Speculating on the year that will be

Back when we were in our early 20s, my best friend H. and I used to have the same resolution every new year. Simply, it was "less fretting, more fucking." (I think the two were intertwined: it reasons that we were probably fretting because we weren't doing enough fucking. Ah, such simple times...) Over the past few years, I've resisted creating a laundry list of new year's resolutions, probably because they seemed to be so cliche. (Lose weight! Eat healthier! Live every day as if it's your last!) Still, putting up a new calendar on the kitchen wall does seem like a good opportunity to set a few (hopefully attainable) goals. So in that spirit...

But before we get to that, perhaps a recap of last year's goals and my success at attaining them. Unfortunately, I can't remember them! Thinking back, I'm not even sure I indulged in the exercise last December. If I did, they probably revolved around things like taking better advantage of the city's pleasures, such as its music, its theatre, its bars, etc. I think I was partially successful: I attended more live music shows in 2008 than in past years, attended the opera (including finally seeing my favourite of all time, The Marriage of Figaro; thankfully it was a great production), and tried some new bars. I'm also sure exploring new music was on there too. I'm happy to report that my knowledge of interesting Canadian music has skyrocketed since the end of last year. Oh, I'm sure "less fretting and more fucking" was somewhere on the list. I think I did ok there...

I'm sure there are some goals I set that I didn't meet. Writing more, for one, immediately springs to mind. And running a marathon (which I think I've put as a goal every year since I started running seriously), although I was in some previous serious shape by the end of the summer. But overall, I think 2008 was one of my better years. I'm feeling very positive and (yes) happy as we approach the last few hours of the calendar year. I can honestly say that, as I look back on the year, there's nothing that I feel bad about not accomplishing.

That said, I've been thinking about some of my 2009 goals. (This year is also shaping up to be a somewhat momentous one, largely because I'm approaching a "milestone" birthday - ie., one that ends in zero - and because I'll finally get these braces off my teeth, resulting in the straightest teeth I've ever had. Watch for those incoming, full-toothed smiles. Topics for another post, however.) It's probably best to split these into categories like "easily attainable," "more difficult" and "geez, that's a longshot, but you never know." (I reserve the right to revisit this list, of course, as more come to my head.)

Easily attainable:
- Writing more. I feel good about my personal writing going into 2009, that I'm gaining some momentum both with this blog and my writing outside it. I've even been writing some poetry, although it's mostly hackneyed garbage. But fun to write, nonetheless.
- Reading more "classics." I think this is a holdover from a couple of years ago when I had this idea that I'd split my reading equally into contemporary works with acknowledged classics that I "should" (bad word) read. Like Tolstoy or Dickens or Proust or Cervantes. The problem is that I get intimidated by the huge tomes many of these great writers produced (not to mention they ain't easy to carry in a shoulder bag), but I'm hoping to conquer that fear.
- Discovering more "contemporary classical music." Since this year was about new Canadian music, next year should be about more challenging modern music. Reading Alex Ross' wonderful The Rest is Noise fueled my interest.
- See more theatre. A holdover from this year. Except for the opera, my theatre viewing in 2008 was pathetic.
- To make better use of my immediate after-work hours. This could mean indulging myself at a cafe or bar for an hour or so immediately after work rather than rushing home. This falls under another long-held (and partially achieved) goal of taking better advantage of the city's offerings.
- Throwing away socks the minute I discover a hole. Along with this, cutting my toenails more often...
- Keeping a clutter-free, more minimalist home. Moving helped since it allowed me to cull a lot of junk, but I can still do better.
- To exhibit more patience.
- To make a new friend or two. Odd how difficult it is to make new friends as we get older, although that's also a reflection on me: it takes me some time to feel comfortable with a newcomer.
- To play more guitar. I need new strings.
- To take more photos. I'm going to carry my camera around more often.
- Less fretting, more fucking. (An old chestnut.)

