Dictation is not writing.

I don't talk the way I write. Writing is more like thinking. Dictation is just talking that sticks.

June 25, 2012 is my neurologist appointment. I think he will do a nerve conduction test on my arms to help diagnose whatever it is that is creating this symmetrical pain in my elbows, forearms, wrists, and pinky-fingers. It will be good for my brain to have this fixed. I feel like not writing is giving me brain damage.

It's true that I am writing right now, but slowly. And I'm trying to avoid pressing keys with my pinky-fingers.

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I didn't expect Theresa LePore to do what she did.

I did not expect her to design a ballot for Palm Beach County, Florida, that would make it look as though a vote for Pat Buchanan was a vote for Al Gore in the 2000 Presidential election. I did not expect that the number of miscast votes for Buchanan would result in George W. Bush being elected President.

What I did expect was that an Al Gore Administration would a) ratify the Kyoto Protocol, and b) ratify the Rome Statute to create an International Criminal Court. It makes sense though, that a Texas oil man who would lie to Congress in support of an illegal invasion would not want to do either of those things.

I've pretty much lost hope that the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change will be implemented. Climate science has been overwhelmed by an anti-intellectual attitude that is fatal since climate change is one of those truths made all the more inconvenient for being invisible - which means it's easy to induce people disbelieve it.

But the viral video phenomenon, KONY 2012, has revived my hope that American ratification of the ICC might again be possible. That was my first reaction when I watched the video the first time, and one of two conclusions about the importance of the KONY 2012 campaign.

The wave of criticism that that has swept up around the campaign strikes me as distracting and misguided. Does it perpetuate the stereotypes of white, liberal, youth and Africans as hapless victims? Maybe. Will it end or prevent war? Probably not. Will it mobilize public, and in particular, American support for a functional, supra-national, judicial body aimed at creating some consequence for large-scale rogue actors like war criminals? I think it will. Perhaps unwittingly, but if Joseph Kony is brought to justice on political efforts of many thousands of American young people, that experience has got to stick with them.

Furthermore, don't law-and-order Conservatives want criminals brought to justice?

The March 2nd post on the Canadian Centre for Theatre Creation’s blog was written by Heather Inglis, artistic director of Theatre YES, whose production of David Mamet’s Race is in the middle of its Canadian debut run in Edmonton.

In the post, Heather shares her bewilderment that, despite the media and advertising promotion, positive reviews, and extensive word-of-mouth networking in support of the show, the run has been characterized by what she describes as “unspeakably small houses”. As a board member of Theatre YES, I also ponder this question.

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When I walked into Catalyst Theatre where Theatre YES’ 2011 run of Race is underway, just seeing the set surprised me a little. It gave me the impression of production values higher than those that I associate with “independent theatre”. Race takes place in the office of a New York law firm which is handling the defence of a wealthy white man accused of raping a black woman. To my eye, the set looked like the company had deconstructed an office in a lower rent part of Manhatten and reconstructed it within the four walls of Catalyst Theatre. It looked to me as though real people really worked there.

Then there is the show itself: strong performances; smooth technical execution; fast-paced story-telling (the show ran on Broadway after all). The hour and a half show blew by without my ever wondering what time it was, or noticing that, yes, I am sitting on one of those hard, stackable chairs that that you often sit in while watching “independent theatre”. Race is a top-quality production. Even Edmonton Journal theatre critic, Liz Nicholls, who has occasionally given us the impression of having something personal against the company, wrote that “it’s an enlivening evening that Inglis and co. have brought us.”

So, why the “unspeakably small houses”?

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I love Google+. My Google+ Stream has brought the richness of the Intenet into my attention in a completely new way and I love it. Earlier this month I read about Joshua Bell, a busker who was playing the violin in a busy Washington D.C. subway station for 45 minutes on January 12, 2007 and earned a total of $32.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hnOPu0_YWhw

You might already know this, but Joshua Bell isn’t actually a busker. He’s a Grammy-award winning violinist who plays the most difficult classical music ever written on a 300-year old, $3.5 million Stradivarius. And two days before his $32 subway station gig, he played to a sold-out, $100 a seat concert house in Boston.

What this suggests to me is that audience attention must have less to do with the substance and quality of the performance than I had previously considered, and very much more (and in the Joshua Bell’s example everything) to do with the context that the work is performed in.

