Wild and Wooley
I guess there's some truth to every stereotype... But I don't think Paul should've gone to jail over it. There are therapy groups for this kind of thing... get help man!
I can only hope that Mel is open-minded...
Thursday, September 26, 2002
Deadbeat Lightspeedchicks
So after my boxing class, I pop on over to Brutopia for pints and chicken wings with Bill, Marc, Paul, and MJ (and her Snuffleupagus boyfriend--he's real!). As usual, the discussion is animated with lots of hands waving with a porn-music soundtrack. Y'know... the usual.
Suddenly MJ (that's Lightspeedchick to you mortals) gets up quick from the table and hurries on her way, dragging T along behind her. T didn't even have time to finish his beer (considering his girlfriend's lead-foot, you'd think he'd want to numb himself for the experience)! Bill was long gone, but it left Paul, Marc, and I mystified.
It soon became all too clear. After a dismal session of Darts (I was leading my opponents into a false sense of security, I swear!), we were paying off our tabs and the horrible truth fell upon us like a ton of tortilla chips: MJ had skipped out on paying for her nachos! You've heard of Deadbeat Dads? Well MJ is apparently a Nachos Nosferatu!
As Marc and Paul gibbered non-sensically on matters pertaining to her character flaws, I immediately realized that this was just an over-sight on MJ's part and smoothly paid for her meal. You heard it here first, folks! Accept no substitutes!
No, no... really. It was no trouble. Completely my pleasure. Why yes, I can sign that for you. To whom do I make it out... ?
So after my boxing class, I pop on over to Brutopia for pints and chicken wings with Bill, Marc, Paul, and MJ (and her Snuffleupagus boyfriend--he's real!). As usual, the discussion is animated with lots of hands waving with a porn-music soundtrack. Y'know... the usual.
Suddenly MJ (that's Lightspeedchick to you mortals) gets up quick from the table and hurries on her way, dragging T along behind her. T didn't even have time to finish his beer (considering his girlfriend's lead-foot, you'd think he'd want to numb himself for the experience)! Bill was long gone, but it left Paul, Marc, and I mystified.
It soon became all too clear. After a dismal session of Darts (I was leading my opponents into a false sense of security, I swear!), we were paying off our tabs and the horrible truth fell upon us like a ton of tortilla chips: MJ had skipped out on paying for her nachos! You've heard of Deadbeat Dads? Well MJ is apparently a Nachos Nosferatu!
As Marc and Paul gibbered non-sensically on matters pertaining to her character flaws, I immediately realized that this was just an over-sight on MJ's part and smoothly paid for her meal. You heard it here first, folks! Accept no substitutes!
No, no... really. It was no trouble. Completely my pleasure. Why yes, I can sign that for you. To whom do I make it out... ?
Wednesday, September 25, 2002
Delivery is Everything
The STC had their first guest speaker at their kick-off Wine and Cheese evening yesterday. RB was supposed to give a talk that explored the trends that will change the way we work, play, and interact. His talk was supposed to focus on the past, present, and future of technology as it effects your home, your business, and the world of entertainment.
However, his presentation went spiralling off-course when he made a few badly-delivered comments on documentation. He meant well, but he didn't anticipate the effect his words would have on the crowd.
He started commenting on how people would rather fiddle with the gizmo instead of reading the documentation. A touchy statement, but we can all admit that it's true to some extent. He did make an interesting point about filling User's Guides with more Tips and Tricks than with the basic information. That's when the talk took a sharp dive.
I wish I had written this down (or taped it), but he said something along the lines of "If technical writers cared more about what they were writing (instead of just writing something that was "good enough"), people would read the documentation more often." When I pointed out that we are often not given enough time to do that job, he replied with "Then it's your job to make the owners understand how important your contribution is to their product."
Geez... tell me something I don't know Sparky. When I'm working with a client to produce his documentation, I always push for the Task-Based guide (which takes longer, but is more useful) instead of the Reference guide (which takes less time, but isn't as useful).
The rest of his presentation was mostly just funny anecdotes. But it was too late for that because he basically offended and insulted over half his audience by blaming the writers for an industry filled with mediocre documentation.
