Second Christmas Facing Challenges.

I love sports and so it goes without saying that tha Olympics are usually a fun time for me...like a second Christmas.  But this year in what I consider a bizarro world I am not getting my full Olympic fix.  I am left craving the twists and turns of the luge, bobsled, and skeleton.  Starving for the cut of steel on ice and hoping that Norway could at least mount something of a challenge...yes I know, I giggled too when I wrote that they should mount something, I decided to try and watch some of the Canada-Norway game on the computer...a F*****g laptop of all things.  Well may I say that my anger just seemed to escalate from that point on and I was left cursing innumurable masses of people over the injustice. 

My first beef was with the Canadian government...the easiest of targets...for investing billions...yes with a B, into the Olympics but failing to realize that because CTV had won the broadcast rights...a company that is mounting a challenge to broadcasting laws in this country because they are not seeing big enough profits, not everyone can get to see these Olympics.  I have CBC and am paying indirectly for it I am sure, and as a result of not having a cable package I am unable to see the games without going through the absolute terror I know as online anything.

My next round of cussing was directed at CTV and it's bastard sister TSN.  They have always been infantile in their coverage of anything, but the steps one has to follow to watch a game on a lesser piece of electronic alzheimer's enabler are paramount to needles in ones testicles...trust me on this one.  It's not bad enough that the screen is covered with just enough shit to keep an ADHA child sitting still, but the need to download programs are many as well.  The real kicker is that the piece of crap alzheimers enabler didn't seem to want that program or at least didn't wish to make it accessible, and therefore rendering it useless.  On top of that when I tried to get highlights this morning I could find anything but still shots of hockey players in what appeared to be a moving game that I could have sworn we had the technology to exhibit.

Well I resigned myself to the bunk with my copies of Darwin's "Origins", and Jared Diamond's "Guns, Germs, and Steel" in a underfunded attempt to see where the f**k mankind went wrong in his evolution both physically and culturally.  I may be in over my head but what the f**k...I'll Take a crack at it. 

I almost went away this morning.

It's true, I almost went away this morning.  By that I mean I have been doing some serious thinking as to why I have a blog...it's really just a diary that reminds others, and me about just how insignificant my life is.  And I hate the pressure of feeling compelled to put something on here every blue moon or so.  See the truth is I believe that the internet is such a driving force in antisocial behaviour that I don't want to contribute to the decline of civilization that has taken millions of years to construct.  The tool..if it is such, has simply made it easier for others to pressure us into joining this group or that group that means more time exposing ones self to advertising and info that we really don't need.  A wise older dude informed me a few years back that we can't mourn the world, and if we allow ourselves to open up and be bombarded with unnecessary grief we open ourselves up to even more damage, or really, perceived damage.  And, it is at it's very heart just another way to sell to those that probably don't need or would never purchase what you are pushing except we have been part of a societal construct that feels it must spend.  Many therapist now recommend that depressed people go on a shopping spree to make themselves feel better.  Given this, does it mean that those that don't spend are in a healthier state of mind to begin with?  It is also believed that internet use and depression are linked with both rising sharply along parallel paths.  The question then becomes which is the symptom and which is the cause?  If you shut yourself in and assume antisocial behaviour by joining groups and following "friends" on the internet is it a sign of depression or will it cause depression?  I don't know the answer to this but if it is true I don't want to contribute to others feeling that way, or inadvertantly assist them in pushing their credit cards to the max.

This blog is not something I take pride in and it's such a small thing with few readers, but I refuse to campaign others to join because if I don't feel comfortable doing it why would I invite others to put up with it during their daily routines when there are numerous more interesting and important things to do?  But, apparently I am in the minority among my friends and family.  Just recently I was informed of my sister's engagement by someone that had read about it on Facebook.  Really?  You couldn't pick up the phone and call before making that post?  In chosing this option it implied that those excluded from that particular site were outside the realm and either felt pressure to join or were in effect left to their own devices in finding out...in this case from a relative stranger at the grocery store.  I guess I could take some comfort in the fact that all of the other "friends" knew in a timely fashion...and they got their daily dose of commercial bombardment with the news.  The real question is if it left them conflicted because they were not so depressed for a short time with the arrival of joyous news and the scrolling ad to the right for whatever you didn't really need was a waste of some commercial enterprises not-so-hard-earned-money?

Adults Say the Stupidest Things (Part 2).

Some days ago I was met outside my workplace by a lady that shall remain nameless.  This lady does a lot of walking, and much of it past my house.  Now I know there are those that have no clue about decor, art, or any of the finer things, and not because they can't afford it, or in this case haven't been exposed to some of the finest there is, but because they don't seem predisposed genetically, politically, or sexually (not sure what that means but I think it's played a part in my artisitic education being married to an artist).

