Got a new tattoo

So the tattoo shop celebrated its 13th anniversary yesterday. 

In honour of the occasion, all the tattoo artists (and me) contributed designs of the number 13. 

The idea was that on Friday the 13th, for $13 you could pick a 13 design and have it tattooed on you, to mark the 13th anniversary of Cottage 13. When I got up this morning I had the notion that I would get Bryce, the very talented apprentice, to do one of Andrew’s designs on my right ankle. 

I had a bunch of running around to do, and showed up at the shop around 17:00. Had a beer, ate some food. Sat around and chatted with everyone, laughed, ate some more, had another beer. Was delighted to learn that two of my contributions had been chosen and permanently marked on customers. Somehow or other during all this the subject of letting the son of the owners have a go injecting some ink into my skin was broached. Either he suggested it, I suggested it, I don’t recall. “When Bryce is tattooing me, I’ll let you take the machine and give it a try.” I believe another beer or three was consumed. He took one of the designs that Bryce had done and with some tracing paper went over it. The idea of him having a go wielding a tattoo machine kept being discussed. His dad took the design that he had traced, showed him how to make a stencil, which he then placed on my left ankle. 

With a liner (a thin marker) and a shader (a thick marker) he went over the design. He confessed that it made him a little nervous and that it made his hands a little shaky. 

But he did okay.

An idea that may have been said slightly in jest originally, became just perfect. It wasn’t the design I had originally contemplated, it certainly wasn’t the artist I had originally contemplated, it wasn’t even on the side I had originally contemplated, but...it was magically right.

I have known him since he was born. I love him more than anything in the world. I have known his parents for a long time. They mean the world to me. I have been affiliated in some small way with the shop since day 1. The place means a great deal to me.

This was not a design that necessarily fits into the grand scheme of designs I have plotted out for my body. It’s a fun souvenir piece, something to mark a place that means something to us on a significant milestone. 

Getting him to do it was... really perfect. There were six supremely talented artists there who could have done it. I chose my 9 year old pal to do it. I asked his parents and everyone else if they were okay with him doing it. No one raised any objections. The stencil was prepared and put on, and Andrew showed him how a machine was set up.

I really wasn’t in the least bit worried about any of it. I wasn’t expecting perfection, to be honest, some errors would add to the charm of the piece. And his dad was right there to take over if he wasn’t up to the task, but we were all quite willing to give him a shot. Let him gain an understanding of what it is the tattooing process is all about. He dipped the tip of the machine in the cap of ink, pressed the pedal, and....started tattooing me. 

He was a bit hesitant at first....

...there were times when he didn’t even get the needles in all the way.

But he got the hang of it.

Because of the spot it’s in, I couldn’t help but have an involuntary twitch a few times. I was admonished to hold my foot still. Wait’ll you get a tattoo there, little buddy.

Dad showing him some techniques (and doing the outlining on some of the trickier serifs.)

Give it a wipe.

Dad supervising.

Bryce the apprentice looking on to see how it’s done. I don’t recall who but one wag got a good laugh out of everyone when he cracked “Lookit! Those lines are almost as good as what Bryce is doing.” I think a good portion of an apprenticeship consists of being ribbed as often as possible.

Put on some Vaseline.

 The artist himself.

I gave him the $13 plus a $7 tip and a big hug.

And the finished results the next morning. He went beyond the line in a few places, he missed a few spots, but I don’t care in the least. Its “imperfection” makes it perfect to me. It’s a fun souvenir, and has more to do with a time and place and the person who did it than anything else. I figure it’s good to give him an opportunity, and hope it gives him an appreciation and understanding of what his dad and other artists do. I suppose there aren’t many 9 year olds who can claim to have done a tattoo.

S.o.t.D. - Song For Dead Time – Swans

Song For Dead Time – Swans

I could listen to this on repeat for hours. Sombre, yet achingly beautiful. 

S.o.t.D. - La Musique – Lemongrass

La Musique – Lemongrass

A particularly fine piece of trip-hoppy goodness. Subtle hint of accordion. Jazzy breakbeats. Mmm, mmmm good!

Doesn't anyone know how to build a proper retaining wall any more?