More difficult goals:
- To travel more. This is not out of desire, but more out of finances. The big excursion plan for the year is Argentina. Stay tuned!
- To publish a creative work of writing. Or, at the very least, to begin sending out some of my work. Ah yes, to end up in a slush pile.
- Write some songs. I usually get embarrassed when I try to attach a melody and some lyrics to the chords I like to strum, but I need to get over it and just give it a go. (Hello GarageBand on the Mac!)

Longshot goals:
TBA.

Happy New Year to one and all! See you in 2009.

It was a very good year

(What fun to be able to be out and about with my MacBook! This is not my first laptop, but it's my first since wireless became the norm rather than the exception.)

You have to love the end of the year - it makes coming up with a blog post topic so much easier. Two topics, in fact: one to reflect on the year that was, a second to speculate on the year that will be. I'll focus this post on 2008, and save 2009 for tomorrow or Thurs. (I won't necessarily be reciting a list of resolutions, but more like "things I'd like to achieve and/or accomplish by year's end." Yes, there's a distinction.)

Without mincing words, 2008 was good to me. It was marked by two wonderful trips - Portugal in April, DC this past month - as well as a backwoods camping excursion in Sept. (Hooray for swimming naked!) More important, it marked the first full year of my relationship with the lovely A. There were some trying times, to be sure (I don't want to revisit that whole period, but I thought we were going to split soon after coming back from Europe), but we came out of the emotional difficulties stronger as a couple. I also moved this year, and am living in a part of town much more conducive to my personality. (I can't figure out why it took me so long to find this area; I should have moved out there years ago when my relationship with M. ended.) And though I've had some recent troubles at work, I'm still employed in a great job. (Many of my work-related issues revolve around feeling powerless, largely because I had so much power for the first part of the year when my supervisor was on sabbatical and I was, effectively, in charge. I'm sure to cover this ground in a future post. I'd also like to make more money, but that's a pretty familiar rant for most.) Perhaps most important of all, I'm healthy and feel good about my inner, emotional life.

Sure, there are some things I wish I could have accomplished. More personal writing, for one. My photography has also dropped off since the spring - it's only recently my flickr site has been (somewhat) revived from life support. I didn't see as many films in the theatre as I would have liked. (And the film fest was a total bust for me; I can't remember a year where I was so disappointed by the endless line-ups and sold-out shows.) I wish I could have kept up my fanatical summer of running through the fall and winter, and my bike-riding was too sporadic (owing to my crappy bike; I never did recover my beloved Marin, stolen last November), but those are really minor quibbles.

On the plus side, I read some great books (a lot of really fine non-fiction as well), enjoyed some good concerts, and discovered a whack of new music. (That was one of my "resolutions" for the year that I really did accomplish.) There were many wonderful evenings spent with friends at various bars/pubs/cafes. And while I didn't get as much personal writing as I had hoped, I did manage to make some extra cash with some freelance work (it tends to go to a good cause: an expensive dinner with the lovely A.) and took on some writing assignments at work. My intellectual health is fairly reasonable, although of course it could always be better.

It's good to feel so optimistic about my future - knowing, of course, that things can change in an instant. But let's give a positive shout-out to 2008!

Whee, this is fun

So here I am, typing away on my new Apple MacBook. It's a sweet little machine. Hey, maybe my enthusiasm for the new toy will get me writing more. Well, it's always a possibility... For now, I'll be happy when I complete the final transfer of my itunes library from my PC to this machine. We're only about a quarter of the way there so far - although thank god I finally figured out how to get the damn local area network working to do the transfer.

The holiday edition of PN

Well, I have returned. (BTW, has anybody else noticed that the incoming president of the United States begins many of his answers to questions with the word "well"? Take note.) It's been a wonderful week of Washington (there's that alliteration again) and family xmas cheer. And while I love my family, I have to admit that I'm sort-of glad that the familial obligations are over. Particularly since I now have a full week to enjoy the peace and solitude of leisure life.

What's on the agenda? Not really sure, actually, although I have a stack of movies on DVD awaiting, and various books scattered around the apartment. Shopping too, specifically for a new computer. My nearly six-year old Dell desktop is running veerrrryy slowly of late and periodically makes some strange noises. Time to move on and head back into the Apple world (after a several-years absence) with the purchase of a new 13-inch MacBook. (I also messed up when printing out itunes gift certificates for my nieces, so now I have $30 to spend. What hardship.) Basically I'm going to be in serious chill-out mode.

