Skating Through Winter 

A little downtown skate.

For most of my life skating meant only one thing: hockey. As an adult I've moved on from late night shinny and pickup games that required an hour of driving for 45 minutes of ice time and a following day of barely being able to lift my feet, to more leisurely skates. Skating now is that more civil activity of circularly striding around a rink or trail until the cold has taken hold and your body has told you it's time to move on. Still, the glide, the breeze and especially the sounds are very nice. That scraping of blades on the ice reverberating and echoing around you is so evocative of childhood winters. The skating in circles, while repetitive, does remind me of those occasional school trips where a busload of us would be driven to the rink and told to skate dutifully around while perhaps the worst speaker system in the world blared some fuzzy Bay City Rollers. For those of us who played hockey it was a fun moment to skate circles around school bullies who inexplicably didn't play hockey (most likely due to some economic disadvantage). Even better for me, as I, for reasons still unknown, could skate backwards almost better than forwards, now had a chance to impress the most unimpressionable prettiest girls in our class. Oh yes reader, I played it cool. I would stride around letting my teammates whiz by, then with the simplest of spins, cruise easily around the bend, building speed with every crossover, then overtake Alison, Kim, Gina or Tina, and looking back at them say with an easy grin and head tilt, "hi, I think you're skating the wrong way." before hearing a resolute teacher yell, "Mister Rogers! Please, turn around!", "Yes, miss" I'd say and swoop past that one girl who'd falsely protest, "Hey, watch it, show-off!" then in a gentlemanly and quiet manner offer, "oh I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." At which point I would pick up enough speed to lap my clumsier classmates and glide along side her and say, "You again, didn't I just see you here?" I think I could elicit a giggle. Here, on the ice I was as confident and pithy as any Jane Austin paramour. Off the ice, I had nothing and would return to doodling in the back of my Hilroy notebook. Innocent times. I still take pleasure in some, though not as much, love of the ice. I see it in others too. We're not the brash ones. We're the ones holding back and making space for kiddos that might fall, who then decide to lie there looking up at the clouds. Trust me, we want to break free but we'll put our hands behind our backs and slip into an easy floating pace.

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We Need a Little (More) Christmas 

On an overcast, ugly day in January I'm trying to extend the sweet warmth of the holidays by listening to Christmas specials, eating chocolates and generally being a world champion layabout. This my last day before going back to work tomorrow, so it will be a day of snacking, napping, reading, and watching television and listening to podcasts. As to continued snacking… in for a penny, in for a pound, or two or maybe three or four. I can wait a few more days to think about getting back in to shape starting with four-second workouts or how to get fit in my second half.

Join Us and Be Alone Together 

As the rest of Ontario joins Toronto in the post Boxing Day lockdown, I would just like to assure them that everything is going to be alright. In fact, life may not really be that different at all. We're all used to being unemployed, stuck at home, going nowhere by now, right? A little while ago I went into the office to retrieve some equipment and the lockdown was a lot more evident in an emtpy office building. Here's a clip of what it was like.

It's About the Journey (or Journal) 

"Gramps" Memory Books

A few years ago, after moving into my new place I discovered a box of sketchbooks. Empty sketchbooks. I realized I'd moved with them at least twice. They were roughly A5 format, some were stitch bound, others were wire coil bound, some were 80 pages, some were almost 200 pages but all of them were blank, open white pages. I determined I should either use them or give them away. Giving away some were easy, but I couldn't give up others and I didn't know why. I decided I would have to start using them. For whatever reason it made natural sense to use them as they were intended, as journals. It seemed just as natural to use the comic book format - either four boxes or six or more to simply fill in what was going on during any given day. Plus, I felt I wanted to teach myself how to tell stories in that format. When I began I almost obsessively drew everyday. At some point that seemed too much and there was about a four month gap when I only drew three or four times. Since then I usually do two or three a week and they capture the most ridiculously mundane details of my life. Dentist visits, biking in the rain, baking bread, going for a run, or reading on the couch. I'm not sure you'd really learn anything about me from them other than I have terrible penmanship and the quality of the drawing has remained woefully poor, but I will say, occasionally, a page of wordless images are some of the best things I've ever done.

