There are a myriad of things about the Internets that warm the cockles of my geeky little heart. One is the inherently collaborative nature of the whole thing. Hell, it’s what the whole Web 2.0 business model is based on (and yes, that term drives me nuts too). Unfortunately, this is also one of the things i absolutely HATE about the current state of the web. While the whole instant feedback/conversation thing has been around pretty much since the web’s inception, it’s something that I haven’t really followed for very long. I’ve got ZERO Usenet cred.

I guess my first experience with reader feedback started when I began following a few comic book news sites/forums a couple of years ago. While a particular story or press release might have only seemed slightly interesting to me, the conversation from the users that followed was almost always just as compelling, if not more so.  And then a funny thing happened. It wasn’t a sudden thing, it just kinda crept up slowly. It started with nearly every new story having the first few responses simply say “First Post!” or “*** creator sucks!!”. Eventually I discovered I was much happier just ignoring the comments altogether. Nearly every other site I’ve frequented has reached this point for me at some point. For Digg, it was last week.

When I first started reading Digg on a regular basis, it did have casual dipshitery to deal with. Constant cries of “Dupe!!” drove me up the wall, but could (for the most part) be ignored. I’ve consistently learned more from the comments on any given story than anything from RTFA . When they implemented the user administered commenting system, i was elated. It pretty much took care of those minor annoyances and let me get to the good stuff. Alas, not any more. I think the site has finally reached a critical mass in which any amount of decent, well thought out discussion has been overwhelmed by the sheer volume of idiots. While the comment moderating might block the most offensive comments, it doesn’t prevent the whole train of discussion from coming of the tracks. It only takes one ignorant, racist comment on a Barack Obama story to plunge the whole conversation into a flame war that has nothing to do with what the actual article was about. And as tremendously satisfying as it may be to hit that “block user” button, it still feels like slapping a band-aid on a severed limb.

What’s the solution? I really have no idea. Maybe a more active “official” moderator in addition to the user-policed system. Maybe, like in the happy-fun-fairy-land-that-only-exists-in-my-head, if people would just take a few moments to think about what they are about to type we’d all be a lot happier. Oh, and maybe some actual accountability for what is said,that’d be nice too.

All that being said, I, myself, am necessarily helping to add to the intelligent discourse on any of the sites I frequent. I’m a bit of a serial lurker but when I do get around to adding my voice to the conversation I make damn well sure I’ve got something to actually add. And maybe that’s the problem, it’s just too easy to drop in a quick “u rteh sux 0r” and be on your merry way… or maybe I’m just getting old. And even though it can be exhausting, I still believe the conversation to be incredibly vital and I think I speak for everyone here at SilentTalkie when I say we want to hear what you all have to say, just make sure it’s something worth saying.

“Hi there,” I greeted haphazardly, juggling my plastic container of clothes as I took small steps towards the door. He offered to open it for me.

“Ah, it’s OK. I’ve got it!” I went inside, dropping coins in two machines, organizing the loads. There was no one else in the laundromat.

I picked up a magazine from the rack, an old issue of People – good for the latest gossip on Paris and Britney – and headed outside for some fresh air. The two hours I spent at the laundromat were a welcome respite from my daily routine of deadlines, legal agreements, phone calls. I fell into a daydream of California.

The Cuban aroma permeated my space. The gentleman was engrossed in the Globe and Mail, but he somehow sensed that I had turned towards him. He lowered his newspaper.

“Nice day, eh?”

“Yeah,” I answered, still curious about why he was at the laundromat. I’d gone here for the past two years. I’d never seen him. He didn’t really belong. This was a zone for university students; twentysomethings whose apartments were lacking in some of life’s conveniences, and the occasional street folk.

“I just got back from a camping trip. We went up to Bon Echo Park. Ever bee there?”

This seemed to catch his attention. He put the newspaper down and looked straight at me.

“I haven’t gone camping in years. And no, I don’t think I’ve ever been to Bon Echo.” He paused, and then continued. “I just got back from a trip to Dubai. We only go to hotels – the nicest hotels. I don’t think I can ever go back to camping.”

“So, I’m just curious, and by the way, I’m Kenneth.” We shook hands and he introduced himself as Jim. “What are you doing here?”

Jim took a long drag from his cigar. I almost asked him if he had another Cohiba, but thought better of it.

“My son’s in university here. I don’t think he knows how to do laundry, or maybe he’s just too lazy. We spoiled him too much. His place is a total disaster. I spend an hour driving from Toronto to Waterloo every other Saturday because it’s the only time I ever get to see him.  So I do his laundry.” Jim fumbled in his pocket for his wallet and pulled out a worn business card. I stared at it for a moment. I was talking to the owner of a yacht company.