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Everything I understand about ‘branding’ I learned from Ze Frank. Indeed, I currently believe that everything I need to know is contained in the podcast linked-to below:

http://www.zefrank.com/theshow/archives/2006/08/082906.html

wherein Ze Frank remarks that the connection between a brand and a consumer is the relationship he names emotional aftertaste, and “...for a brand to be successful, its emotional aftertaste has to be stronger than the more general brands that are associated with it. Your grandma, unless your grandma is Grandma Moses, isn't as strong as the general brand "grandma." But "grandma" is a stronger brand than the more general brand ‘old people.’”

As a member of the pool of people known as “Edmontonians”, I am conditioned to believe certain things about myself and my fellow citizens collectively, one of which is that we have an enviable theatre community for a city of our size. What gives me this impression? Two brands: The Citadel and The Fringe. “The Fringe” is strongly associated with the more general brand, “independent theatre”. Perhaps they are even synonymous, and if this is the case, what context does this create for a company like Theatre YES and its shows?

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I met up with Beatrice Adams and Scott Simon last night at the Sherlock Holme’s Pub last night and may have persuaded them to go see Race. Scott especially like the graphic design of the poster, and took special note that it is a Mamet play. The Fringe came up in the course of conversation and Beatrice reported that she has been going to the Fringe loyally for almost 20 years. In that period, she has seen two shows.

I introduced the topic of Race’s small audiences, what I’ve been thinking about branding, and our conversation led me to this hypothesis:

1. There are two dominant brands of theatre in Edmonton: The Citadel and The Fringe.
2. The Fringe brand means: beer gardens, green onion cakes, Midway rides, arts and crafts, and “probability-bad” theatre. (By “probability-bad” I mean that the ratio of good shows to the total number of shows makes it most likely that you will see a bad show.)
3. The Fringe is a stronger brand than the more general brand ‘independent theatre’.
4. Independent theatre = “probability-bad” theatre minus the beer gardens, green onion cakes, Midway rides, and arts and crafts.
5. The Theatre YES brand, which should be associated with top quality shows, needs a better strategy to overcome the more general brand “independent theatre”, and the stronger brand “The Fringe”.

Writing is like exercise. When you fall out of the habit of doing it, it’s hard to get started again.

You can forget why you even write in the first place.

The Canadian Environmental Network is imploding.

Hannah and I went to Dr. Timothy McCoy’s lecture last night on the NASA Dawn mission to the asteroids Vesta and Ceres.

Amandi Khera and I have scheduled Wednesdays at 4pm Mountain Standard Time/Midnight Central European Time as a standing video-chat time.

Theatre YES has produced the Canadian debut of David Mamet’s play Race.

I am reading Haruki Murakami’s 1Q84, Ian Morris' Why the West Rules For Now, The Illustrated History of Canada, and Bruce de Mesquita’s The Predictioneer’s Game.

The Harper Government’s Robocalls Scandal is continuing for a satisfying length of time.

"I been one poor correspondent, and I been too, too hard to find
But it doesn't mean you ain't been on my mind"

Sister Golden Hair - America, 1975

Well I tried to make it Sunday, but I got so damn depressed
That I set my sights on Monday and I got myself undressed
I ain't ready for the altar but I do agree there's times
When a woman sure can be a friend of mine

Well, I keep on thinkin' 'bout you, Sister Golden Hair surprise
And I just can't live without you; can't you see it in my eyes?
I been one poor correspondent, and I been too, too hard to find
But it doesn't mean you ain't been on my mind

Will you meet me in the middle, will you meet me in the air?
Will you love me just a little, just enough to show you care?
Well I tried to fake it, I don't mind sayin', I just can't make it

Well, I keep on thinkin' 'bout you, Sister Golden Hair surprise
And I just can't live without you; can't you see it in my eyes?
Now I been one poor correspondent, and I been too, too hard to find
But it doesn't mean you ain't been on my mind

Will you meet me in the middle, will you meet me in the air?
Will you love me just a little, just enough to show you care?
Well I tried to fake it, I don't mind sayin', I just can't make it

I have a doctor’s appointment scheduled for February 3rd, 2012.

My joints are often sore and stiff. My arms and legs feel weak. When I’m lying down, they feel heavy and I wonder if they will move when I try to get up. My fingers and toes are often uncomfortably cold with prickling sensations. My pinkie fingers will often feel asleep when I wake up in the morning. Twice since January 25th, I have felt as though it was an effort, a deliberate expenditure of strength, to keep my balance.

As you may have inferred, I do not feel well. I had thought that it was merely due to the fact that I ceased exercising exactly two years ago, but having started the regimen prescribed in Astrofit, I’m not completely sure.

The 90-day Astrofit routine begins with a self-administered fitness test to established your starting point: how many seconds can you maintain a sitting position while leaning with your back against the wall? How long can you maintain a 45-degree sit-up position? How many push-ups can you do?

