So today got off to a good and unexpected start: I won tickets on a radio show! Even better, it's actually something I'm interested in (the men's tennis final here in Toronto on Sunday), and it allowed me to utilize some of the arcane tennis trivia knowledge I've stored since I was a teenager (I knew it would come in handy one day...). I was probably more excited than I should have been, but it's a big moment for me. For one, I've never actually won anything in my life. More important, I actually had to earn it by answering the trivia question. A nice start to the work week.
As a result of my good fortune, I decided to head down to the police station holding those stolen bikes they recovered from a downtown store. (For those of you who missed it, the police busted up a long-renowned bicycle theft scam run out of a "shop" in the city.) As many of you know, my bike got ripped off late last year from my front porch. (So much for the supposedly impenetrable German lock I bought.) At the time, I filed a police report, even though I had lost the serial number (it was on the sales slip, which I had misplaced). It was a crazy scene: they had about 30 to 40 bikes on display, but the rest were stacked up in three separate warehouse-style rooms. Basically if one didn't have a serial number, you were basically screwed in terms of finding your stolen wheels. One of the police women mentioned that this set-up was only temporary, that they were planning on moving the bikes into another location where they could all be spread out and organized by make. At this point, I'm not all that hopeful, but I retain some faith.
The good news is that, when I got home, I suddenly remembered where I had put my sales slip and the serial number. So at least now I can give that to the police - that might help in identifying my bike, if it was one of the found ones.
Needless to say, if I manage to recover my beloved bike, I'll be buying a lottery ticket. Things come in threes, don't they?
Monday, July 21, 2008
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Self education
I've been pondering the word autodidacticism. (Yes, sometimes I do think about seven-syllable words.) Why? Primarily it stems from how I view my intelligence (or, more appropriately, lack thereof) among my work colleagues. Sure, I have some smarts: I can point to good grades in high school (not that that is necessarily a qualifier), I have two university degrees, I can string a few sentences together in a paragraph. Often, however, while in the work room, surrounded by people who whip off historical references, or read latin, or will easily knock off the NYTimes crossword during a morning coffee break, I'll begin to feel out of my element, that I don't belong. I worry I'm going to be sussed out, that they're going to discover I'm really nothing more than a fraud. In short, they'll finally figure that I'm a complete dunce. (Unfortunately, the topics where I can show some mental dexterity - 1970s American films, jazz, tennis, where to find the best secondhand CD stores in NYC - rarely, if ever, come up.)
To that end, I feel I'm always in learning mode, that much of my life is spent self educating myself. It's not a chore, nor is it a competition: I like to learn (I almost wrote "I love to laugh," which is something of an inside joke...), and almost nothing gives me more pleasure than having hours of leisure time at my disposal to indulge in a book. Or, in my case, several books.
It's taken me a while to figure out my natural reading habit, but I think I finally have it down. In short, I need to have a few books (and usually a magazine; these days that's the latest issue of the New Yorker) on the go at once. Let's face it, my attention span is nothing to brag about. I'm a bit of a "flitter" (if that's even a word). I used to feel bad about this, that it was something to be ashamed of. Sure, every now and then I get so ridiculously involved in a book that it becomes something of a preoccupation, the proverbial "page turner" that keeps me awake at night. It's rare, however, so what usually happens is that I crack open a book (these days primarily from the library; I've stopped buying books, for the most part) while I have a couple already on the proverbial bedside table (or, much to the dismay of my back and shoulder, in my bag).
Let's take stock of my current reading projects as an example.
