The Everyday Redux

A while ago I received an email from my friend Laura. During our communication she mentioned she was following my blog. (Yeah !! A follower!)

At the time I realized two things that still hold today. The first, that I haven't been keeping up with my blog and second, that I have been living in my head again!

Again, I find myself going back-and-forth, to-and-fro without a thought to what I was actually doing.

My everyday existence has become overwhelmed by the crowd of internal gibberish.  Not a meaningful thought in the entire morass that has been the activity of my mind. I've been moving through the everyday without a seeing a thing, even though there is much to see.

This experience has reminded me of a photograph I took - the one you see here. I recall when I took this, where and why. It was in the summer of 2004, along a stretch of College St, between University Ave and McCaul St.

I was marching along in my usual manner, thinking about work, anticipating what was going to happen, planning for these imagined events and then inventing contingencies, in case things didn't go as I planned. It wasn't that anything pressing was going on that day, this was (and still is) just my mind in action.

I continued to walk along College St, my body in one place, my mind already at my destination - when suddenly out of nowhere this mass of rusty staples and bits of paper attached to a hydro pole jumped out at me.

Of all the times I walked that route, this was the first time I noticed the pattern, texture and colour that comprised this small space on the hydro pole.

In that moment I realized how often I overlook the awesome details of everyday life because I am consumed by my own mental activity.

If there is one thing this blog reveals, by virtue of the infrequent posts, is that I'm still being managed by discursive thinking and not available to appreciate the everyday.

Paralyzed by boredom

Siegfried Kracauer wrote a terrific short essay entitled, Boredom.  In it he writes, “People today who still have time for boredom and yet are not bored are certainly just as boring as those who never get around to being bored.”

If I understand Kracauer's meaning, then I was the least boring person on the face of the planet yesterday. The whole of last week - and I only worked 4 days! - passed by without incident, or much else. It was an exercise in how to look like you're doing something when you have nothing to do.

I know trying to fill time goes against Kracauer's intent, yet I can't imagine my boss would be too thrilled to find me at my desk, sitting idle, reflecting on the emptiness of the hours as they passed by.

So, I found some stuff to do. The sort of unimportant tasks you spend more time procrastinating than it would take to get them done.

Then, when a moment like last week happens, you say to yourself, "might as well." Just the thought of giving an account of these tasks, even the briefest one, causes my eyes to glaze over, so I'll leave what they were to your imagination.

Finally, the week came to a close. I arrived home on Friday around 5pm. Sat on the couch and realized I used my last ounce of energy to get there. I was now paralyzed.

My mind and body felt like an oozy, heavy mass. Quicksand. Neither dynamic or solid, just a glob of life sucking mess!

Boredom spent trying to be busy really sucks the life out of you. It's exhausting. I was more tired from doing nothing than I would have been had I been really busy.

I think what's fascinating about boredom- in the same way you can't help looking when driving by an accident scene - is it's banality. Nothing screams "mundane" like boredom - a scream that emanates from inside your body.

At first you think there isn't anything harmful about being bored. It's not like train surfing or smoking, no doubt two activities taken up to combat boredom.

Yet, believing boredom is harmless is what makes it harmful. So, next time you're bored, reflect on the experience. Believe it or not, you're lucky. Imagine being bored and not knowing it.

Where have all the birds gone?

This should be the question on everyone's minds next spring.

Last week I had the pleasure of interviewing Professor Dan Brooks, ecology and evolutionary biology at the University of Toronto.

The purpose of the interview was to discuss his book, My Brothers' Eyes: How My Blind Brothers Taught Me to See.  An homage to his brothers, Lucien and Duncan who both lost their sight at the age of four.

My Brother's Eyes is Brooks' conversation with his brothers Lucien and Duncan, both who died when they were in their twenties.  Brooks shares this conversation with his readers by recalling childhood experiences, his photography and through descriptions of the places he visits to conduct his research.

Most of all, the book is about seeing with an awareness that goes beyond sight and how growing up with his brothers taught him that.

Chapter four is about post-Katrina New Orleans and includes photographs taken in the Ninth Ward in 2007. The haunting neglect depicted in the images is startling. More so, when you consider what is happening in the Gulf today.

So, naturally, our conversation turned to the BP oil spill.

Brooks had a lot to say about the mess in the Gulf of Mexico. He talked about the American mind-set, the politics, the bureaucracy that seems to be less than helpful and the topics nobody is talking about. For instance, the annual bird migration - which happens in a few months.

The American Bird Conservancy has posted a map that shows the location of the oil spill in relation to globally important bird areas, see here.

Brooks explained that birds migrating south, the birds we see out our windows today, stop in the Gulf of Mexico to feed on their way to South America. When they arrive this year they will find little to no food and most will starve to death.

"Far fewer of them will get to the winter breeding grounds in Latin America," said Brooks. Which means far fewer will return to North America in the spring.

Keep in mind, the trip back also requires a stop in the Gulf, where again, the returning birds will starve to death. "By next May, people in Toronto are going to be saying, boy there are not a lot of birds around," he added.

I'm not so sure I believe Brooks. I don't know that most people will realize there are less birds than usual.

To notice something like that, people have to be aware of the world that surrounds them and I think that kind of awareness is a rare quality.

The things I see when I don’t have camera

This is something I should have posted a couple of months ago ... better late than never, as they say!

It was another one of the best photos I’ve never taken.

I was standing at the corner of Bedford and Bloor waiting for the light to change. I looked across at Varsity Centre; the sun was just peaking over the stadium seating. I thought to myself, “I really should carry my camera with me.” The light changed and I crossed the street, heading toward Devonshire Place.