Based on my self-administered test, my strength score is equal to someone more than 10 years younger than I am. That just makes my fear of this sensation that I can’t lift a coffee cup all the more intense.

I am glad to have a doctor’s appointment scheduled for February 3rd, 2012. I hope I do not have diabetes.

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I have been living under a Majority Harper Government 3 since May of last year. The Canadian Environmental Assessment Act has been gutted, Environment Canada and the Canadian Environmental Assessment Agency dramatically de-funded, the Canadian Environmental Network funding eliminated. And these are only the changes that affect me directly. Other structural changes to my country are linked here.

It’s been said that Stephan Harper doesn’t want to stay in office, he just wants to change what it means to be Canadian.

With the Prime Minister’s Office now naming “Enemies of the Government” and “Enemies of the People of Canada” when a critic of oil development interests exercises their democratic rights, I’m finding I have two reactions:

1. Is it true that Canadians are the Oil People? What we are for is to make things good for oil companies?
2. How close am I to being named “an enemy of the state” by the Government of Canada?
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It's an easy thing to reckon, with the benefit of this web-log: how long it's been since I started working from a home office ~ February 2010. This means that as of next month, it will be two years since I ceased what little strenuous exercise that I used to participate in.

"Anytime anyone speaks to me about exercise," I've often said, "it's been about how they got hurt playing one sport or another, or strained or ripped some muscle or tendon or another, which leads me to the conclusion that exercise is bad for your health." I have thus made it a rule to avoid exercise. I don't avoid necessary physical work, like 40 minutes per day of riding a bicycle from home to office every day. But the notion of scheduling 40 minutes at the Kinsman Fitness Centre riding a stationary bicycle is an anathema to me.
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I've read bits and pieces of William J. Evans book, AstroFit. Dr. Evans is an expert adviser to NASA who is researching one of the many fundamental problems of a manned mission to Mars, specifically: how do you ensure that a crew who has travelled 250 million miles in zero gravity will have the physical strength to explore Mars once they get there? Dr. Evans' research has revealed that physical aging has less to do with chronological time as it does to unhealthy adaptations of inactivity. Nine months of nearly absolute zero activity, without even the force of gravity to challenge the muscles and prevent atrophy, will render a peak conditioned 40-year old astronaut into the physical equivalent of an 80 year old.

I've been telling people that I've been on the "Resisting Gravity" exercise program for the past two years.

During our Skype conversation of December 7th, geri_island commented on how gift exchanges in my family wouldn’t work for her. Prior to a birthday, Christmas, or other gift-giving occasion, members of my family publish a “wish-list”. While it remains perfectly acceptable to give an “off-list” gift, utilizing the list ensures that no gift will go unappreciated.

“It means that you don’t really have to think about the person,” geri_island commented. She feels that most of the meaning of a gift arises from “thought connections” that the giver makes between the gift and the recipient in the course of gift-selection. Just picking from a pre-approved list completely eliminates this step and significance, so while the recipient might very much appreciate the item itself, there is a risk that it was a ‘thoughtless’ gift on the part of the giver.

I can see geri_island’s point, of course. But at the same time this family practise of ours evolved over the years in response to a different risk that we would blunder into from time to time where persons prone to idiosyncratic linkages would give gifts which would match their subjective network of associations or conclusions that they hold of a person, but aren’t all that … relevant in real life. It’s true that my sister didn’t have a set of socket wrenches and that they are very useful tools, but that doesn’t mean that she wanted one for Christmas.

I experience this ‘gift-giver’s conflict’ as a tension between the way I conceptualize the preferences of a person - what I think he or she would like - and what I want to give them, which reflects some other, more subjective, idiosyncratic thing which I think I’m expressing. It can be a hard decision.

I was having a tough time with this tension this past June, standing in the gift shop of the Historic Route 66 State Park in Eureka, Missouri. It was late in the Missouri>Kentucky>Illinois trip and while much of my souvenir shopping was done, I hadn’t yet found a gift from the trip I wanted to give to Amandi Khera.


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My mother was casually acquainted with Helen Lantz, the wife and mother of the family who lived across the street from us in Edmonton's then-southside (now central) suburb named for Strathcona Mayor J.J. Duggan. Mom and Helen had been visiting one afternoon, and mom noted that my 12-year old schoolmate, Kevin Lantz, was reading J.R.R. Tolkien's Lord of the Rings. When she returned home, she found me reading Howard the Duck.

