The band eats during a break at the trefor.net xmas party at the PhoenixArtistClub in SoHo.
Pic by Nick Pickles
March 7, 2013
March 6, 2013
K²day: Thin Air
12h40-13h32, 06-March-2013
Flight delayed, word of “extremely slippery” conditions on the road from Keflavik to Reykjavik, and My Missus just received a call from her bank asking if she is in the U.S. racking up charges on her credit card (she is not). All things considered, though, we could be in Bucharest…or Detroit.
Airports. Photo opportunities are to be had with just about every eye-blink at the airport. Building infrastructure that is not applied (or appropriate) anywhere else, a virtual gumbo of different peoples caring for a seemingly inexhaustible array of luggage styles and sizes, this gadget that gadget the other gadget and a gadget I never thought I’d see, the shoes!, strange vehicles purposefully darting here and there (Or to and fro? I am growing ever more certain that it is the closing in of the Cliché Cops that is causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand up.), baggage carrousels…? And, of course, I could go on. Everywhere I look I see pictures that deserve and demand to be taken by someone with far more photography skill than I wield, and — By gum! — it pisses me off.
Today my Eljay (everone should have one) is also in transit, heading for Austin from Londontown for another go at SxSW Interactive. Via social media this morning she reported seeing a Heathrow shop selling “freshly ground coffee & pastries” and quipped that she had “decided to pass on liquidised-coffee-flavoured pastry sludge for breakfast”. As entertained and thought-provoked as I was by Elj’s bon mot, though (and her spellings, though my faith is strong that the day wiill come when the Brits learn to properly speak and write English), I cannot shake the thought that there might be a business opportunity in it all.
Weather reports from Iceland continue to come across, with conditions worsening and a weather warning being issued for parts of the south and west (Keflavik, Reykjavik…). Heavy snowfall, strong gale winds of more than 20 m/s and blizzards…m/s? Into the icy maw of Scandinavian HELL we go (if IcelandAir actually opts to put 543 in the air today, that is)!
I spy with my little eye…a black leather-clad tallish blondish thinnish woman applying far too much lip gloss, a twentysomething student-type guy with his headphones askew (left ear in, right ear out) who is tapping his iPhone against his thigh like a drumstick (wooden, not chicken), a faux beige cowboy hat sitting atop an extensible luggage handle, a lost mouse who is considering making a break for safer harbor…a mouse? Heh no, I made that up. No mice in evidence today at CDG. None of the mammal variety, anyway.
When did Boeing start making planes with tip-up wings? Are new Airbus planes employing the same feature? Is it a design affectation or does it truly add to the flying/flight experience? If free wifi was in the offing I am sure I could find the question’s answer, thus proving yet again that instant information access does not always enable a sense of wonder.
And the Airmail beta? Those crazy kooky tinkerers just refuse to sleep! Build 143 turned up a short time ago, this following yesterday’s release of both Build 141 and Build 142. Feature me once, shame on you. Feature me twice…?
Flight 543 IcelandAir is now boarding. <Cue omininous violin music behind slow fade to white>
4 pints of Timothy Taylors Landlord poured at the Strugglers Inn in Lincoln
4 pints of Timothy Taylors Landlord poured at the Strugglers Inn in Lincoln. Landlord is the king of beers and the Strugglers a perfect palace in which to reside. A great place to go for a beer in front of the fire on a winter’s evening. Look out for more pictures from the Strugglers in the Art Gallery.
March 5, 2013
Fish at Borough Market
Fish – smell the sea, feel the wind blowing your hair across your face, peel the spuds and get the chip pan on. A sensory wall hanging in the Art Gallery.
K²day: The Rumble, Overheard
11h16-12h48, 05-March-2013
On the way back from walking My Missus to the Metro this morning I realized yet again (re-realized? re-re-re-re-re-realized?) that “walking-asleep” is when I am most open to abstract free-flowing creative thought. That said, I cannot offer a reasonable rationale for why I waited 2.5 hours before disconnecting AppleKory from the home net hive in search of today’s perch. Hmm…well, there was the just-released latest-greatest update to the Airmail beta that absolutely demanded installation…and then I just couldn’t fail to finish Steven Brill’s extraordinary article on the U.S. healthcare system in last week’s Time (Bitter Pill: Why Medical Bills Are Killing Us)…Twitter this, Twitter that, and no small amount of while-I-slept Facebooking to catch up on…
The other side of my table today features a guest star in the form of The Boy, whose two week Vacance d’Hiver (Winter Holiday) began yesterday. I won’t spend time or pixels here attempting to describe how passing time is vastly improved by the kid’s presence, but I could, I really could, and the words would flow like water from a busted East 100th Street fire hydrant in a Bruce Davidson photo…
Bouncing in my seat to what has to be a Two-for-Tuesday playlist…Jefferson Airplane’s “Go Ask Alice” led (and had to have been preceded by “Somebody to Love” as there aren’t any others by the band that are worth a spit), followed down the rabbithole by a fantastic 1-2-3-4 Leonard Cohen two-fer/Neil Young two-fer. Now enduring some 2000s-ish acoustic-sticky happy-in-my-angst half-song thing with a two-clicks-past-too-earnest voicing (you know, that RomCom/”Grey’s Anatomy” montage-ready sludge).
