Appointments are suddenly common-place. It seems that a significant portion of the process of building a home involves spending time with the minutae, festering details, and selecting from the narrow range of choices that define each. "Here are your options. Choose one. Move along."

For example, yesterday afternoon we chose cabinets. I took nearly an hour off from work, picked up Karin, and we drove to the south end of the city to look at miniature versions of wood panelling that in some small and moderately abstract way reprsents both something that we've already bought, and something I would have never before considered thinking about -- and therefore know little about (apart from practical experience). Imagine me, standing in a cabinetry showroow, fondling little brushed chrome, nickel, steel handles and knobs -- in some perverse way trying to figure out which design (a) "suits our personality" and more importantly (b) predictably will not annoy me for ten years when I'm cleaning, repairing, modifying, or simply just using them.

It's bizaare.

We, of course, visited the showhome shortly afterwards and projected abstract memories of vague selections overtop the realities of concrete examples. It sounds easier than it really is.

And then things themselves get a little more finely detailed. We spent ten minutes with Steve, the sales guy, pondering a mental checklist of random building nuggets. The conversation prompted him to give us a short VHS tape (12 minutes of sugar-coated house construction details), a refridgerator magnet checklist (for real checking-fun) and a groovy leather briefcase with our builder's logo splashed across the front (in case we forget to whom we gave all that money).

And ultimately, a vacant lot was meandered once again, neighbors were introduced by casual happenstance, timelines were filed with some rare certainty, and uncountable fine resolutions were brushed carefully across the perceptions of our minds. Oddly enough, some of this actually makes sense. Oddly enough, abstractions in raw materials seem less floundering as each day drips by.

October 28, 2004 after 10AM | house | maybe more»

We spent a whirlwind Saturday morning at the light store. The light store was, oddly enough, intense. And I simply have no other way to describe it.

Imagine a store that opens at 9AM, and us with our silly little 9AM appointment expecting to be the lone car sitting in the lot waiting like eager little kids on Halloween to pounce when the neon light burns up and someone appears to unlock the glass doors. We were not alone. In fact, despite hopping from the car seconds after the OPEN sign lit, we were among the second dozen people to clamber into the shop. And we're not talking IKEA here; this is a little corner light shop. Selling lamps. Bulbs. Chandeliers.

Not exactly what I would expect on an early Saturday morning.

To top off the fun of pushing our way to the counter to check in for our appointmnet, it was quickly discovered that our "consultant" had just found out that her Grandmother had passed away. I have all the sympathy in the world. It's just an odd thing to deal with as one excitedly contemplates the joys of halogen lighting.

This, officially, means we're roughly half done slecting colours and flooring, and wood grains to match our bizaare personalities. I don't have much in the way of images from these adventures, so what I do have I'll share one fragment at a time. Cope.

October 25, 2004 after 11AM | house , weird | maybe more»

As requsted, SnailBob and Blue. They seem to manage the weekends alone, and now that Blue is eating regularly, he doesn't seem to have such a need to pester his tankmate.

After eating some seafood -- real, grease-laden deep-fried fish and salty fries -- on Friday, movers arrived at our office with the remnants of the late Calgary office. We sorted a bit -- somehow lacking the enthusiasm due such a Friday afternoon activity -- but this morning has been an unpacking adventure. The deep work began, though, with a new desk and an assortment of new cabinets, I feel like I have my own new workspace.

Blue has yet to comment on the change.

October 25, 2004 after 11AM | fish , food | maybe more»

I've been plotting.

Since no one has really (truly) offered any concrete suggestions for a NaNoWriMo plot, I've been left to flounder. As such, I've been thinking: And I've decided on a direction. It's vague. It's still very much open-ended. But its a direction, and I've started down that path.

That said...

I'm still open to suggestions. I still want people to leave comments and suggest things. Just be aware that the page is no longer blank: there is a medium sized box drawn roughly in one corner, and if your suggestion falls too far from that box... well.

