20080129

It may be salient to point out that my normal body temperature is 96.1°F. With that, we begin.

So. I stopped hallucinating. Which is good. It may help to point out that hallucinations are not what we normally count as de rigueur in this Danish household. The point being: I was recently ill.

Friday evening, the Monk and I were both feeling a little cough-y. That ticklish throat that expresses its ambitious grasping by proclaiming itself boldly and with ever more voluminous abandon. By Saturday morning, it was official. A package arrived with a friendly ratta-tap-tat on our front door. The package, once opened, was discovered to contain two handsomely framed parchments, each sealed in golden foil with the governor's ensign and declaring in most officious terms our condition: We were sick.

Yet while neither of us were in the best of states, the Monk's white blood cells seemed less prone to insubourdination and as the day progressed, I seemed to fare for the worse of it. No matter. It was nothing that couldn't be overcome with high technology. However, lacking high technology, I opted for brand-name pharmaceuticals and rest. But not before finishing Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere.

The last of it there is where my chief mistake was wrought.

As it turned, the light fever with which I embarked for the evening's celebration of Lily White's party quickly departed for a more relaxing engagement and in her stead I was introduced to a cousin from out of town—whom, it happens, the boys all call, quote-unquote, High Fever. (I think she introduced herself to me as Ditchwater Sal, but that's neither hither nor thither at the moment.)

In any case, my Saturday night was far from restful. I dreamt horrible dreams and woke to find them given new life. Or vice versa. When one embarks into such a state of delirium, one becomes wholly unable to distinguish with any clarity the real from the unreal. The one thing I can be certain of is that more than mere hallucination, these visions had narrative structure and more than mere dreams, these experiences continued well into wakefulness.

And worse by far were these deliriums made by the subject of my light reading for the week. I had been engaging Gaiman's twist on the London underground and the urban mythology he crafted around and throughout his novel endeavor. The story is not dissimilar to any of those fish-out-of-water tales in which an ordinary protagonist is somehow propelled into fantastic surrounding, learns to take the wondrous at face value, and thrives to the extent that he learns to love his new world better than his old. Such things occur in Neverwhere as in any good faerytale/fantasy exploration of the type. Rats talk. Resurrection is not uncommon. Night swallows people whole. Doors lead to impossible places. Angels treat with men. And death is loquacious.

Only, Neverwhere dirties it up a bit. Gaiman applies a coat of grimy, urban filth to the whole thing. It's as if he took The Princess Bride and dipped it into a sewer.

And so, with my mind all set upon the naturality of accepting the impossible—for it was only by such acquiesce that the hero of my evening's indulgence ever made good in his newfound world—I was primed to give full heed to my unheralded visions through the night. And these were not your garden-variety hallucinations featuring mice in boxcars racing grand prix laps in the segments of one's ceiling tile nor the colours and streaks of light and sound that perpetrate amongst the more romantic recollections of the popular use of lysergic acid diethylamide.

No, these visions were abstract and complex, featuring something more than an object, more than an ideology, and more than a geometry. That something was called The Frame and its iteration in one form or another was repeated throughout the course and cause of a fearsome ten-hour span. Its meaning and importance was impressed upon me while other images struggled to alert me to overtones of extreme danger. And yes, there was indeed an angel who appeared. Islington. A direct, in fact, contribution from Mr. Gaiman. Through my time that Saturday night, I bore witness to many dark things and humiliations and was ever further prompted to alert the world to the importance of accepting and being governed by The Frame and its rule.

So, in short. I'm starting a cult.

Okay, we'll, I'm not really motivated enough to do anything like that, but I don't doubt that if Joseph Smith actually believed that he talked to Moroni that it happen in the presence (and perhaps at the whim) of Ms. High Fever. That or he had a sizeable run-in with Señor Peyote.

So, the end of the matter was that some time well into the wakeful hours of Sunday morning, I finally emerged from my séance of the mind (in which I had presumably made contact with all the brain cells that had just died) as my fever cooled to reasonable standards. It is a shame that while at the height of my horror I didn't have the presence of mind to record my temperature because I'd really like to know exactly which degree I should try to avoid in the future. All I know is that at 101.7°F, I am a cool, calm, collected, and altogether rational fellow with no hint of hallucinizing to be seen, so my temperature would have had to be significantly higher for me to undergo the level of madness that enveloped me that evening.

Oh, and recall please that my normal body temperature is 96.1°F, so ninety-eight-point-six, for me, is a 101° fever.

20080124

Here is a cute one. Written to Monk's parents who were generous this Christmas. The "Ticket to Ride" line refers to a boardgame (Ticket to Ride) that is coming in the mail at some point.

You got us both lots
     of treasures and gifts—
So many, in fact,
     the Earth's axis did shift!