Spent some time with The Boy in the neighborhood Virgin Megastore yesterday afternoon. The store opened nearly 10 years ago, bringing with it a gulletful of hope and expectation for dramatic improvement on the oh-so-dilapidated Boulevard Barbes, however it is now in its death throes as evidenced by the diminishing inventory (oh, and by the announcement in January that the chain was filing for bankruptcy). Walking amongst the lightly-populated shop’s sad shelves and tables — and they are sad, helped to that state by far too many “Soldes!” signs and stickers and nicked-up product spread too thin — I found my thoughts settling into nostalgia for a time not-long-enough-ago-to-warrant-nostalgia when music and book stores were my best and favorite places of refuge. Barenaked Ladies captured the heart of my Single Guy existence best in song with Brian Wilson, singing:
“Drove downtown in the rain,
9:30 on a Tuesday night,
just to check out the late-night..record shop.
Call it impulsive.
Call it compulsive.
Call it insane.”
Of course, late-night bookstores sufficed just as well (way way back then?!) and they had the added enticement of coffee on site, though I never did manage to pin down whether there was a specific day each week when the new tomes were let loose upon the thirsty public.
OH. Must stop typing. John Lennon is here, singing about how a working class hero and how they are something to be, and attention must be paid. And now a band has magically appeared, helping John to convey power to the people (right on!).
At this point I might look up and stare a bit — out the window, at someone interesting-looking (or someone doing the same take-a-break stare), deep into and through some tchochke or kinda-neglected piece of hanging art whatnot — in pursuit of an ending, however today when I look up I see The Boy with his headphones earmuffing his head and realize (re-re-realize) that the priority has shifted definitively into procuring lunch feed.
March 4, 2013
K²day: Stone Soup
16h42-17h50, 04-March-2013
Color me surprised this afternoon to discover that both of the newish modernish hip-coolish wifi-ready coffee houses in my neighborhood conform to the oh-so-dusty-European custom of being closed for business on Monday. Always learning in this life, we are…and always walking further than we intended as a result.
Less than three hours ago, right at the tail-end of a lunch best not recounted here, I had a truly great idea for a topic on which to write about today. I did, I really did. The thought made me smile, it made me laugh, it lifted my spirit and filled me with anticipation, and then it took a partner and danced straight out of my mind with nary a backward glance. Not that I am spending much time aching over subjects, mind you, but when you’ve got a good one by the tail (never by the nose) there is no escaping a slicing sense of loss when it breaks free and skips away.
Metaphors. I see I am not lacking for those today, oh no. Of course, me without metaphors is like a laundry basket without socks, or or or a bulletin board without thumbtacks. Uh, a money-showered celebrity without an entourage? Nope, it’s true…the good ones really won’t come when you call.
The chocolat chaud that was meant to share the ride today is already gone, and that is because it was not hot, not marginally so, and thus it was no more in three easy glugs. And that is especially bothersome, considering Le clair de lune, the neighborhood bar/café I tap-tap-tap from today, is part of an affiliation of like establishments called HotCafe. Ironic? Nah. The point isn’t nearly important enough to be considered so and should be released on its own recognizance.
At this point it is evident that the loss of my afformentioned certain-world-beating topic has left me in a place of riffing (read: scrambling, reaching, clutching, grasping, flailing…). Hmm. Should I write about Airmail, the rollickin’ new email program I started beta-testing over the weekend? Uh, no. Or maybe go on a bit about the dreamy handmade camera half-case my eyeballs and fingertips have been tingling over (for Leyna the Leica…avid readers will surely recall my naming psychosis) and that I am thisclose to ordering, as a 48th Birthday gift to myself from My Missus? Uh, no. My ongoing effort to integrate the complete recordings of both Louis Armstrong and Miles Davis into the TOK Tunes digital music library? No no no, heavens no. My surprise over CuzJ being a tad jealous over my imminent Iceland holiday, this despite his leaving days from now for Hawaii? Huh? Of course, I could just share a cat story…
And there it is again, that utterly brilliant topic, rearing its ghastly head as expected and just in time to miss the whole of today’s session of Fill-the-Cruelly-Oppressive-Blank-Space. Caged that slippery beast in a note-to-self this time, though, thus finally subscribing to the notion that writing is at least as much organization as inspiration (perspiration, preparation, presentation, elucidation, and mental masturbation aside).