My parents encouraged me to read from birth. My father, youngest son of a Japanese immigrant who wound up a southern Alberta potato farmer, believed one of his greatest liabilities was poor English skills and he wanted me to avoid this barrier. I was enrolled in pre-school book clubs. For a while, earning my allowance was based, in part, on reading. In Grade 3 I was reading at a Grade 5 level. And my first comic-book period at around age 12 was discouraged. When I think now about the first 15 mid-1970s issues of Steve Gerber's Howard the Duck, I realize that neither my parents nor I actually understood what I was reading.

Comic-books returned to my life in my university years, re-introduced by an honours English friend, Doug Gessell, who commended all the Marvel series penned by Chris Claremont. Doug and I visited the grand opening of an odd, short-lived comic-book store in the basement of someone's house in Parkallen. The leaflet promoting the opening included a coupon for a free comic.

Not having purchased a comic for years, I redeemed the coupon based solely on the cover art of Magik #4, a Claremont, 4-part mini-series about the younger sister of X-Men's Colossus. This cascaded into acquiring the previous 3 parts, then following both the X-Men and the New Mutants, and then several alternative titles which included Fantagraphics' Love and Rockets by Los Brothers Hernandez.

My second comic-book period ended around the time I started working for Greenpeace in 1989.

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We're northbound on Alberta's Queen Elizabeth Highway in Mom's Odyssey minivan, headed to Edmonton to observe Christmas 2011 at Donna-lee's house. The G-Squad, my grandmother and her two sisters (my great-aunts), all in their early 90's, aren't feeling well enough travel from Lethbridge to either Calgary or Edmonton, so I hopped a Red Arrow inter-city motor coach last Monday and made a pre-Christmas visit to Lethbridge, and now Mom, Dad and me are headed back to YEG.

In Calgary, we visited a branch of the public library and I borrowed some materials for this trip; DVDs and books that might pique my interest and distract me from the sprawling light-industrial development that is growing around this highway like barnacles on a post. Calgary's Signal Hill Library had a hard-bound copy of Love and Rockets #22.

Two of the main characters of Love and Rockets are Margarita Luisa Perlita Chascarrillo and Hopita Eperanza Glass, better known as Maggie the Mechanic and Hopey. And when I first met them about 25 years ago, I really didn't know what to make of them. Early Love and Rockets is a kind of surreal mash-up of superheros, dinosaurs, banana-republic dictators, rocket-ships, female pro-wrestlers, robots, revolution, and life in a south L.A. barrio called “Hoppers”. But eventually, the series settled down into life in the 90's punk scene in and around Hoppers.

Borrowing CPL's copy of Ghosts of Hoppers is literally a reunion on both sides. I'm almost 20 years older, and Jaime Hernandez' choice to age his characters in real-time means that Maggie and Hopey are older as well. 20 years ago, sleek and sexy Maggie the Mechanic was flying in helicopters and dodging revolutionary rebel fighters while trying to repair the downed Saturn Stiletto rocket with its mysterious and secret cargo, mired in a large swamp alongside a similarly trapped brontosaurus.


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I am tired.

geri_island said recently that conversations with me are a crap-shoot. You never know whether you're going to get a sudden and intense psychotherapy session, or just a conversation.

Geri's initial inquiry via Skype was reasonable enough: so, how was your weekend?

It just so happened that my weekend include something of a breakthrough in understanding between Hannah and I.

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You might recall that this blog is one of a very few ways that I curate my inner life. It's my view that all people, either consciously or unconsciously, construct a cognitive paradigm; a matrix of experience which gives meaning to the world as they see it and to their lives within that world. But some folk, bloggers say, mine their experience and put it out in some form for anyone else who might be interested. And it happens that as I child, my Dad taught me in no uncertain terms that I have an inner life which I can attend to.

As I mentioned in the post linked to above, while my father didn't name what he taught me as "the memory palace mnemonic technique", that is what it was. And when Thomas Harris published his third Hannibal Lecter novel in 1999, knowledge of the concept became much more widespread.

Hannah actually read Hannibal before I did, not long after it was released in 1999. She read it voraciously in fact, which was remarkable because it certainly is not the kind of novel she ordinarily reads. In retrospect, given that in 1999 we had only been married for two years, I suspect that she read the novel in part to gain some insight into just who this person was that she had married, as Hannah has occasionally remarked that she really didn't know me very well at the time. And she might've heard me say that Dr. Lecter was something of a role model to me. Indeed, the nickname "Hannah" (which I actually use to address her in real life) is a shortening of "Hannibal". Though she'd always heard as "Hannah Belle".

This was not the breakthrough to which I refer.

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