Seeing this short film on The Atlantic and hearing the narrator's father talk about his father's journals and how sometimes he would just grab a journal from the bookshelf and relive moments from the past resonated with me. I do the same thing even though I only have been doing it since 2015 and only have eight sketchbooks. Still, I can recall the week around Mom's heart surgery, or a summer trip or a weekend when something odd happened.

Curiously verbose. Absurdly quotidian.

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A post shared by Peter Rogers (@peterrogersesq) on Apr 8, 2019 at 11:01am PDT

Page from one of my own journals

Holy Jaysus 

Strange & Familiar: Architecture on Fogo Island from Site Media inc.

Last week I had choices to make. I could go to a Toronto volunteer night, a ward advocacy meeting, a public presentation about the plans for a park beneath the Gardiner Expressway, or a see a film documenting the Fogo Island project designed by Newfoundland born, but Norway based architect, Todd Saunders. I went with my heart and the heart wanted to go home.
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Cheap Skate 

I shot some video on my phone to capture the first skate of the season - and yes, that's my bike with the red and white LEDs on the wheels.

Lately I've been enjoying all the “free” stuff Toronto has to offer, and not just art exhibits. This weekend the city opened a bunch of its outdoor rinks. One I ride by every morning is the Paul Quarrington rink just below Sherbourne Common (I realize I mistakenly refer to it as "Commons" in the video). The Commons (is the "s" needed here?) is sort of an interesting project. It's a water park that cleans storm water run-off using natural and UV filters and features playground structures with striking architectural elements. The only thing is, I never see any water coming from the funky water features and even with significant plantings it feels more like a parking lot than a park. Likewise with the skating rink. It's a water pad in the summer and it is in an unusual place sitting between Lake Ontario and the Gardiner Expressway. Soon though it will be surrounded by residential towers I guess making it some of the only remaining public (and partially green space) in the neighbourhood. Oddly though the rink seems to face the city skyline which will not be visible once the remaining empty lots have buildings on them. It seems strange to build something with its back to the lake. There's no reason the rink couldn't have been sited with Westward and Southward views back to the city and the lake. Still it is what it is and part of that means having an amazingly illuminated city skyline as your view while you're skating.

Old Time Revival 

One of the first things I noticed about Jimmy Fallon's Tonight Show was when introducing or promoting musical guests he always held a 12" vinyl "LP" cardboard sleeve. I knew that many new bands did limited vinyl pressings as promotional items or as limited editions, but I assumed many of those sleeves Mr. Fallon held were props created, wisely, for the television audience. Far more visible and evocative, the 12" sleeve has an undeniable presence. What I didn't realize was just how big vinyl was. I'm sure the Times were keenly aware when curating their video feed to include a nostalgic 90s Festival followed immediately with a video piece about the revival of vinyl as a media. I've never actually owned a turntable and only have a couple of dozen albums that I keep as penance or something. I only ever used my parents' Dual turntable. As an adult, I have only ever had a cassette or CD player before having no player at all. It's funny how cloaked in religion the talk of vinyl records is: "you have to believe in it", it's a "revival", records "restore your faith". I've always questioned the quality of vinyl records. Certainly digital recordings have their flaws but the only times I've been "fooled" into wondering if the music or sound I was hearing was live or not was much more about the audio system that delivered the sound as opposed to the platform source of the information and was probably digital (think of films or video games connected to a quality sound system). Using more data-like terminology seems to remove the nuance of the language around audio recordings describing them as warm or tinny etc. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a digital only kind of fellow. I really prefer 70mm film projection over the absurdly cheap looking high frame rate video Peter Jackson prefers. And I don't think it's an age thing - “I like it because I'm use to it” argument. I firmly believe it's a brain thing. I don't like brussels sprouts because they taste like a mouthful of nickels. That is a genetic thing. It is how I perceive many green vegetables - they have an unlikable metallic taste. Similarly, I find high frame rate digital video looks like old video camera footage. The warmth that vinyl lovers profess sounds an awful lot like dirt and fuzziness to me. All that being said, I'm glad vinyl is getting a bounce whatever the reason because it means a return to those big ol' cardboard sleeves.

