It's lunchtime in the war room. That's what I'm going to call where I'm sitting. Although I sit in a cubicle there are not enough for this area to be called a cube farm (ugh, typing on an ergonomic keyboard - so annoying, totally screwing up my typing speed). I think war room is fitting though. It strikes up the visual of a bustling newsroom, where ideas are being tossed with intense furiousness. My head is also a war room. I'm developing my plan of attack. I'm strategizing. I'm looking for weakened defenses. It's exciting to be this busy again. I need to get away from my desk however. This type of concentrated mental effort needs some fresh air.
The official test of my character, the real demonstration of my ardent pedestrianism, will come not when I go for a walk when it is seven degrees outside but when it is minus twenty seven.
At least this is what I was thinking this morning when I exited the apartment. I felt the chill in the air and for a second I was afraid of the coming of winter... the shortening days, the lack of sunlight. But then I stopped myself in what could have been a sprialling descent into negativity. I've gone out on the coldest days of winter to take photographs. If I can convince myself to leave the house for photographic purposes then I will have no excuses when it comes to leaving the house as part of a balanced approach to non-gym exercise. I will just make sure to walk with a transit pass so that at any time if it is really too cold I can retreat to the warmth and safety of the proletariat chariot.
I realized this evening that is has been about seven years since I lived alone. I don't really mind it all that much, but there are moments when the apartment is completely quiet and I sigh inwardly because I'm alone. Those instances have been fairly infrequent, but when they do happen they happen late at night, usually after I've been out for the evening surrounded by people. I'm not sure what it was that set me off tonight. Maybe it was coming home to discover new spaces that I needed to fill (some giant plants have finally gone to live with their "dad"). The new emptiness of my apartment left me with a feeling of solitude rather than solace. However, rather than let myself descend into a momentary state of melancholy I've decided to put this time to good use. Today, while out for my daily constitutional, I stopped in at the book store and picked up one of my favourite shelter magazines and I examined the pages for ideas to steal for my house. This is always an activity that makes me feel better (even if I can't afford to make any changes right now). This exercise is even more satisfying now that I live alone, as I have only my own tastes to reckon with.
So... here's the story of my entry to the City.
I arrive after midnight, but being a travel pro I've packed only the smallest of carry-ons and have no baggage to pick up. I'm set on my goal of getting to my destination, the house of the bride and groom, as soon as possible. I choose the taxi over transit only because it is late and I don't feel like dealing with transfers at 1am. I head outside the arrivals area to the taxi stand and get the next one in line. It takes some time for the driver to sort out exactly where I need to go. I've never been there before so my directions are based on the little information I have from previous emails and my iPhone. But we piece things together, especially after the driver uses his GPS to figure out the best route. About twenty minutes later it seems that I have arrived. We've ended up on the wrong end of a one-way street so I have to walk past a couple houses. It's okay, it looks safe and the street is well lit. It's not the most ideal situation but this is the result of encountering a road closure and then taking a roundabout way to arrive at the wrong end of a one-way. But my map tells me I'm in the right spot even if I can't seem to find the street sign to verify. I'm a little tired and disoriented. But I remember some of the details that my friend had told me about so I look for the landmarks and I approach the house with the #49 and no awning. I double check my iPhone but the blue dot is deceiving. I am a little hesitant but I throw caution to the wind and try the door. It is supposed to be unlocked but it isn't. I think I have the wrong house. I'm about to call my friend (who is sure to be asleep by now, this I know because we were texting when I arrived at the airport) but an oldish woman walks by with her tiny dog. I ask her for directions because clearly she lives in the area (she's wearing house slippers and I just saw her come out of a house on the corner). But either her English is poor or she's hard of hearing because she doesn't seem to know what I'm asking and she's not much help. But she does point me towards a street sign. By this time I hear some commotion inside. I start to think that maybe it is my friend coming to unlock the door. So I approach the stoop and call out my friend's name. "Is it you?" Then a voice that sounds eerily familiar to my friend's says, "I'm calling the cops." Oh great, half an hour in the big city and I just attempted my first home invasion. The woman, little dog and I explain to the victimized lady through the door that we're not criminals and that I'm looking for a specific address. She tells me it's around the corner. That way, gesturing with the phone she is threatening to use to call the cops. I apologize but thank her for her help and then go the direction she indicated, which I soon discover is clearly not the right way. There's a guy walking around with his laptop open in front of him. Another local? I ask him for directions. He tells me to go around a different corner. Which is also incorrect. Then the old lady and her dog come to the rescue, she walked farther down the street (the opposite way that home invasion lady told me to go) and found the right street. Two minutes later I find the correct house a block away, number 49 with no awning. This time the door is unlocked.
