In Search of a Dignified Pencil Case

I enjoy order, organization, and categorization to a downright anal degree; unfortunately I am also a little lazy and more than a little absent minded, so pretty much everything I'm responsible for tends to develop along a frankenstienian filing scheme that neatly labels and sorts and re-sorts and cross sorts a narrow selection of what needs to be sorted while the rest is allowed to pile up in the corners until I skim a layer off for over-sorting.

So needless to say, I like for everything to have a home of some kind, so I can funnel any sort of overflow into the system quickly and easily. I love cases and containers; the more little partitions they have, the better. I had a great one for my Warhammer 40K minatures back in the day, which could ferry my poorly painted hordes across the city in red packing-foamed splendor.

But what I've been interested in for awhile now is a classy pencil case; most of the ones you see in stores are loudly colored enough to double as reflective signals for avalanche stranded skiiers or mini traffic pylons. Never mind bringing these things to school; I don't even like the look of them on my desk.

So when I saw a decent compromise between my expectations/desires/hopes and what is exists in actual fact at Grand & Toy the other day, I jumped on it: a Vaultz(that's right, with a z dawg) locking pencil case. It's sturdy and professional looking, but still not quite my ideal pencil repository.



So I'm still on the hunt and open to suggestions; my next avenue of inquiry will be into Cigar boxes/humidors, though the latter may be a little expensive and over-equipped for my needs(they tend to have some kind of humidity moderating device installed inside the lid). I'm looking for James Bond's pencil case, really, though mine won't need to shoot anything or blow up on command. Won't need to, mind you.

War! What is it good for?

An afternoon at the War Museum, says I.

Two or so weeks ago me'n'M embarked on the second stretch of our cultural crusade and visited the new and improved War Museum, which on account of it's almost nautical architectural profile seems to have risen whole from underdeveloped eyesore that is Landsdown park. Up close the structure is more evocative of a bunker than a submarine; it's an intriguingly thematic building in and of itself.

I've found composing this post to be difficult; even if my personal distance from the events recounted and memorialized in the Museum 'liberates' me from the solemnity with which some might survey these violent chapters in our history, I still feel as though I am walking through the graveyards of my ancestors and countrymen. In the presence of their ghosts I am accordingly restrained.

The Museum itself is almost cavernous; one best apprehends it's size in those parts of the building that are the least adorned or decorated. We were greeted first by a cheerfully colored mock-tank plastered with hand-made camouflage, an extension of the well-executed camouflage exhibit. The exhibit itself was informative and visually arresting at times, with an interesting history of the art of camouflage patterns and the evolution of their design, from hand drawn to digitally determined. There was also a selection of uniforms from various nations and historical periods, as well as several examples of civilian appropriations of camouflage for the sake of fashion or merchandising.

The main exhibit, an architecturally uninterrupted tour through Canada's wars(from Aboriginal conflicts to UN Peacekeeping) is balanced(in terms of the depth of the material and diversity of media) and interesting, though I confess I wasn't able to muster much attention for the WWII displays on account of having read/watched so much on that subject previously. The displays I most enjoyed were those of antique pistols and colonial era weaponry; they possess a certain romance in design and appearance that cooled considerably as firearms advanced over the centuries.

The hall of vehicles(it really is just a huge hall filled with...vehicles), while certainly interesting, seemed a little uninspired to me; the various tanks and trucks and old-style cannons(once again my favorite little corner in the vast mechanical managrie) were just laid out in rows as if they were just temporaily parked rather than on display.

The gift shop had some fantasically overpriced DVD's and a couple of cool 'seals' for imprinting your initials in wax; unfortunatly there were no J's or M's, just alot of X's. Apparently the shop was expecting a rush of Xaviers with a fondness for wax sealed messages that week. To conclude the visit me and M took in the view from the roof, which provided a good vantage over Bluesfest preperations.

I'll probobly have some more reflections on the experience later, but as it stands it was a lovely afternoon and well worth the price of admission. ^_^

Gastrojeff

I'm a meat and potatoes kind of guy; while I enjoy watching television shows about haught cuisine but my own palate is pretty conservative(read 'timid'). That may have something to do with my discomfort in the kind of formal settings wherein high class nosh is usually served. I much prefer the diner atmosphere with all its greasy charm. But this latest Tuesday I was invited to my boss's birthday party at the Wellington Gastropub and, being flattered immensly simply by the invitiation, decided to take a chance.

Thank God I did.

The Wellington, for those who don't know, is organized around the 'gastropub' concept imported from England: gourmet food and good beer in a casual atmosphere. The menu, which changes daily, is arranged in classic starter-entree-desert fashion. We ate in a private room set aside for parties of a certain size, with an extremely pleasent and professional waiter who hovered about at fifteen or twenty minute intervals, replacing water and bread unbidden as we talked.