From right unto left,
     the gist of its tilt;
But please do not feel
     one moment of guilt.

We both quite enjoyed
     each present you wrapped,
Though jungles now flourish
     at the polar ice cap.

The CDs of music
     and stories read 'loud
Keep us warm in this winter
     of snow-laden clouds.

When Ticket to Ride
     arrives by the post,
We're sure to submerge
     with all the West Coast.

Your kindness was great.
     Our thanks greater still.
Sacremento is certain
     to send you a bill.

We love you both much
     and hope that you're fine.
Our soul's gracious thanks
     for the sweet Christmastime.

20080123

---

Novel: Drama/Comedy.
By Mark Haddon.
240 pages.

I'm not really sure what to say about this one. I really can't generate strong feelings one way or another on its behalf. It wasn't bad but it wasn't good - and conversely, it wasn't good but it wasn't bad. It had likeable moments and parts that I laughed at. And some of Haddon's descriptions were priceless (e.g., the "chickeny scrotum" bit). But then there was the rest of it. I kept feeling that if it was either good or bad, I would have relished finishing it so that I could relish talking about it.

But it wasn't. And so I didn't. It was, I guess, the most mediocre book I've ever read. Everything works as a perfect counter-balance for everything else.

The characters are almost uniformly unlikeable - as well as being flatly conceived. But then the tone of the book is largely humourous and brisk. Every event in the novel feels contrived and every dialogue scripted. But the things that are said are sometimes funny and the situations make it possible for more funny things to be said. And so on.

In then end, if you ask me whether I liked the book, I'd simply have to respond with a shrug and one of those perplexed looks that doubles for I don't know.

Rating:

NOTE: far more interesting than the actual book is the author's account of the bloody illustration that ended up on newer addtions of the book. Unfortunately, mine was a not-so-endearing cover. I think I probably would have enjoyed the book more had I been properly primed for it by the cover.

---

Board Game.
Players: 2-6 .
Time commitment: 1.5–3 hours.
$59.99 (retail).

We've been playing a lot of (though not enough) Railroad Tycoon lately. It was one of those games that I passed in the store a great number of times while thinking, Trains? That looks pretty lame. Even looking at pictures of the game makes it look kinda dull. But then, pictures of pretty much every game make those games look dull. Board games simply are not meant to be seen and evaluated in static images. Settlers looked lame. Puerto Rico looked dull. Power Grid looked yawn-inducing. Even Tikal, which boasts a beautiful board, looked tedious.

So then, after a little research and some glowing reviews, we purchased Railroad Tycoon (the board game).

Quite honestly, it's been a lot of fun. The strategy changes from game to game as the set up of the board is somewhat random. But here let's talk about how the game works.

RT takes place in the era of the American railrod magnates (the titular tycoons). Each player takes the role of one of these kings of the line (e.g., Gould, Morgan, and Farnam—and each having their own secret goals and ambitions) and works to create the most impressive and powerful railroad empire the Eastern U.S. has ever seen. This is accomplished by building railroad lines between cities and delivering goods from one end of your line to a city that will process a particular type of good. Addtionally, through the course of the game, railroad technology develops and each tycoon will begin using (and paying for) better, more powerful engines in order to ship goods further and make more money.

At game's start, each city on the board is stocked with a variety of goods cubes (each color of cube represents a different kind of good that can be transported). The colour of the cubes placed on each city is random and can vastly affect strategies for the duration of the game. Additionally, the larger the city, the more goods that city has at the beginning (e.g., New York and Chicago have more to ship than Des Moines). Players participate in an auction to see who gets to go first and each player must sell shares of stock in order to begin building—as everybody starts the game with no money. So then, track is laid, goods are delivered, newer engines are built, and money is earned and spent.

(and no, I don't know who these two people are, but it proves that the game is enjoyed by girls with too much eyeliner.)

The game is fun and frustrating and will inevitably involve players cutting each other off in order to gain the best possible railroad lines and move goods before others get the chance. There is, then, a certain level of cut-throat mechanic at play—though not nearly as bad as in some games.

The quality of the board and components is above average for a non-special-edition version of a game. The board is huge, thick, and takes up most of our table (the table is square and seats eight, about 60"x60"). Each player gets a bag of plastic trains—which is cool by any measure. The cardboard chits are thick and sturdy (the game doesn't feel cheap—which is appropriate as it wasn't found in the bargain bin by any stretch). The cards, shares, and money are also very high quality; I've never played a game with game money as nice as this. All told, a very well-put-together game.

In sum, the game is great fun. We can't wait to play again.

