teabowl

I’m sure everyone else knows about this already, but I’m so delighted that I just had to ‘report’ on it anyway :)

Starbucks Canada is offering 2 hours of free wireless on their Bell Hotspots for Starbucks Card customers who have registered their Starbucks Cards. So not only do you get free soy milk and/or flavour shots if you register your Starbucks Card, but you can also spend a delightful two hours working/surfing at Starbucks if, like me today, you find yourself with an unexpected couple of hours away from your desk between meetings and don’t want to cough up the exhorbitant Bell Hotspot fees.

Apparently, Starbucks is introducing a Stabucks Rewards program this fall, and the free wireless offer will be transitioned into that - I wonder if you’ll have points to spend on wifi access?

Anyway, go get yourself a grande soy latte and some free Internet while it lasts.

It’s heartening to see that there are rock ‘n’ roll acts who age gracefully. I think this is particularly (maybe a little too) important for those of us who would still like to think of themselves as a little counter-cultural, or at least open to it, not fully on ‘the man’s’ side, not quite bought in/sold out. While actually saying these things may have just caused all of them to happen to me anyway, I’d like to think of myself as someone who’s at best skeptical about many aspects of what society appears to expect from someone who’s 38 (work, life circumstances, where I live, what I wear, how I choose to spend my time, etc.). And so I search for validation for some of these choices as we all do, seeking to affirm them and understand them in the context of what I see others do. Preferably others who have something to say, show or share.

Since I’m such a music nut, looking to rock appears to be a good choice - rock has a lot to offer, continues to be a vital form of music and is filled with interesting characters. But they’re not always beacons of inspiration. I mean, Bono? He’s inimitably larger-than-life at best and wears really bad sunglasses at worst. I won’t build a list of rock musicians and pithy comments here; suffice it to say that successful musicians seem caught in an insect net of ’stardom,’ limiting genre definitions, unfortunate ‘reinventions,’ the drive to develop more-or-less useful charitable or political profiles, and so on. Speaking metaphorically, it sometimes seems that once a rock musician’s career is in full swing, there’s little discernably left of the person. It’s all been lost in a PR maelstrom. And I think what happens frequently (too frequently) is that the music suffers as a result.

Take Coldplay (okay, one more example). They seem like lovely people. Smart, likable, they write good music, support good causes and lead intelligent lives. And yet - once you get to that sort of level of exposure - some almost imperceptible thing sets in where, as Noel Gallagher put it in the August 2008 edition of Mojo, the music becomes afflicted by “the Brian Eno curse.” Why do they need Brian Eno? Is it to try and re-capture the greatness he and U2 achieved on Achtung Baby? Is that realistic? Is it even it? Another reviewer of Coldplay’s latest oeuvre said that they were trying to subtly bring ‘indie’ to major label music (don’t remember where I read this). Realizing that’s exactly what Coldplay tries to do didn’t make me admire them more (as, say, ‘revolutionaries from inside the system’) but rather less. Okay, enough with the exposé - you get my point.

Acts that do inspire, time and again, and that seem to have found a positive balance, a comfortable place in the treacherous tapestry of rock ‘n’ roll ’stardom,’ are therefore a rare and meaningful find. They’re to be cherished. Each new record release or media interview causes me slight anxiety (”Is he going to say something stupid?” - “Have they turned into a retro act?”) and palpable relief when they get it right one more time. Of course I’m fully aware of the carefully constructed nature of it all and realize that - especially when it comes to representing oneself in the media - almost everything can be carefully controlled. Yet I think that the music can’t really lie. I think I, and other listeners, can tell if it sucks. It’s that simple.