The Dust of this Planet 

image via ESPN

Earlier in June, I watched a few minutes of the Paris Open and noticed not too surprisingly how the players would tap the red Roland Garros clay from their shoes after each series. I was reminded of this as I laced up my shoes and noticed just how dusty they were. Wiping the worst of it away I realized this was the dust of Paris.


My shoes, resting, in the gardens at the Rodin Museum, Paris - see more photos here.

On my last afternoon in France, I left the office early to make my way to the Rodin museum. The main collection was closed so I strolled the impressive garden. In fact, I strolled the hell out of Paris. I became a regular Friday Flaneur, walking across Pont Alexandre III, to the Opera, then to the Jardin du Tuileries, and back along the Seine. I’ll hand it to them. Parisians like a good walk. Many pathways in Paris are simple stone dust which lends to the distinctive atmosphere of the place. The sound of crunching sand and pebbles under foot is as much a sound of Paris as the traffic, the language or the folky accordion music. When I sat for beer and a cheese sandwich in the Tuileries a strong gust kicked up and made a brief dustbowl of the promenade. It was vaguely apocalyptic, except for all of the people generally ignoring it and continuing their conversations while enjoying their wine, beer or coffee which gave the whole scene the feeling of an Antonioni film.



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So SFO 

I had a day to myself recently in San Francisco so I rented a bike and rode over the Golden Gate Bridge to the Marin Headlands. It was a gorgeous day and you could understand why people would risk grass fires, earthquakes, drought and high real estate prices to live there. If I get another chance at a day in San Francisco I'll bring my cycling kit and rent a road bike for a day long ride north of the city.

By the way, the music used in this video is “Match 104” from a James Murphy (previously of LCD Soundsystems) project done with IBM wherein they converted data from US Open tennis matches into music. You can hear more of it here.

The Great Whiteway* 

I took a couple of minutes of video on our drive back from Whiteway (pop. 220) last Sunday using the new iPhone app from Instagram, Hyperlapse. The technology behind Hyperlapse is pretty incredible and seemingly only limited by the quality of the camera on your phone. It would be intriguing to see it deployed on better cameras. Imagine how much better GoPro videos would be stabilized to this degree. My advice for using it would be to not simply press “record” but to allow the phone to adjust white balance and exposure first. One funny thing you see in the video above is a smudge that was on the inside of the windshield which is the spot jumping around erratically. I assume that would be because that indicates just how much the actual phone was moving in relation to the landscape (so avoid filming through dirty glass).

The way the app works means it can only output a 720p video which is fine for sharing and web embeds but the intriguing part is that if say in the future you could film 4K video with a phone, you would be able to output a fully HD video. Also, as it uses the phone's built-in gyroscope to even out the image rather than any processing on the image itself, Hyperlapse isn't that demanding on the phone's battery or processor. It takes some time to stabilize the recording depending how long the video is but it's generally pretty fast. I actually found using the 1X or 2X settings give nicer results which is pretty much what the review on the Verge suggests. They also suggest video filmed during bright sunny days will look better than on darker days; here in Newfoundland, I may never get a chance to find out.

*No, not that Great White Way

"Oh Tobias, you blow HARD!"

"…I'm afraid I just blue myself…" I'm glad someone is having "non-porn" fun with Vine, and I'm glad for Netflix bringing back Arrested Development for one more season. This is a bargain.

Easy as an Easter Sunday 

Easter Sunday from rowdyman on Vimeo.