As I made my way south on Devonshire I noticed there were several workmen on the track at Varsity Centre. I looked at the dome and it appeared to be deflating. “Oh, no!” I exclaimed, “I really wanted to write a story about this.”

Continuing down Devonshire, I thought, “Well, I’m here now. Even if I can’t get a photograph of this, I can at least stay and watch it happen.”

I managed to catch the attention of one of the Varsity Centre crewmen and confirmed that they were deflating the dome. He mentioned it would take about twenty minutes to happen and it will take a crew of about fifty to one hundred people a total of two days to pack up the dome and stow it away for the season.

I asked him how they deflate the dome, he said, we open the doors, turn off the fans and let the air out. “It’s like a big balloon.” 

So, as the dome expelled air, I watched the cables that keep it in place and give it shape start to slacken. The centre section began to collapse first, turning the dome into a marshmallow valley. As I stood at the fence on the west side of the stadium I caught a faint smell of the air being released. The polyester dome still has that ‘new’ smell, the same way a new car has its own smell.

The work crew began assembling around the doorways with what appeared to be two-by-four boards. They prodded the sides, pushing the falling fabric back, preventing it from collapsing and covering the doorways.

Sure enough, after about twenty minutes the fabric was pooled around the bottom of the doorways, the last of the remaining air had retreated to the corners and the dome lay on the field.

The next day I went by the Varsity Centre to see how things progressed and took these photo. They show part of the dome laying flat on the field (top photo) and the rest of it already rolled up and the cables sitting coiled on the track (bottom photo), waiting to be put away.

Buxton was only half right

For some reason, today I was thinking of Bill Buxton's DGPis40 talk, "40 Years: Almost Enough Time to Make a Difference."

In his talk Buxton delivered some scathing criticisms about the state of university research. The thrust of his critique was that university research is too close to corporate influence and thus in danger of loosing its creative edge.

He also touched on another topic, the one I was mulling over today. That is, he pointed out that technology rarely, if ever, undergoes a similar critical process that the various disciplines of art face. (You can watch his talk here.)

I think Buxton makes an interesting point. He suggests we deserve what we get if we don't attempt to make serious informed criticism of the things we make. Buxton mentions the "One Laptop Per Child" project, referring to it as the "most socially irresponsible" project  that he's ever seen in his life. Buxton continues, he notes that the cost per child for this laptop is almost equal to the cost of providing water for a village and then asks, "Why isn't this part of the discourse?"

Good question.

However, Buxton is missing the crucial question. Throughout his talk Buxton's criticism is mostly directed at the quality of design and the neglect to ask what happens when a new device is introduced into the culture. He says, that no matter what, a new device, even a paper clip, will change the way things are done. Thus, his comparison to the art world is but half done.

Buxton essentially covers the 'aesthetics' of technology and it's social implications, but he never asks the quintessential question that art always faces. "What is art?"

The solution to Buxton's problem of why technology get's off scott-free lies in the question, "What is technology?" Investigating this question, not as easy a task as one might assume, would lead to the understanding of why intelligent discourse around technology is lacking.

There is a philosophical theory that suggests the objects we call "technology" are merely a manifestation of our thinking, i.e., that technology is a kind of thinking, or a mind-set and the the objects we make simply reflect our state-of-mind.

Therefore, to offer real critical analysis of technology as Buxton suggests, we would need to examine what we call 'thinking' and what we call 'mind.' Which probably explains why technology does not undergo the same critical analysis as art.

Tales from the Grocery Store Part 2

If it's Friday, it must be grocery night!

Sure enough, last night Kyle and I found ourselves at the grocery store, following our usual routine through the produce area, then over to the deli and meat counters and then up and down the aisles. It's not that we buy stuff from every section of the store, it just seems easier to do it this way. Something approaching grocery store etiquette perhaps?

We arrive in the chip and pop aisle and come upon Kyle's favourite chips, Kettle brand. Specifically, their hickory, honey barbeque  flavour.

Another man is already standing in front of the chips and Kyle stops. I say to Kyle, as I continue to walk down the aisle, "You've already had chips this week - you got them when we were here on Monday."

I stop walking when I realize that Kyle isn't moving. I turn around and say, "C'mon Kyle, let's go. You don't need the chips." The other man turns to me and says, "Ah, c'mon. Let the guy have some chips." Kyle takes a step back from the shelves and starts to smile. I start to crack up! Kyle turns to the guy and then looks at me and suggests that I listen to this stranger.

The man goes to leave, he walks by me - I'm still laughing - he then turns and apologizes for being inappropriate. I turned to him and said, "No, it was funny!" Kyle and I continue to stroll the aisles. Every time the scene popped into our heads we'd start laughing.

In the end, Kyle got his chips. However, feeling that the occasion required something special, he decided to try a new variety - the buffalo bleu, krinkle cut!

Friday is Golden Beet day!

This past Friday Kyle and I went grocery shopping after work, as we usually do.

We get to the check-out and the cashier - a disinterested young man - proceeds to scan and pack our groceries.

The cashier picks up the bunch of beets I had placed on the conveyor and locates the tag. On one side of the tag is a barcode, he tries to scan that but nothing happens. He turns the tag over and discovers the PLU # and enters the number into the computer and receives an error message.

He then looks at me, still holding the bunch of beets and asks, "Do you know how much these are?" I replied, "No, but they are golden beets," thinking he would look them up on the price rolodex sitting on top of his cash drawer.

The young man pauses, looks at the beets and says, "ehhh," then he drops the beets into the bag and proceeds with the rest of my order!