I see this with alarming regularity. This is a parking lot, quite a long one, the wall being about 50 cm high, and the whole thing is being pushed over. Which at some point will likely require an extensive and expensive and inconvenient rebuild.

If the Romans figured out long ago how to build a proper retaining wall, why can’t the knuckleheads who built this and so many others I see like it, learn from them? A retaining wall needs to be angled on the back side and a bit of an angle on the front side is good too, to prevent the force of all that earth it’s meant to be holding back from pushing it over. Like is happening here. Do the people who build these not know how to do it right? Do they just not care? Are they such unscrupulous low lifes that they figure they’ll pull a fast one on the client, who will then have to pay again a few years or decades down the line to have it repaired/rebuilt? Or do the clients think they are going to save money by having an inferior job done?

The building code in this province is a massive tome. I’m tempted to see if there is anything in it covering the construction of a retaining wall. If it doesn’t, shouldn’t it? Shouldn’t a building inspector say something about a wall like this, which is guaranteed to fail?

Untitled

S.o.t.D. - Stereo Hypnosis – Solar Fields

Stereo Hypnosis – Solar Fields

Hypnotic indeed.

Bibliophilia: The Gun – C. J. Chivers

The Gun – C. J. Chivers

A history of the machine gun, but even more specifically, the Avtomat Kalashnikov 47. A weapon that at one point was considered artillery, and required horses and a large team to support it, was a few decades later transformed into something that could be carried by one man. The book also delves into the US’ initial disdain for this crude, inaccurate Soviet bullet spitter, and then when they realized the paradigm shift in warfare it represented, their flawed response to it and the immense teething problems their answer to it had.

S.o.t.D. - Swap – Filter

Swap – Filter

Totally dig this tune. Smoky, loungy, jazzy house, great sax lick. Trying to find it anywhere proved tough, since the name of the artist/song are not at all descriptive. Any searches invariably came up with stuff about how to swap the oil filter in your Mazda racer. Still not entirely sure if the song is called Swap or Filter, or if the artist is called Swap or Filter.

S.o.t.D. - Microtraffic – Audiokonstrukte

Microtraffic – Audiokonstrukte

Very evocative, and yet still pretty minimal ambient.

Bibliophilia: Russian Amerika & Alaska Republik by Stoney Compton

Russian Amerika – Stoney Compton  

Alaska Republik – Stoney Compton

A fun and fluffy read about an alternate North America. One where Canada is split between a French and British side, America is a Union and Confederate side, a Texas and California Republic, the Natives control a large chunk of the Midwest and Northwest, the Mormons have a little chunk, and Alaska is controlled by a backwards Czarist Russia. The Dene, sick of repression, revolt to oust the Russians. Who have a handful of old tanks and planes in all of Alaska, and some inept soldiers. Fun enough read. And I admit, the P-51s on the covers made me pick them up. One point that bugged me is he describes the protagonist as near 2 meters tall, and then a few pages later describes him as having trouble moving his stubby legs through the snow, while his much lankier companion has no trouble at all. Much lankier than 2 meters? Dude needs to figure out what 2 meters means.

S.o.t.D. - Through Being Cool – Devo

Through Being Cool – Devo

I think Devo will never be through being cool. Still makes me smile 30 years later. Cheesy and brilliant all at once.

Deer

I set off for a wander a while back, and left my camera hooked up to my computer so it could chug through processing a bunch of pictures. I stopped for a while to sit in a grove of trees. After a few minutes of being still, with the light fading, a deer came sauntering along, maybe 4 or 5 meters away from me. Walked over to a bush about 10 meters away from me, chewed for a while, then headed off again. I emerged from the grove of trees I had been standing in, it looked back to look at me and bolted. Really deer? You didn’t realize I was there?

Kinda bummed I didn’t have my camera with me to record the moment.  But a fun encounter anyway.

A few nights later I was back in the same general area. I was absorbed in watching three hawks. One sat in a tree above me, calling out to two others in a grove of trees behind me. One flew over, and after a while they both flew over to where the third one was.

(Sorry about the crappy picture quality. One day I will buy a better camera.)

Being caught up in looking up, I failed to notice a deer had walked once again to within a few meters of me. 