I arrive after midnight, but being a travel pro I've packed only the smallest of carry-ons and have no baggage to pick up. I'm set on my goal of getting to my destination, the house of the bride and groom, as soon as possible. I choose the taxi over transit only because it is late and I don't feel like dealing with transfers at 1am. I head outside the arrivals area to the taxi stand and get the next one in line. It takes some time for the driver to sort out exactly where I need to go. I've never been there before so my directions are based on the little information I have from previous emails and my iPhone. But we piece things together, especially after the driver uses his GPS to figure out the best route. About twenty minutes later it seems that I have arrived. We've ended up on the wrong end of a one-way street so I have to walk past a couple houses. It's okay, it looks safe and the street is well lit. It's not the most ideal situation but this is the result of encountering a road closure and then taking a roundabout way to arrive at the wrong end of a one-way. But my map tells me I'm in the right spot even if I can't seem to find the street sign to verify. I'm a little tired and disoriented. But I remember some of the details that my friend had told me about so I look for the landmarks and I approach the house with the #49 and no awning. I double check my iPhone but the blue dot is deceiving. I am a little hesitant but I throw caution to the wind and try the door. It is supposed to be unlocked but it isn't. I think I have the wrong house. I'm about to call my friend (who is sure to be asleep by now, this I know because we were texting when I arrived at the airport) but an oldish woman walks by with her tiny dog. I ask her for directions because clearly she lives in the area (she's wearing house slippers and I just saw her come out of a house on the corner). But either her English is poor or she's hard of hearing because she doesn't seem to know what I'm asking and she's not much help. But she does point me towards a street sign. By this time I hear some commotion inside. I start to think that maybe it is my friend coming to unlock the door. So I approach the stoop and call out my friend's name. "Is it you?" Then a voice that sounds eerily familiar to my friend's says, "I'm calling the cops." Oh great, half an hour in the big city and I just attempted my first home invasion. The woman, little dog and I explain to the victimized lady through the door that we're not criminals and that I'm looking for a specific address. She tells me it's around the corner. That way, gesturing with the phone she is threatening to use to call the cops. I apologize but thank her for her help and then go the direction she indicated, which I soon discover is clearly not the right way. There's a guy walking around with his laptop open in front of him. Another local? I ask him for directions. He tells me to go around a different corner. Which is also incorrect. Then the old lady and her dog come to the rescue, she walked farther down the street (the opposite way that home invasion lady told me to go) and found the right street. Two minutes later I find the correct house a block away, number 49 with no awning. This time the door is unlocked.
So now I'm properly situated in the guest bedroom of my friend's house and the streets of Toronto are safe from this inadvertent cat burglar. What an exciting way to announce my arrival.
I feel a bit unprepared for my trip to Toronto tomorrow. It seems to have approached so rapidly that I haven't had time to properly anticipate it. I will get up in the morning and finish packing, check in for my flight and then maybe when I might be more in the mindset that I'm going to be in another city for the weekend. I'll be behind the camera the whole time, so rest assured the trip will be well documented.
Every time I see a photo of myself it's as if I'm looking at a stranger. I don't always recognize myself. You'd think I'd have outgrown this self fascination. I know I must come across as extraordinarily vain with my endless stream of self portraits. But I really do stop associating myself with these photos. Sure they are pictures of me, but it's me in the past. I've already changed and moved on.
Let me premise by saying that sometimes I start writing things and then I am interrupted and I lose my train of thought. I think that's what happened with this. I started writing this two months ago, scribbles in my tiny notebook. Then life got a little bit complicated and I didn't feel like writing anymore. At least not that piece. I tried to pick up where I left off a week or so ago, but I can't get it to make sense. But I'm posting it anyhow, because this blog is imperfect, just like this post. So a few things have been lost in translation. I can deal with it.
We have an obsession with accessories, accessories being those additional items we add to our lives, be it some sort of fashionable element, objet d'art or technological gadget. I think we sometimes fall into the habit of thinking that that these accessories are somethow more significant than they are, that a certain pair of shoes are essential to make an outfit work, that a new camera will improve our photos simply because it is technically better, or that some new software or web application will transform discourse. But these accessories, these tools, they are meaningless without the people to wear them or use them.
Perhaps it is just our fascination with McLuhan's the medium is the message, which is, no doubt, a profound and pivotal concept, but one that people tend to misconstrue to over emphasize the importance of the accessory.
The collective wisdom of Wikipedia has this say about McLuhan's famous concept.
Perhaps I muse about this because I fancy myself a bit of an artist and there are times when I want credit for something I've created - not what my tools have created with me as a passive vessel. I take an active role in the creation. I am a full participant. The tool does not choose me, I choose it.
We have an obsession with accessories, accessories being those additional items we add to our lives, be it some sort of fashionable element, objet d'art or technological gadget. I think we sometimes fall into the habit of thinking that that these accessories are somethow more significant than they are, that a certain pair of shoes are essential to make an outfit work, that a new camera will improve our photos simply because it is technically better, or that some new software or web application will transform discourse. But these accessories, these tools, they are meaningless without the people to wear them or use them.
Perhaps it is just our fascination with McLuhan's the medium is the message, which is, no doubt, a profound and pivotal concept, but one that people tend to misconstrue to over emphasize the importance of the accessory.
The collective wisdom of Wikipedia has this say about McLuhan's famous concept.
The form of a medium embeds itself in the message, creating a symbiotic relationship by which the medium influences how the message is perceived. A medium affects the society in which it plays a role only only by the content delivered over the medium, but also by the characteristics of the medium itself.This is not to say that the medium doesn't play a role in how the message is perceived - quite clearly it does - but one must also take into consideration who is delivering the message, looking at the individual behind the words, behind the action.