For those wondering about Washington, it was a great, fun-filled trip. We had to scramble to get out a day earlier than anticipated because of the storm that was about to hit the city, but it worked out perfectly. It was a hoot to wake up on Friday morning in the hotel's comfy king-size bed, the travelling portion complete, and able to begin our trip in earnest. The city totally rocked - I suppose not too surprising given my passionate interest in US history and politics. (It's something of a shock that I've never visited.) The "touristy" sites were grand, particularly the Lincoln Memorial (go at night, when it's really majestic and awe-inspiring), the Archives (natch), the Library of Congress and the Supreme Court. (About the only disappointment was the Capital Hill tour. What a dud.) We also loved wandering the various neighbourhoods, such as Adams Morgan (go in the evening when the nightlife is lively) and Dupont Circle, and spent Sunday afternoon at the Kennedy Center to watch and listen to a performance of Handel's Messiah. And of course we ate wonderfully well - that's always one of the highlights when the lovely A. and I travel. Much seafood was consumed. Photos of the trip to come soon on my flickr site, although I (perhaps suprisingly) didn't take too many. (That's also on "to do" list: to spend some serious time updating my flickr site, which is beginning to grow cobwebs from inactivity. I'm getting the itch to venture out with the trusty Canon to do some snapping.)

So it seems I'm in something of a short story mood of late. This is something I'm going to write about - and will include my own recent attempts at writing a couple of stories! It's been a while since I indulged in some fiction - I basically gave up writing "creatively" a few years back when I realized I didn't have as much talent as I'd like - but I'm feeling increasingly inspired. It's probably still crap, but hey, at least it's good for the soul.

Holy crappy weather, batman

So I'm on hold, waiting to talk to someone at Air Canada. My flight to DC tomorrow has been cancelled, so I'm trying to arrange alternate plans. What a pain. Cross your fingers that I can sort this out soonest - and hopefully get out tonight before the weather hits.

Update: Flight has been changed for tonight at 20:45. It's going to be tight for the lovely A., but she thinks it's still doable. Cross your fingers...

flirtations

It's days like today - slow, restless, ponderous, wistful - that I wish I had a good, old-fashioned e-mail flirtation going.

The local retailers

I haven't been buying too many books over the last year, largely because I'm such an ardent user of the library. This shouldn't come as much of a surprise - after all, I work in a library! It wouldn't make sense not to use its immense collection. I'm also a big fan of the Toronto Public Library, although lately I've been using it for CDs rather than books. (One frustrating aspect of the TPL is that it doesn't send out e-mail reminders when my material is due, which means I'm usually incurring overdue fines. Thankfully, they only charge $0.30/day - although when one has about 10 items charged out, it can add up quickly...)

I also made a decision when I moved this past fall that I would pare my library (such as it is) down, so I ended up culling about 10 bankers boxes worth of books (I donated them to one of the university fall book sales; I probably bought most of them from there anyway). I was quite pleased that, once I moved, I could fit the majority of my permanent collection (consisting primarily of my favourite writers such as Roth, Murakami, Murdoch, et al., along with "genres" such as books about Toronto, various short story collections and cherished books from my childhood or gifted to me by friends) in one Ikea bookshelf. (There were a few that I couldn't fit, mostly my books about music and about writers on writing, so I relegated them to the office.) I did leave room for some new purchases, but I didn't have immediate plans to go on a book spending spree. For one, I already had quite a backlog of books I was reading.

But this weekend, I finally caved and bought two new books. I actually wrote about these a while back, but I only just this Saturday got around to purchasing them: 2666 by Roberto Bolano (perhaps my current favourite author) and Rebecca Rosenblum's collection of short stories, Once. These were easy purchases to make. Since I discovered Bolano with last year's wonderful The Savage Detectives, I'm hoping to purchase all his books for my personal library. And of course it's always good to support young Canadian writers, hence the Rosenblum purchase. (I read the first story, ContEd, which was quite good - a harbinger of the rest of the stories, I hope.) Even better, I bought from my local book retailer, Another Story Books.