Someone's sig from slashdot yesterday read: Do not try to think outside the box. That's impossible. Instead, realise the truth. There is no box.

True, but the representation exists purely in my mind.

October 21, 2004 after 9AM | writing | maybe more»

I thought the snail was dead this morning when I came to work. This was, of course, a major disappointment because (a) it's always sad to lose a pet, and (b) Lenore had requested a photo of the silly thing -- and a dead snail isn't a very good photo subject no matter how you look at it.

He wasn't dead.

I scooped him out of the bottom of the tank and let him sit in a plastic cup for a couple hours. By lunch he was merrily crawling around the edges of the cup looking for whatever it is that snails look for. Quite healthy. Quite snail-ish.

Rather than dead -- it turns out -- I think that Blue is a bit of a bully. The fish had not only been flaring at the snail, but had been pecking at him too. The snail had reacted -- and quite appropriately I might add -- by sucking up into his shell, dropping to the bottom of the tank, and playing dead. And now, since dropping the little golden invertibrate back into the tank (and feeding Blue too) I've seen some very interesting fish behaviors as the betta checks out his tank mate with a little more courage and curiosity than he had on Friday.

It's Wild Kingdom, right here in my office.

October 18, 2004 after 1PM | fish , work | maybe more»

I probably shouldn't have messed with a good thing. That said, the results are still forthcoming.

I was telling Karin just yesterday how "perky" blue has become, swimming around in his little bowl, building bubble nests, exploring, hiding, eating. Throwing some extra gravel into the tank seems to have triggered some kind of pyschological fish-nirvana, making the little guy happier'n heck.

I was out walking in the chilly fall air this lunch hour and I found myself at the pet store again. My ears were a little nippy from the wind, but warming myself up among the rows of fish supplies, I noticed that they were selling snails. (Mom and Dad recently had an episode ridding their aquarium of snails, but I'm not too worried.) I bought one of course, bundling the inflated bag with three ounces of water and a little golden snail bouncing around inside, under my jacket and speed-walked back to my office.

I'll spare the sound effects, and simply write that the new invertibrate was added to the water. Initially I thought it had died from the cold, but as of twenty minutes ago he's officially made one thorough lap around the mini-quarium.

Blue isn't so enthusiastic. He's been sneaking up on the little snail -- which is roughly the same size as the fish -- and inspecting it from about an inch away before darting back to the other end of the tank. It's like a little game, and he repeats it over and over -- though mostly, I think, because his memory is probably three seconds long and he has forgotten that there's a snail in the tank by the time he gets back to the other end.

The snail doesn't seem to care, instead scooting along the plastic bowl at a snail's pace, and occasionally dropping to the bottom, resting, and making the climb back up.

So, it's a whole new ball game. (A basball metaphor in tribute to the World Series! Go Leafs!)

Perhaps, like Lenore's bunnies, they will eventually work towards becoming the best of friends -- sharing stories about life outside the big green bowl -- reminicing about times past -- and generally having a good time of it all. For now, well, it's just a weird sort of mini-universe.

October 15, 2004 after 3PM | fish , life | maybe more»

That little red truck lurched past a modest milestone last night. For a vehicle that has been around the countyside as much and as long as that faithful beast, one might have expected a little more fanfare. No, I didn't -- as mom suggested -- hop out and run around the truck. I did pull off to the side of the road and introduce "old tech" to "new tech" in the form of a couple brief-focus digital images. I thought since a large portion of the readers of this blog have either (a) owned or (b) driven or (c) at least ridden in the micro-rouge-creature, there might be some stories to share. Or at leasts some interest in the topic. Perhaps.

I'm not holding my breath.

I also realize that some people might find the idea of me sitting at the side of the road taking pictures of my odometer -- regardless of the number of kilometers displayed -- odd and boring. For those, you can imagine the effort involved in taking this image while driving through the busy city streets, instead.