Perhaps I muse about this because I fancy myself a bit of an artist and there are times when I want credit for something I've created - not what my tools have created with me as a passive vessel. I take an active role in the creation. I am a full participant. The tool does not choose me, I choose it.
There was a chill in the air this morning. Outside the chill was somewhat refreshing, even though it meant that I had to wear a sweater while out for my daily constitutional. Inside the apartment the cold had a different feel, it was a sort of soporific cold that slows the flow of blood through your veins and quietly lulls you to sleep.The computer was quietly churning away, (re)burning some photodiscs that I seemed to have misplaced. The process of converting the RAW files to JPEGs takes a while so I left the computer to focus on that one task while I decided what to do with myself. I curled up under my duvet, telling myself that I just wanted a little bit of warmth while I read. Soon I was telling myself that closing my eyes for a few seconds wouldn't hurt... but those few seconds had a mind of their own. They doubled and tripled. It wasn't worth the battle to keep my eyes open.
and that is how I fell prey to the afternoon nap. Blame the anemia.
If you live in a place long enough you start to imagine all the things you could do differently. I am of course speaking interior design wise. This morning I'm dreaming a bit about graphic wallpaper and shelves and desks and a supercomfortable chair where I could read and knit. They might happen eventually, just not anytime soon. Insert sigh here.
I've been staying up way too late recently. Tonight is no exception. This late night owlishness wouldn't be a problem if I actually slept in to a decent hour in the morning, but that hasn't been happening. It's as if my body is preparing itself for the eventual return to the office (the date of which has yet to be determined). Tonight I've been busy posting photos from tonight's Symphony Under the Sky performance. Tomorrow I have to finish up my "reviews" of the three concerts I attended on the other blog. I've sort of been writing a different style on that blog, a bit more structured, less stream of consciousness style, so I'm a bit more critical of what I post there. Which means it takes longer to produce. But I'm not attending the concert tomorrow, so I have plenty of time to finish the post that I've already started.
I had so much fun taking pictures at the symphony this weekend. I was so glad that Phil was able to get this photo contest approved. I've been wanting to take pictures at this event ever since I first moved to Edmonton in 2006. So this weekend was a bit of a momentous occasion for me. Thanks Phil for making my photographic dreams a reality!
It's the much anticipated symphony weekend. I live blogged a couple concerts last year and this year I'm at it again. This year I've been able to be more free with my camera since there is a photo contest (of which currently I am the only entrant). This year my 'reviews' will be posted on my other blog, thecollected.ca. I'm trying to finish up the posts from the two concerts I've attended so far.
Another concert tomorrow, but first a visit to the Golden Rice Bowl for delicious dim sum, a sort of celebration for the job I plan to be starting soon. Such an eventful summer it's been.
Weeks of waiting finally payed off. I have been offered the job I want and I am simply estatic. I can't wait to get to work again. I'm thrilled about the projects I'll be able to work on, I'm excited who I will get to work with. It'll be an amazing position. Things are coming together.
This may end up being one of those posts that I never finish or choose to delete once I write it out. That would be a general indication that this post will be personal in nature, so of very little interest to anyone but myself. But I'm in need of a venting session. I was frustrated today and finding it difficult to pretend to be cheery. I was beginning to feel useless, but then late in the afternoon I received a small morsel of good news. I'm waiting for the rest of it.
I've spent the majority of the summer being very self-involved. It was all about sorting things out for myself, dealing with the end of a relationship and working on a project that would hopefully help me bridge into something extremely exciting. I've been social, I've been solitary. I've been taking the same self portrait over and over. Me, alone, standing in front of my window, trying to look positive, sometimes succeeding. But mostly, I've been walking. A walk which today I put off yesterday because I didn't sleep all so well the past couple of nights and I didn't want to go out during the peak heat of the afternoon.
I've had a few offers over the summer from people who have wanted to join me on my daily constitutional. But to be perfectly honest, I actually enjoy the solitary stroll. There's something about walking alone with some music to drown out the sound of the traffic that I find relaxing. I'm free to daydream as I wish and I don't have to worry about making interesting conversation. My walks are about the only time that I really love being alone.
I've spent the majority of the summer being very self-involved. It was all about sorting things out for myself, dealing with the end of a relationship and working on a project that would hopefully help me bridge into something extremely exciting. I've been social, I've been solitary. I've been taking the same self portrait over and over. Me, alone, standing in front of my window, trying to look positive, sometimes succeeding. But mostly, I've been walking. A walk which today I put off yesterday because I didn't sleep all so well the past couple of nights and I didn't want to go out during the peak heat of the afternoon.
I've had a few offers over the summer from people who have wanted to join me on my daily constitutional. But to be perfectly honest, I actually enjoy the solitary stroll. There's something about walking alone with some music to drown out the sound of the traffic that I find relaxing. I'm free to daydream as I wish and I don't have to worry about making interesting conversation. My walks are about the only time that I really love being alone.
It's one of those nights when you can't sleep even though your body is
exhausted. It's just too hot. Or it's just too late.