Rating:

---

20080121

Over the last decades, I've been investigating various pizza establishments and trying to find the places that are worth paying attention to and the places that aren't and the places that are if only for the sake of avoiding them and in so doing driving them from the business. And now, over the past few months I've been developing a hierarchy of pizza joints since hierarchies-be-damned, crass categorization sure is a helpful way to render snap judgments on things. So then, here we are. My five-tiered pyramid of pizza!

Tier 1: The Third Heaven

Gina's Pizza

It's truth is unquestionable in my mind. When talking straight pizza (not this gourmet stuff that looks like pizza but doesn't much taste like it), Gina's is the undisputed lord and ruler over the domain. Their dough is perfect, their cheese luscious, and their ingredients fresh. No longer living near the coast, I am unable to indulge in their pizza cuisine nearly as often as I could even four years ago. Of course that just makes my trips to Laguna or Corona del Mar even more greatly prized.

Tier 2: Top of the World

California Pizza Kitchen

Peppino's

Round Table Pizza

These are some great pizzas. They keep me nearly satisfied while I am unable to carve out the time to visit Gina's. One of the keys is the very fresh ingredients. A piece of advice: find out when your store gets its produce delivered and go the next day (any good store will have exhausted its old stock and will have broken into the fresh stuff by the day after any delivery).

Of the three, Round Table is perhaps my favourite. I order, on their original thin crust (many people make the mistake of ordering their thick crust or their extra thin - I say go with what made them popular in the first place, the original thin), their Maui Zowie pizza. This is a pizza with ham, chopped bacon, pineapple, red onion, and green onion with what they term "Polynesian sauce" in place of regular pizza sauce (the sauce is both sweet and spicy, having bits of pepper seed wading through the murky depths of the sauce). They have other great pizzas and toppings, but I tend to gravitate toward this particular wonder.

CPK is great for their ability to accommodate a wide variety of tastes. I've been hundreds of times over the last five years and have yet to order anything straight off the menu. If you frequent one of their stores with any regularity, I recommend asking to substitute their soy-ginger chili sauce (it's the sauce that they use special with their Sesame Ginger Chicken Dumplings - so if you just call it the dumpling sauce, they should figure it out) in place of regular pizza sauce and build a pizza that will work well that sauce's unique flavours. I personally have found two kinds of pizzas work well with it: 1) something using the combination of their sweet sausage and their spicy sausage and maybe some mushrooms and red onions; 2) something Hawaiian-y, maybe Canadian bacon, their applewood smoked bacon, pineapple, and red onions.

Peppino's is an Italian restaurant and has an awesome marinara sauce. Their pizzas are ridiculously tasty and are one of the finest examples of what a classic pizza should be. Their crust is flakey and buttery and one of the best around. Their sauce is virtuoso. And their toppings have a workman-like integrity: nothing special, but they get the job done in such a way that they neither get in the way nor are notable by their absence. (Incidentally, their pasta is just as good.)

Tier 3: Metropolis

BJ's (Chicago-style)

Cicero's Pizzeria

Nick-N-Willy's

Red Brick Pizza

Selma's (Chicago-style)

Woodstock Pizza

zpizza

These are all perfectly acceptable pizzas. They may even sometimes stray into the realm of Good. Sometimes. They're fine for if you happen to be there and hungry for pizza or if somebody else picked up the pie and it's only your job to enjoy it. The toppings are usually fresh and the crusts are usually pretty good. There's nothing wrong here, but they don't get as much play from me because, Hey, if you're gonna go out for pizza and have the opportunity to choose, why choose good when you can choose great.

Tier 4: Cleveland

Uptown:

Ballpark Pizza

Papa John's

Pizza Hut

The average Italian Restaurant

This stuff is definitely below average. This is where you start seeing coupons for food enough to feed six or seven adults (complete with beverages and maybe even breadsticks or wing) for under twenty bucks. This is not a good place to be - and certainly not often. The uptown of Tier 4 is a neighbourhood into which one might venture if one has fifteen people over for a party and you're just looking for something cheap and easy, but there's really no sense in visiting this station under ordinary circumstances. Abstinence from the fourth tier will be a boon to both bowel and buds.

Additionally, this is where you'll find most Italian restaurants. Which is fine because they're likely specializing in pasta dishes, not pizzas. I really only know this because I don't really like pasta so much and pretty much default to pizza. One might then gather that trips to Italian restaurants (save for Peppino's above) are never really a thrilling experience for me. One might then also gather correctly.

Downtown:

Domino's

Little Caesars

Sbarro

Most homemade pizzas

This is the worst of the worst. This is the stuff that you should only put in your mouth if you're a guest somewhere and would really rather not risk offending whoever is feeding you this slop they call pizza. It may shock and dishearten you to see "most homemade pizzas" listed right next to your common purveyor of mall-borne evil, Sbarro. But this is certainly the case.