October 15, 2004 after 9AM | photography , weird | maybe more»

I happened to forget that Blue celebrated a milestone yesterday. But, unfortunately, after two months the best I could offer as a present was "terrain." Kristie, while working to clean up the office, coincidentally found an abandonned bag of fish gravel. Handing it off to me, I added it in wild peaks -- two giant mounds, in fact -- to Blue's aquarium. The new landscaping obviously gives him both a little more world to explore and a few more places to hide because he seems to have perked up considerably even in the last twenty-four hours.

I didn't think he'd survive two weeks. Two months? That's not too bad.

October 14, 2004 after 8AM | fish , weird | maybe more»

Somewhere along the line we needed to contemplate colours. The weird thing about the whole process is that it involves these microscopic color swatches and a whole lot of imagination. Imagine this: an entire house. Now picture it covered in the following two colours:

HEATHER SABLE

Oddly enough, if you type either of those two colour words into Google Image Search, you'll get a selection of images that have nothing, whatsoever, to do with the swatches represented above.

Back on topic, we were handed a loaf of vinyl siding swatches and an additional loaf of little tin cards -- and told that some combination of those loafs would represent the mirage we would arrive home to everyday for the next decade or so.

Imagination. How powerful is your imagination?

We have marginally agreed that we both like this color combination. It's a start. It's a beginning. It's something to build off, from, and into the wild blue yonder. For now. But it still boggles me that these quasi-important perceptions of the moment will define something so permanent.

October 13, 2004 after 1PM | house | maybe more»

I find myself creatively overwhelmed this time of year. It's an annual event. For example, last year as I hobbled between a cartooning class, a month-long novel project build-up and writing, my general photographic efforts, and the onslaught of a massive web-redesign at work -- I found myself thinking, on more than one occasion, the magnitude and drain of working my right-brain at such a pace.

Then Christmas hits. Then Spring. Then Summer. And at the end of that nine-month stretch I'm suddenly feeling lost and disjointed -- and lacking in that outlet of mental energy that keeps my sanity in check, though some would surely beg to differ.

This year, again, is no exception. For starters, were building a house. (A house. A whole house!) And houses, well, they are more creative than one might imagine. The photo-ventures continue. We're off to Disneyland in a few weeks, though I don't know if that counts. I'm also taking an art class through Grant MacEwan College on Thursday nights. And now, I'm planning on taking on the pulse of another microcosmic world -- to write fifty-thousand words of yet-to-be-determined prose.

It is the creative winterfall. It is the push towards the long haul through snow and cold. It is my vent, and it's tough to explain to a idle reader who is without that volcano brewing under the scalp.

October 13, 2004 after 9AM | comics , house , thinking , weather , writing | maybe more»

And then there were three?

Distractions of work, home, and life aside, I think it might be time to write another book. I've been tossing the concept -- think green salad -- in my mind since re-discovering the nanowrimo event site again last week. At first I shied away, remembering how much effort went wasted last year when my employ dumpled a massive web-redesign project on me half-way through the month.

Too bad. So sad.

And this year, our skipping town to visit California for a week could either (a) really severely cramp the momentum required to write like the wind, or alternatively (b) provide a break, rebreather, and opportunity to refresh the brainstem for the last home stretch. Pick one.

Either way, I think I'd have to slap myself in the face with a wet fish if I didn't jump on the bandwagon once again and push forward with the novel-writing-thing. I'd be disappointed in myself, and my lack of motivation. I couldn't, honestly, call myself a writer -- and besides explaining the size of my hole (see the section on home-building) I would end up having very little to discuss here if I didn't write.

But, things are shifting: I'm going to change it up a little. Maybe. It depends on the feedback I get from this space. So, if you're keeping up, these are the (my personal) rules (amended) from last year:

1) Bugger off.
2) Don't talk to me.
3) Don't even think of discussing the book with me.

But that was mean. And boring. And no one followed them much anyways. So I'm switching it up a little bit. This year, I think I want to go interactive. Full out. Audience play along: interactive. Live. Fresh. Whatever.