My dad was forever preaching to me on the merits of buying local, reasoning that if one didn't buy from the local retailer, they might not be there when you do need them. Since I've been living in the city from age 20, coupled with the fact that I've never owned a car, it's been fairly easy to stick to this dictate. I've evolved and refined the local rule as well: in short, if it's at all possible, I'll buy from the smaller, independent retailer. (I was telling the lovely A. this weekend that only once have I visited a Wal-Mart: about 8 years ago at Square One in Mississauga. I bought a roasting pan - which I no longer have as I lost it in my last break-up).

I worry, however, that this rule will be harder to maintain as the years pass and the small, local retailer struggles to compete against the behemoth chains. I've even noticed it in terms of my book buying (slight as it is these days). For years and years, my main retail stop for new books (I used to buy a lot of secondhand stuff as well) was the Annex's Book City. It was so easy to spend an hour browsing through the store. Its staff were also among the most intelligent readers in the city - largely because so many of them were also writers - and always ready with helpful recommendations. Buying from them was guilt free. (Of course it also helped that my closest friend worked there for many years, so I'd usually get the 40% staff discount. How I miss those days!)

I'm saddened to report that Book City is no longer as wonderful as it once was. Sure, its selection is still strong, but it's a lot less thorough. For example, the Annex shop no longer has a second floor (where they used to have a fantastic selection of music, film and travel books, among other subjects). I also couldn't find Once. My main beef, however, is that its staff is not nearly as good or as knowledgeable. I find many of them aloof and unfriendly, and often they aren't that familiar with the store's stock. But maybe this says more about me, that as I get older I'm becoming more of a curmudgeon with respect to service. Or maybe I just miss the discount...

The past couple of years, I've found myself shopping occasionally from the Chapters/Indigo chain. (For the Americans that visit this site, it's akin to Borders. For UK readers, Waterstones.) And also Amazon. In fact, as I chronicled a couple of weeks back, I was prepared to buy the two books I just purchased this weekend at Amazon. I would have saved some money: it would have cost around $35 instead of the $53 I paid at Another Story. (Of course I would have had to add something else to reach the magic $39 to enjoy free shipping.) But my friend M. sort-of made me feel guilty about buying from Amazon, so I held off.

I'm glad I did since it allowed me to discover the wonderful Another Story shop. They even have a loyalty program: if I spend $200, I get a $10 credit. Ok, it's not much, but it's something! (And as I pointed out to the woman punching in my purchase, I'm already a quarter of the way there.) There's also the great secondhand shop She Said Boom just up the road, if I'm in the mood for some used fare.

Pity the wonderful music shop Soundscapes can't open a second location in my neighbourhood. Then I'd really be set. Oh, and a local liquor store.

Watching: Word Play (fun film), Fallen Angels (disappointing, but I chalk that up to the crappy film-to-DVD transfer, which basically dulled the look of the highly stylized cinematography).
Reading: see above.
Listening to: Ornette Coleman's Sound Grammar, Margaret Atwood's Massey Lectures (on my iPod while running).

How to define "gossamer disaster"?

My job is great, but like any job there are some tasks that are dull and downright depressing. To wit, I've spent the past week or so archiving the manuscripts and related editorial material of a Canadian literary publication. I don't mind working through the files of an actual issue – and kudos to the production editors that box the stuff up since it always arrives in great and well-organized shape – but there's an unsavoury aspect to one part of the collection: the slush-pile of rejected manuscripts.

Firstly, let me give full props to any and all that volunteer for a literary publication, particularly the slush-pile readers. I can only imagine how mind-numbing the exercise must be, having to wade through the seemingly interminable pile of short stories, creative non-fiction and poetry. (It's hard enough sorting them all for the archives.) It's thankless, difficult work. I'm actually quite shocked at the sheer number of manuscripts the journal receives – or maybe not, since many people consider themselves "writers." Geez, even a hack like me has been known to refer to myself as a writer! Although now I consider myself a 'hobbyist' with respect to my writing (BTW, there was a great piece in the NYTimes last Sunday about authoring a book. You can read it here.) And while there are a number of talented writers sending their manuscripts, much of what the journal receives can be considered dross or turgid. (Better still, feel free to insert your our own adjective here: _______.)