Among the worst pizzas I've ever had are more than a fistful of homemade attempts. I'm not sure exactly why it is that homemade pizzas are generally so bad, but my suspicion is twofold: 1) conventional ovens are not designed to properly cook a pizza, and 2) whatever recipes are being used for dough are a real problem. It's not that I blame people for trying to cook pizza at home - after all, the sheer breadth of variety in the things that one can make better at home than at a restaurant is astounding; rather, I blame them for not testing their recipes on themselves first before offering me the equivalent of a Little Caesars or Sbarro quote-unquote pizza.

Tier 5: The Underworld

Pizza Dudes (apparently doesn't have a site)

Frozen pizzas

Romanian pizza

Street pizza

[Update:that "pizza bread" served at high school cafeterias in Orange County (least they did at Valley)]

This final and lowest tier is reserved for that which has deigned to call itself by the name Pizza but is really nothing of the sort. Pizza Dudes (or "Dude" - it's been a while...) is without exception the very worst thing to go by the name pizza that I have ever had from any kind of commercial purveyor of the stuff as served in an American restaurant. Romanian pizza is almost universally bad, but I suspect that this has more to do with the lack of quality cheese availability (I think cheddar is a chiefly American delight). Granted it has been fifteen years since my last frozen pizza and I may be missing out on the further exploration of pizza technologies developed across the intervening years, but frozen pizza - as I remember it - is right up there with street pizza.

20080118

So in reading a recent post by Rich on Christ and Pop-Culture, I was reminded of a problem I have with medium-differentiation as regards the communication arts. Rich mentioned that various media (e.g., television, film, music, literature) "are drastically different in what their primary uses are, how they are received, the amount of influence they can have, and their conditioning effects on our culture."

While I think he's overstating a bit* to say that they are drastically different, it is true that we retain a special set of vocabulary to discuss film and another to discuss literature and another for music. One will often talk about mis-en-scene when referring to film, rarely when speaking of literature, and almost never when discussing music. A musical work may be noted as being syncopated, but any use of the term to refer to literature is just a critic blowing air up your skirt. One might refer to gutter width in reference to comic books, but would never use the terminology to describe television shows.

So yeah, there are differences. I guess. We have these broad categories, but really, how helpful are they when so much of what is produced crosses boundaries?

Isn't television really just the same medium as film? Motion pictures and all that. We have theatrically released film, direct-to-video film, film on dvd, film as televised on cable, television miniseries (e.g., Pride and Prejudice), serial television (e.g., Lost), episodic television (e.g., The Office), and hundreds of other nooks and crannies. Are cinema and television different media? Probably only in the way that Cinemascope and Cinerama and IMAX are different.

And then there's animation. Animation is clearly different in certain respects to its live-action cousin, but Wikipedia borders on imbecilic in referring to animation as a film genre. Is animation drawing and painting, sequential art, or motion picture? Or all three? And how much does it matter?

And then there's the question of comics. I come across the occasional article in which a writer hopes to identify the examples from the body of comic work that elevate to the level of literature. Elevate? Is there really such a hierachry of media? And what are comics anyway? The format is that of a book or periodical, but the visual storytelling is at least as important as the visual storytelling. I've even read people who suggest that "reading" is the inappropriate terminology for the absorption of comic storytelling for the same reason that one does not read a film or watch a song. So clearly (?), comics are their own medium, but there is so much overlap with other media that one is forced to wonder what the point is of categorizing.

My suspicion is that such categorization is less a matter of distinct and "drastic" differences (as Rich mentions), but more a case of lazy critics needing an easy way to pigeonhole their stuff. In reality, so much of what we engage from the creative community is akin to what we often see in art galleries: mixed media. And in the end, is the way we interact with these things really all that different? Sure, some formats of creative communication are more engaging to the senses while others rely more upon other centers of brain function, but in the end, there doesn't seem to be any differences beyond the superficial between things like television, film, comics, music, painting, sculpture, dance, poetry, animation, literature, and oratory. And the mechanism by which we interpret each seems to be the same: after the barriers of translation are removed, doesn't it just take simple, thoughtful reflect to engage the product?

*note: where "a bit" equals "a lot."

20080117

The following is the Christmas loot that accumulated in the Danish household this year. Good times are being had by all.

Guitar Hero III

This was among the top wishes I held nearly and truly to my heart. A wish fulfilled, one might be tempted to say. So far, the song choices are awesome. We've unlocked all the two-player songs and I'm almost to the end of the one-player songs. My favourites so far are "Black Magic Woman" by Santana and "My Name Is Jonas" by Weezer (essentially the song is just a big fiesta of hammer-ons and pull-offs). I can't say I'm overjoyed at the battle mode, but since you only have to play a couple times, I can give it a pass. I'm also sad that they made my rocker of choice, Judy Nails, into a slutty ol' slut-slut. *sigh* Price of fame, I guess.