The food itself was delectable; I have it on good authority that the wine and beer was also excellent but seeing as I don't drink I was satisifed with pepsi of an unremarkable vintage. xD For a starter I had a puree of 'potato, leek, and red peppers, with a smoked garlic sauce.' The potato and leek rounded out the flavor of the peppers and the sauce provided an oily undertone that gave the dish alot of depth; I cleaned my bowl down to the dregs.

My entree(and last course cooked by the Wellington kitchen that night; our dessert was bought from a nearby cake shop and graciously served up in segments by the resturant itself) was a plate of 'potato scallion ravilois, with creamy local cabbage, Le Coprin Mushrooms, honey roasted shallot sauce, and aged chedder'. It was all delicious; the mushrooms flared up in a kind of controlled burn of flavor that left me suitably impressed. Overall, it was a wonderful dining experience. And not toooo expensive; those who drank paid more, but I made off with a 55 dollar bill, and I have to say it was well worth the price.

Here's a link to their website, for those that are interested.

Harry Potter and the Abrupt Scene Transitions

Seeing as our plans to take in the latest cultural curios on offer at Civ were scuttled due to unforeseen Ginger-related complications(we had to babysit her; she was moping around a bit in a post-tetnus shot stupor, and me'n'mom felt it was best that someone keep an eye on her), myself, M, Tim, and latterly Anna set off for an evening with KoolHarry and the gang. Apparently M has had Potter on the brain for a few days, so hopefully this'll lay those urges to rest.

The movie, taken as a whole, was good; I can't remember much about the last one, but I get the feeling this one was better. Book six is a bit less imposing in size than Pheonix, which probably smoothed the passage from book to film. As ever, several storylines and characters were laid to rest on the cutting room floor, but the result is a tight(in the good sense, like 'that band is tight') abridging of HBP that's internally consistent, unlike, say, Prisoner of Azkaban, which as I recall(feel to correct me) fumbled the time travel a little bit. Since they shut out alot of side plots completely, nothing is really left hanging at the end; I think the film's portrayal of Lupin/Tonks illustrates my point here nicely. There's no tension in their relationship when it makes a quick appearance mid-story, so there's no need to have their awkward reconciling at the end.

Much of the comedy was anchored around teenage romance(though Harry's felix trip was pretty funny as well*) and I thought it worked well; the Potter-fanatics teenage girl gallery that took up much of the theatre's rear seating felt it worked even better, judging by their reaction to scooby gang's artless flirtations(between themselves and others) and the ensuing fueds.

As ever, the acting was excellent; Harry, Ron and Hermione put on a good show and the elder cast members put on a great one. Slughorn was a bit thinner than I'd pictured him, and possessed less...gravitas than his counterpart in the novel, but the actor's facial expressions more than made up for any quibbles.

My main complaints, though one is a bit more tounge in cheeck than the other, concern the titular scene transations and the addition of some needless scenes. On the first count, this movie did alot better than Pheonix, which didn't so much lurch as lunge through it's story at breakneck speed. I never had a hard time following HBP's progression, but some scenes seemed truncated and served as poor jumping off points for the scenes that followed. A zoom in on the 'Half Blood Prince's' signature also zoomed through several months and straight into winter. I guess I'm used to watching TV shows with alot more main characters; the story progression tends to be a bit more of a lateral cross-section of a day/week/month rather than a linear jog when you have so many things going on at once in different places.

And on the second count, there was a completly pointless battle scene at the Weasley's; it served no purpose but to burn down the Weasley's house and showcase some decent horror/thriller cinemtography in the Weasley's fields. I liked the camera work and all, but it was an unwelcome substitute for other potential scenes from the actual source materal. On the other hand, the scene that replaced Dumbledore's funeral was actually quite nice; there was also alot of original dialouge that worked well in the general framework adapted from Rowling.

So overall, an evening well spent. ^_^ Chime in with your own thoughts/reviews, please.

*"Harrrrrryyy!" "Siiiiiiiiiiiir?" xD

Our Daily Rorschach Test

Even if the Rorschach ink blot pattern hadn't been so prominently featured in the movie adaption of Watchmen, I'm sure the general public would be pretty familiar with the basic idea behind the Rorschach test: the interpretation of a fairly ambiguous black splotch under the assessment of a psychologist, who uses the patient's response to draw some conclusions about their personality and emotional wellness. Apparently it's still widely taught and applied; 80% of clinical psychologists engaged in 'assessment services' in the U.S. make use of the test, according to wiki.