“I’ve been all around the world, seen a lot. And you know what really matters?”

“No,” I responded, softly.

“I think about death sometimes. At the end of the day, when I’m on some bed in a hospital, and my face is turned to the guy beside me, I will not be talking about yachts, about money, or any of that shit.”

I looked across the street, witnessing all these students in line at the bus stop, waiting. We do so much waiting in life. And I was waiting for my load to finish.

Jim caught my distracted look and made a gesture with his hands, saying in a loud voice, “I will talk about my son. I think he’ll pull through and be a success. He just needs to grow up. And then I’ll talk about all my adventures, most of which happened around your age. And finally, I’ll talk about all the women I slept with.”

I burst out laughing.

Jim rubbed his wedding ring.

My cell phone started ringing. Time for the dryer.

“So why are you here?” Jim called as I got up and headed inside.

“I know this sounds crazy. I’ve got laundry at my apartment, but I still come here. I guess this is the one place where I don’t have interruptions, where I can just be free to think.”

I held the door open, recognizing my words.

This was an interruption. I’ll have to plan more of those.

I smiled back at Jim, as if to say thanks.

But this story doesn’t start there. Instead, it starts in the middle of my first term of University. A couple of guys on my floor were trying to start a band. They had the singer/songwriter/lead guitarist, a drummer with a kit and a rhythm guitarist that had jammed together a few times but they could never find a bass player to play longer than one session. This is where I step in. One night while they were about to jam, they asked me to fill in on bass and apparently wouldn’t take “I don’t know how” for an answer. Since no one really had the same influences or the ability to play much of anything, the decision was made to write a few of our own songs. And because of that lack of ability, the songs started off as generic three chord ditties that could pass for pop-punk before it got all whiny and emo-like. Actually I didn’t mind that because I was listening to a lot of it at the time. Anyways, we kept on jamming for a couple months and ended up with 9 songs. The term culminated with a couple of performances at dorm-sponsored talent shows (although we still had an obvious lack of talent and cohesiveness, especially on the bass end). We also rented a 4 track mixer and put to tape what we had spent so little time crafting. Here’s where I reveal my age; this was before the time when anyone with a computer could make a mediocre recording. We spent a couple days laying down some simple tracks and making rudimentary mixes, and given our lack of talent, lack of practice time, lack of cohesiveness and lack of technology, “Trust Me” didn’t turn out too badly.

Unfortunately, this is the part where our Rock & Roll dreams die. Thanks to the University of Waterloo’s co-op program, all four of us would never be at the University at the same time again. As a result of this (mixed with the general apathy towards practicing and no desire to book shows), the band would never reach mediocrity.

The summer of that year brought about our first real show. Our drummer knew about a Christian Youth Event being planned in Ajax and passed our tape on to the promoter. For some reason, he listened to it and still wanted us to play. so in typical YourFace fashion, we practised once the weekend before (the first time we’d played together since December) and loaded up the Beretta with 5 people, a drum kit, a couple guitars and amps and headed out on the 401. When we got to show, everything was a little disorganized, partly because it was supposed to be outdoors and it rained off and on, and partly because we had no idea what we were doing and didn’t know our material very well. Anyways, we got through our set and had fun. Thankfully, the sound board recording of that day has never been made public. I’ve been told it exists but have never heard nor do I know the whereabouts of it.

The fall brought the lead singer and guitarist back to school while I toiled away in a different city. For the next 4 months, we played together almost every weekend but the rhythm guitarist dropped out almost immediately, leaving us as a three piece. We kept writing new material with more chords and no remnants of anything that could be considered punk rock. The drummer had a friend who was studying sound engineering and had free studio time that was promised to us. So after practising new material once a week for two months, we headed into an actual studio. Once again, we were ill-prepared for what was awaited us. For some reason, we thought that 6 hours of studio time would be more than enough for a band that still struggled with execution to record and mix 13 songs. I’m not sure how we did it but 13 songs did get put down. We were mixing down to the last second and much of it was done on the fly, but at the end of the day, we had a CD with 13 tracks. “Not Where We Should Be” was a huge success considering the lack of effort the band put into it. I think that we managed to sell 40 copies to people that we knew and thankfully, not everyone hated it.

From here, distractions set in and the band members went their separate ways for a while. 18 months later, we got to jamming again and set out with the goal of making a recording that we could be proud of. We enlisted the help of the engineer from our previous disc (bringing on another friend of the drummer as the producer), and gave ourselves a whole weekend to put together another shot at immortality. Unfortunately, we were plauged by unreadiness, a lack of cohesiveness and over-ambitiousness (I sense a theme). Anyway, we managed to get the music down for all the songs but it still wasn’t much to be proud of. We drifted apart for a while but the producer kept working, using his Pro-Tools skills to try and take our poor effort and turn it into something good. A year later, we re-visited those sessions and put down the vocals. After four months of post-production, we were handed a CD of “Best 2 Out Of 3″. Thanks to the tireless efforts of the producer, it was listenable but not the respectable recording we were looking for, but to our ears… we enjoy it. So here we are with three albums and one “real” show after four years.