To truly get a sense of the story from the beginning I have to tell you that we had lived in our house for more than two years without a front door.  That space was ever so well occupied by a couple of sheets of plywood painted to match our clapboard.  Well this year...late summer, early fallish we finally got our front entry.  A massive piece of art that contains a front door surrounded by glass, a replica of the original as drawn into the presentation plans leading up to 1884 well executed by the incomparable Mike Paterson of Paterson Woodworking located in Upper Amherst Cove.  It took six of us to wiggle and waggle the thing into it's prepared opening.  But now it's there for all to admire, and they have admired.  Some folks have stopped their cars...one in the middle of the road to stare at this door with it's crowning balcony also well executed by our trusty carpenters Edward and Barry Sturge.

So back to the story and the comment that has made it's rounds to much chuckle in our house since that fateful day.  This lady happened to catch me while walking from my car to the office and comment on the door, and the house in general.  In the most well meaning way she issued this statement..."It's only old-fashioned, but it's some nice."  Now I wasn't aware that old-fashioned was in it's very nature un-nice.  I also have an issue with the phrase "old-fashioned" because it somehow regurgitates, with a full dose of bad taste, images of those gawdy couches from the seventies with their cheaply carved wood product and such that by the time I had taken note of them smelled of cigarette smoke and perspiration.  Now I would have liked to have said all of this to this lady but I think her intentions were admirable and she was sweet enough to point out how nice the house looked...even if it was only "old-fashioned".  I know educating people about this is damned near impossible... harder than rehabilitating the house with it's hefty contributions of blood, sweat, and tears, but who knows maybe someday I'll take a Crack-At-It.

Slow traffic day.

Today was the annual slow traffic day in our neck of the what-was-once woods.  The folks responsible for slowing down traffic are the good folks at Targa Newfoundland.  Every year we all gather at some point to watch as expensive and expensively modified cars race through our streets.  And every year the point is to make the most creative remark about the cars as they go by often comparing them to the young and not so young drivers that terrorize our town daily.

The best one this year came from the guy working on our heating system that said "Jesus, they only close the road because the Targa cars would frustrate the shit out of the usual speeders"!  He also informed me that he had gone faster than that when he was hooked to a tow truck in his old work van.

My beef today is the educational system and it's refusal to allow the kids to witness this event by keeping them in class in the name of safety. The same crowd that will cancel school two days in advance based upon the long range forecast.  This doesn't apply to my boy...I keep him home deliberately not to thumb my nose at the school folk but to allow him, a ten year old boy, to witness something cool that is actually brought to a remote place that doesn't always get to have cool.  In exchange he had to wash himself thoroughly this morning and do two pages of math practice the night before.  It turned out to be the easiest homework he has done in his life.

I don't expect my behaviour in this issue to be followed by many parents that simply can't deal with their youngster all morning long because they have punched into Facebook long before the bus has toted them from the roadside, but I only hope that a few more would jump on board...enough for the schools to note that absenteeism trumps the H1N1 on this morning annually and to send the youngin's home to watch legalized speeding.  Now I don't think all the teachers are stunned, but i do think that some of them need to be reminded that there is more to education than a classroom, and hell maybe I'll take A Crack At that job too.

Adults say the stupidest things.

Janet came up with this idea some time ago, and I'll be stealing it for this post. You simply take a stupid question that a tourist or other visitor to the studio asks, and examine it critically.

This week's installment comes to us from a visitor that had come by with a group collecting information for the government that will be used to better exhibit this region in tourism material. The speaker was to represent an uninformed tourist and help the facilitator gain insight into what the average Joe needs to know about our space and this one didn't disappoint with the newly "most mocked" querry..."did you learn this skill from your mother?"

Now this might be a reasonable question for knitting, quilting, or say...mat hooking. Shit, it might even be reasonable to some folks out there that grew up in traditional printshops, if those people weren't deformed freaks that lived to the ripe old age of twelve as a result of hanging out with those nasty chemicals during those good developmental years. Now, I have tried to gain some good info on boatbuilding from my elders, and as traditional skills go the question could be applied to almost anything from baking a cake to good oral sex...just testing to see if you were still with me. But, the point is this isn't really one of those traditional skills for outport Newfoundland, and many of the locals still have no idea what it is we do in the studio. What this means is that what was a stupid question at the time of it's asking turned out to be an eye-opener for those of us that assume people know the difference, and the asker was in fact the best equipped person among the group for having the guts to voice everything and anything that came into his mind. Now if we could infuse that enthusiasm into many of the locals, and more of the visitors to the studio, it can only be a good thing for all printmakers everywhere.

I wasn't sure where this post was going when I started and I'm still not sure it actually went anywhere but it killed a little time and did seem to come across as sharing some little insight. I can't promise they'll all be like this but I'll take another Crack At It in the future.