Ticket to Ride

Has not actually arrived yet. We're having so much fun with Railroad Tycoon that entertaining another rails games almost sound decadent, but my motto is that you can never have too many games that don't suck - and from all accounts, Ticket to Ride does not suck.

Risk 2210 A.D.*

I have never played Risk in my life. I've seen the board once. I've imagined it was a far less complicated version of Axis & Allies, which I have played. Apparently in this future-Risk, you can launch attacks from the moon. I don't know if that is rad or not, but I'll say it is and spare you the opportunity to dash my hopes. I won this gift in the office gift exchange.

5000-piece puzzle (Pieter Bruegel the Elder, The Tower of Babel)
and
5000-piece puzzle (Giovanni Paolo Panini, Modern Rome)

It was only after opening these that 5000 pieces began to seem extravagant. Oh yeah, and after finding out that the puzzles can't actually fit on our dining room table (which seats eight). In any case, they should be rad when they are completed. In A.D. 2210, when bombs are falling from the moon.

Paprika

As I said when it came out last Sring/Summer/June, Paprika is, beyond any fashioning of doubt, worth seeing. It was easily the best animated anything to come out in 2007. People keep saying, "Ooh! Ratatouille!" Comparing Ratatouille to Paprika is like comparing a couple day-old donut holes to a sizzling, medium-rare New York strip nestled sweetly in the comforting presence of an Idaho baked potato. But yeah, I guess there are people who really can't get enough of their day-old donut holes.

Whisper of the Heart

I really have a hard time choosing my favourite Miyazaki film. Generally, I'm torn in four ways between this and Spirited Away and Porco Rosso and Princess Mononoke. Whisper of the Heart takes the lead maybe 29% of the time.

Matrix Revolutions

I'm one of those cinematic pariahs who actually enjoyed Matrix films past the first one, so rounding out the trilogy was a cool thing.

Love Actually

Actually, one of my favourite Christmas movies. I'm almost always in the mood for this one.

Mirrormask

As reviewed previously, Mirrormask was one of my favourite films seen last year. Even though it was only seen on dvd. I guess that's good though - because the gift was the dvd. I can't wait to indulge again in McKean's sumptuous imagery. Also note, this is the beginning of a long line of Neil Gaiman-related gifts this year.

Stardust by Neil Gaiman

Told you.

I hadn't seen the movie, but it looked fun and whimsical. My only mistake was asking for a particular addition (I typically include ISBN numbers in my wishlists in order to be the utmost aid to friends and relatives) not knowing that it was a text-only addition and did not contain the gorgeous page-by-page illustrations of one Charles Vess. So far the book is engaging and fantastical and the Monk is reading it to me while we drive yon and hither.

Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman

I'm about halfway through this and enjoying it. Gaiman really does exhibit a wonderful sort of imagination. I made the mistake last week of picking up the graphic novel adaptation of the story and promptly put it down as the artist made all the characters look clownish and silly. I really don't need those images invading my reading of the book.

Finn Family Moomintroll by Tove Jannson

Highly recommended by a certain Bean we know. The drawings are fun, though I can't yet vouch for the story - as the Monk has been monopolizing Moomintime.

Wolves in the Walls by Neil Gaiman
and
The Day I Swapped My Dad for Two Goldfish by Neil Gaiman

The Monk collects good children's stories, so these were a fun gift. Gaiman and McKean's kids stuff is filled with that kind of charming, wide-eyed sort of horror that brings kids back time and again. We saw The Wolves in the Walls last Spring in a store and, flipping through it, knew that it would some day have to be ours.

Mechademia, vol. 1

This has been an utterly fascinating read. Mechademia is an annual journal attempting to approach manga and anime from an academic perspective. I'm only three articles in but find the approach both a challenge and an interest. So far, there has been a lot of talk about Japanese "soft power" and the "de-odorization" of Japanese culture for international export. I was also surprised to read that in the last decade, the export of manga has surpassed the automotive industry to become Japan's leading export. The whole thing has been very enlightening so far.

If You Want to Write by Brenda Ueland

This should be an interesting read. The book is highly regarded as an a tool for burgeoning authors; though from my glances through, it seems a bit heavy on the everyone-has-talent and you-can-do-it-if-you-try sentiment - which is just so clearly untrue. Still, I hope to find inspiration for perspiration within.

Mouse Guard, Fall 1152

Mouse Guard is a truly charming adventure and the art is gorgeous. I cannot wait until Winter 1152

The NIV Application Commentary: Ecclesiastes, Song of Songs by Ian Provain

This should be fun. I got it for the commentary on SoS (since I've never heard any teaching on the book that I'd consider worthwhile), but glancing through the section on Ecclesiastes makes it sound intriguing too. The author places the authorship of the book at a relatively late date, which gels with my own understanding that it was written post-exile, so that's nice; it's always hard to get into a commentary when the author's presuppositions about the text are vastly different from one's own.

Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard

"The Pulitzer Prize-winning Pilgrim at Tinker Creek is a series of interconnected essays which challenge the listener to contemplate the natural world beyond its commonplace surfaces." I have never read any Dillard, but it sounds interesting.

180 More: Extraordinary Poems for Every Day by Billy Collins
and
The Trouble with Poetry: And Other Poems by Billy Collins

Despite having been read one or two worthwhile poems by Collins, these two collections were not gifts for me and I don't expect to benefit much from their presence in my house. But life is full of surprises. Like death. And ponies.

The Neil Gaiman Audio Collection

Gaiman himself reading several of his children's stories, including the two mentioned above as gifts as well as Coraline, which I reviewed last spring. Gaiman is a surprising reader and his choices (though not my own) work pretty well with his texts.

Eva Cassidy, Songbird

After listening through this disc, the Monk asked why it was that we didn't have more Eva Cassidy albums (before Christmas, we only had one, the glorious Time after Time). This is an obvious problem and bears much attention.

Yo Yo Ma, Simply Baroque

This is actually very pleasant stuff. I was playing Morrowind with this chugging through iTunes and Morrowind's music volume notched to naught. It was the perfect game experience. Except that the music no longer changes when I'm being attacked for behind. So I get surprised a lot now.

Momokawa Sake, Ruby

Yummay!

Lots of Chocolate

Ditto!

Silly Putty

Not yummay!

Knitting set and instructional manual

Ditto!

A set of Christmasy butter knives

We already have butter knives and I don't really like having special utensils to match the holiday. Though some National High-Five Day sporks would be pretty fine additions to any household.

Various Giftcards and cash donations

Yummay!

*note: please don't blame me for the inappropriateness of having A.D. come after the date.

20080116

My black Chuck Taylor's are nearly ready to give up the ghost. Or maybe they're almost ready to become haunted. I don't know which, but I do know that for some time friends and foes alike have been telling me that its time to sport some new kicks. I think I bought these shoes sometime around 2001. Since then, Nike purchased Converse and changed the shoe. So far as I'm aware, the shoe is no longer canvas* and is now built by the sweat of shops.

So I've been researching alternative shoes. One's that are both canvas and not made unethically. But this post is not about my shoes.

While scouring the Interthing for an appropriate piece of footwear, I stumbled upon something uberfascinating. A book called Design Anarchy. With free chapter samples.

The book looks interesting and has some good things to say - along with some stuff that doesn't quite approach that pleasant adjective. I'll talk about its content in another post, but in this one, I'm simply going to make fun of the title and concept.

While the book's goal of liberating designers from the bonds of pop sensibilities bears some positive attention, its title is confused. Design anarchy just isn't really possible. If the book treated the aspects of design closely tied into the pop-anarchy sub-culture, that would be one thing. But even though the book's design looks like that, it purports to bring anarachy to design rather than vice versa. But it can't work.

The thing about design is that it is absolutely governed by the designer. It has defined teleology.** To bring anarachy into design is to make it no longer design at all. Without rules, standards, guidelines, governance, design is impossible. And as these things are antithetical to any real anarchy, the book's idea is impossible. In fact, the book itself sets up its own government, not only by its own use of pop-anarchy design but by its advocation of particular stylistic elements over others.

In any case, the book seems to be a mix of compelling ideas and over-inflated self-importance, so I'd really like to read it.

*note: some sort of synthetic instead.

**note: even if only a telos developed in the vague and sub-vague consciousness of the designer.

20080115

Because Debi asked, here's a brief bit about how to get a Photoshop brush to mimic up a fair approximation of a watercolour piece. This'll mostly be of interest to Photoshop users - though the video may be neat to watch for those interested in seeing a blank canvas get filled with colour way too quickly.

I use a combination of self-designed brushes and custom ones I found wandering the barren cyberscapes of the Interthing. For this particular project, I used a brush developed by Nagel (Nagel?), though its a simple enough process that any Photoshop user can do it. First, I'll demonstrate how to create the brush and then I'll demonstrate in a video how I used the new brush to paint the background wash for my Thank You notes.

To create a brush in Photoshop, one first needs a black-and-white image that will be a single instance of the brush. Let's call this SW01 (shorthand for Seth's Watercolour 01). The image I used as the base for SW01 is pretty much exactly this:

You can save this image and open it in Photoshop to create the brush for yourself, if you like. The below image shows what this brush looks like all zoomed in and stuff.