Don’t worry, we’re finally nearing the end of this drawn-out tale. As we approached graduation (at least one of us approached graduation), we came up with the idea to play one final show as a last hurrah, even though we didn’t really have any fans and hadn’t played together on consecutive days in over three years. We signed up in an online contest to play a show in Mississauga, and thanks to the votes of 15 of our closest friends, we manage to make the cut. The show was scheduled to take place at the end of June with Hulk Hogan MC’ing and K-Os headlining. Two weeks before the show, I got a call that Hulk Hogan had cancelled for personal reasons and the show was off.  However, they offered us a slot at a smaller show a week later. Sadly, I was already scheduled to move to Winnipeg the day before the new show, so I couldn’t participate. I guess I should be thankful, the band again practised sparingly the weekend before the show and attempted to play without really knowing the material (especially since a rhythm guitarist and a bass player were brought in and didn’t know the songs). After listening to the sound board recording from that show, I’m a little grateful not to have been a part of that.

This story does skip a few parts… the fan letter from Sweden, the near distribution deal with a .com startup, the time we got played on the campus radio, as well as our “Creep” (well, it would be comparable to Creep if we didn’t keep re-recording it) and “The Slurpee Song”. Here we are four years into the future and I wouldn’t count out a reunion show quite yet, but the lead singer has disappeared and the drummer has moved to Europe. Regardless, I still hold a grudge against Hulk Hogan for causing me to miss the closure to 5 years of fun.

VALENTINE’S DAY

Valentine’s Day aka Hump Day is defined in the Interfaith Calendar as a:

Christian celebration of the love of God presented in Jesus and in the lives of Christian believers. St Valentine was a 3rd century martyr. This day is widely observed in the USA as a secular celebration of love.

But it is so much more than that. I stand before you today to make this a vacation day all across Canada. It ought to be an official religious holiday. Let me show you why…

Once upon a time mankind’s population was a mere fraction of what it is now. The number of human beings on the earth back then numbered in the hundreds of thousands instead of the billions. Before our society became the rich, vibrant mosaic of cultures we see today, humankind was a lowly group of pathetic, dirty, barbarians. We rarely lived past thirty and we suffered under the cruelty of equally barbaric gods.

Religions and superstitions brought certainty to these peasants. Everything important to survival that could not be controlled directly was given a personification – a godlike quality that could be prayed to or worshiped. The sun, the moon, the rain and the harvest and of course, fertility. Fertile crops, fertile cattle, fertile wives – these things were important. Fertility could not be left up to chance. Sacrifices had to be made – sometimes even your first born or virgin daughter. In Genesis 22:

After these things God tested Abraham. He said to him, “Abraham!” And he said, “Here I am.” He said, “Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains that I shall show you.” v1-2.

Now, God sent an angel to prevent Abraham from following through. However, because Abraham was willing, God promised him:

LORD: Because you have done this, and have not withheld your son, your only son, I will indeed bless you, and I will make your offspring as numerous as the stars of heaven and as the sand that is on the seashore.

Human sacrifice was required for the fertility of Abraham’s seed. This is when Valentine’s Day truly began. This is why Hump Day must be an official religious holiday.

In fact, phallic symbols can be found even in places of worship today. In opposition to Yahweh, it was  was forbidden to worship the god Baal.

King Jehu said to the guards and to the officers, ‘Go in and slay them; let none escape’. And they smote them with the sword; and the guards before the king threw their bodies out, and went into the inner dwelling of the house of Baal. They brought out the obelisks [pillars] of the house of Baal and burned them.” 2 Kings 10:26

These obelisks were four sided pillars with a pyramid at the top. They appear on every church steeple in every town. They are also a symbol for a very large penis. If religion began as rite of fertility, why did we deviate from this path? Might the masses be missing out on a taste of the divine? Should we not bring back the temple prostitutes?

Genesis 38 shines some light on what used to happen back in the early periods of civilization.

Judah sent the goat by his friend the Adullamite to recover the pledge from the woman; but he could not find her. So he asked the men of the place, “Where is the temple prostitute, the one by the roadside in Enaim?” But they answered, “There has never been a temple prostitute here.” v20-21

But what do we gather from this passage? Not only was the god-fearing man Judah open to having sex with temple prostitutes in exchange for wealth (the goat), it was seen later in the chapter as a wise thing for this woman to do.