A Cardinal Rule in the techwriting world is Audience Analysis: find out what your audience knows so that you can gear the information you are trying to impart towards their needs and situations. I don't think Richard spent enough time thinking about that. If he had made this presentation to a bunch of CEOs, it would have been informative and helpful to our cause.
But to a bunch of techwriters who spend most of their time trying to write something useful armed with sketchy specs, unreasonable deadlines, and a general lack of respect for the intrinsic value of documentation with any product, it was obvious that RB didn't have a clear idea of what it was like to produce documentation in today's industry.
The STC had their first guest speaker at their kick-off Wine and Cheese evening yesterday. RB was supposed to give a talk that explored the trends that will change the way we work, play, and interact. His talk was supposed to focus on the past, present, and future of technology as it effects your home, your business, and the world of entertainment.
However, his presentation went spiralling off-course when he made a few badly-delivered comments on documentation. He meant well, but he didn't anticipate the effect his words would have on the crowd.
He started commenting on how people would rather fiddle with the gizmo instead of reading the documentation. A touchy statement, but we can all admit that it's true to some extent. He did make an interesting point about filling User's Guides with more Tips and Tricks than with the basic information. That's when the talk took a sharp dive.
I wish I had written this down (or taped it), but he said something along the lines of "If technical writers cared more about what they were writing (instead of just writing something that was "good enough"), people would read the documentation more often." When I pointed out that we are often not given enough time to do that job, he replied with "Then it's your job to make the owners understand how important your contribution is to their product."
Geez... tell me something I don't know Sparky. When I'm working with a client to produce his documentation, I always push for the Task-Based guide (which takes longer, but is more useful) instead of the Reference guide (which takes less time, but isn't as useful).
The rest of his presentation was mostly just funny anecdotes. But it was too late for that because he basically offended and insulted over half his audience by blaming the writers for an industry filled with mediocre documentation.
A Cardinal Rule in the techwriting world is Audience Analysis: find out what your audience knows so that you can gear the information you are trying to impart towards their needs and situations. I don't think Richard spent enough time thinking about that. If he had made this presentation to a bunch of CEOs, it would have been informative and helpful to our cause.
But to a bunch of techwriters who spend most of their time trying to write something useful armed with sketchy specs, unreasonable deadlines, and a general lack of respect for the intrinsic value of documentation with any product, it was obvious that RB didn't have a clear idea of what it was like to produce documentation in today's industry.
Tuesday, September 24, 2002
Flabio gets in shape: Part IX
It's amazing how intense the boxing class can be! After an hour of shadow boxing, sparring, bag-work, and skipping (3 successful skips is my new record) I am completely soaked with sweat. I need to get to the gym an hour before the class so I can work out first.
Yesterday, I boxed with the Coach for the first time. This guy is a man-mountain! He's got to be at least 6' 5" with a torso built like a barrel. I'm 5' 11" and when I go in for a jab, I can only hit him in the ribs. When I get in close, his chest fills my entire field-of-vision.
On my first boxing session, I only got to tag him when he let me do it. The rest of the time, I was fending off his blows and not all that well either. He caught me in the face a few times and in the chin once (which 'caused me to accidentally chomp my lower lip). The worst thing is that I know he was being gentle. If he ever decided to really take a swing at me, I'd better be covered in metal armor if I want to be able to walk away in one piece.
The boxing class is great fun though. What I love about it is that you can train on your own or with a partner. If you have the heavy bag, you can just whack at it for as long as you like. If you have a partner, you can focus on your movement and your technique. There are many sports I can't do due to my vision (light myopia) and I've never enjoyed aerobic dance (too high-impact for my knees and I'm too uncoordinated).
But boxing is low impact on the feet (although you tend to dance around alot), it gives you a great cardio-workout, and has lots of satisfying hitting (on the bags). I don't think I'll ever take someone on in a ring, but I'm starting to watch boxing matches with more interest now.
It's amazing how intense the boxing class can be! After an hour of shadow boxing, sparring, bag-work, and skipping (3 successful skips is my new record) I am completely soaked with sweat. I need to get to the gym an hour before the class so I can work out first.
Yesterday, I boxed with the Coach for the first time. This guy is a man-mountain! He's got to be at least 6' 5" with a torso built like a barrel. I'm 5' 11" and when I go in for a jab, I can only hit him in the ribs. When I get in close, his chest fills my entire field-of-vision.