Two artists that I return to as resting poles of graceful aging are Paul Weller and Pearl Jam. Weller founded The Jam in the late 70s and, after its demise, saw out the 80s with The Style Council. Two completely different styles done with eloquence, skill and inspiration. Even his more obscure pop-jazz stylings in the 80s were never anything less than an interesting musical and sartorial exploration. Weller has subsequently developed a fabulous solo career that started in the early 90s and continues strongly today. Nine studio albums in, this is rock ‘n’ roll for grown-ups, music that resonates, grooves, makes you think, calls up references from the storied history of popular music as seen through a 50-year-old British musician’s eyes. Paul Weller, in many ways, did everything right - he’s a great and ever-maturing singer, a fabulous guitar player, a man of excellent taste. He’s also an important taste-maker, as evidenced by the many, many leading British musicians who openly acknowledge him as a revered influence (Oasis et al.).

I know Paul Weller’s latest offering has been received cautiously by the critics, but I’ll recommend it here anyway. I think that ‘cautiously’ is the only way one can receive a Paul Weller record that doesn’t immediately reveal itself as the work of rock ‘n’ roll genius… 22 Dreams is full of excellent music, though some of it may not be as accessible as, say, Wild Wood (which - if you don’t own it - you should go and buy immediately). It’s perhaps the prerogative of a gracefully aging rock musician to be ‘allowed’ to conduct gentle experiments and not lose a single follower in the process.

22 Dreams

Paul Weller. Yep Roc Records 2008, Audio CD, $10.10

On to Pearl Jam. If you’re like me, you’ll remember them primarily as members of Seattle’s ‘grunge’ movement from the late 80s/early 90s. A sludgy, heavy-metalish sound, but punkier maybe, more do-it-yourself-ish. Not a bad band, but - for someone who felt that he was just emerging from the “Metal 80s” and cutting his hair for the first time in years, it felt like a bit of a throw-back. I struggled to see exactly how Ten was substantially different from some of the smarter, more mature metal bands at the time. So I mostly ignored Pearl Jam. (Nirvana, on the other hand, had what appeared to be more of a punk edge, and an outstanding singer-songwriter at the helm who then killed himself. Not a role model, maybe, but quite iconic. And great music, too.) I was vaguely aware that Pearl Jam had become one of the most popular and successful rock bands of the 90s, but that just caused me to do what I typically do with fame - I don’t go and investigate an act just because it’s famous. I wait for something else to pique my interest.

Fast forward many years to about 18 months ago. I’m not sure what made me look at Pearl Jam again (it’s not like I really needed more CDs or anything). But somehow, starting somewhere in the mid-90s, Pearl Jam turned itself into an incredible ‘alternative acoustic rock’ act with brilliant, economical songcraft, an intelligent ‘message’ profile and perfectly acceptable hair cuts. Eddie Vedder turned out to be a deeply gifted lyricist, someone who has the ability to write honest lyrics that aren’t cloying or terrible in other ways. Sure, there’s an earnestness in Pearl Jam’s music, but - if you’ve looked at my blog before - earnestness, for me, is not a deterrent (not everything has to be seen through a pop culture irony filter; that gets old very quickly).

So for every 30-something reader who’s still wondering what, exactly, happened to MTV’s Unplugged, I’ll recommend two Pearl Jam records that continue to amaze me at each listen. And, I think, I’ll also throw in Eddie Vedder’s recent solo soundtrack album from Into the Wild, a Sean Penn movie I’ve not seen. Listen to these records if you’re looking for music that won’t make you feel like you’re 16 if you’re really, well, a little bit older than that.

Riot Act

Pearl Jam. Sony 2002, Audio CD, $4.32

Live at Benaroya Hall

Pearl Jam. Ten Club 2004, Audio CD, $9.19

Music for the Motion Picture Into the Wild

Eddie Vedder. J-Records 2007, Audio CD, $11.52

It’s odd - sometimes there’s an artist who, despite my best efforts to take an inclusive view, slips through my fingers for years. I may know about them but - for whatever reason - I’ve never really listened to them. Then, something triggers a journey of discovery, and I explore what for me is a hidden gem (that everyone else has known about for years).

The Kinks recently became a case like that. A leisurely, sunny late-morning breakfast in New York’s East Village bore decent food and very pleasurable music. Neither of us knew who it was, but it was so good that we asked. The waiter, an Indian chap, said they were “Kings,” and it took several more songs (and the appearance of ‘L.O.L.A. Lola’) for the coin to finally drop. Oh, the Kinks!