The plan goes something like this: Every couple of days, here, on this blog, I'm going to put out a "call." I want you (the valued and highly intellegent reader) -- yes, you -- to leave a comment and answer that call. Provided it's both (a) serious and (b) not too bizaarely obscene, I'll play along from my end.

For example...

Today, I'm asking for characters. That's right. i want your imagined character. Invent one. Share and enjoy. Something fresh and original. Tell me who they are, what they do, and why they are screwed up enough to be in a fifty-thousand word novel. Describe that character. Comment: him or her or it. And I'll try my best to squeeze a place for them into the novel. If I like them, they may even be a main character. More requests coming soon, to be sure, so get busy on this one.

(And PS: if you don't play along, well, then it's back to the same old rules.... blah.)

October 12, 2004 after 2PM | travel , writing | maybe more»

It seems more of you are interested in THE PROJECT than I anticipated. I suppose it beats the endless filosofizing and melodrama with which I would otherwise fill these virtual pages. And of course, the last thing I want to turn this building story into is a filosofize-ed-melloo-dram-tic diatribe on the medeocre efforts of paying someone to build us a house.

It's an effort, but not THAT much of one.

In fact, I would dare to suggest that it is generally very amusing and deeply exciting -- for me, at least -- and as such deserves to be spoken of and written of with careful reverence, or something otherwise approaching careful disclosure. Nevertheless, I'll try and break it up a little bit in hopes that it gets neither so monotonous nor lacking -- which it might do if I risk running out of material. It's a risk, and especially after attending (count) three turkey-roasts this weekend where the house-topic popped up on occasion; I don't want to sound like a scrambled MP3 file -- or an audio analogy approaching the modern equivalent of a broken record.

So, for example, the floor plan: one main floor and one top floor modified as we're building. The original, of course, belongs to Jayman and I'm probably breaking a half-dozen copyrights and contractual agreements by modifying and posting them here, so I'll give them full credit and hope I don't receive an angry letter from some lawyer for doing so. They are on Jayman's site to download, anyhow.

Jayman Jayman Jayman -- There. And three makes five links. That should make someone happpy.

Moderately disappointed, Melanie writes : "So you would have been our neighbours!!! And we went and moved before you got in.... "

True. Terwilligar is quite close. Yes, we nearly could have thrown rocks at your old place from our new one. Not that we would have of couse -- it's just a really bizaare and (unfortunately) nasty figure of speech. Ah, well. At least you know where we live, now.

And maybe, someday soon, I'll post something concrete: like foundation pictures. (Smirk: Get it? Concrete? Get it? Wink! Wink!)

October 12, 2004 after 1PM | house , meta | maybe more»

I have a feeling that until this whole concept settles in my mind a little further, I'm going to have lots to say about the new "project" and events surrounding it. It's funny how, upon making that transition from prospective homeowner to, as the legalese puts it, The Purchaser one's very thoughts and patterns of concern suddenly swing into more "constructive" matters.

For example, I spent my lunch break at the hardware store a few blocks away from my office. Suddenly rows upon rows of finishing supplies are interesting and consuming. I never would have thought I could be vagely concerned with looking at paint cards or arborite samples -- but suddenly, given the choice between Best Buy and rows of DVDs -- or Home Depot and countertop finishes -- well, I plead no-contest. It's a shoe-in for the home-renovating, because apparently it's where I've decided to spend my money for (at least) the next twenty-five years. It's also dull to everyone but Karin and I.

And that could be a problem.

Another (boring) example is brought up the issue of framing. When we were still scoping and plotting, Dad had mentioned that apparently sixteen inch on center framing was better than twenty-four inch on center framing. Initally, I had no idea what he was even talking about. You mean I have to know how many two-by-fours are in my WALLS! Simply put: Hallelujah for Google. While I'm sure there are things that are not fully explainable via the internet, I did find a number of quote-interesting-unquote resources touting not-only the environmental efficiency of using less lumber in one's house, but also a number of references to energy efficiency, load-bearing strength, wall-thickness, and drywall crack-resistence in relation to the newer standard. It's absolutely amazing how one can use a fifteen minute break to dig up completely esoteric information and bore one's website audience. I almost never would have thought it possible.

