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Ah, the QE Pool. Used to be hidden up in the valley, just north of Saskatchewan Drive and 105 street. This pic is of the new incarnation of the pool, located in Kinsmen park, next door to the Kinsmen Rec Center.

— Michael Gravel

— Michael Gravel

I’m pleased to announce that I’ll be at the U of A this May, delivering a class called “Getting More Out of the Internet”. I love teaching this class because the students are eager to learn. Even for me, a guy whose stock and trade is built on the internet and related technology, it’s tough to keep up with the rapid pace of innovation. The ELLA students are keen to keep up, and I enjoy playing a small role in their development into “digital citizens”. I’ve got 65 students on the roster so far and more are signing up each day. The class is capped at 80, and I know I’ll get there.

In the future, I hope to do more of this. I hate to trot out a cliche, but teaching is rewarding. To see someone finally “get” a previously poorly-understood concept is a beautiful thing. I hope to get better at it.

— Michael Gravel

The Roby Lakatos Ensemble.

The atmosphere at the Masters series can be a little on the heavy and stodgy side at times (I’ve seen more than a few people stumble out of a concert with steam emanating from their ears) so I was really curious as to how the “lighter” approach of the Robbins Pops series would translate for the crowd. Would I see any tattoos or facial piercings? Leather jackets at least? Well, the age range was wider. Plenty of young people (a few with lip rings) and a good helping of older folk. This crowd felt different, funkier, a bit edgier (as edgy as a symphony performance can be, that is). It was a nice change.

We had floor-level seats for the performance, which were a switch from our usual perches in the upper circle. Gotta say, I know why the most expensive seats are at the back of the hall, one level up from the floor. The sound quality from our seats was a bit on the muddy side. Had trouble distinguishing the different instruments at times. I also missed seeing all the performers, as strange as that may sound.

The night opened with remarks from conductor Bill Eddins, who, as I’ve said on many occasions, has to be the coolest guy in the world. Eddins described Roby’s music as what inspired masters like Liszt, Brahms, and others. His advice was to “hang on”, because tonight was going to be a wild one. It was that and more. The Roby Lakatos Ensemble strolled on stage with the confidence and swagger of a street gang. Black tuxes, slicked-back hair, and some central-European attitude. Decked out in bright red pants and a glitter vest, Roby was a commanding, charismatic presence. Before the ensemble struck a note I knew we were in for a fantastic night.

Across the evening’s two halves, Roby and his cohorts took the audience to the heights and quiet depths of traditional folk / gypsy music. He jammed his violin with the conviction of a man who was born with the instrument in his hands. His band was equally impressive – especially cimbalom (a concert dulcimer – here’s the Wikipedia entry) player Jeno Lisztes, who never broke a smile, but was nonetheless the crowd favorite after Roby. The ensemble soared with foot-tappers that begged for dancing, then slowed things down to hold the audience rapt on the edge of a bow. Often in the same piece, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to dance or just sit with my hand on my chin and soak in every note.

During the break I planned to get a traditional symphony treat – a Haagen Dazs ice cream bar. Crazy thing was, the lineup for ice cream was damn near longer than the queue for booze. I settled for a chocolate chip cookie and a latte instead. My wife and I watched people flow out of the main hall with mile-wide smiles. The delight was palpable, and I wished that the performers could see everyone so happy to be there and so thoroughly entertained.

The second half brought more stunning music, including a moving version of John William’s Schindler’s List, rendered with exquisite beauty by Roby and with just the right touches from the orchestra. Throughout the evening I felt the sensuousness of Roby’s arrangements. The pieces often started with slow romance and built up steam into full-fledged, red-blooded passion. It made sense, then, that the final (official) piece of the night featured a duet with Roby and one of the female violinists from the orchestra. They traded passages and I marveled at the beauty of it; the humanity of it. The simplicity of a man and a woman trading violin riffs until their notes smoldered into each other. This was music for the body as much as the mind.

However, Roby and his band weren’t done. They kicked out FOUR encores. Four! The ensemble would leave the stage to a standing-o and Eddins would just wave them back. I pity the few who left the auditorium early, thinking the show was done. The encores were the band in play mode, letting their hair down. We heard Rachmaninoff and stunning displays of technical skill from Lisztes, the never-smiling cimbalom player. The looks on the faces of the orchestra players were priceless. By the time the last bow was taken, each player owned a big smile and many were laughing behind their instruments. Damn inspiring. That’s what music should do, shouldn’t it?

