on to something

It occurred to me yesterday that there was another way to look at the current position in which I find myself. Rather than the cycling drone of my internal voice reminding me that I'm 37 and really, who breaks into anything after that age, something else made itself known. A little factoid. Well, it turns out that although I may not be lounging on a beach chair with a laptop in Portugal as I imagine my peers to be doing, there is some cause for celebration. If not celebration then at least a slow and knowing nod.

This is it: Never in my life have I stayed on the same track for longer than a few years (with the noted exception of my largely uncontested pre-teen, pre-veterinary years). This is likely not in any way impressive to you. But, you knew this was really all about me, didn't you? I think it's relevant that I haven't drifted into something else since 2002. Allow me to demonstrate below my long and varied past when it came to vocational direction. My slow progress and tenacious editorial instinct to destroy all that I create are suddenly much more demonstrative.

You are the wind beneath my wings.

right around the corner

This is just a reminder, in case you are of the opinion that I don't entertain you nearly enough, that I post fairly regularly on my Tumblr site. Good stuff, too!

death-ray drone

***

My days have effectively been cut from approximately 14 to 16 hours of usable time to maybe 7 hours. It’s dark all the time. Even during daylight, the past few days barely even register outside the tinted windows of this office. No matter how my mind argues, my body is convinced that it is perpetually 11:30pm. I don’t really want to think. I don’t really want to do the dishes or laundry or head on down to get a haircut and go see my friend DJ for perhaps the first time.

At least there’s new Brian Borcherdt to listen to on the dark walk home.

So, I’ll attempt to dodge the inevitable inertia, that would grip me when I got home and hamper (pun intended) my laundry progress, by actually hauling it all across the street and sitting with it in the depressingly 70’s décor until it realizes its true clean potential. Look for more frequent twitter updates and perhaps a phone pic from the unadorned fluorescence.

smoke'em

Friday afternoon and no steam left. Winter isn't really here and I'm already nostalgic for summer. If I'm going to be positive about it I could say that I'll use that stuck mindset to lay down some concrete plans for the roadtrip to end all roadtrips next summer. It probably wouldn't end your road trips. It'll probably just cure me of ever wanting to spend that much time in a car again.

It's a bit of a strange goal for someone concerned with CO2 emissions. But, the dream to go across Canada far outdates my ecological awareness. Maybe I could justify it with the fact that I got rid of my car altogether and instead of adding 30 or 40 thousand kilometers a year, have spent 5 years accumulating maybe 6 thousand. Plus, I'd absolutely need to complete a photo essay of the trip and I'm sure some subset of that could function as raising awareness of the plight of the Boreal or the state of mining in Northern Ontario.

Anyway, yeah. Anywhere but here right now.

i want to go to there

Where is this place?

Seasons, but mild winter.
Sunny all year round.
Rural but less than an hour from a city.
No suburbs.
People concerned with the world outside their house.

NO religion.

Low cost of living.
High quality of life.
Lakes.
Few committees.
No bureaucracy.
Minimal gang shootings on public transit.
Privacy.
Green initiatives and incentives.
People who can spell and talk quietly.
And finally, a complete lack of advertising.

brisk walks and fibre cereal

I just got up from the couch and saw a mouse run across the room. Gah. Really doesn't help my ongoing fight with the thought that this city is nothing but a decrepit cesspool.

Today was my first day back at work after a week off in the lap of the swine. I almost got a nosebleed from the boredom. I had to go to the library at lunch time to squeeze out an original thought.

Podcasts are almost as good as home schooling.

Ring The Bell

Looks to me like somebody's hit a milestone. The little blog that could, or might have been able to but didn't, turned 5 years old yesterday. I'm a day late in my celebrations but I've made up for it with a festive new banner! So, happy birthday, Neon Heresy. I've been at home all week with the flu. So, in the more coherent moments I thought about the span of time since I moved to Toronto. The blog and this particular span of my life are one in the same. It's good to see a sort of trail behind me. I like this blog journal idea.

So, on it goes. After being put on my ass for a week, I'm returning to health with a bigger appreciation for normal energy levels and the ability to think straight. As well, an appreciation for Bobby Flay and his endless losing throwdowns. I've been bored and tired lately but, for now, that's over. I'm happy to say I have a lot of shit to do.

Since I haven't posted in a month, I suppose it doesn't really matter but these photos are just a few more from (Canadian) Thanksgiving up in Owen Sound. I suppose open spaces and sky still are feeling pretty exotic to me right now.

Shooting through windows is always so perfect. Always carry a window.

I was a little bit obsessed with photos of this trailer. I'm not sure what the story is but it's just out the back of my Mom's place and its Orange and Brown racing stripes just jump out. So much space!

My sister is playing gameboy or something after dinner. Does gameboy have Whack-a-Mole? Maybe it's not a gameboy.

And we finish with the next generation of woodsy photogs in the family. This is my nephew exploring the fields with us with Grandma's new camera. He was a natural.

in Canada, we almost never say rutabaga

I hitched a ride with my sister up to Owen Sound for Thanksgiving at Mom's. Shannon and I took a lot of pictures. We ate a bunch of turkey and sat on chairs. Please enjoy one of those things below.

Alls about MTL

I had an amazing time in Montreal a few weeks ago. This photo is proof, obviously.

Good luck to my friends in Artist Bloc right now while they curate the Happiness Project for Pop Montreal.

More photos here.

Roy Was The Bridge

Not a virtuoso and not a dullard. Both would be better.

Travel-worn, he sank to the edge of his suitcase and balanced, breathing in the diesel fumes of the coaches pulling in from their queues. A woman introduced herself as Helen and asked him if he was going to Mendoza. She was scooping polenta out of a tube and moving it around in her mouth while she waited for him to answer. He understood that either she, herself, was Helen or that somebody named Helen was of some interest to her but really had no way of knowing because she wasn't speaking English. He hated admitting that he didn't understand. It didn't look particularly important. He thought that she might just go away if he didn't talk back.

Helen was curious about this man. She had a long ride in front of her and she was in the habit of finding a suitable companion for these trips, if not for company, then just for the appearance of safety. Her name wasn't actually Helen. She had to start somewhere, though. She might tell him her real name if he doesn't turn out to be unstable.

He had slept badly for a week now. He didn't want for much more than to be horizontal and not creaking upright on and off the wheels of his luggage. He watched Helen without curiosity. She was attractive, he noted. After a couple of minutes he wondered if he hadn't better say something to her. Her intent proximity was starting to unnerve him.

"Helen?"

"Si? Helen."

"Hi Helen. You should know: I don't speak Spanish. I'm sorry."

"You should be."

"Well...I am."