I've got two main books on the go, both non-fiction: Conversations with Woody Allen by Eric Lax (pretty much self explanatory), and The Rest is Noise by the New Yorker music critic Alex Ross (which examines 20th-century "classical" music, although it's really more of a look at various historical periods of the 20th century as seen through the filter of modern music and composers such as Stravinsky, Berg, Copland, etc.; it's a fantastic piece of work). Both are long-held interests of mine, although I'm much-better versed in one subject (Allen) than the other. I've also dabbled a little in a book about the Lincoln-Douglas debates, which I took out of the library after Obama was the presumptive Democratic nominee and McCain started floating the idea of doing Town Hall debates through the summer. Obama instead suggested they should do a reprise of the Lincoln-Douglas debates from the 1850s, so naturally I wanted to find out more about them. (Lincoln displayed his oratory gifts and essentially made his name during these debates, which were widely covered by the press, even though they were competing for the state legislature. Lincoln also lost the election.) I finished last week's New Yorker last night in bed, so I'm waiting for delivery of the next issue (hopefully tomorrow so I'll have it for the weekend). And I read the cover story about Rush Limbaugh from Sunday's NYTimes Magazine.
Not to worry, I'm also working through some fiction. My friend R. bought me a collection of Tim Winton short stories, so I've read the first two of those. I was in a bit of a fiction slump (I tried and failed to get into Cormac McCarthy's The Road; I think it might be a better winter read), so I found something easily digestible at the library: The Jane Austen Book Club by Karen Joy Fowler. I'm pleasantly surprised to discover it isn't trash or overly chick-lit-ish, although I'm only about 60 pages in. I have Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto on the (ha ha) kitchen table and in the queue. I also want to re-read Robert Bolano's wonderful The Savage Detectives, which recently came out in paperback, this summer.
So where does autodidacticism fit in to this discussion? Well, I can't help but use my reading material as launching pads to learn even more. For example, because of the Woody Allen book, I've reserved a few of his films from the library to re-examine in light of some of his views. I've been taking out CDs of some music that I'm reading about in the Ross book (primarily Berg and Schoenberg since I'm pretty weak on 12-tone music). I've also been trying to discover some new music, out of sheer boredom with the current tuneage on my ipod. (Recommendations are heartily welcome. I've been listening to some Sleater-Kinney, New Pornographers, Great Lake Swimmers, Iron and Wine, so anything in that general vein.) I also realize I need to read (and re-read) more Jane Austen. (And I haven't even mentioned some of the movies and DVDs I'm watching: the second season of the Sopranos, the 20th anniversary edition of Heathers, Flags of Our Fathers... it just never seems to end. Thankfully.)
Years ago I remember reading that one can take one book and, simply following the references it mentions within it, create an entire syllabus for one's own self education (since each subsequent new book or film or piece of art will come with its own references). It's something I so totally get and will continue to pursue while I'm lucky enough to be sentient.
To that end, I feel I'm always in learning mode, that much of my life is spent self educating myself. It's not a chore, nor is it a competition: I like to learn (I almost wrote "I love to laugh," which is something of an inside joke...), and almost nothing gives me more pleasure than having hours of leisure time at my disposal to indulge in a book. Or, in my case, several books.
It's taken me a while to figure out my natural reading habit, but I think I finally have it down. In short, I need to have a few books (and usually a magazine; these days that's the latest issue of the New Yorker) on the go at once. Let's face it, my attention span is nothing to brag about. I'm a bit of a "flitter" (if that's even a word). I used to feel bad about this, that it was something to be ashamed of. Sure, every now and then I get so ridiculously involved in a book that it becomes something of a preoccupation, the proverbial "page turner" that keeps me awake at night. It's rare, however, so what usually happens is that I crack open a book (these days primarily from the library; I've stopped buying books, for the most part) while I have a couple already on the proverbial bedside table (or, much to the dismay of my back and shoulder, in my bag).
Let's take stock of my current reading projects as an example.