— Michael Gravel

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The ‘ol Buick was in the shop and that gave me a chance to take the bus to work. Felt good to be back on the scows, if only for an hour and a half in the morning. Caught the 106 at 99^th and Whyte, cold breeze shooting in from the east. Waited for a minute until she docked curbside, those old familiar things—the popped-tire door hiss, the diesel city smell, the driver handing a transfer without a word or smile. To the back seat facing starboard, but only for a stop or two before buddy in the hornrims gets off and I slip into my favorite spot – backseat, front-facing, curbside. On Whyte and 109 I catch a glimpse of three sets of hardtoes, blue hardhats giving away their trade, cigs and thermoses up the street, grease-potted duck overalls ready for another layer. A reminder of who built this place.

Off at the U of A for a transfer, wait in the stiff morning sun for the 128—possibly my favorite route for its transit of Groat Bridge. Bus pulls up and the driver—young with white rims around her eyes and blue nails—throws me a smile and today, on my short return to the rubber and diesel, it’s reciprocated. A week of this and I’d be my usual half-snarl self. My coffee nearly spills as I lose footing on my way to the back. The Doobies on the phones today and don’t ask why. Got a hankering for Takin’ in to the Streets last week out of the blue. The 70’s are like that. They sneak in and tap you on the shoulder, yank down your pants and make you sing.

There are certain things in this world to which no written description can do justice. Poems and songs can come close if you let them; if you meet them half way. 7:38am Tuesday, sun well up and aroused. The 128 in the valley proper, nose northward, Downtown wringing the sleep out its eyes. From Groat Bridge there’s a scrolling perspective shift between the distant towers of downtown and the highrise condos lining the valley lip. The sun in there with it’s pink underwear, casting flecks onto the river ice. The bus with all its mess and windows. I’ve seen this many times but it’s rarely like this at my time of travel. It’s beautiful because it lasts only eight seconds.

Westmount is still the shitpile it has always been, despite a facelift back in ’06. I spend a whole five minutes in the shelter and laugh at the big-jacket punks from the nearby high school. My final ride of the day rolls up and whaddaya know, I recognize the pilot. Grayhair with a permanent frown, drove this route back in ’06 and ’07. Barely cracks a smile and never leaves the bus, even when in dock. He gives me a barely perceptible nod which may indicate that he recognizes me. I gave the guy a Christmas card in ’06 as a token of my appreciation of his “don’t complain, don’t explain” attitude. He said thanks then.

— Michael Gravel

— Michael Gravel

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This Christmas was a great one. We held the big meal blowout in our tiny 800 sqft home. It was a tight fit for ten people but it was a ton of fun. Gifts were exchanged and spirits were high everywhere.

Here’s a list of my favorite gifts this year.

Things I Have Learned in My Life So Far by Stefan Sagmeister

This is a thoroughly unique book that showcases twenty aphorisms penned by the thoroughly unique designer / artist Stefan Sagmeister. It’s difficult to describe this book adequately – photos and words don’t really do it justice. It must be viewed and, more importantly, held to be fully appreciated. Consisting of 15 unique signatures (stitch-bound portions or sections of the book), the book is unbound in the traditional bookbinding sense, and truly unbound in terms of content and inspiration. It documents graphic design installations made to house twenty aphorisms – small nuggets of wisdom – that Sagmeister came up with on one of his famous year-long sabbaticals. The nuggets themselves are deceptively simple, e.g. “Assuming is stifling” or “Helping other people helps me”, but they are powerful and not cynical. There is a refreshing optimism and sense of wonder in this publication, and it is damn inspiring.

The complete packaged book.

The packaging is nothing short of stunning. A heavyweight die-cut slipcase holds the 15 little books as a unit and provides a different book cover depending on which signature faces the exterior of the package.

Signatures from the book. They’re housed in the slipcase, which is a die-cut image of Sagmeister’s face.