Truthfully, when I first worked on this journal's archive a couple of years, I got a mild kick out of the rejections. Naturally, it was way too tempting to read bits and pieces from manuscripts that a reader declared was 'terrible' or 'dreadful.' More often than not, the reader's assessment was dead on.

I've since changed my tune, however, to the point where I wish the journal would shred the rejects rather than ship them here for posterity. It's not just the sheer overload of bad material that gets me down – for one, not all of it is dreadful (although some submissions really have me questioning the author's judgment in sending it out for review) – but it's the slush-pile readers comments and general attitude on the manuscripts that is also wearing on me.

The comments cover a wide range, from the simple, declarative 'no,' to something like this: 'These stories are Kafkaesque allegories (like The Hunger Artist) which should be great especially since ideas like free-market capitalism and spectacle are so ripe for allegory and ironic introspection. However in their brevity these stories fall flat.' Talk about a considered reading - although I have no idea what he means.

Some of the readers – one in particular, actually – can be particularly mean-spirited. A few examples that I've seen today:

'This could have been a great story but the author spoiled it with MFA wussiness.'
'No – hard to get past the first 3-4 pages for the error-ridden, rambling prose!'
'There are two stories here, neither of which are as profound as the author believes. NO'
'A few more writing classes would do him good.' (Incidentally, this is from the same person that complained about the MFA wussiness.)
'This is actually a biography – a boring, boring biography.'
'11465 words of awful.'
'A gossamer disaster.'
'Utter crap. Apparantely we’ve published her before, which does us no credit.'
'Well, at least it was short. NO.'
'I had high hopes for this going in, but it became flabby and unco-ordinated. It was a Britney Spears story.'
'So slight that you gotta squint to see something. NO.'
'She should have sent a different excerpt: an interesting one.'
'This reads like all the other stories scrawled by the untalented dregs of every community college writing class. Ultra-no.'

Not all of the comments are so nasty. In fact, some of the readers are sensitive and willing to give something a chance, even if an author's voice is not-yet well developed and the story/poetry needs some work. There are some readers that will almost never declare a firm "no" without at least a look-see from another reader. (It's been particularly difficult coming across negative comments of manuscripts from friends/acquaintances of mine.)

What I'm left thinking is how much of getting published is pure chance. Of course there needs to be some ability, but what happens when a reasonably good piece first lands in the hands of a nasty reader? Maybe s/he just isn't attuned to a particular story or style of writing. Or is having a particularly bad day?

I'm starting to think that if you don't have anything nice to say...


Listening to: the Metric’s Live it Out (pity I won’t get a chance to see them play tonight)
Reading: the Dec. 15 issue of the New Yorker; the Rough Guide to Washington, DC
Watching: Wong Kar Wai’s Fallen Angels, Wordplay (the doc about crosswords)

The Office (party)

We had our staff holiday party yesterday afternoon. It's not exactly a wild and crazy event. We close an hour early, set up shop on site, and allow the seasonal jocularity to take its course. It's pot luck (I, naturally, contributed some tasty red wine), Christmas tunes are played at an acceptable volume (one woman complains every year that the music is too loud), and there's plenty of cheese and crackers and other snick-snacks to help absorb the wine. In short, it's a civilized affair. The thing usually lasts for just over a couple hours - then it's a quick clean-up, and home by 7:00.

One reason for such a somnambulistic party is that, while we all get along quite well at work, I wouldn't necessarily consider any of us all that close. We're friendly, but not friends. I'd say there's really only one person on staff that I would consider a "friend" - I'll confide about my personal life, for example - but we rarely socialize outside of the confines of the building. I don't necessarily mind this set up - work is work after all, and my social life is a separate entity.

