teabowl

A beautiful Fall afternoon on Toronto Island. Ramshackle houses, yards full of unwanted junk, falling leaves, and deserted beaches. A cyclist’s and walker’s paradise.

Many of the houses on the Island are pretty basic but artistically adorned. This one’s shack is festively decorated with a universal pagan symbol.

This home struck us as the most modern and architecturally advanced on Centre Island. The view of the city skyline must be spectacular.

This seemed to be like a little Freecycle station: islanders appear to use this open air closet to get rid of unwanted junk.

The ‘parking lot’ outside the Rectory Café.

Footprints in the sand.

The Island seems to suffer from a high density of cast-off things stored in people’s yards. Here: a still life with Fender Rhodes. Fetching.

The Lake Ontario waves on a windy day.

Bicycles parked at the ferry dock, on our way back to Toronto.

How would you move house without these? This is the ideal moving bag. From humble beginnings as a $1 useful item available in large boxes at the Ikea checkout, these are now officially one of the most useful things I have in my household. While they’re obviously too large to take them grocery shopping, they’re ideal for moving soft things (pillows, blankets, clothes) and assorted lighter ’stuff’ that doesn’t mind being jumbled together, like shoes.

They also have a satisfying crumple sound – a bit like a sail maybe, or tarp. While you certainly can’t use them to sneak stuff around in, their crunchy nature signifies that they don’t mess around. Apparently, you can carry up to 60kg (130 pounds) in them.

When it’s winter, I find I let things slide. Or maybe they slide all by themselves, and I just don’t do anything about them. That’s often because I find I’m quite unaware that something needs doing. Take, for instance, some inflation issues I encountered recently (no, not of the economic kind…).

This is the first year I am parking outside overnight. Previously, I had been in nice, hermetically sealed shoebox-like condos with underground parking. There, my car didn’t really encounter winter until I drove it outside. It got a little crusty as I drove it from parking garage to parking garage, but really, winter was something we both ventured into only for brief periods of time. So tire inflation issues weren’t really something I was particularly familiar with. Imagine my surprise when I realized just how much tire pressure (10% or more) my brand new tires lost over the course of a couple of weeks at -20°C! I found myself wondering why my Subaru’s steering was off and things were feeling a little, well, sloshier than even the sloshiest of Toronto’s icy streets should. I was also mystified about why my fuel consumption seemed way up… I thought, “Okay, a cold engine might use more fuel, but…”

So I stopped by my friendly neighbourhood gas station (okay, it’s actually a completely impersonal chain gas station that gives you ‘points’ every time you fill up; I just like saying ‘friendly’ and ‘neighborhood’) and properly inflated my tires. What a difference!

Another thing I realized a month or so ago was just how bad my mattress had become. When bought, a number of years ago, it seemed like a good one – expensive and properly supportive. Maybe a little too fluffy in that 18″ pillow top kind of way. But okay. What the pillow top masked, for me at least, was how unsupportive the underlying structure had become. It was sagging in the middle, and its occupants would sort of roll into the centre. When this was pointed out to me recently, I bit the bullet and went to my friendly neighbourhood mattress store (there is actually one in the neighbourhood but it, too, is a bit soulless, filled with salespeople pretending to be sleep consultants). $700 later and I’m now the proud owner of a brand-spanking-new mattress. My back thanked me immediately and continues to thank me every day.

Clearly, winter is a season that requires me to be more structured and organized than I normally need to be. Nothing feels naturally as if it needs doing; my caveman instincts tell me it’s time to bury myself in my home, stay inside, consume the food I have stored in my cupboards and hibernate. From now on, I think winter will require me to make lists and check items off as I go. The relief of addressing these two things was immediately tangible, so I think I’ll continue to go through my list of things I don’t want to know about (or do) as winter turns into spring.

YourFonts offers a free online utility to create a TrueType font based on your handwriting. Basically, you download a 2-page PDF form that you print out and fill in, in your handwriting. Then you scan the two pages and upload them to YourFonts. There, they are processed into a TrueType font that you can download and install. Instructions are pretty clear throughout. The site seems to be a bit shaky at times… I think it’s related to volume and time of day. Also, there’s a field for “signature” on the first page of the form template that I chose not to fill in. I assume the idea is that you’d get your signature as part of your font but I’m not too comfortable with uploading my signature anywhere (it works fine without the signature).

Between 1990 and 1995, I wrote poetry. Drawn to finding a creative outlet during a time of newfound English language proficiency, I stumbled upon a group of Cape Town poets organized by Peter Horn, then professor of German at UCT (where I was studying). Peter had impeccable political, academic and writing credentials, and had put together a poetry circle that met at his house in the Cape Town suburb of Lansdowne once every month or so. So, faithfully, my friends Rustum, Joy (an American exchange student) and I drove out to Lansdowne in my rickety white Golf with the 1.6 Litre Jetta engine and the bad brakes. On the way, we smoked cigarettes, listened to music and brought our own wine when we could afford it.

At Peter and Annette’s house, 6-10 writers regularly congregated as the “Lansdowne Local.” Originally conceived as a ‘local’ chapter of the Congress of South African Writers (COSAW), my memory now suggests that it may never have been formally constituted as such, probably because politics, though ever-present (these were heady times in South Africa), were never the primary reason to meet and read. I met a number of past, present and future luminaries of the South African literary scene and was lucky to have them listen to my often meager novice attempts at writing poems. I wrote and wrote and wrote… after realizing, through Peter’s thoughtful mentoring, that writing creatively was 90% sweat. You had to show up and do the work.