This is a book that does not merely depict amazing and moving artwork, but it itself is a piece of art. If you’ve got any appreciation for art, design, and books, you should pick up this piece of art (Amazon – Chapters).

Field Notes Notebooks

Like most writers, I have a fetish for notebooks and writing instruments. I’ve got a swiftly growing collection of note holding devices in various sizes, finishes, and degrees of practicality. The notebooks I use daily – the ones that truly get filled as opposed to just looking good on my bookshelf – are ones that I carry with me.

The venerable Field Notes Notebooks. The version shown here is a limited edition called “Just Below Zero”

For a guy like me who likes to write down many things, Field Notes notebooks fit the bill nicely. They’re pocket-sized with a card cover that is stiff enough for writing yet flexible enough to fold into your pocket.

Another look at Field Notes notebooks. The version shown here is a limited edition called “Just Below Zero”

One nice little surprise is that every order comes with a few goodies. My order of three 3-pack notebooks came with a 1 inch button, a ballpoint pen, and a pencil. Not a ton of swag, but it’s these little accoutrements, and a dedication to fast shipping, that makes the brand so excellent. (Field Notes Notebooks)

Shampoo and a Rudolph Mug

These two quirky gifts came courtesy of my stepdaughter. We’re big fans of the claymation holiday special Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer, especially Rudolph’s obnoxiously loud nose.

American Crew Shampoo and a Rudolph mug, courtesy of my stepdaughter.

Despite years of trying to rid myself of it, I must confess a weakness for “quality” grooming products (see combs below). I put quality in quotes because I’m no sucker. I know the expensive shit performs no better than the drugstore specials. Usually, scent is what reels me in. Most shampoos smell quite feminine so it’s nice to use something that smells somewhat manly. Isn’t scent the main criteria for shampoo purchases (seeing as how there’s no objective way to determine if one shampoo is better than another)? Am I wrong?

A Set of Speert combs

For years I used my hands to style my hair and didn’t own a brush or comb (I actually bragged about this once, if you can believe it). But deep down, like I said, I have an affinity for grooming products. I don’t think anyone makes a comb like Speert does, or has the depth of selection that they do. Hand made in Switzerland, they’re a gorgeous tortoise shell design with a bit of heft to them. You will not find these in your local drug store.

Speert likely makes the best combs out there for the money. If you’re looking for a cool tortoise shell designer comb, these are the babies.

I received three pieces – one for the gym bag, one for the bathroom, and a little one for the back pocket. I like ‘em.

Professional Books

I love books in general but especially adore books about typography and design.

Thinking With Type by Ellen Lupton. An excellent, lucid textbook on typographic design.

Ellen Lupton’s Thinking with Type (Amazon) is one of the best books on typographic design I’ve ever picked up. Far from “a book about fonts”, the slim but packed volume guides the reader through a bit of type history and moves from character to text to a full grid-bound document. An excellent read, and a great resource.

Information Architecture, Blueprints for the Web by Christina Wodtke and Austin Govella

Information Architecture, Blueprints for the Web (Amazon) is a decent guide to designing information hierarchies for websites and web applications. Tons of basic and advanced information on organizing information on websites with a strong emphasis on understanding users (i.e. research and observation). This is not a book of code samples or the like – it’s strictly a theory-based text with a case study and tons of screenshots. I haven’t got too deep into this one yet, but it’s a decent read so far. I find the authorial voice to be a little to “hip” for my liking, but the book is packed with good information.

Books of Poetry

Christmas would not be complete without receiving the latest volume of “The Best American Poetry”, in this case the 2009 edition.

Best American Poetry 2009, edited by David Wagoner and My Dog is a Carrot by John Hegley

I also received a great book by the British poet John Hegley, entitled My Dog is a Carrot. It’s filled with hilariously absurd poems with no small dash of acerbic wit.

Letterpress Calendar

I’ve become a huge fan of letterpress items (where the letters are pressed into or embossed into the paper). The tactile sensation of holding a book with a letterpress cover is something to be savoured. Imagine my delight when I unwrapped this on Christmas morning:

A letterpress calendar by Ilee Papergoods out of Seattle

It’s made by Ille Papergoods out of Seattle. Really excellent stuff. The month placards are loose but held together by a plexiglass case. Each card is unique in color, type, and layout. Each is exquisitely designed.