Once the image is open in Photoshop, go to Edit > Define Brush Preset on your menu. As prompted, give it a name. Now, open a new document in Photoshop, select the Brush Tool, and open the Brush Palette. Under the Brush Presets heading of the Brush Palette, find the new preset you just made.

Now that you've selected the right brush, you can edit its details. Checkmark Shape Dynamics and set its variables to match the picture below. You'll notice that for size, I've set the control to Pen Pressure. Using a drawing tablet is essential, and while there is still some degree of functionality in using the mouse to paint with, it is really probably so impoverished a tool that its not worth creating this brush without access to a tablet. You'll note that the Angle Jitter is set high. This is to keep your strokes from looking to computer generated.

Next are the Scattering settings. Small amount of Scatter to help keep your painting from looking to regular.

Under Dual Brush, set your mode to Opacity and play around with your brushes till you find one that creates a good effect on your brush. I chose a somewhat speckled brush in this case, but I change this around on projects depending on my need. Feel free to test and experiment.

Lastly, checkmark Noise, Wet Edges, and Smoothing. These are the settings that will give your brush its liquid feel.

And the next lastly: click on the menu button in the top corner of your Brushes Palette to get the context sensitive menu and select New Brush Preset. Whatever you name this brush, that is where you will find on the Brush Presets the brush with this particular shape and settings.

And now, here is a demonstration of how I use this kind of brush. Key to this kind of painting is frequent tonal adjustments. When you have the Brush Tool selected, holding the ALT-key in Windows will briefly switch you over to the eyedropper tool with which you can quickly sample a new Foreground Colour (rather than going to the trouble to open the Colour Picker). So you'll notice me doing this frequently. As well, you can adjust your brush's Flow to suit your needs - the lower your flow on this brush, the more rough your stroke will be.

Photoshop Sample - Watercolour Brushes from The Dane on Vimeo.

20080114

This Christmas, to help get me in the mood for writing Thank You notes (an activity that all alive know can be a soul-wilting prospect under the best of circumstances), I took a note from my efforts with the wedding Thank Yous from way back when. I painted* a cute little orchid scene (as seen above in the masthead for this post or more expansively here) and printed it thrice upon a sheet of 8.5x11 - so that when cut just right, I'd have three vertical notecards that would be perfect fits for standard envelopes.

And of course, what is homemade stationary without a poetic Thank You note gracing its humble plane. So, here are two such examples. This first is for a dashing fellow who got us a pile of classical music.

Thanks for the music—
     such a wonderful treat!
So many composers
     put a spring in our feet.

With cellos, violas,
     and cymbals and more.
With grand ol’ pianos
     to even the score.

The horns softly trumpet
     a victorious lilt.
On percussions’ rhythm
      foundations are built.

There’s Bach and Beethoven
     John Williams and Mozart.
Music to calm
     maybe even a stoat’s heart.

Wagner and Verdi
     and Handel’s "Messiah."
Verdi’s Italian,
     I’ll-a give him a try-a!

There’s Shubert and Gershwin,
     Chopin and Tchaikovsky.
To any of these,
     I would loan out my loft’s key.

So here once again,
     I offer my thanks,
For CDs of music,
     and the cool fish tanks.

p.s. just kidding about the tanks!

This second effort goes out to a family who had us over for dinner on Christmas day. The husband and father-figure is a composer of great and various talent and he spent an hour or so playing samples from the wide variety of pieces he's composed, some noble and grand, some less so. Like a commercial piece he did for Taco Bell's book series Todd and the Talking Piñata (which we spent the better part of the next two weeks having stuck in our heads).

Thanks for the dinner:
     the shrimp and the salad.
Your efforts deserve
     a rock-fantasy ballad.

With dragons and bats
     and a fierce ring of fire.
And the power of love
     and a funeral pyre.

Yet despite all our hopes,
     it seems fortune has balked,
‘Cuz stuck in our heads?
     The piñata that talked.

So thanks for the fun
     on that great Christmas date,
But I’m sorry to say
     that your song—it must wait!

*note: I painted it in Photoshop, so take that for what it's worth.

20080110

Some time ago, I heard a question that shocked me and then riddled me with a morbid sort of glee. From a sixth-grader:

Who's King Arthur?

Now the important thing is the tone and tenor she invested in the question's delivery. But first, let's examine the context of the exclamation

We had been playing Apples to Apples, one of those party games that inevitably sunders the relationships between families, friends, and once-possible future love interests because its entire mechanism for scoring relies wholly upon that most fickle of justices, a single player's subjective taste. To be fair, Apples to Apples is probably my second favourite party game (being one of the two in which I will willingly and almost happily participate); still, that doesn't alter the reality that it is a statistical fact that the irrevocable turning point of 74% of all marriages toward divorce is the playing of such games.*

Anyway, the idea is that the judge of the round (i.e., the victim of forthcoming animosity and/or divorce) holds a card upon which is written a word. Perhaps an adjective. Perhaps dismissive or villainous or even, if you can imagine it, boring. All other competitor holds a hand of five-to-seven cards upon each of which is written a term. Perhaps these are nominatives. Perhaps Earl Grey tea or Three-Mile Island or even, again if your imagination bears such rigour, my love life. Or even, perhaps the most astonishing inclusion of all: King Arthur. Now the goal is to choose the card from your hand that best matches the card in the judge's Clenched Fist of Arbitrary Justice (+3 Sta, +2 Agi, -2 Wis, and 20% Frost Resist) is not important to the tale with which I presently regale.