On my first boxing session, I only got to tag him when he let me do it. The rest of the time, I was fending off his blows and not all that well either. He caught me in the face a few times and in the chin once (which 'caused me to accidentally chomp my lower lip). The worst thing is that I know he was being gentle. If he ever decided to really take a swing at me, I'd better be covered in metal armor if I want to be able to walk away in one piece.
The boxing class is great fun though. What I love about it is that you can train on your own or with a partner. If you have the heavy bag, you can just whack at it for as long as you like. If you have a partner, you can focus on your movement and your technique. There are many sports I can't do due to my vision (light myopia) and I've never enjoyed aerobic dance (too high-impact for my knees and I'm too uncoordinated).
But boxing is low impact on the feet (although you tend to dance around alot), it gives you a great cardio-workout, and has lots of satisfying hitting (on the bags). I don't think I'll ever take someone on in a ring, but I'm starting to watch boxing matches with more interest now.
Monday, September 23, 2002
Baskerville Bloopers
We finally recorded the "Hound of the Baskervilles" radio drama on Saturday (this is a project that started 1.5 years ago). I had the honour of playing Dr. Watson in this adventure.
As you probably know, no recording ever gets done in a single successful take (it tooks us 4 hours to record a <1 hour play). So here are some of the Bloopers that you will never hear:
Ant.: Okay R... I need you to growl like the Hound. One, two, three... [points]
Rob: Grrrrowwrowrrooowwwwrrrg RRRroooowwWWWroowrrrroowrrrroowrrrroowrrrroowrrr ROWWWWRRRRRGRRRRoooowwWWWrllllll *cough* *cough*
[silence]
Dave: I'm a terrifying ogre!
Dave: (reading) It's very cold out here on the moors Holmes...
Taras: Don't worry about it Watson. I will hold you... hold you close
Dave: Oh Holmes... Does this mean I can wear your detective toque with the flippity-floppety ears?
Taras: Yes Watson... My dear, dear Watson...
Dave: (rehearsing) We took the morning train to Baskerville Hall--
Anthony: (singing) My Holmesy takes the morning train // He works from nine to five and then // he takes another one home again // to find me waiting for him. //
I always love watch the bloopers at the end of movies.
We finally recorded the "Hound of the Baskervilles" radio drama on Saturday (this is a project that started 1.5 years ago). I had the honour of playing Dr. Watson in this adventure.
As you probably know, no recording ever gets done in a single successful take (it tooks us 4 hours to record a <1 hour play). So here are some of the Bloopers that you will never hear:
Ant.: Okay R... I need you to growl like the Hound. One, two, three... [points]
Rob: Grrrrowwrowrrooowwwwrrrg RRRroooowwWWWroowrrrroowrrrroowrrrroowrrrroowrrr ROWWWWRRRRRGRRRRoooowwWWWrllllll *cough* *cough*
[silence]
Dave: I'm a terrifying ogre!
Dave: (reading) It's very cold out here on the moors Holmes...
Taras: Don't worry about it Watson. I will hold you... hold you close
Dave: Oh Holmes... Does this mean I can wear your detective toque with the flippity-floppety ears?
Taras: Yes Watson... My dear, dear Watson...
Dave: (rehearsing) We took the morning train to Baskerville Hall--
Anthony: (singing) My Holmesy takes the morning train // He works from nine to five and then // he takes another one home again // to find me waiting for him. //
I always love watch the bloopers at the end of movies.
Friday, September 20, 2002
After the protest gone awry at Concordia last week, my friend P wondered how displaced separatists would feel about the local politics occurring at home.
The Fires of Separatism are felt Abroad
POOHWIRE: FLORIDA -- Third Avenue in Fort Lauderdale was the scene of a parade of patriotism today, but it's not what you may think. These weren't Americans celebrating their freedom or the fact that the live in the best country in the whole world (that's next week). Rather than waving the proud red, white, and blue flag, these parade goers flew the white and blue, holding only contempt for the red.
That's right: Fort Lauderdale's refugee population from the province of Quebec (Canada) held a rally and a subsequent parade to promote Quebec Separatism, showing an unprecedented amount of solidarity with their northern brothers and sisters.