Either I am more stealthy, and less smelly than I knew, or deer have become pretty inured to people around here. I suspect the latter. Should make hunting season a little easier in these parts.

S.o.t.D. - It’s You, It’s Me (Jason Hodges Remix) – Kaskade

It’s You, It’s Me (Jason Hodges Remix) – Kaskade

The original of this I’ve had on here before, and it’s great, but this may kick this sweet house classic up a notch.

The Bay from the Bridge

Canada Day

Had an enjoyable evening in this same spot last year. My nephew had expressed an interest in coming with me this year to watch the fireworks, but when told that he would have to walk through a cemetery in the dark, he wussed out. I laughed at him. Oh well, his loss.

 Where I was going.

Long shadows.

Handsome devil hiking.

Cemetery on the other side.

Almost guaranteed to find at least one person fishing down by the bridge on any day.

Looking up the cove towards the Bay.

Sailboat anchored outside the exclusion zone to watch the fireworks.

Bush-Buddy ready to light.

Nice little contained fire on the beach. Had a delicious dinner, cup of tea, after dinner aperitifs.Wonderful evening.

Looking toward Wilow Cove.

Fireworks photos were of course crummy, so just look at a few of these and pretend they were the ones I took.

Hung out for quite a while. Temps were perfect, bugs were barely there, the moon was nearly full, and I was the only person there. While there were some people off on boats in the water, I was the only person on land who made the trek to observe the fireworks from there. Fine with me.

Then I walked through not one but two cemeteries in the dark, without turning on my flashlight once, and I survived to write about it. No ghosts or zombies or vampires were encountered, contrary to what my ScoobyDoo watching nephew feared.

Oh and happy Canada Day. Love living in this country.

S.o.t.D. - The Changing Concepts – Digitalverein

The Changing Concepts – Digitalverein

Another one on the now, sadly, defunct Thinner label.

Bibliophilia: Into the Silence: The Great War, Mallory, and the Conquest of Everest by Wade Davis

Into the Silence: The Great War, Mallory, and the Conquest of Everest – Wade Davis

While I have happily tried, and will try my hand at a variety of outdoor pursuits,  climbing mountains holds no appeal for me. Just way too alien an environment. Books like Into Thin Air just reinforced the idea that it is not for me, and left me shaking my head. Dilettantes who have no business being on Everest, who pay small fortunes to have Sherpas literally carry them up the mountain. When I read how every year there is a long line of people waiting to spend a minute at the top so they can claim to be the first - the first deaf Paraguayan on Everest, the first gay Australian on Everest, the first Zambian female on Everest - you realize it’s devolved into goofy irrelevance. (The 9 next highest peaks in the Himalayas, difficult, challenging climbs, likely have no lineup whatsoever.) 

Now really being the first, that is interesting. It could be argued that Mallory never actually got to the top. But to me even attempting it, 30 years before Norgay and Hillary made it, is very note worthy.

This one took him ten years to write. The bibliography is almost a publication in itself. Reminded me a bit of Dangerous River by R.M. Patterson in the sense that the actors in both survived the unfathomable carnage endured by all the participants in the charnel fields of WW1. It serves as a stronger backdrop and explanation of what made the participants tick a little more in this book. 

(It’s not like I didn’t already know it, but the text drove home some of the unspeakable horrors of those four years. Difficult not to be profoundly moved to read how Britain lost on average 600 dead and 1700 wounded per day. Per day. Descriptions of field hospitals with literally acres of wounded men, doctors having to pick the few they could hope to save and listening to the rest moan and scream until they died, with hillocks of legs and arms behind the surgical tents. How people retained a shred of sanity after enduring all that is beyond me. And it’s difficult to not be angry when you read about men like Haig, who lived in luxury in villas far back from the front, never once visiting the places where he casually sent the cream of his societies crop to be decimated in scenes no horror writer could ever envision.) 