Monthly detail of the letterpress calendar from Ilee Papergoods out of Seattle.

Font Cards

Some good friends of ours just returned from a year-long sabbatical in Europe. In their travels, they happened across a deck of “font cards” that had my name written all over them.

The font deck, as packaged.

They’re slightly larger than a deck of playing cards, and infinitely more informative. Each card has a type sample on one side, and a brief history on the other.

Each card has two sides – a type sample depicting the basic characters, and a short history on the reverse.

There are 48 cards in all. Although this is largely a whimsical item, they can be treated as small type samples for side-by-side comparison.

There are 48 cards in each deck.

You can buy the font cards here if you’re so inclined.

The Lee Valley Sample Kit

The super-cool Lee Valley Sample Kit

Possibly the most unexpected and interesting gift I received this Xmas was the Lee Valley Sample Kit. Inside a diminutive transparent clamshell case lay a multitude of small tools and devices, all from the venerable assortment of Lee Valley Tools. If you’ve never been to Lee Valley Tools (Edmonton location), man, you are missing out. It’s a gadget hound’s paradise with a vast assortment coveted by men and women alike. With an emphasis on woodworking and gardening, Lee Valley has carved out a niche for themselves as the premier purveyors of every non-power tool you will ever need in your life. Their retail store employs a system similar to Consumers Distributing. You look up your item in a catalog, someone goes to get it from the warehouse, you pay the cashier if you want it.

The kit is set in unassuming packaging:

A simple clamshell enclosure houses the kit.

But that little box holds a ton of shit. And I gotta confess that I love stuff like this. I don’t even know what half the things do, but it’s super cool. I would have LOVED this item as a ten year old boy. It’s very reminiscent of the spy/detective kits we used to make out of cardboard boxes.

The kit, expanded.

I’m really excited for this item. Time to start up the Ace Detective Agency again, eh Scotty?

Daring Fireball T-Shirts

These were a gift to me, from me. One morning when I was still half asleep I ordered these shirts and went back to bed immediately thereafter. When I woke up, I had forgotten that I placed the order until I checked my email later that day and noticed a confirmation message from PayPal. Truthfully, I thought the order had been a dream.

The super awesome Daring Fireball t-shirts.

No matter, because I am glad to support a site like Daring Fireball and it’s author John Gruber. The site is mostly about Apple nerdery, but Gruber jumps around subject-wise just enough to make it interesting. Now, I’m not a Mac aficionado by any stretch. The only Apple products in our household are iPods. For every day computing, I would say that for many reasons I’m actually a Windows fan, although not by much. It’s Gruber’s writing that keeps me reading the site. He’s got just the right balance of pissy, potentially arrogant intelligence that I like. His blog is a prime example of someone who started something out of love and grew it into something of world-wide repute and acclaim. Inspiring.

Wacky Packages Boxers

I know they’re painfully cheesy, but hey, I absolutely LOVE Wacky Packages, and what better way to manifest that love that with a pair of gaudy, fucking repulsive boxer shorts?

Are these the epitome of ridiculous cool?

Check out the Wacky Packages resource site for the real rundown on everything Wacky.

And Some Small Stuff

To round out this list, a few smaller items that also please me greatly:

Laundry-scented candles from Ikea.

Typographical magnets that resemble vintage typewriter keys.

A valet device for the top of my dresser, and a bar of soap from the Body Shop.

If you’ve made it this far, thanks! And what did you get for Christmas that you absolutely loved?

— Michael Gravel

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One evening when I was in the joint, my wife Kerry wheeled me down to the main floor of the hospital (The University of Alberta Hospital in Edmonton). There was a big white tree down there – like a mall tree, but assembled with restraint and elegance. It was there to heal the broken; buoy the spirits of those who spent time there: staff, patients, volunteers, and visitors. It looked majestic to my med-heavy eyes. I believe that tree, along with many other things, made a difference in my recovery.

In December 2008 – one year after my ordeal – I visited the tree and dropped off a small gift for the staff in the ICU ward where I spent most of my recovery time. The nurses in there did (and still do) amazing things and dealt with shit you wouldn’t believe. Showing appreciation – even though none of the people that tended to me were still there – felt like the right thing to do. I’ll be doing the same this year.