I've got two main books on the go, both non-fiction: Conversations with Woody Allen by Eric Lax (pretty much self explanatory), and The Rest is Noise by the New Yorker music critic Alex Ross (which examines 20th-century "classical" music, although it's really more of a look at various historical periods of the 20th century as seen through the filter of modern music and composers such as Stravinsky, Berg, Copland, etc.; it's a fantastic piece of work). Both are long-held interests of mine, although I'm much-better versed in one subject (Allen) than the other. I've also dabbled a little in a book about the Lincoln-Douglas debates, which I took out of the library after Obama was the presumptive Democratic nominee and McCain started floating the idea of doing Town Hall debates through the summer. Obama instead suggested they should do a reprise of the Lincoln-Douglas debates from the 1850s, so naturally I wanted to find out more about them. (Lincoln displayed his oratory gifts and essentially made his name during these debates, which were widely covered by the press, even though they were competing for the state legislature. Lincoln also lost the election.) I finished last week's New Yorker last night in bed, so I'm waiting for delivery of the next issue (hopefully tomorrow so I'll have it for the weekend). And I read the cover story about Rush Limbaugh from Sunday's NYTimes Magazine.
Not to worry, I'm also working through some fiction. My friend R. bought me a collection of Tim Winton short stories, so I've read the first two of those. I was in a bit of a fiction slump (I tried and failed to get into Cormac McCarthy's The Road; I think it might be a better winter read), so I found something easily digestible at the library: The Jane Austen Book Club by Karen Joy Fowler. I'm pleasantly surprised to discover it isn't trash or overly chick-lit-ish, although I'm only about 60 pages in. I have Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto on the (ha ha) kitchen table and in the queue. I also want to re-read Robert Bolano's wonderful The Savage Detectives, which recently came out in paperback, this summer.
So where does autodidacticism fit in to this discussion? Well, I can't help but use my reading material as launching pads to learn even more. For example, because of the Woody Allen book, I've reserved a few of his films from the library to re-examine in light of some of his views. I've been taking out CDs of some music that I'm reading about in the Ross book (primarily Berg and Schoenberg since I'm pretty weak on 12-tone music). I've also been trying to discover some new music, out of sheer boredom with the current tuneage on my ipod. (Recommendations are heartily welcome. I've been listening to some Sleater-Kinney, New Pornographers, Great Lake Swimmers, Iron and Wine, so anything in that general vein.) I also realize I need to read (and re-read) more Jane Austen. (And I haven't even mentioned some of the movies and DVDs I'm watching: the second season of the Sopranos, the 20th anniversary edition of Heathers, Flags of Our Fathers... it just never seems to end. Thankfully.)
Years ago I remember reading that one can take one book and, simply following the references it mentions within it, create an entire syllabus for one's own self education (since each subsequent new book or film or piece of art will come with its own references). It's something I so totally get and will continue to pursue while I'm lucky enough to be sentient.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Living conditions
The big news of the week (aside from that absolutely brilliant Wimbledon final today; but I worry my readers aren't rabid tennis fans like myself, so I'll resist the temptation to wax eloquent on the sublime performances of Federer and the newly crowned Wimbledon champ Nadal - not to mention that my lovely girlfriend has a crush on Nadal...) is that I'm being evicted from my apartment. Eviction sounds harsh, as if I've been operating a grow-op or prostitution ring, but what it basically means is that I have to move. My landlord wrote me a note that she's moving her mother into the apartment, so therefore I have to move. Is it true that she needs the place for her mother? Who the hell knows - but she has all the official forms to enact it, so I'm outta here.
I'll admit, it was a shock, even though I had been thinking about moving for a while. I wanted to do it on my terms, however, and not somebody else's. Although her letter gave me until Sept. 1 to haul my ass out of here, she did add that if I needed 90 days to settle myself, that would be ok too. (We're still in a minor dispute about first and last month's rent, but that's an argument I must win since I did pay a deposit when I first moved here three years ago.) So at least I will be here over the summer, albeit much of it might be spent figuring out the logistics of the move. (I'm planning on doing a big purge - stay tuned, as I will write about turning myself in a true minimalist.) What happens after that, you ask? Good question.
The way I see it, I'm encountering three options:
1. Find another affordable apartment to rent.
2. Buy a place of my own (most likely a townhouse or condo).
3. Move in with my partner.
Let's tackle all three.