No, what is important here is merely the expression that sprung from this dear lass the moment she considered the cards that lay before her. I reiterate for the fleet-minded:

Who's King Arthur?

The force and vigour with which these words were proclaimed were only remarkable when one fails to recall the arrogant distaste with which youth so often approaches the ever-broadening perspective of life, as if anything outside of current knowledge is not only clearly and obviously irrelevant to all life but that too such information is a horrible affront to acceptable social dignity. In youth, as ever, ignorance is brash and distrusts gravely that which is unencountered.

"Who's King Arthur?" As if King Arthur deserves to be known. "Who's King Arthur?" As if anyone knows who he is! "Who's King Arthur?" What kind of horrible game would expect me to bother knowing something so clearly obscure as that? "Who's King Arthur?" What kind of pariah would actually know who King Arthur is?**

So even though I probably oughtn't to have been surprised, I was. Perhaps not so much with the distaste with which she approached her ignorance, but more with the fact that we live in a world in which a sixth-grader in America has no idea who King Arthur is!

Gawain? Percival? I could see that. Bedivere? Sure. Even Galahad and Morgan le Fey. I could see a certain lack of cultural affixation there. I might even give a pass to an absent knowledge of Lancelot or Guinevere. But Arthur? Wow, that's like not knowing who Merlin is. Or that strumpet in the lake. Or Robin Hood. There's even a Disney movie Arthur - though to be fair, they make him an anthropomorphic animal or have him scat like Phil Harris.

At this point, I would continue but grow bored. And so I cease...

THE END

*note: of the remaining divorces, 16% hinge on an instance of infidelity (real or imagined), 4% on irreconcilable musical tastes, 3% on an indefinable sense of ennui, 2% on general misanthropy, and the final 1% on lace as a decorating motif.***

**note: I realize that an American who does not know who King Arthur is likely doesn't know what a pariah is either...

***note: yeah, I thought that lace would place higher too; we should be grateful for the evidently strong levels of patience in our country.

20080102

Destination:
Kearney, Nebraska via Denver, Colorado.

Itinerary:
Flight from John Wayne canceled. Rebooked from LAX at same time. Scramble to find new ride last minute. Rush to airport. Snowbound in Denver wearing L.A. clothes (jackets and everything in checked luggage). Wait in snow for shuttle to hotel that is 45 minutes from airport. Rush to airport next morning to discover flight delayed by several hours. Arrive in Kearney 27 hours late. Would kill for clean socks. Luggage (containing Christmas presents and everything else) arrives 4 hours after us. By van.

Vacation:
Time in Kearney reduced from a poor-valued* 3½ days to a pitiable2½ days.

Destination:
John Wayne, Orange County via Denver, Colorado and Las Vegas, Las Vegas. To be picked up at 10:30pm on New Year's Eve by friends.

Itinerary:
Flight from Kearney delayed by an hour (eating our layover cushion in Denver). Run from plane down concourse from Gate 63 to Gate 37. The door to boarding has closed, but they let us on anyway. We say goodbye to our luggage here. Flight arrives in Las Vegas on time. Airport is a ghost town. There are no maps. Wander and get far too much exercise, finally discovering that we must go to ticketing and re-enter through security. We do so, booked on a 9:oo flight for Orange County. Approach our Gate A15 (on the other side of the airport - which has slot machines everywhere) to see that our flight is canceled. Reroute to LAX. Friends are called and relieved of their duty as the airline has promised us a free shuttle home. LAX flight is delayed. We arrive in L.A. after 11:oo pm and fill out missing baggage forms and receive voucher for shuttle. Wait 40 minutes for shuttle. Driver says that the voucher is to take us to John Wayne, not Mission Viejo (it costs us an extra $50 to be driven home). Drive from LAX to Mission Viejo takes slightly over 3 hours (being furthest south, other passengers get dropped off earlier).

Conclusion:
I will never travel again. And I am still missing my clothes, tooth brush, deodorant, and who knows what else. I found, this morning, a message on my phone from 1:43 am last night from a driver at my complex' gate, trying to get me to open up. 1:43. Joy.

*note: in terms of time vs. money.