The giant electrical plug
This is one helluva plug. I didn’t have time to look around the corner to see what it was connected to. Probably a giant vacuum cleaner or huge electric fire. It should be possible to find out but perhaps I’ll leave it to you to go and see. Let me know won’t you? 🙂
March 3, 2013
March 2, 2013
3rd law part 18
This is one of those time has no meaning days. I have a jobs list but nothing that won’t wait. In one sense it doesn’t make sense to use the internet on a day like this. If time has no meaning it means you have a lot of it going spare. If I use the internet the third law will kick in and that time will have gone. Decisions decisions.
I did just pop out to the back garden for a kickabout with a football with our youngest. The garden has no chance really. It is littered with cracked pots and broken plants, bashed by ball. The lawn itself is in dire need of attention, lots of muddy patches and where there is greenery it is often moss. There is really no point in doing anything about it whilst it is still used as a sports field. Perhaps I should get the groundsman from the school over the road to come in and give it some industrial strength attention.
It’s a good phrase, “industrial strength”. Handy for lots of situations though I’m not sure I can quote an example here, other than the one I just did. It’s a bit like “fair play”. Useful, generally. I’ve made myself think here, wondering what other phrases come into the same category.
The pause for thought is represented by a couple of carriage returns, invisible but hopefully obvious. I’m afraid I can’t think of another such phrase though if I do I’ll burst out mid paragraph, a kind of metaphoric “Eureka”. Eureka is also a handy word but not a phrase and really only meant to represent the fact that you have discovered something unexpectedly.
You won’t see this but I am writing this bit at a desk in the TV room. It used to be my study but that went out the door when we got a TV. It might surprise you to hear that our oldest was thirteen before we had a TV in the house. I eventually bowed to pressure from a daughter about to go up to high school who was worried she might not be able to keep up with the TV gossip in the playground, although I don’t think they call it playground at “big school”. Playground is for kids.
Although I effectively lost my study it is quite handy to have a room that I can shut the door on and not have to put up with the rubbish they have on. It isn’t all rubbish but the vast majority is. I usually end up in another room on my laptop indulging in a bit of third law, or writing stuff like I am now.
Most of my writing is done on a sofa in the living room or in the kitchen or the conservatory (with Colonel Mustard and the lead piping). That bit in brackets is an in phrase for those in the know. It isn’t quite an eureka phrase and certainly not worthy of a shout out, in case you are analysing every word for the promised expression of surprise and discovery.
That expression may never arrive. I do feel as if I should be offering a prize for the first person to spot such an expression but I won’t because I’ll probably be inundated with emails and comments with “entries” none of which will be right and all of which will be expecting some kind of response. Not that I don’t like comments. I’m a pretty gregarious individual and like to engage with folk.
That’s my rule for twitter. I only follow people who are real people and who have something to say other than “buy my left handed widget”, “offers on left handed widgets” and “sale of left handed widgets ends at noon”. I don’t even know what a left handed widget is and seeing as I am right handed can’t see what possible use I could have for one unless it is something like a fork which I hold in my left hand using my right to manipulate the knife. I might be completely wrong here. It may also be that left handed widgets can also be used in the right hand in which case they are mislabelled, misrepresented and quite possibly miss sold, though not to me as I won’t buy one because I won’t be following them on twitter. I don’t think I’ve ever bought anything through following a link on twitter. I do get a lot of my news through twitter mind you. Breaking news, you saw it first on twitter, hot action as it happens from first hand witnesses, unless that is it is just a simple retweet. In fact it is mostly going to come from retweets as I don’t know anyone who lives in a war zone and who is likely to be filling my stream with live action coverage.
I have been stranded in war zones on two occasions in my life. The first was on 9 11. I was at a conference in the USA. The whole thing fizzled out as the planes crashed on day one of the conference. Many of the attendees had not yet arrived and most who could, drove home leaving just the overseas visitors to spend a week around the pool and going out every night.
The second was during the July 7th bombings in London. I had been expecting to catch a train back north from Kings Cross that day but instead was “forced” to spend the whole afternoon in the pub, crashing out at my sister Sue’s place in Balham for the night. It was handy having a sister living in Balham (gateway to the South) but she lives in Cardiff now which is also quite handy for when you want to go and watch the rugby at the Millennium Stadium which I am wont to do every now and again.