I can't remember the first time I ever saw or heard about the test, but I'm pretty sure it holds a place of honor in cartoon comedy's 'war chest'; whenever a character wound up in getting sent to an archetypal Freudian therapist(who often enough seemed to be Freud himself), the ink blot cards made their appearance and served as a jumping off point for zaniness. The phrase that I've always associated with the whole routine is 'Tell me what you see.'

So the other day, I was signing up for something online and was asked to complete one of those ubiquitous word verification tests to prove my humanity. Normally there's nothing exceptional or interesting about that(though I'm beginning to suspect the letters of the test themselves are transcribed by unlettered hobos stabled for the common use of all major internet businesses, given the often illegible jumble of letters and lines I end up having to pick apart), but the test prompt itself caught my eye on account of it's choice of words: 'Type what you see in the box'.

...What I see, eh?

So if I see 2zx009 as an incentive to murder clowns and real estate brokers, should I type that in? Am I going to get a call from someone about that? If the font and lettering remind me of cold, dystopian metropolis in outline, do I still get to sign up for the...International society of...Rollercoster...saboteurs monthly newsletter? Or...G-mail?

What do you see?

P.S. I don't know what it says about me, but every single Rorschach ink blot reminds me of Mothra. Take from that what you will. =P

Asleep at the...Sleep Lab

"So Jeff, how was your night?"

"Well, I spent half of it getting gelled and wired up with a dozen different contacts and sensors, and the other half huddled beneath an unfamiliar bedspread and the unforgiving gaze of a ceiling mounted night vision camera; occasionally I woke to careful prodding of a faceless technician as she adjusted or replaced some portion of the tangled noose of wires that kept me within arm's length of the computers mounted on my bedside table. In the morning I crept out, fashioned a crude rope from my sheets, scaled down the side of the hospital, and ran till I couldn't see even it's outline on the horizon.

But tell me, how was your night?"

But seriously, it was pretty neat. ^_^

Actually, it was also quite comfortable. Considering the amount of wiring strung up around you by the time they tuck you in, you've still got alot of room to toss and turn as you like; the rooms were pleasant and the pillows almost luxuriously soft. They clip a small plastic breath monitor twixt your mouth and nose that takes a tad getting used to, but it's unobtrusive enough that you end up forgetting it's there within a few minutes. That was my experience, anyway.

And the sleep technicians were great; I actually felt kind of bad for them, given that their own sleep schedules must be a little out of sync with the rest of the world. As mine quipped: you work at a Sleep Disorder Clinic? Congratulations, you've got a sleep disorder!

I asked the technician who woke me if she had spotted anything interesting on my screen(like, me turning into a werewolf or something awesome like that), and apparently she did notice some trouble breathing, some snoring, and some 'apnea events', which I suppose is me waking briefly due to the aforementioned breathing issues. Whatever it was, it wasn't bad enough to warrant my immediate 'masking' with the device that's used to treat severe Sleep Apnea, which they warned me might take place if they observed too many apnea events over the course of the night.

Interesting as it was, I am however looking forward to sleeping unencumbered and unobserved in my own bed tonight. ^_^

Why Philosophers(or maybe just Swedes) Shouldn't Have Children

Now, I'll admit at the outset that neither gender studies or philosophy are my academic strong suits; I hope to rectify the latter someday even if the former has yet to really draw my interest. Nevertheless, this compels some comment even from such an ignorant as myself:

A Swedish couple have decided to keep their child's sex a secret, in the hopes that it won't be pigeon holed into any gender roles from the outset. It's public name would appear to be 'Pop'.

Now, I'm fairly sure that the parents are not in fact academic philosophers, and my point may have been better made if I titled the post 'why philosophies shouldn't have children'.

Philosophies, by which I mean those systems of thought that share common grounds and goals and evaluations of human nature/activity(like pragmatism, or utilitarianism) occupy, to me, a middle ground between the abstract and the concrete: they have as their subject a very concrete issue(i.e., humanity) and pontificate on it's essential nature and right ordering in a kind of intellectual vacuum, from which educators, politicians and parents may pluck particular insights as they wish.

But that careful disassembling of theory for the sake of practice should be, and I think often is, conditioned by the realities of day to day life. And while I've no objection to someone living out their own life experimentally, using a child to showcase or prove a controversial aspect of a contreversial and not at all concrete theory borders on irresponsible. That gender roles are to some degree(likely a big one) conditioned socially doesn't change the fact that Pop will be growing up in a gendered society, and unless they want to raise it/him/her in some kind of bubble there will be examples for it to identify with a emulate, voiding the whole intent of this experiment: Pop's uncoerced choice of gender, wholly apart from it's biological sex.

Apart from the fact that none of us grow up in that intellectual playground of the philosophers, I'd also like to point out that Pop's parents are really rolling the dice as to its appearance. Barring an androgynous maturation on Pop's part, biology may break the code of silence first.

