come and gone

Lunch has come and gone: another day closer to this unnamed event that my mind is waiting for. I was listening to the news before I climbed from my ever-so-comfortable bed this morning. A mysterious explosion occured yesterday in the sewers below Kitsilano: four metal grates, round sheets of two inch think iron, were blown into the air. One even shattered, chunks landing on a passing car’s windshield. Is it possible that there is some relation to the work in the sewer pipes they are doing here on Broadway? Or could it simply be coincidence? Hmmm…..

still here

Post work, but I’m still here. Putting in time: Making up the lost weekends when I should have been doing things productive. The wash is in the mail. The sun has finally emerged yet I am indoors: that is the price of obligation, I suppose.

Information is everywhere: I purchased the latest Wired yesterday on a mid-evening stroll: between their infoporn, a special I was watching on Global, and google‘s zeitgeist I have managed to kindle some sort of interest in the information arts. It mostly stemmed from discussion that Karin and I had the other evening: we were discussing modern cultural anthropology and simply: why is this just so darn interesting? We don’t know, but it’s worth further investigation. There is this whole idea that culture shapes and is shaped by the technology: specifically the Internet. The latest questions: why are there so many fat kids? the Internet. Why are people so grumpy and stupid? The Internet.

On a lighter note, Derek is back at work, and apparently they have managed to secure lodgings for post-matrimony…


Three days of silence: a movie, a video, and time spent on secret projects.

The yearsies continue: I moved to Vancouver one year ago today. Hmmm… remember that?


Karin’s last day of classes today. She is happy, and apparently going to bed early: after she does her dishes, of course.

Self-expression is over-rated.

Putting aside our other preconceptions about the art, what is left? A few floating-point calculations to harness this digital existence: words on a screen that are only illusions transfered from our minds, into keystrokes, and then into organic bits in an electromagnetic storehouse. A handful of centuries ago a man by the name of Gutenberg thought it might be nice to put our thoughts into type. Apparently only a few people had interesting thoughts way back whenever: that, or typing – typesetting – printing were still privledges afforded to the handful that could construct a complete sentence. Fast forward: now we have computers, word-processors, and the Internet: So? What is new and interesting about that, you ask. Why should I care about an exponential leap in the publishing power of the masses? Why should I care what the world thinks, and – more importantly – why should the world care what I think? And that is exactly my point: we shouldn’t care, but for some reason we do. Thus, self-expression is completely over-rated and we should not be expressing ourselves in some grand scheme to become glowing icons for humanity. Plain. Simple. No further explanation required.

But that’s not going to stop me.


Another meandering evening ended with me at the local used bookstore. Unfortunate for them – but fortunate for me – they are going out of business and consequently dropped all remaining stock to about a quarter the stocked price: and these are used books, so they are cheap already. I bought a pair of tomes that I had been eyeing in Chapters, and saved myself a loaf of money. Original “new” price = about $40 plus taxes. Tanglewood’s used price = about $30 before taxes. Brad’s “steal-of-a-deal” discount price = $7.73 including taxes.

Of course this could all be in my early – subconscious – preparations for tv turnoff week. We all know that television is completely evil, but now we have proof. I always figured there was some connection, but this is more frightening than a trip to the mall.

The one-yearsies continue, as I prep for the big one: one year ago today was my last full day living in Edmonton. I think I spent most of it packing – frantically – and prepping to endure the dreaded move.