The parade walkers were draped in Quebec flags, fleur-de-lys caps and shirts, and waving flags of all shapes and sizes. There was nary an American flag or a Canadian flag to be found anywhere. Others distributed Parti Quebecois flyers (the political party that promotes separatism back home) and other brochures that explain their position of having their own independent country (separate from Canada).
"Just because we don't like the cold, that doesn't mean we don't believe in Quebec's future as its own country!" cried Rejean Tousignant into a megaphone to the cheering crowds. "One day, all Quebeckers will know the independence that have eluded them for so long. I say to our Canadian oppressors, crisez-votre quand de notre pays ("Get the hell off our land")! Quebec pour les quebecois!"
Spontaneous rounds of "Gens du Pays" then erupted from the crowd punctuated with occasional shouts of "Vivre le Quebec... Libre!".
Mario Dumont, the leader of the fledgling ADP (a rising political power in Quebec), was also on hand to walk in the parade. "It's important to show my solidarity with my people, even those who live away from leur pays," Dumont stated as he marched down the main street. "Besides... my parents have their trailer home right over there."
The demonstration was peaceful for the most part. There was a slight scuffle that occured near a food cart selling Beaver Tails that ended with the cart being overturned and the vendor, who was wearing a mountie hat and a T-shirt with a Canadian flag emblazoned upon it's front, was stripped practically naked to chants of "Oppression! Oppression! Je me souviens de la bonne poutine chez La Belle Province!" When the police intervened, the crowd dispersed quickly.
"Just because we're not physiquement in Quebec, dat does not mean dat we do not have families dere who are oppressed by all those fucking blokes!"
"Gaetan! Watch your language," replied this man's wife, smacking him upside the head, knocking his sunglasses loose.
"Oh... mes excuses, ma chouette," the man grinned sheepishly. "I'm sorry... I meant to say les crisse de blokes."
The parade lost its fuel when it reached a set of Bingo halls and fast-food restaurants along the strip and the crowd seemed to melt away. About an hour after the demonstration ended, Premier Bernard Landry turned up in a cab, but once he realized he had missed the whole thing, he was quick to accuse Jean Chretien of wrong doing.
When asked how Jean Chretien was involved, Mr. Landry looked confused for a moment and then shrugged "Sorry... old habit."
The Fires of Separatism are felt Abroad
POOHWIRE: FLORIDA -- Third Avenue in Fort Lauderdale was the scene of a parade of patriotism today, but it's not what you may think. These weren't Americans celebrating their freedom or the fact that the live in the best country in the whole world (that's next week). Rather than waving the proud red, white, and blue flag, these parade goers flew the white and blue, holding only contempt for the red.
That's right: Fort Lauderdale's refugee population from the province of Quebec (Canada) held a rally and a subsequent parade to promote Quebec Separatism, showing an unprecedented amount of solidarity with their northern brothers and sisters.
The parade walkers were draped in Quebec flags, fleur-de-lys caps and shirts, and waving flags of all shapes and sizes. There was nary an American flag or a Canadian flag to be found anywhere. Others distributed Parti Quebecois flyers (the political party that promotes separatism back home) and other brochures that explain their position of having their own independent country (separate from Canada).
"Just because we don't like the cold, that doesn't mean we don't believe in Quebec's future as its own country!" cried Rejean Tousignant into a megaphone to the cheering crowds. "One day, all Quebeckers will know the independence that have eluded them for so long. I say to our Canadian oppressors, crisez-votre quand de notre pays ("Get the hell off our land")! Quebec pour les quebecois!"
Spontaneous rounds of "Gens du Pays" then erupted from the crowd punctuated with occasional shouts of "Vivre le Quebec... Libre!".
Mario Dumont, the leader of the fledgling ADP (a rising political power in Quebec), was also on hand to walk in the parade. "It's important to show my solidarity with my people, even those who live away from leur pays," Dumont stated as he marched down the main street. "Besides... my parents have their trailer home right over there."
The demonstration was peaceful for the most part. There was a slight scuffle that occured near a food cart selling Beaver Tails that ended with the cart being overturned and the vendor, who was wearing a mountie hat and a T-shirt with a Canadian flag emblazoned upon it's front, was stripped practically naked to chants of "Oppression! Oppression! Je me souviens de la bonne poutine chez La Belle Province!" When the police intervened, the crowd dispersed quickly.