It wasn't always like that, however. At one time, back in the mid-1990s, much of my social life revolved around my work life. It was a different time, a different job. (In my case, a totally different career.) I happened to be in an environment where there was a lot of shared sensibilities: the majority of us were young, in our first "real" jobs, single and poor. The work - it was a publishing company that put out about six newspapers/magazines - was interesting, for the most part, but the pay was lousy. It pretty much bordered on slave wages. (The commute too was a killer.) Still, I earned enough to pay the rent on my tiny bachelor apartment in the Annex, and have enough disposable dosh to enjoy the pleasures of the city. (There was also one great perk to the gig: considerable business travel.)

For the 2+ years I worked there, it was (mostly) great fun. Friendships began and were cemented. I socialized often with my colleagues. I can count two of my closest friends - one of whom I knew before I worked there, but who I really got to know well, largely from our commute - from that workplace. I also found love there. The relationship only lasted for a year, but it turned my world upside down (both for for good and bad, although the passage of time has allowed for only the good to remain in memory). It was a heady time, and even though I don't reflect back much on the actual work, I have nothing but good memories about the environment itself. (There have been two or three "reunions" over the past year or so which I've attended, but I prefer to hang with those that I still consider friends.)

Do I ever yearn for that type of work environment? Not really, no. I'm glad I experienced it, but my outside life is so much richer and interesting that I don't need a work environment to fill in any holes and gaps. I like my job - but I also like when the workday is done and I can leave my job here, in the building.

The theme of community continues to be playing itself out in my head and on my blog.

Random musings

I've long been a fan of the two-beer buzz. Tonight, I've become a fan of the four-beer buzz... Ah yes, it's the holiday season. Was out with my friend M. tonight, chatting about books and miscellany. (He gave me a nice compliment, saying that I was one of the few friends he knew that was a ferocious fan of fiction. And maybe alliteration.)

I was telling him I picked up a Michael Ignatieff book from the library today, to better acquaint myself with the person that might well be our Prime Minister. (He can't be any worse than the awful Stephen Harper.) I have a mild soft spot for Igantieff, mainly because I saw him in line at the Indigo book store in Manulife Centre a couple of years ago after he lost the Liberal Party leadership. He was just standing there, in this huge holiday-season line, like everybody else - like a Canadian, in other words. (That was a strange day for me because, about an hour before that, I ran into a woman I had dated and then a woman I lusted after in high school. And then chatted with a woman I had a huge crush on, who has since become a friend. Yes, it was one of those days.) Rather than read one of his non-fiction works, I took out one of his novels: Scar Tissue, which was shortlisted for the Booker back in the early 90s. (How many politicians can claim that on their resume?) After all, there's more truth in fiction than non-fiction, no? What better way to get some insight into the guy's soul.

It's been added to the queue.

People in your neighbourhood

I was writing a post yesterday afternoon, but got sidetracked by a freelance piece due today (she was happy with the draft, so no rewrites were necessary; hooray!), and then a somewhat surprising visit from A. in the evening. (I knew she was coming over, but wasn't sure when. I thought it was going to be much later.) And tonight, the hours have flown by, largely with watching Chungking Express. (Why did I think I'd seen this film before? I hadn't - and I can't figure out why because it's astounding. If you've never seen it, check out the new Criterion release of this wonderous, beautiful film. For those romantics in the crowd, be prepared to smile at the end.) But I want to jot a few words down before carting my books and magazines to the bedroom to read for an hour.

I was out with T. (joined later by A.) on Friday night, and we got to discussing "community." Namely, how I don't feel like I'm part of a community here in the city. A few years ago, he moved from Toronto to a small(ish) city in the province. He's since become a part of the artistic community there. He says it's easier to find a sense of community when the pool of interesting and intelligent people is not a large one to drawn upon.

Sometimes I feel overwhelmed here in the city. I love Toronto, don't get me wrong. I like that I both live and work in wonderful parts of the city. Yet, at times I feel lost. I think I'd enjoy being part of a community outside of my circle of friends. It could be literary, it could be something else. It could even be a virtual community, something I've been a willing participant in the past with past blogs.