This year however, the hospital almost didn’t put the tree up. I paid a visit on the morning of December 2, figuring that the tree would be up. No tree to be found. In fact, save the beautiful embellishments of the gift shop, it didn’t look a whole lot like Christmas in the place. This stranged me out, so I asked at information.

“When does the Christmas Tree go up?”

“It’s not going up this year. Cutbacks.”

I let out an incredulous WHAAAT? Of all the places that need a Christmas tree, a hospital has to be at the top of the list. The sickly need spiritual help more than anybody. I walked away thinking, how can they do this? Unbelievable that a Christmas tree would be denied.

I’m glad to report that the spirit of the season has prevailed and as of this writing the big white Christmas tree is up and beautiful. It may not save any lives, and it may be an overworn symbol of the season, but I can guarantee that tree makes a difference to the mental health of patients and many others. I’m glad it’s there, and I’ll be paying it a visit very soon.

I wrote a poem that mentions this tree. Poetry is my great healer…and my lifework. I recited the poem – “Final Poem for the White Tree” – at the final Raving Poets event of the fall 2009 season, and you can watch it on YouTube here.

May the season keep you well, and may the spirit of this time heal in you what needs to be healed.

— Michael Gravel

I‘ve long held an admiration for orchestral music, although my knowledge of it is limited. I’ve always wanted to regularly attend performances by the Edmonton Symphony Orchestra. There has always been an excuse to not do it – too expensive, not enough time, etc. This year my wife Kerry and I decided to take advantage of the two-for-one new subscriber special. This allows just what it says – two people can subscribe for the price of one. In our case, we chose seats in the upper circle, second tier from the top. Fortunately, the seating in the Winspear Center for Music was designed to make any seat a good seat. Twelve concerts over eight months for two people set us back less than $400.00. That’s an incredible deal, if you ask me.

We’ve been loving it. The season began on September 19 and we’ve been anxiously awaiting every concert thereafter. The concerts afford my wife and I much-needed nights out; dates that are non-negotiable because they’re scheduled. Make no mistake. This is no small deal. It was our main reason for subscribing, but it certainly feels odd to have scheduled downtime together. Our lives are busy these days with events and happenings crowding our calendars. A breather from the shitshow of daily life is essential and the reality is this: If something isn’t scheduled it doesn’t happen. We’ve found our respite in the Edmonton Symphony.

It’s an excellent night out. We like to arrive early to allow for a nice easing-in. Walk around, do some people watching, grab a civilized drink in a real glass, and pretend we’ve got more money than we do. The architecture of the Winspear is inspiring, and the finishing details are worth closer examination (i.e. the stone floor in the entraceway is always well-kept and beautiful; the seats in the hall are comfortable and immaculately maintained). Symphony nights are also an excuse to throw on some nice clothes. Dressing up is optional of course, but I would feel out of place without some decent evening attire. Wool trousers, cotton shirt, and a jacket are my standards; my wife often dons a dress. Many men wear suits and ties and the women are exquisite in their evening frocks. I have seen a few patrons in jeans and t-shirts and I’ve yelled “YES!” in my head. I have yet to see a rock t-shirt at any concert, but you never know. In my younger days, wearing an Iron Maiden tour shirt to an elevated event like the symphony was first nature to me.

This being Alberta, the pretensions of the symphony and its upper-end patrons range from subdued to nearly non-existent. This is somewhat due to conductor Bill Eddins, who is not your standard-issue, stuffed-collar music director. The guy has tons of style and is way cooler than anyone in the audience (probably on the shortlist for coolest guy in Edmonton). I’m sure that some long-term, well-moneyed subscribers are horrified by the sudden influx of rubes like us – those who are there only because the price has become reasonable. We do intend to continue our subscription next year, when the price goes up. Fortunately, I have felt no ill-feelings from anyone. I doubt anyone would be that obvious in any case – this is Alberta, located in the polite state of Canada after all – but as a newcomer it’s nice to feel welcome.