"Just because we're not physiquement in Quebec, dat does not mean dat we do not have families dere who are oppressed by all those fucking blokes!"
"Gaetan! Watch your language," replied this man's wife, smacking him upside the head, knocking his sunglasses loose.
"Oh... mes excuses, ma chouette," the man grinned sheepishly. "I'm sorry... I meant to say les crisse de blokes."
The parade lost its fuel when it reached a set of Bingo halls and fast-food restaurants along the strip and the crowd seemed to melt away. About an hour after the demonstration ended, Premier Bernard Landry turned up in a cab, but once he realized he had missed the whole thing, he was quick to accuse Jean Chretien of wrong doing.
When asked how Jean Chretien was involved, Mr. Landry looked confused for a moment and then shrugged "Sorry... old habit."
Thursday, September 19, 2002
Frosted Palm Trees
My Mum just called and told me that her and Dad are thinking about going to Cuba for the Christmas holidays and she wondered what I thought about that. Of course, I encouraged her and Dad to go and have a great time. Admittedly, the last few Christmas' have been kinda boring and empty.
But this is going to be a first for me. I've always gone home for the holidays. I've always spent the Christmas holidays with my parents and family in Ste. Foy. Now, for the first time in 33 years, I'm going to be on my own for Christmas. I can't help but wonder how am I going to feel on the 25th of December this year.
Weird. Unsettling. Scary.
My Mum just called and told me that her and Dad are thinking about going to Cuba for the Christmas holidays and she wondered what I thought about that. Of course, I encouraged her and Dad to go and have a great time. Admittedly, the last few Christmas' have been kinda boring and empty.
But this is going to be a first for me. I've always gone home for the holidays. I've always spent the Christmas holidays with my parents and family in Ste. Foy. Now, for the first time in 33 years, I'm going to be on my own for Christmas. I can't help but wonder how am I going to feel on the 25th of December this year.
Weird. Unsettling. Scary.
Wednesday, September 18, 2002
Stalked
My friend J is in a bit of a pickle.
Coming home from work, she met some fella on the metro and they got to talking. Although he spoke broken English and French, they had a nice conversation that culminated in this guy walking J to her apartment and then she gave him her cellphone number.
Since then, he's been calling her non-stop with declarations of love and devotion. He claims that their meeting was no chance affair; it was according to God's plan that they had met that fateful day and that she owes it to herself to find out what it is. She very firmly told him that she was not interested in what he was proposing and told him not to contact her again.
And then J came home from work last night and found him parked in front of her apartment building. Fortunately, she was able to sneak in from the back of the building so he didn't see her. He stayed parked out in front of her building for over three hours before finally giving up and leaving.
I told her that she should call the police today and find out what her options are. Anyone have any other opinions/suggestions?
I've seen this kind of thing happen to other friends of mine. They'll meet some fella in a social setting, have a nice conversation, and then subsequently get bombarded with all sorts of unwanted matrimonial attention. I don't mean to draw any racial stereotypes, but of the friends to whom this has happened, the men have all been visitors from non-North American societies (especially from strongly patriarchal societies). I wonder at what's going on there.
My only theory is that, through the popular media, North American women are portrayed abroad as easily swooned by persistent declarations of love from their suitors. If you look at most movies, the female leads may shrug off the initial come-ons, but if the hero is persistent, he wins the girl in the end. Do these guys view these movies as training videos?
My friend J is in a bit of a pickle.
Coming home from work, she met some fella on the metro and they got to talking. Although he spoke broken English and French, they had a nice conversation that culminated in this guy walking J to her apartment and then she gave him her cellphone number.
Since then, he's been calling her non-stop with declarations of love and devotion. He claims that their meeting was no chance affair; it was according to God's plan that they had met that fateful day and that she owes it to herself to find out what it is. She very firmly told him that she was not interested in what he was proposing and told him not to contact her again.
And then J came home from work last night and found him parked in front of her apartment building. Fortunately, she was able to sneak in from the back of the building so he didn't see her. He stayed parked out in front of her building for over three hours before finally giving up and leaving.