1. Finding another affordable apartment to rent. On the surface, seems to make the most sense. After all, what are my motivations to own property? It's not like I have heirs (yet) to pass on a legacy. Moreover, is "equity" important to me? It's not like I'm going to be retiring (most likely ever), so I don't need property as a nest-egg. Basically my RSPs are my financial backbone. Why not continue to rent and have others deal with homeowner issues like property taxes, hydro costs and repairs? We're also supposed to be in a renter's market, so finding a relatively cheap apartment in a good part of the city shouldn't be a chore. Negatives: the great unknown of a building and/or landlord; should a near-40-year old still be renting and not owning?; what are the chances I'll find a sweet deal that I have here in this apt.?
2. Buy a place of my own. Also makes sense. I'm pushing the proverbial 4-0. I'm tired of being beholden to a landlord (particularly a lazy one that doesn't do a damn thing to improve my living conditions). If I want to paint or make changes to the place, I just do them, without thought. I'm ultimately responsible for my living space, and any money I put into the place is an investment. My monthly payments go toward "owning," not leasing. And interest rates are ridiculously low right now. Ownership - I even like the way the word sounds. Negatives: most likely having to ask the parents for a loan to help with the down payment; only places I'll be able to afford are a condo or townhouse, and I hate the idea of paying maintenance fee; what happens if my job situation changes and I'm out on the street looking for work?
3. Move in with my partner. Makes sense. We get along famously, and living together would be a natural extension of our relationship. It's something we've been discussing for a while, largely because it's a bitch when we don't spend every evening together. We're ridiculously compatible, and groove to each other's company. Emotionally, we'd both thrive. Not to mention the plus of shared expenses. Negatives: much farther distance-wise from my work (requiring a long bike commute, and/or taking the transit); moving into "her space" rather than a new, neutral space; concerns about the cat.
Basically the decision has been made. Can you guess?
I'll admit, it was a shock, even though I had been thinking about moving for a while. I wanted to do it on my terms, however, and not somebody else's. Although her letter gave me until Sept. 1 to haul my ass out of here, she did add that if I needed 90 days to settle myself, that would be ok too. (We're still in a minor dispute about first and last month's rent, but that's an argument I must win since I did pay a deposit when I first moved here three years ago.) So at least I will be here over the summer, albeit much of it might be spent figuring out the logistics of the move. (I'm planning on doing a big purge - stay tuned, as I will write about turning myself in a true minimalist.) What happens after that, you ask? Good question.
The way I see it, I'm encountering three options:
1. Find another affordable apartment to rent.
2. Buy a place of my own (most likely a townhouse or condo).
3. Move in with my partner.
Let's tackle all three.
1. Finding another affordable apartment to rent. On the surface, seems to make the most sense. After all, what are my motivations to own property? It's not like I have heirs (yet) to pass on a legacy. Moreover, is "equity" important to me? It's not like I'm going to be retiring (most likely ever), so I don't need property as a nest-egg. Basically my RSPs are my financial backbone. Why not continue to rent and have others deal with homeowner issues like property taxes, hydro costs and repairs? We're also supposed to be in a renter's market, so finding a relatively cheap apartment in a good part of the city shouldn't be a chore. Negatives: the great unknown of a building and/or landlord; should a near-40-year old still be renting and not owning?; what are the chances I'll find a sweet deal that I have here in this apt.?
2. Buy a place of my own. Also makes sense. I'm pushing the proverbial 4-0. I'm tired of being beholden to a landlord (particularly a lazy one that doesn't do a damn thing to improve my living conditions). If I want to paint or make changes to the place, I just do them, without thought. I'm ultimately responsible for my living space, and any money I put into the place is an investment. My monthly payments go toward "owning," not leasing. And interest rates are ridiculously low right now. Ownership - I even like the way the word sounds. Negatives: most likely having to ask the parents for a loan to help with the down payment; only places I'll be able to afford are a condo or townhouse, and I hate the idea of paying maintenance fee; what happens if my job situation changes and I'm out on the street looking for work?