This season’s musical selections are varied and interesting. We’ve already been treated to nights of Mahler and Schubert; Gershwin’s Second Rhapsody (excellent but not quite as amazing as Rhapsody in Blue); and Brahms second symphony. We’re not intimately familiar with most of this music but we love hearing it live. Listening to a recording at home is one thing, but a live performance is so much richer. At home, music is usually in the background. It is rare to sit down and do nothing but listen to music intently. We view concerts as two hours of enforced listening and quiet. It’s not quite active listening, which would be necessary with music containing lyrics. Indeed, a quick visual of the audience will reveal many on the edge of sleep. The auditorium does not allow the slightest of noises to be disguised. During quiet musical passages, a vibrating cellphone is audible across the hall (as I found out one evening), and the uncrossing of a leg from a knee is nearly an interruption to the performance. Moments of quiet like that are beyond rare. In the clip for coming coming concerts: Beethoven, Mozart, Vivaldi, Debussy.

It looks as though the Edmonton Symphony is continuing its two for one subscriber deal, and if you’ve been on the fence with regards to season tickets, now would be a good time to take the plunge. Of course, single-concert tickets are a good place to start, and tickets are almost always available. As far as nights out go, it’s more expensive than a movie but cheaper than a hockey game, and maybe even more interesting than either of them.

— Michael Gravel

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Lift? Lift What?

I’ve never been a gym kinda guy. In fact, I’ve openly mocked serious gym goers, including some good friends of mine. I used to pride myself on the fact that I never exercised. When I lived on Saskatchewan Drive, I used to sit on my patio and laugh at the Running Room crew as they jogged by in their neon jackets and $200.00 runners. I’m still a skeptic of the Running Room and any many other gear retailers like MEC, but I no longer laugh at runners (not all of them). Or anybody else who takes physical fitness seriously. I won’t call myself a runner but after a year of building up strength and stamina I must say that I love running. That statement goes against everything I once said, and it’s also surprising considering my congenital heart defect – a leaky valve that should limit my activity more than it does.

One thing I’ve noticed about gym goers and runners / walkers in particular: Many of them seem to be obsessed with the gear. Guys in expensive running shorts and specialty tops rocking the $250.00 runners. Women with the head-to-toe Running Room uniform complete with ass-mount water bottle holder. Thankfully, most people at the gym and on the track actually do the work. To me, stores like The Running Room and MEC are only slightly less contemptible than Abercrombie and Fitch¹. They’re just praying on a different audience, or a different part of the same audience. What gets me is the idea that owning the gear is enough; that owning a set of high-end hiking boots will enable one to scale a peak. I admit that I easily fall prey to this line of thinking.

If I only owned that camera, I could take better photos.

Once I own that piece of software, my life will be easier.

When I get that pair of runners, I’ll be running the Boston Marathon.

Once I get that pair of $150.00 sandblasted denims, I’ll get laid.

Of course, none of that is true. My big continuous guilt, the one that I have to outrun at nearly every turn in every endeavour, is that I give up too fast. And it’s taken me decades to recognize the point at which I jump ship: just before the tipping point; just before I get kinda good at something. Somehow, just trying to move past that doesn’t seem like enough. Trying is for pussies. People who try go home alone. People that do? They go home and fuck the prom queen².

Doing the Work

Bottom line with anything worth doing, and anything that’s going to make your life better: It’s fucking work. It’s hours, months, and years of building up skill, strength, and stamina. This shit doesn’t happen over night, and it doesn’t happen just ‘cuz you got the latest version of Windows. That goes for running, building cabinets, being a better parent, or doing layouts in Photoshop. Time and work. When you say them together like that they almost sound like curse words, and that’s how it should be. As time goes on I realize more and more that talent – natural, god-given talent – doesn’t really count for much. The gutters are filled with super-talented amateurs who did nothing. An ounce each of persistence, patience, and a slow-burn work ethic are worth more than fifty pounds of natural talent. Worth more than that is a high tolerance for ambiguity and failure. That’s the real tough one. Knowing that you suck is pretty hard to live with but it seems to be essential for “success”, however you define it.

I’m off to the gym. Thanks for reading.

—

¹ Abercrombie is at the top of the intolerably ludicrous retailer list. They don’t deserve a link or the space to explain why the suck so hard (self-evident), so Google them.

² To paraphrase Sean Connery.

— Michael Gravel

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