Again, it could be a potential problem.

One -- perhaps interesting -- thought did cross my mind: It was that the house requires a good name. And a logo. Maybe even a theme song. Well -- okay -- maybe just a good name. I tried explaining this to Karin (who, consequently, thoroughly enjoys the work of one LM Montgomery) that Anne of Green Gables would have just been Anne, The Red Haired Brat Who Lives in That Green-Trimmed Farmhouse at the End of the Lane if her house didn't have a good name. I mean, names and such are important stuff. Imagine how much more impressive it would sound to say "I'm spending the holidays at One-Whippet Manor" rather than telling people "I'm doing Christmas at my parent's house." It's degrees more impressive. To me, at least.

And that could be a problem, also.

So to avoid any confusion in the future: yes, there will be substantial house-talk here. It's unavoidable. It's "the project." It's how we're spending the next six months of our life. It's a BIG thing. Big. Just tell me to shut up if I get annoying.

October 7, 2004 after 3PM | house , meta , weird | maybe more»

And there you go. Huh. How anti-climactic. Karin, still stressed, can relax for a little while. Or maybe... hmmm... more? I guess this is just the start of the whole thing. A big pile of dirt: our very own.

That done, we wandered the site of our now-official future home, and took the first of what is sure to be many many pictures as we build and live...

For Sale? Wha'choo talkin' about...? How about SOLD!

October 6, 2004 after 9PM | house , photography | maybe more»

It begins with a cough. Fatigue. Confusion, and concern. Karin has been sick, and my sleep has been either disjointed or consuming. The two are not directly related.

It's day zero today. Conception and creation. We have an appointment to make things more official than they ever should perhaps be. And that is the edge of uncertainty and hesitation in my otherwise glorious high. Stephen, aus Deutschland, schreibt: "Wow, a house!" -- upon which the chain of events leading up to this evening and something big and scary called a deposit happens.

Papers are to be signed.

Images -- most definitely images -- will be captured of lots, and shadows falling across broken bits of dirt and lumber.

Hands shaken. Deals struck. Pages printed. Appointments plotted. Numbers discretely passed like they are the dirty words in fairy tale.

And then. Then. Then... well.

I should avoid turning this into a sporadic thought-stream, rippling with emotionally charged words. I should really avoid that -- even though it might be too late already. Karin and I are going to spend a medium-sized fraction of our money this evening. Forget life for a moment. Forget classes, work, volunteering, and the fact I spent most of my evening last night at the gym teaching my sister how to set up a quick and dirty training circuit. Forget all those things. There is something so much more enduring about building a home. Like, digging in or something.

I was in Vancouver this past weekend. (Well, Richmond, actually. I never made it to Vancouver-proper. Flew in and out for a conference, had a few beers, shook a few hands, and gave a few presentations where I stood up and explained my wacky existence.) Besides reminding me how good and how bad the sushi and the traffic are -- respectively -- I found myself in an airline window seat both ways. I swooped down over my old coastal home, and I picked out my old apartment from the sky over Burnaby. I located my old office amongst the scatter of uptown buildings. It felt familiar. But it was still so foreign.

On my way home, we slid under a thin layer of clouds and the south-west corner of Edmonton materialized out of my window. From the air I could locate large, familiar landmarks, narrow down locations relative, and eventually pinpoint an approximate circle of land that contains an even smaller uneven rectangle of land with our names on it. Saved. Held. Waiting for something bigger to happen, maybe.

That felt kind of funny. That's where I'm going to live, I thought. Odd. And now: day zero. Zero.

October 6, 2004 after 9AM | city , house , travel | maybe more»