Anyway I'm going to explore this issue further. It's too late to give this learned discussion. Stay tuned.



Reading: "Waiting" by Amos Oz in this week's New Yorker; I'm also considering ditching House for Mr. Biswas (I'm about 200 pages in, but my head space isn't fully there to enjoy it); I also took out Malcolm Gladwell's latest, Outlier, from the library.
Listening to: Amy Millan's Honey from the Tombs, Belle and Sebastian's The Boy with the Arab Strap.
Watching: enjoyed Enchanted, loved Chunking Express, have the documentary Wordplay in the queue.

Trying times

Apologies (to the two or three of you that actually visit this blog) for being silent for a few days. It's been a particularly trying week at work - without getting into specifics, it basically revolves around issues of feeling under appreciated and being powerless (not to mention continuing fears about the economy and whether that's going to mean my contract won't be renewed) - and it's made me a mite dispirited. (For those that know me, it usually takes quite a bit to make me feel down and depressed. I seem to have largely conquered the crazy mood swings I used to suffer from.) I'm also falling behind on some of the extra-curricular stuff I've committed to (including a freelance magazine piece, which pays me some real money), so that's been preying on my mind.

Needless to say, three cheers for the upcoming weekend! Although part of is going to be spent working on various writing projects. I'm also planning on attending the Guernica Editions book launch on Sunday aft. at Bar Italia.

I'm also trying to figure out my relationship with this blog. I promised myself that I wouldn't be too upset if it didn't find a lot of readers since I was using it primarily as a writing-exercise tool. Still, it's not always easy to come to grips that one is mainly writing only to oneself! Yet I'm also not being overly proactive in terms of "marketing" the blog. I've told a couple of friends, but not many. I suppose what I really need to do is begin commenting on other's blogs, and perhaps they'll come visit me.

But it did get me thinking about the "types" of blogs that I enjoy reading. I've long been a fan of reading artists' blogs, particularly those that take the time and energy to craft thoughtful, intelligent posts. It's a great way for admirers to feel a little closer to the artist. For example, Pete Townshend used to have a kick-ass blog years ago. It was classic Townshend: intelligent, witty, confessional (maybe sometimes too confessional), and it provided a handy update on his musical projects. He'd even post the occasional video of him playing guitar, which was always a treat. I think he still posts a blog, but it's now under the auspices of the authorized The Who web site. The last time I checked, one to had to subscribe (and pony up some ducats) to access it, so I haven't read him in awhile. (I just went to check out his blog: it costs $50 to become a member! I love your music, Pete, but no thanks.)

The violinist Hilary Hahn has one of the best online journals of a musician. She's a good writer, which of course is a bonus, but the blog is a great window into the life of a working professional musician. She usually has some great travel stories - she used to post photos of the cities she's visiting, but she seems to have dropped that feature - and gives us insight into the pieces she's playing and/or preparing to play. I've read interviews with her on the importance of this type of outreach - she recognizes that the web is a good venue for her to promote both herself and classical music in general.

Another blog I've been reading of late is that of Toronto writer Rebecca Rosenblum. I stumbled upon it via work one day, and have since become a devoted reader. Again, it helps that she's a terrific, intelligent (and fun!) writer. It also reminds me a lot of Hilary Hahn's journal - providing a glimpse into the brain and life of an artist - but with a twist: namely that Rebecca (not that I'm on a first-name basis with her...) is an emerging talent, and that her first recently launched book is getting great buzz. It's been great fun reading her thoughts on her reviews, her readings, and her (sort of) celebrity, even the role of her blog. It's served a useful PR function too: I'm planning on buying the book. (I actually went to my local Book City the other day to pick it up but couldn't find it. Blah.)

Listening to: too many tunes to mention on my new 120GB iPod - nothing like a new toy to play with!
Watching: Hopefully two DVDs this weekend - Enchanted (the Disney film) and the new Criterion release of Wong Kar-wai's Chungking Express
Reading: continuing the V.S. Naipaul, but also the new issue of the New Yorker (which carries a profile of Naomi Klein, who I once chatted with very briefly before a Don Ross show in Toronto)