I don't doubt that these people love Pop very much, but I do think this is a wrongheaded venture. As one of the experts interviewed the in the article said, child rearing is about the needs of the child. Growing up in our admittedly imperfect world, I think Pop would benefit more from an education that affirmed his/her gender while outlining the limitations of what society decides is appropriate behavior for you as opposed to what you yourself feel drawn to do or commit to.

I'm sure there's more to say, but I've got too many blanks to fill in with regard to the actual theory behind all this. I'd be interested to hear others thoughts though. ^_^

I Scream, You Scream, We all Scream for the H1N1 Flu Virus!

When I first heard about this(from Chez radio, station of choice in the basement at Baker Street), I thought it was the work of either nihilistic cultists or risk junkies for whom even Russian Roulette had become tame: H1N1 parties.

The architects of these unlikely gatherings are in fact parents, hoping to spare their children the effects of the next 'wave' of flu infections by getting them sick now with the less harmful variant currently out and about in the population. It's like a pox party! But some buzzkills in labcoats are crashing the party (hopefully)before it can get started, descending from their stainless steel havens to dispense such pearls as: it's risky to expose your children to illness, since they could die. That's the abbreviated edition, but I think I captured the jist of their advice.

Read the story and decide for yourself.

Don't decide whether it's good idea or not; it isn't. Just decide if I summarized those scientists well. Actually, I did, so don't decide that either. Aren't you glad I'm around to take care of decisions like this?

Museum of Science Nostalgia and Technology Photography?

So, myself and my sometimes partner in crime MSN(Microsoft might end up taking possession of her initials some day) paid a visit to Science and Tech a few weeks ago, since I don't think either of us had been since middle school and we thought it'd be fun to take in our occasional adolescent stomping ground(more on that fateful term later) with the jaded eyes of...young adults, maybe? Dashing young adults. Dashing young rogues. Dashing Rogues, there.

And it couldn't hurt to brush up on some science and the history thereof, right? As it turns out, just about every detail of the museum's presentation is geared toward my childish, almost neanderthal understanding of the natural world. And while I'm sure M was more than a little put off by the assumption that entering the premises had de-aged her by about 10 years and hosed off a few frantic semesters worth of science edjumecation, even I could discern the sizable gulf between my mature interest in the subject matter and the DID YOU KNOW diction used in most exhibits.

Also, we couldn't even interact with most of the dynamic/moving pieces on offer, since they'd been 'enjoyed too much'. That's what the apologetic stickers actually said. It sounds like something you'd say about an over-tired clown at a birthday party.

Of course, even when I did attempt to read the storybook style blurbs about electricity or...canoes or whichever, I was frequently startled and herded onward by the gangs of stomping tweens and teens roaming the floor. Remember that word? Right, so, if I learned anything that day, it's that:

1) Copper melts at 1100 degrees(or so).

2) I hate kids.

I guess I've never been stuck in a confined space with so many for a few years, but now the truth is laid bare: they annoy me profoundly. Hollering, screeching, scattering in every direction at top speed for no reason- it's transformed into an old fogey. I wanted to give them stern looks and talkin' to's. And if that didn't work, hunt them down and stuff them in the Krazy Kitchen, which by the way they also wrecked for us.

It was still pretty krazy though, to be fair.

So all in all, I couldn't shake a certain sense of...distance between myself and the information on display; I appreciated it all in a nostalgic sense, but it felt rather like trying to fit into an old Halloween costume or something. Awkward. I suspect chaperoning someone younger might permit some vicarious enjoyment of it all, but M's a little too old for that. Just barely. :P

So did I enjoy anything? Well, I've exaggerated old SciTech's faults a bit; there were some quiet moments and interesting write-ups, but the best exhibit was, in my humble opinion, the least topical: an expansive tribute to Yousef Karsh, a noted Armenian-Canadian portrait photographer who worked with some of the biggest names in recent(as in 20th century) history. I'm not sure what it had to do with Science or Technology(except in the most basic sense), but it was fascinating nonetheless. There was even a working camera and portrait station you could use to capture a friend's likeness in stunning style. My picture of M was kind of...how'd she put it...lame?But I've got till September to amend that injustice. =D

And that's about it. I'd be interested in M's perspective, if she'd deign to comment.

Oh, and I liked the telephones that let you listen to a spiel from some guy(or gal) pretending to be a famous scientist or inventor. One day I hope I can insert one that goes a bit like this:

Hello, I'm Marie Curie and I have fucking had it. Let me go, or Bell dies, I swear...

(Alexander Graham Bell, in the distance) : She's serious! Banting's already dead, God please help us...

MC: Shut up Bell! SHUT UP!

Now that's education.