Reading in front of others was initially hard but became easier after the first few successes. Poets are a welcoming lot, and the encouraging words from people who wrote much better than I helped me a lot. I was published in a few “Landsdowne Local” anthologies, small publications created on Peter’s then cutting-edge personal computer and printed locally (university printers, undoubtedly).

In 1994, I moved away and stopped being part of the small community that supported and encouraged me. So I stopped writing poetry. Simple as that.

Lately, I have found a few of my old poems, dusty and hidden under layers of digital debris, strewn across the far reaches of the Internet. Two were posted by myself almost exactly 15 years ago in rec.arts.poems. The Wayback Machine has a few more, published by Peter on a no-longer-there version of UCT’s website. I must have 3.5″ floppy disks with many more on them somewhere. Of course, I don’t have a floppy disk drive anymore, so it’s anyone’s guess if I’ll ever be able to retrieve them (or whether the disks would still work after all these years in storage).

I’ll post one or two of the better ones from 15 years ago here. And maybe I’ll write some new ones one of these days.

(Barack Obama by Obama-Biden Transition Project, Creative Commons License)

It’s a big day in the US today. Even if it’s in the midst of an economic recession, Obama’s inauguration feels like a moment of hope becoming real. I’m not sure it’s any more specific than that for me: everyone (including myself) projects their aspirations, desires and expectations on the new Democratic President.

Most thinking people know that the United States (and the world) has suffered immeasurably under the Bush administration – in public life (the economy, the environment); in terms of personal freedoms and rights; and in foreign policy.

Obama’s presidency signifies the possibility of practical renewal. And while it’s reasonable to assume that many things will change quickly, some legacies will take much longer to sort out. And some may never be addressed by the Obama administration. But ultimately, today says that things we’ve known for years should be possible, are actually possible.

I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of the President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States.

As I write this, I have the inauguration ceremony on in the background, streamed over the Web. Those who are present in Washington D.C. are chanting, “O-ba-ma! O-ba-ma!” I don’t imagine that’s happened at a presidential inauguration in a few decades…

Wool socks are a remarkable discovery. My dad had grey wool socks when memory starts for me – a holdover from Germany in the 1960s, no doubt. Soon after, everyone started to wear cotton socks: they were supposed to be healthy, and – I think – they were cheap. Manmade materials never really took off in socks (at least for my family). Wool socks weren’t even available anywhere I lived – I assume this was due to certain macroeconomic conditions in the textiles market… I think wool can’t be farmed as easily and cheaply as cotton, nor in the same geographic locations (India, China).

Lately, wool socks have been making a comeback, initially as performance wear for hikers and other sportspeople. But for those of us who got curious, dug deep into our pockets ($20-$25/pair) and bought a pair, they’re a revelation. My feet are warm without being sweaty when it’s 10 or 20 below – and my socks never seem to get as much as damp (something you can’t say about cotton).

Brands I’ve tried include Smartwool and Icebreaker. Both make great striped socks that are easy on the eyes.

Never thought I’d say this… but: I want socks for Christmas!

Picture by Leo Reynolds

I’ve been listening to Van Morrison for days now. He’s someone I had somehow ignored so far in my 25 years of listening and collecting music. In the 80s, when my listening habits were formed, Van was on a path that wasn’t very likable musically – his voice losing its elasticity, his music harsher and more judgmental of an incomprehending audience than ever before.

Only I didn’t know the ‘before.’ Having no older siblings, Van Morrison wasn’t really someone I knew about or chose to discover for myself.

Now I’m 38 and a conversation related to Kevin Rowland & Dexys Midnight Runners (a band I like very much and who, I realize now, tried to channel Morrison’s 70s blue-eyed soul magic) led me to take another look.

And what a great discovery he is. I’m listening to the first 5 or 6 records, and they’re all great – revelatory, powerful, focused, subtle, elegant and, above all, deeply musical.

Top 10 records of all time… ready, go! It’s harder than you think. Most people don’t think of music that way, I guess. Certainly, making top ten lists is quite a nerdy thing to do. But here goes anyway.

These are my top 10 pop records of all time. I thought about including other genres, but where do you even start with that? How do you weight a top 10 across all genres? It’s a discussion that one best stays away from. Maybe I’ll do a “Jazz Top 10″ and a “World Top 10″ another time.

These are not listed in any particular order. The fact that ABBA is at the top doesn’t mean it’s my favourite record of all time.

Carsten’s Top 10 Records of All Time in No Particular Order

ABBA – The Visitors
Paul Weller – Wild Wood
Talk Talk – The Colour of Spring
Bob Marley & The Wailers – Exodus
The Beatles – The Beatles (White Album)
Roxy Music – Flesh & Blood
Kevin Rowland and Dexys Midnight Runners – Too-Rye-Ay
Electric Light Orchestra – Time
Yazoo – Upstairs at Eric’s
Michelle Shocked – Short Sharp Shocked

Runners-Up

Paul Simon – Graceland
Peter Gabriel – So
Sting – Nothing Like The Sun
The White Stripes – White Blood Cells
Counting Crows – August and Everything After

The runners-up didn’t quite make the grade for the Top 10, but they’re spectacular and highly recommended records anyway.

And if I kept thinking about this topic any longer, it would all change again anyway.

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, $9.99

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, $5.48

Live at Benaroya Hall

Pearl Jam. Ten Club 2004, Audio CD, $9.79

Music for the Motion Picture Into the Wild

Eddie Vedder. J-Records 2007, Audio CD, $7.25