Most of the men who participated in the efforts to scale Everest, had miraculously, against all odds, survived the slaughter. The thing that struck me about Dangerous River when I read it, were the astonishing accounts of trekking via snow shoe and dog sled for vast distances in brutally cold conditions. As much as their accounts seemed horrific, I realized that compared to life in the trenches it must have seemed like a paradise. I think for the men in this book, clambering up a huge mountain in freezing gale force winds might not have seemed like such a hardship. After the deafening racket and overpowering stench of war, the quiet, pure air of the Himalayas or the Nahanni must have seemed heavenly.

The biographies of the participants make them seem by turn open minded, athletic poets, men of science, amazingly accomplished, and on the other hand, priggish upper class English twits, petty and back biting, disdainful of new or different concepts, very much a product of their time. To read the accounts of a pompous bureaucrat who had never actually climbed mountains or been out of England for that matter, pooh-poohing the use of oxygen as being “terribly unsporting old chap” beggar belief. Chip chip tally ho lads! On to glory for god, king and country! 

There is scorn directed by some of the myriad participants at “colonials” - an Australian (George Finch - who was the pioneer in the use of oxygen that made the whole affair possible) and a Canadian (Oliver Wheeler - whose herculean efforts to map an area that had never been explored by Westerners - no one even knew the approach to take) - had me groaning at the snobbery.

And it’s a little ironic to read of a members disgust with the Tibetan practice of sky burial (logical in a land with a dearth of fuel, and a surfeit of frozen, rocky ground), when they had witnessed the horrors of how their own dead had fared in the fields of France and Belgium. 200,000 young English men simply vanished. Blown to smithereens by a shell blast, drowned in a sea of mud, constantly churned up by artillery. To scoff at Tibetan ascetics living in small caves at the base of a mountain, while trooping past to climb to the top of said mountain, seems like a case of pot calling kettle black. Neither is really productive in any real sense, other than as a spiritual pursuit perhaps.

While it confirmed my complete disinterest in climbing mountains, I couldn’t help but be amazed at their exploits. Reading about their efforts is nothing short of astonishing. Given their gear at the time, the ropes, the boots, the clothes, their nascent efforts to use oxygen – they really were climbing into the unknown. The fact that they achieved what they did, whether they actually got to the top or not is besides the point. An amazing accomplishment for its time, and an amazing chronicle of a chapter in history.

S.o.t.D. - White Snake – Boris Brejcha

White Snake – Boris Brejcha

S.o.t.D. - Bamboo Dub – Nada

Bamboo Dub – Nada

Choice stuff.

S.o.t.D. - Orientations pt.2 – H.U.V.A. Network

Orientations pt.2 – H.U.V.A. Network 

Beautiful track. Parts 1 & 3 of this are sweet as well.

There’s hardly ever any one out.

I walk a lot, and prefer to walk in what might be deemed more “natural” areas. Somewhere with trees and grass and trails and rocks and water. I try to get out and walk as much as I can. It’s good for me physically and mentally. It’s a chance to try out gear and dream about gear to make or modify. It gives me a chance to take photos. I just plain like to explore an area. Walking makes me ready for walking. There are a multitude of reasons and they are all good. Oh, and I also like to get out at any time. Sunny, raining, warm, cold, windy, day time, night time. Doesn’t matter to me.

Now, for all its faults, and it has a few, the area I live has many wonderful spots to do that in. Hamilton and its surroundings, has the lake (Lake Ontario), and the cliff (Niagara Escarpment). It’s a beautiful area and there are many paths and trails of various descriptions, forested areas, parks, waterfalls, scenic views, wildlife. Yet it is within a major metropolitan area. I can easily take a bus or a taxi out to an area and walk back. On bike there are many trails and designated routes to take out to areas to explore. If I wanted to use a car or go in a car, there are places to park and explore from there. If I was in a boat or a canoe or kayak, I could access interesting areas. It’s never that hard to find a quiet, secluded spots, that offers a wonderful respite from the hustle and bustle of life in a city. I’ve featured many of them on here.

But what always strikes me is how relatively few people I ever encounter. It can be the most gorgeous day, perfect temps, smells wonderful, animals flitting about, things to see, water falls to pass by, perfect network of routes for people to follow and explore.

And I almost always only ever encounter a handful of people. A woman walking her dog, a trail runner, a mother and father and their two young kids, a young couple walking a dog, maybe a couple with a child carrier on their back, someone out on a bike, another trail runner.