I told her that she should call the police today and find out what her options are. Anyone have any other opinions/suggestions?
I've seen this kind of thing happen to other friends of mine. They'll meet some fella in a social setting, have a nice conversation, and then subsequently get bombarded with all sorts of unwanted matrimonial attention. I don't mean to draw any racial stereotypes, but of the friends to whom this has happened, the men have all been visitors from non-North American societies (especially from strongly patriarchal societies). I wonder at what's going on there.
My only theory is that, through the popular media, North American women are portrayed abroad as easily swooned by persistent declarations of love from their suitors. If you look at most movies, the female leads may shrug off the initial come-ons, but if the hero is persistent, he wins the girl in the end. Do these guys view these movies as training videos?
Monday, September 16, 2002
Weariness
I was just listening to my Greg Brown: The Live One album (fantastic singer... must get more of his albums). During his song called Canned Goods (which is what I heard on Hober and prompted me to buy the album in the first place), he mentions the poet Pablo Neruda:
I'm not sure why, but this little snippet has been playing in my head all day.
I was just listening to my Greg Brown: The Live One album (fantastic singer... must get more of his albums). During his song called Canned Goods (which is what I heard on Hober and prompted me to buy the album in the first place), he mentions the poet Pablo Neruda:
- A chicken. I don't know what I'm supposed to say about a chicken. There's this great South American poet, Chilean poet, named Pablo Neruda. He has many beautiful poems and he has one called On Weariness in which he speaks on all the things he's weary of. He says
"I am weary of chickens
The look up at us
With their small eyes
like we are unimportant"
Which is true. They do.
We are.
But it's tough to take it from a damn chicken.
I'm not sure why, but this little snippet has been playing in my head all day.
Retreat... Advance!
I just spent the weekend at a camp somewhere between Rawdon and St. Donat on a Storyteller's Retreat. It was great to spend some non-performance time with my fellow storytellers and we got to know a few new budding tellers. Very relaxing and enjoyable.
My only criticism was that most of the workshops were not that helpful. They were interesting, but I don't feel my grasp of storytelling has improved that much (or at all). One of the workshops had us reading and discussing what some published storytellers thought of the craft, so that was helpful. It's something to think about for future retreats.
Otherwise, it was good food, good wine, and (thanks to Roman) delicious Porto just before hitting the sack. Four of us guys were sleeping in the same cabin and we gossipped like old hens, telling stories over glasses of Porto. Two nights of that was definitely worth the price of admission!
I've decided upon the story I'm going to tell at the next Storyteller's Story Swapping Night (October 4th, 8 pm). I told it at the retreat and got some great feedback on it.
Actually, the weekend of the first Friday of October 4th is the kick-off of the Harvest Gala of Storytelling (that I helped organize). It's going to be three days of storytelling in various parts of the city, featuring storytellers from Montreal, Ottawa, and the Eastern Townships. I'm supposed to be doing an interview on the CBC about it soon (I'll keep you posted).
Fun-fun-fun!
I just spent the weekend at a camp somewhere between Rawdon and St. Donat on a Storyteller's Retreat. It was great to spend some non-performance time with my fellow storytellers and we got to know a few new budding tellers. Very relaxing and enjoyable.
My only criticism was that most of the workshops were not that helpful. They were interesting, but I don't feel my grasp of storytelling has improved that much (or at all). One of the workshops had us reading and discussing what some published storytellers thought of the craft, so that was helpful. It's something to think about for future retreats.
Otherwise, it was good food, good wine, and (thanks to Roman) delicious Porto just before hitting the sack. Four of us guys were sleeping in the same cabin and we gossipped like old hens, telling stories over glasses of Porto. Two nights of that was definitely worth the price of admission!
I've decided upon the story I'm going to tell at the next Storyteller's Story Swapping Night (October 4th, 8 pm). I told it at the retreat and got some great feedback on it.
Actually, the weekend of the first Friday of October 4th is the kick-off of the Harvest Gala of Storytelling (that I helped organize). It's going to be three days of storytelling in various parts of the city, featuring storytellers from Montreal, Ottawa, and the Eastern Townships. I'm supposed to be doing an interview on the CBC about it soon (I'll keep you posted).
Fun-fun-fun!
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