A quick visit to Amazon.com resulted in this:

The Kink Kronikles

The Kinks. Reprise / Wea 1990, Audio CD, $12.38

Fabulous music. At first, second and third listen, what I love most is how English they are. And that they’re perhaps ‘more like the Beatles and less like the Stones’ (whatever that means; I’ve never been a big Stones fan). I like the playfulness of the lyrics, the clean simplicity of the music. Theirs is definitely a catalogue I’d like to explore further.

Other major artists of rock history that are in my blind spot include The Who and The Band. I’ve started to look into The Band more actively lately. Maybe The Who’s next. (Yes, I know that’s an album of theirs. I just haven’t heard it :)

I built a Chinese Buddhist temple out of Lego yesterday. It’s not based on an actual temple and it’s pretty free-form. It’s fun to see what you can make out of a limited assortment of bricks… I’m particularly fond of the praying minifig in front of it. I turned his legs around so that he could ‘kneel.’

Impressions from New York:

Sad news this morning on CBC Radio 1: Toronto fiddler Oliver Schroer died from leukemia on July 3, 2008.

I had only recently discovered Oliver’s music and blogged about it at length. Sensitive obits from TheStar.com here and here.

There’s an incredible feature of Toronto that I’m only discovering now: ravines. Before I moved to Toronto, this wasn’t even part of my vocabulary. A ravine is a small valley, often with an active stream, found in urban areas. Turns out the Toronto ravine system is quite extensive and provides beautiful pockets of green woodland in the middle of the city.

This weekend, a brisk, restorative walk through David A. Balfour Park and the “Vale of Avoca” ravine (who names these things? :) yielded these pictures. Sadly, I didn’t have my regular camera with me, so the contrast is pretty bad in these over-exposed phonecam pics. I want to go back and take detailed pictures of the graffiti everywhere.

As you can see, it’s a strange, almost mystical place, unexpected in the middle of the city bustle. On a misty day, you half expect to encounter fairies dressed in camo pants, or a group of trolls smoking weed near the riverbed.

There are multiple undocumented but reasonably well-maintained paths, some further up the slopes, some right down in the middle near the stream. What’s particularly delightful about this ravine is that it’s mostly empty, even on a beautiful, warm spring Sunday like yesterday. I think the ‘urban grit’ puts off many of the more middle class leisure walkers (who might prefer the Kay Gardner Beltline Park, a long linear trail of about 5km that occupies an old commuter train track from the 1890s). But it’s quiet (the city’s hum seems far away) and the air is good.

When I left the park, a bicycle cop was writing up two young men at the exit. One, a twenty-something with a red nose, bike messenger clothes, a bike and slurred speech advised me not to drink “down there” because he just got a ticket. I didn’t quite know what to say and mumbled something about “just walking.”

I think this blend of trees, trails, graffiti, concrete and urban decay is fantastic. Wear solid shoes.

Found this quote from Beverley Knight, while I’m on the topic of Beverley Knight. I’ve often thought that I don’t understand people who don’t like music.

She’s talking about singing in front of the G8 leaders in 2006:

“Wow! Now, I’ve been in front of some pretty disparate audiences, but singing for the leaders of the free world was quite extraordinary. The only one who wasn’t there - and he was conspicuous by his absence - was Dubya.” She puts on a manly Texas accent: “Cause he don’t like music, apparently, he prefers sporrrrt.” And then back to her Wolverhampton voice: “Alright mate! I’m suspicious of people who don’t like music. How the hell does that work? Tell me you don’t like some kinds of music. Don’t tell me you don’t like music, because that’s kind of weird. Tony Blair and Cherie were there giving me the thumbs up, totally into it. Putin was there - now, when I say that man’s face didn’t crack, I mean, it was scary.”

Interview from the Guardian.

My naturopathic doctor told me to start drinking at least 1.5 liters of water every day, and three cups/mugs of green tea. (I think the idea is that I’m supposed to stop drinking coffee altogether, eventually.)

