 1 - Dude is old and probably can't hear shit. Or in a nicer way: Old people are often hard-of-hearing)
We continue talking and, in response to his questions, I provide vague details of my job and what about it made my taxes difficult enough to forgo attempting to do my taxes on my own. I realize that I am being vague because I'm not sure if he'll know what I'm talking about if I'm slightly more specific, and I don't feel like being very specific. (Assumption #2: Old people have no idea what young people are talking about...they can't keep up....brutal assumption, I know)
I don't reciprocate the question asking, which is very uncharacteristic of me, as I generally dislike people who are unaware of proper conversation etiquette and omit the reciprocity. (I blame this on my aforementioned "bad mood")
Example:
normal person: "Hey, how was your weekend?"
socially awkward/inept person: "My weekend was awesome.."
(awkward pause where normal person waits for awkward person to ask how her/his weekend was....still waiting, still waiting...nope. Conversation over.)
Thankfully, cute, chatty old man isn't phased and he tells me about his taxes and work anyway. He tells me that he is retired, but still does some publications of things that he likes to write about. I think this is awesome, but it surprises me slightly, and I am now intensely curious both about what he writes about, and about what his profession was. I assess the situation for clues:
1) He has a thick European accent (which may or may not be Italian, Greek, or Croatian. The fact that I have no idea and all of these accents are quite different makes my thoughts digress slightly while I'm listening to him and I wonder, briefly, what it would be like to be a linguistics expert..."Excuse me sir, I couldn't help but notice that you draw out your long A sounds and curl your R's. You wouldn't happen to be from the east-side of Zadar, Croatia, would you? Hmm, yes, I thought so....")
2) He is short and stout, with a very kind face and demeanor
3) His warm smile shows two gold teeth on the upper right side of his mouth, the side that I am looking at from where I am sitting.
4) He's dressed casually, in a fleecy jacket and baseball cap and cotton slacks.
Sooo, certainly not an accountant, given that he was getting his taxes done at H&R Block. He's a retired cobbler? He ran a bakery? A tradesman? His hobby writing is about the old country? I had no clue, but I'll tell you that he did not strike me as a banker, doctor, lawyer or the likes. I don't know why, something about the kind, down-to-earth demeanor, and some compartment of my mind connecting that to simplicity of mind? (Assumption # 3: He is an immigrant to Canada, so possibly worked as a labourer and is not likely university educated)
We continue talking, and I'm sure about one thing: I like this man. I really don't care what he did for a living or what he writes about, because it won't change the fact that he's a nice man, but I'm still curious. I won't lie to you, I was nothing short of shocked when I discovered that his "hobby" writing is about tectonic plate movement and seismic activity and how it relates to building and engineering, and that he still gives guest lectures at local universities who study one of this three books on the subject. PhD. Energy efficient urban research and design, and green architecture.
Cobbler? Baker? Skimping on specifics of my job at the university because I wasn't sure he'd get it? Egg on my face...
This man was a class-act: obviously intelligent, but didn't need to flaunt it or condescend you with it. His profession didn't define who he was, which was a kind man who turned my bad mood into a good one.
To think, or not to think?
Sometimes I wonder why people worry so much about how they sound. About how their words are strung together, about how it sounds to be brilliant.
But this is my worry - my worry for myself, not for anyone else. I don't really wonder why "people" worry about this, I wonder why I worry about it. Starting a sentence is like jumping out of an airplane sometimes. I feel like it's never quite the right wording - I'm not certain where and how I will land, so I just stay in the doorway of the airplane with my typewriter laying silently on my lap. I consider whether or not I will bring the typewriter when I finally jump, but decide against it because I don't want anything impeding my ability to open the chute, nor do I want to lose the typewriter, obviously....
So maybe I'll stay on the plane and write about how I could have jumped, and how it might have felt. Or maybe I'll jump and hope that I don't break my arms so I can still type after I land - but that's not a valid worry, is it? No, there are dictiphones and scribes to do those sorts of things for me these days...
I just think too much. Thinking is great, don't get me wrong, I am a huge proponent of thinking. But too much thinking leads to inaction. I can think myself into and out of something ten or fifteen times, and then think myself around and above it too. All this in, out, around, above, through and across thinking and you'd think that I would be all thought out...or through, or above, in, or around, I suppose. But there is no end to thought, or at least there shouldn't be, because there is nothing around us that is certain. There is always something to learn or question or ponder. That is also why I should stop thinking so much - if nothing is ever certain, then there is no end to how much I could think, and therefore, no possibility of being able to "think something through". Maybe I just need to do. So, here I am. I am writing. I am doing.
But this is my worry - my worry for myself, not for anyone else. I don't really wonder why "people" worry about this, I wonder why I worry about it. Starting a sentence is like jumping out of an airplane sometimes. I feel like it's never quite the right wording - I'm not certain where and how I will land, so I just stay in the doorway of the airplane with my typewriter laying silently on my lap. I consider whether or not I will bring the typewriter when I finally jump, but decide against it because I don't want anything impeding my ability to open the chute, nor do I want to lose the typewriter, obviously....
So maybe I'll stay on the plane and write about how I could have jumped, and how it might have felt. Or maybe I'll jump and hope that I don't break my arms so I can still type after I land - but that's not a valid worry, is it? No, there are dictiphones and scribes to do those sorts of things for me these days...
I just think too much. Thinking is great, don't get me wrong, I am a huge proponent of thinking. But too much thinking leads to inaction. I can think myself into and out of something ten or fifteen times, and then think myself around and above it too. All this in, out, around, above, through and across thinking and you'd think that I would be all thought out...or through, or above, in, or around, I suppose. But there is no end to thought, or at least there shouldn't be, because there is nothing around us that is certain. There is always something to learn or question or ponder. That is also why I should stop thinking so much - if nothing is ever certain, then there is no end to how much I could think, and therefore, no possibility of being able to "think something through". Maybe I just need to do. So, here I am. I am writing. I am doing.
The Art of Blogging
Where does one begin? I guess it all starts with an idea, something that is itching to jump out of your brain, through your fingertips, and onto the screen. Or perhaps it takes a lot of prodding and coercing to get that reluctant (yet brilliant of course) idea out of your head. Should it have a purpose, incite action or passion in others, or answer age-old questions? Ideas aren't always as brilliant as one thinks they are, they are usually, if not always, much more brilliant than we give ourselves credit for. Yes, I said it - ideas, mine and yours alike, are brilliant.
We must not get bogged down in the "it's been done/said before" rut; rather, we must understand that we can shed new and glorious light on remarks of the past, bringing forth new meaning and/or re-popularize ideas. The thoughts that run through our heads all day long are ordinary to us, because we are used to them, but they have the potential of being far from ordinary for anybody else. They even have the potential to be so "ordinary" that they become extraordinary when expressed.
We must not get bogged down in the "it's been done/said before" rut; rather, we must understand that we can shed new and glorious light on remarks of the past, bringing forth new meaning and/or re-popularize ideas. The thoughts that run through our heads all day long are ordinary to us, because we are used to them, but they have the potential of being far from ordinary for anybody else. They even have the potential to be so "ordinary" that they become extraordinary when expressed.
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