3. Move in with my partner. Makes sense. We get along famously, and living together would be a natural extension of our relationship. It's something we've been discussing for a while, largely because it's a bitch when we don't spend every evening together. We're ridiculously compatible, and groove to each other's company. Emotionally, we'd both thrive. Not to mention the plus of shared expenses. Negatives: much farther distance-wise from my work (requiring a long bike commute, and/or taking the transit); moving into "her space" rather than a new, neutral space; concerns about the cat.
Basically the decision has been made. Can you guess?
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
The 'Nation returns!
So let's see if I can calculate this... My guess is that it's been about a year since I maintained a blog. Hell, it might even be longer than that. I became sort-of bored with the whole blog thing. For those keeping score, I've started (and ended) about five separate blogs in the last few years. They served different purposes, functioned on various levels: the first was something of a lark (it was a continuing series of fake correspondence that I dubbed "Letter to Harry" that was linked from a "vanity" site I started for my freelance business), but then I began to fully embrace the whole idea of blog writing. I figured it was a good outlet for my writing, a means to maintain my creative writing chops. Then real life interfered, and I began a blog that chronicled the difficult and emotional break-up of my long-term relationship. Then I just ... well, dropped off the blog radar, for a number of reasons. For one, I felt totally bereft of ideas. In fact, I sort-of stopped writing altogether. It wasn't writer's block, more like writer's apathy. Work was also taxing my mental and intellectual energies, to the extent where I didn't feel I had much to offer when the work day is done.
And then I found an even-better reason to stop blogging: I fell in love. As I was telling my friend the other day, contentment doesn't seem to be conducive to creative endeavours, at least for me. Happiness doesn't fuel my creativity in the same way depression and melancholy does! Not that I'm complaining: given the choice, I'd rather live a happy and contented life than one full of melodrama and sadness, even if it's at the expense of producing wonderful, meaningful prose. (Let's face facts: I'm simply not talented enough to be a great artist, so I'd rather be a happy person than a tortured soul. I might feel different if I knew I had great work within me.)
Still, I figured I'd get back to blogging at some point. (There's actually still two other blogs attached to this account that you can view from my profile.) Now that half the year is over, the time seems right. I have no idea what shape or form this will take. I can't promise that it'll be as emotional and soul searching (some might say overbearing) as the original Procrastination Nation - those 40,000-plus words were a pure, cathartic pleasure to write - but I'll do my best to make it somewhat interesting. I may write about books I'm reading, films I'm viewing, general observations about life. Hell, it might be boring and not have a reader outside of myself, but that's ok. In the end, I'm probably doing this more for myself.
And happy Canada Day! (I had actually intended to have my first post about my sometimes-ambivalent feelings about being a Canadian, about my desire to experience living outside of this country, and how much I hate fireworks, but I'll save it. I do need some material over the next few months, after all...)
And then I found an even-better reason to stop blogging: I fell in love. As I was telling my friend the other day, contentment doesn't seem to be conducive to creative endeavours, at least for me. Happiness doesn't fuel my creativity in the same way depression and melancholy does! Not that I'm complaining: given the choice, I'd rather live a happy and contented life than one full of melodrama and sadness, even if it's at the expense of producing wonderful, meaningful prose. (Let's face facts: I'm simply not talented enough to be a great artist, so I'd rather be a happy person than a tortured soul. I might feel different if I knew I had great work within me.)
Still, I figured I'd get back to blogging at some point. (There's actually still two other blogs attached to this account that you can view from my profile.) Now that half the year is over, the time seems right. I have no idea what shape or form this will take. I can't promise that it'll be as emotional and soul searching (some might say overbearing) as the original Procrastination Nation - those 40,000-plus words were a pure, cathartic pleasure to write - but I'll do my best to make it somewhat interesting. I may write about books I'm reading, films I'm viewing, general observations about life. Hell, it might be boring and not have a reader outside of myself, but that's ok. In the end, I'm probably doing this more for myself.
And happy Canada Day! (I had actually intended to have my first post about my sometimes-ambivalent feelings about being a Canadian, about my desire to experience living outside of this country, and how much I hate fireworks, but I'll save it. I do need some material over the next few months, after all...)
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