Photo Credits: Janet Davis
Photo Captions: Top: Duke placing dampened papers on inked lino-plates. Bottom: Hard to Port! Duke pulls the press bed through, printing cards, mini-prints, and bookmarks for Norton's Cove Studio.

Dodging Bill

On Saturday, the 22nd of August (our 11th wedding anniversary), while readying for Bill the Hurricane's arrival by getting Davis Shipping's aluminum workboat out of the water, I was approached by a gentleman of obvious European persuasion (the Fs for Vs and the Vs for Ws was the ringer here). He was inquiring as to whether the pontoon (meaning floating dock) would be adequate in keeping his boat safe when the wind got going on Sunday evening. I said, "yes" of course, because if the boat stayed longer I'd have a better chance of having a look at it, and crap did I ever want to have a good look at it!

I informed him that winds of this magnitude were pretty much the norm at this time of the year and that this was taken into account when they put those things there. I did fail to mention that it was rare to have anything but small fishing boats tied up there, but I was sure that given some of the past blows it would stand against even his 85 foot mast. Just the same he was going to put out his anchor to guard against any possibility and I saw the opportunity to offer my help and have a look at the vessel. So it was that Woody-Jack and I got to go aboard this fine vessel.

Later I would bring Janet and the Fredder down to the wharf for a look and they too were offered the chance to see the boat. This is all important when you want a boat because if the spouse is not on board there's a good chance it ain't happening. Well, during the three nights that our guests were at the wharf I'd get to spend two evenings on board and the great couple that owned the boat were good enough to accept our offer of grub on the other night.

All of this is simply a lead up to my point that most of us have no clue about living and are simply coasting through our time...wasting it on trash. At no time is this more apparent to me than when offered up through the magnifying glass of people like Herman and Rian. They have spent two and a half years summering in Newfoundland and Labrador with the two winters spent in the heady space offered up at a veritable bargain in New York city. Apparently fees for wharfage in the off season there equal about $2800 for seven months... all electrical included. Beat that when most apartments there run at more than five thousand a month. The plan for them involves sailing from Newfoundland waters in the coming weeks and taking the opportunities of weather windows to head down the eastern seaboard to New York for a short stay before continuing on to the Carribean for this coming winter. The plan also includes Brazil in 2011 after seeing the other side of South America and the Antarctic along the way. Then nobody knows where.

Now I'm not suggesting that all of us can afford the luxury, or that we all can, or should own large sailboats (I would love to and I don't understand why everyone doesn't see the upside), but we all should try our hand at seeing the world outside of our little hovels and attempting to connect with other cultures on some level. World relations could always use a little more understanding on the most personal of levels, and shit, the food is so good when you were raised on things boiled or baked to da'bejeezuz.

Think of the adventure of entering a new port every evening, meeting the locals, sharing some good grub, and moving on in the morning. The greatest part is that it's not an airport that inflicts such doses of culture shock that when you meet new people you're not even yourself, or resorts that cater to eating crap and drinking oneself into oblivion on the same old crystaline beach with sand up the crack of your arse. There is no hauling of luggage and rushing to get to the rental car booth before everyone else.

It's all a pretty sweet deal, if you don't get seassick, that is. I don't know if I'll ever have the opportunity to do something like this even on a smaller scale, or if I'd have the guts to if the chance arose for such adventure, but I'd like to think I'd take A Crack At It.

Photo Credits: Duke Kelloway

Photo Captions: Top, At the 'pontoon' in Wesleyville; Bottom, leaving Wesleyville past Bennett's Island.

Too much man, too much...

It started on 17 July past. I was asked by the boss (but not Bruce Springsteen) if I would be interested in driving to St. John's to take a crew member to the airport early Sunday morning. "Yes", was the answer because driving is more fun than sitting around trying to plan my own day, and besides, we needed some pipe at the Home Depot to complete the hookup of our new central vac system.

The trip included a stop at the Nalcor site at Bull Arm to pick up said crew member, who at the time of my arrival insisted on finishing the smoke he had just lit while I sat in the truck and watched...exciting stuff that. I tried to urge him on, but he is one of those types that don't actually engage in conversation because he doesn't hear a bloody thing you have to say, and just stood there blowing smoke and smiling.

This meant I had to gun the damn thing the rest of the way to meet with success in my ever existant list of things to do when in the big city. This list had shopping included and I was running behind in the middle of roadwork season.

The rest of the trip was me listening to computer talk and the benefits of the new video camera that this dude had just purchased. All great stuff to a guy with no interest in technology whatsoever, but as I have said he's the kind that simply waits for you to stop talking so he can drop a statement unrelated to what you have said like a chunk of concrete in the middle of already strained conversation.

Photo Credit: Frederick Kelloway