I remember once staying with Sue in Balham after watching England play Wales at Twickers. Sue had been the “good Auntie” and taken Joe then aged three out in London for the day. Hamleys toy shop, that kind of stuff. It’s hard work looking after a three year old, especially when you are not used to it so when I got back from the rugby Sue was desperate for some adult company, a few glasses of wine and a meal. Unfortunately I had been on the pop at a corporate jolly all day and all I could do when I got in was collapse. Poor Sue.
Sue’s a violinist you know. When we were kids we used to play the sailors hornpipe together, her on the fiddle and me on guitar. We would repeat the tune playing the verses faster and faster until we could physically go no faster. Mam and day would be quite proud when they saw people stop outside our house to listen. We still do it as a party piece. That and “The Irish Washerwoman”. Fair play 🙂
Slipped that one in, the fair play. You can’t claim it as a new phrase though because it was in the original spiel on useful phrases. Spiel is also a very useful word but like Eureka, not a phrase. I might be being a little harsh on myself here insisting on the useful phrase being a phrase rather than just a word but there again rules is rules. If you make ‘em there is no point in breaking ‘em straight away though I know that “rules are meant to be broken”. That last phrase by the way is not one of the useful ones. It is interesting enough but not in my book useful, and this is indeed my book.
It would be no different if it was my ball and we were playing football. If it’s my ball we play by my rules. Period. Full stop. I don’t really like the word period, it’s too American and I don’t know why I used it.
3rd law part 17 here
3rd law part 19 here
March 1, 2013
K²day: I Walked Through Bedford-Stuy Alone
13h32-14h34, 01-March-2013
As I start in today the free wi-fi at neighborhood café Le Carrefour is down. After the mild railing I gave myself yesterday for my susceptibility to Internet distraction, though, this could be more a good thing than a bad thing…provided what ends up on this page over the next 60 minutes or so is of any use whatsoever.
On Tuesday, issue #8 of “Hawkeye” hit comic shops (and the Internet…DLing comics is as easy these days as DLing television programs), and as has been the case since an old friend turned my eyes to the book some months back, it broke straight through the clutter and delighted me no end. A super hero who lives and interacts among non-Avenger types in an apartment building is nothing new — since the 60s, only “old money” such as Batman and Iron Man have had the dosh to crib out in stately manors — but Hawkeye is certainly the first who slumlords and acts as Super for said building as well. And though this guy may stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the likes of Captain America and Thor when the fate and future of the universe is in the balance, the adventures chronicled monthly in “Hawkeye” capture our hero when he is “off the clock”. Oh, and did I mention mention that Clint Barton…uh, Hawkeye’s dual identity is known to all? Such a premise alone would certainly promise the comic a spot on the top tier from the get-go, however it is the brilliant delivery by the dynamic duo (sorry) of writer Matt Fraction and artist David Aja that delivers on that promise. If you are not yet among those of us lucky enough to already be digging on “Hawkeye”, last month’s Issue #7 is the perfect hopping-on point from which to go backward then forward.
What? You don’t read comic books? Really? Wow, if that IS you, then take a moment to feel both proud and fortunate that you have made it this deep into the third millenium with anything resembling a relevant personal culture.
A long time ago, in a galaxy yadda yadda etc., a friend of mine dissed me but good, saying “Kory, don’t sweat it…someday you’ll find the one girl out there who is into comic books.” Now this friend truly had no idea that I still kept a bit of a toe in all-things-comics, though as zingers go it struck a hard and perfect bullseye at my geeky heart, and its perfect delivery made it worth more than a laugh-and-a-half…deep good-natured yukking all around. Little could either of us have known just how prescient that insult would turn out to be, however, as the mid-point of this newly-unwrapped month will mark 13 years since I was saved by My Missus, a girl who is not only into comic books (though super heroes are far from her cuppa) but who actually put in a good amount of time working in France’s quite-healthy comic book industry…and have I mentioned that her collection is epic?
The Voice
She was a few tables away but I could hear her voice as if she was sat opposite, talking directly at me. I could see that others were speaking but hers was the only voice I could hear. Her pitch must have been tuned exactly for my ear. She didn’t seem to be talking loudly.
Talk was of grass seed, husband, New Zealand and a swimming pool that was one metre short of Olympic size. Odd. It was as if I was hearing one side of a telephone conversation because I couldn’t hear the other half of the conversation.
I wasn’t interested enough to record the conversation any more accurately than that. It wasn’t what she was saying that aroused my curiosity. It was the fact that I could hear her but no one else.
Breakfast, Holiday Inn Bloomsbury, Friday, March 1st