So I set out to find a good quality, simple, bagged China green tea that would make office use easy (I prefer loose leaf teas, but they’re just not practical for office use. And they’re a little bit precious :)

At Whole Foods Market, I came across “The People’s Green Tea,” an everyday China green by Republic of Tea. There are 50 unbleached tea bags in a tube-like package with a resealable lid.

This tea’s main characteristics are that it’s high quality but truly ordinary - making it easy to drink in a variety of scenarios. I’m drinking it for breakfast, and then a few more cups during the day, at the office. It’s very pleasant. And that’s pretty much all I can say about it.

There. My first blog post about tea :)

Crocs are strangely compelling. I’ll make a confession up front: I’ve just bought my first pair after resisting them for the last few years. Like this blog, I thought they were ugly and cheap looking. Shoes made of injection-moulded rubbery plastic seemed like another indicator of the impending apocalypse. It did seem that shoes like these should never grace the feet of anyone over the age of five.

But Crocs have had a strange victory march, certainly through North American society. And this has been despite a variety of alarmist high-exposure news reports about them. For example, Maclean’s (Canada’s very own, low-rent version of Time magazine) ran an exposé about how Crocs in healthcare (where they are very popular) are endangering both patients and staff. Says Maclean’s:

An increasing number of hospitals and health centres are moving toward banning Crocs and Crocs knock-offs from their facilities for fear the shoes have endangered both patients and staff. The main offenders appear to be the popular Beach and Cayman models, which have holes on top, side vents and a back strap rather than a closed heel. They allegedly have been responsible for infection control hazards because bodily fluids such as blood have spilled into the holes. Staff have reportedly twisted ankles because of the open back. And staff reaction times are said to be compromised because it’s suspected that clogs are more difficult to run in than traditional hospital footwear.

And you do see them everywhere in hospitals. I’ve been spending a bit of time lately at Toronto’s Sick Kids children’s hospital, and I would say - estimating anecdotally and visually - that 50-70% of all staff seem to have them on their feet. They come in all sorts of colours, to match various flavours of scrubs, and you can sort of understand how walking around on something soft, wide and washable would make sense in a hospital. As for running or infections… well, sure. You might have to slip them off if they call a code and run on your socks, and you may have to throw them into the washing machine once in a while.

Horror stories from outside of healthcare abound, too. For example, CityNews reports about a four-year-old Toronto boy who almost lost a toe in an escalator:

Duncan was at Sherway Gardens with his family, coming up an escalator when suddenly one of his Crocs got stuck between the moving stairs and the stationary wall. His mother quickly figured out what was happening, but not before his shoes were forever ruined. “I dropped my shopping bag and ripped his foot out,” recalls Duncan’s mother, Karen Goodfellow.

And the Japanese have actually issued a government warning to let people know that Crocs can get kids’ feet stuck in escalators.

All of this sounds a bit like sour grapes, doesn’t it? Like alarm bells rung by those that are aesthetically offended.

I’ll admit that they’re perhaps not the most pleasing shoes to the eye. And - being German - I’m partial to Birkenstocks, the original manufactured clog (we’ll leave out Dutch wood-sole clogs for the purpose of expedience here). Birkenstocks are shaped ergonomically (and have been, for a hundred years), look good and can be worn as sandals in the summer and slippers in the winter. But: I’ve discovered that they can become smelly and stained pretty fast because of all their natural materials (leather, cork, etc.). And, while Birkenstock offers the ability to replace the footbed, this is a costly process which - in my experience - doesn’t work very well.

So the idea of wearing an anatomically shaped, anti-bacterial, disposable, $35 clog is sort of appealing. Plus Crocs are completely vegetarian/vegan-friendly. And now you can even buy a recycled, post-consumer version (but those only come in a putrid grey that’s truly, deeply ugly).

I’ll see how I actually do this summer… I may flounder and go back to my Birkenstocks when I’m finally confronted with my size M12/13 pair of brown Caymans on my feet, paired with shorts and no socks. That’s why I have the big mirror in my hallway. Just so that I can be mortified at myself before I leave the house.