Somewhere in history we’ve lost this rich breath of life in religious ceremonies. Dan Brown, a most learned and well-spoken author focused on this in his latest book The Da Vinci Code. A sect of Christianity was constantly in fear of being destroyed by the Catholic church for worshiping the female persona of God. The deviant sect also used sex as part of their religious rituals, and in viewing the Catholic church (specifically Opus Dei) as wrong in the end, we can only conclude from the novel that we too ought to be having sex in the foyers and worship rooms each and every Sunday.

Now since there may be a small amount of push-back or resistance to this idea, I feel we ought to instead institute St. Valentine’s Day as an official religious holiday, to make our own personal sacrifices for the fertility of mankind in the privacy of our own home.

Call your MP today.

NBC, having determined she had little to no acting talent at age 2, decided to put her to work in the studio canteen stirring chili.  It was 4 years later, over a cauldron of boiling ground beef that a young Gary David Goldberg noticed her and immediately decided to cast her in his latest show.

Sadly, “Daddy Kisses Best” never caught on as a concept… but his back-up project, “Family Ties” did.  For the next seven years, the Keatons were the only family she knew and loved (except Brian Bonsall, whom she despised and frequently tormented with sharp sticks and cigarette butts).

When the show was finally put to rest in 1989, Yothers was on her own for the first time in her life and quickly spiraled into a depressing spiral of spirally Spiro-graph addiction.  Spiral.  She would huddle for hours in dark L.A. alleys drawing complex images until her clothes were ratty and her once bright eyes were ashen and her chubby cheeks were hollowed.

In 1998, after nearly ten years on the streets, her family came to her rescue… they needed her to be there for a health crisis.

Yothers was devastated when she found out her brother had Parkinson’s disease. She was ever more devastated when she found out Michael J. Fox wasn’t even her real brother.  There was a terrible scene at the hospital, and Yothers has been in court on and off since fighting NBC for backwages earned in the NBC canteen in the 70’s and 80’s.

Yothers currently resides in sunny Las Hamburguesas, California under the assumed name of Sexy LaRue.  She has four cats, two dogs and a llama.

[Disclosure: SilentTalkie was paid by NBC to write this article ( but not well).]

1. Dark and Bitter
2. Sweet and Smooth
3. Black
4. Grey… and Lumpy
5. From such a cheap place, it ends up immediately in my lap
6. Quiet
7. Bottomless
8. Irish and Drunk
9. Drunk and Irish
10. Hot and in a BIG cup
11. Stereotypical and sexist

*Just kidding… we don’t hire female staff writers.

Behind me is a pregnant woman, carrying a two year old who is howling and kicking the back of my seat. Oh, and we’ve just stopped in traffic; there is no air circulation; and strangely, it’s over 30 degrees C (or 100 F) in this bus…..

Nah, I’m joking.. it’s a ½ full bus with commuters going from TO to KW and I’m perfectly comfortable, listening to Nick Lowe, Pavement, Miles Davis, M.I.A, Tchaikovsky…. (I love shuffle, who knows what you’re going to get) .

Thank you, Greyhound.

As I sat down and began to get all of my crap situated, I was struck. First with a guy’s bag (he wasn’t paying attention) and then, more importantly with an idea. A really great idea for a client’s brochure that has been giving me some problems. Was it this guy’s overly large bag (is it dripping red stuff…..?) or just my situation that gave me such a wonderful solution to my design problem? I really hope it didn’t have anything to do with getting hit in the head with a sack full of arms (I swear he’s looking at me funny now…. Is that a twitch?!?). What gave me such inspiration?

I’ve talked to a number of designers, artists and other ‘creatives’ and this happens all the time. It’s probably happened to you. There is something about being out of our normal context that sparks something in our brains (I hope this guy doesn’t try to take mine). It’s why so many people work at coffee shops or in the park. A change in scenery or environment is often what the creative doctor ordered.

In my particular instance, I’ve been locked in my home-office working on a tonne of stuff (including some crazy projects). I’m on my way to the KW branch of Big Time for some meetings and painting, but now I’m on my way to so much more. Could I actually be excited about design after feeling so low-down for the past few days? Yup. I can. After quickly sketching my brochure idea in my trusty Moleskine notebook, I got out this here laptop and worked a quick layout digitally…. I’m on a bus, with a murderer…. And I’m designing!!

We all have creative juices in us… even if it’s stuff that isn’t considered ‘creative’ (I’m talking to you science and math nerds). Get out of the cubicle, office, dank basement or hole and find someplace new, a new dank hole for example, and BAM! Creativity will hit you…

or maybe it’ll just be a sack full of arms.