And that’s it.

Several hours in a wonderful natural area, lots of trees, meadows with flowers, open areas with birds circling overhead, views of the Escarpment, views out over bodies of water. And all I encounter are a small number of other people.
 
I have seen as few as two and as many as a few dozen in a lot of accessible trails and natural areas. There are roads nearby that could facilitate drop off and pick up. Buses will drop you off not far away. Cell phone coverage is a given in any area. But few people seem to take advantage of the tremendous recreational possibilities within a 15 minute drive of where I live. It’s a free activity, it has health benefits, it’s easily accessible. But over many years of walking I have taken note of how few people are ever out beyond the pavement.

Not that I mind having the place largely to myself, but it does freak me out a little. Largely because I’ll bet good money the shopping centre parking lots are jammed.

The past few days have been hot, the radio reporting high humidex levels, high UV ratings. Yet I went out and wandered for several hours each day in the past 10. Sometimes just for an hour, sometimes for many hours. Sometimes with a purpose, other times just to meander with no plan at all. I wandered through both sun and moon lit parks and golf courses and cemeteries, and along trails and roads of varying descriptions. I didn’t find it that unpleasantly hot at all, the bugs were very tolerable, the days are long, the moon was out making it very bright even after the sun set.

On Canada Day I went to the same spot I went last year. It is not that accessible, but it is certainly not that inaccessible either. There were a few boats anchored off shore, but I was the only person on land. I sat on my own little stretch of beach, surrounded by trees and bushes, looked out over the water, had a little fire, had a wonderful dinner, had some aperitifs, watched the fireworks, lounged around for a while longer, packed up and wandered home through the trails and cemeteries, and quiet streets and alleyways.

People are often shocked when I tell them about my nocturnal adventures. “Aren’t you scared?” they’ll ask me in hushed tones. “Of what?” Granted I’m the scariest thing out there, but the truth is, there is no one out there. I rarely ever encounter people at night, even in urban areas. I actually feel much safer in the dark. And it’s also just cooler and quieter. And I also really like using my night vision. Humans actually have surprisingly good night vision, if they just let their eyes adjust. It’s a skill I suppose like any other, but it’s one I have practiced for a long time, and I have learned to become competent at it.

Again, I don’t really mind that I often seem to be one of the few out there. But I have also been observing how it ties in to how utterly disconnected from the natural world so many people are. They hear one mosquito buzz around, and they scurry inside because ”they’re being eaten alive out here.” A few drops of rain, and they have to scurry inside because “they’re getting soaked out here.” The temperature requires putting another top on, and they scurry inside because “they’re freezing to death out here.” They feel a drop of sweat on their brow and they have to scurry inside because “they’re broiling to death out here.” Dusk approaches and all the lights have to be turned on because “they can’t see anything out here.” They walk a kilometer, and they have to scurry inside because “they’re exhausted.” It doesn’t take much to constitute an extreme these days for many people.

S.o.t.D. - The Vortex Incident (The Race Against Time) – Sundial Aeon

The Vortex Incident (The Race Against Time) – Sundial Aeon

Yeah, this is what I want to listen to if I am racing against time.

Bibliophilia: The Kite Runner (Graphic Novel) – Khaled Hosseini

The Kite Runner (Graphic Novel) – Khaled Hosseini

I never read the actual novel, and this comic book adaptation means that I don’t have to read all them pages of little words and stuff. Much easier when there are pictures to help explain it all. But seriously, the art is fantastic, and the story is very moving. And after reading it, I want to buy a beer for anyone that has shot a Talibanistani in the face even more than before.

S.o.t.D. - Le Non So Faraway – Btb

Le Non So Faraway – Btb

Deep.

Bibliophilia: Cryptonomicon – Neal Stephenson

Cryptonomicon – Neal Stephenson

Another massive novel from a huge talent. Combining history, geography, treasure hunting, sci-fi, cryptology, and probably a few other things I’m forgetting. Absolutely loved this novel.

S.o.t.D. - LoBrid – SinQ

LoBrid – SinQ

Reminds me a little of another artist I discovered recently, Arovane. Cerebral IDM type stuff.