Here's an Easter card in lieu of a printed one. Despite another grey Toronto day, the atmosphere was sunny and bright at Bec, Andy and Gina's. A finely wrought feast was set with all seated bringing forth each their own contribution. From spaghetti squash, ratatouille, sprouts (with bacon and without), salads, wine, fresh baked bread¹, some of the most tender, fall-off-the-bone ribs you'll ever have and finished with an assortment of chocolates, cookies and one "I spy with my little eye, some of Nonna's famous apple pie". As evidence, I submit for your viewing pleasure the above videola picture-gram. Set to the tune of a duet of Andy and Gina's practiced hand, a fine afternoon was had by all on this day of our Lord, two-thousand-three.

FN 1: From your author, the bread I made, for once, turned out very well. I think it's been well over a year since any baking I've made has resulted in anything with success. What did I do this time? Only the bread knows for sure. I did use a fresh pack of instant yeast. I let it rest a little over 12-14 hours. I allowed a second rising (only appropriate for Easter, no?) for about 2 hours. I left the oven to heat an extra amount of time. I baked it for 30 minutes covered and 5 minutes uncovered. I very nearly burned it, but instead it turned out fine. As I said, only the bread knows for certain.

Lifts and Queues 

Lift Experience from rowdyman on Vimeo.

These are some clips I put together from some recent trips to London and what I've realized is that London is really just about elevators and line-ups. Lifts and queues as a the locals might say. From singing lifts at the Royal Festival Hall to the top of the Shard (Europe's tallest building) to the London Eye.

I would also like to point out my editing technique: an infinite number of monkeys editing on an infinite number of video editing consoles. Eventually something serendipitous has to happen, right?

It's funny that all of these clips were shot on a phone. Well, it seems funny to me. Yet, we still haven't figured out a way to put a phone in a shoe, Maxwell Smart style.

He Posted Early 

Now that all my Christmas Posts have been done, I can confidently say, “It's out of my hands!” Some amalgamation of couriers, national postal services and army mules will be delivering anything I've ordered or sent for the holidays. In days of yore it wasn't so, according to this public service announcement reminding Britons to “Post Early for Christmas!”

Generally speaking, I hate those e-mail newsletters from services like YouTube telling you what's new but I couldn't resist this one from BFI (British Film Institute) National Archive. What's more striking is this film from 1943 encourages you to post parcels by December 18^th and letters by the 20^th. That certainly trumps anything Canada Post can do. We've already passed the regular post dates for parcels and it's only the 12^th.

You'd think in a world of modern communication and electronic efficiencies postal services would improve not worsen. There's probably some hidden economics at work that's meant the general degradation of the post.

…And Also This 

Bruce McCulloch with an open letter to the guy who stole his bike wheel.

What did you think? I would ride home and not notice? What are you? Some sort of Prick?!

Oh, as I walked the eight kilometres home two weeks ago, in my head, I ran over and over my speech to the guy who had stolen my bike. It was cathartic or whatever. I think I needed an hour long walk full of cussing and bluster to get the rage out of my system just so my skin wouldn't erupt in blisters and boils from repressed stress.

My poor Langster. Forever gone. I think Bruce McCulloch sums it; "Well, why'd you do it? Are you some sort of jerk or something?" So for now, I'm back to riding, what Mom would call, my "Sit-up and Beg" model.

Koo Koo Bananas Beautiful 

Toronto in October from rowdyman on Vimeo.

“...I'm like a boy in boxing gloves grasping at a butterfly”

I've never been accused of Toronto boosterism but I've come to terms with this city and realized that many of its problems are the same as any city of over 2 million people. Yet other problems are uniquely its own – poor transit infrastructure, an oafish mayor, the strange suburban nature of many downtown neighbourhoods and the weirdly high-rise landscape of its isolating suburbs. I also never really think of Toronto as a "pretty" town, but it does have its moments. The city still has a lot of 19th century lingering industrial buildings, quiet side streets and, when you can get there, a wonderful waterfront. October, full of rainy days and saturated colours, is when Toronto looks its best. Dusk on a rainy day just when the clouds are breaking create some crazy beautiful skylines. Really crazy beautiful, like koo-koo bananas beautiful. I love running on the waterfront on a day like that near sunset. You get two sunsets; the real one in the west and the reflected one from downtown's glass towers in the east. That can sometimes be just dumbfounding. The sky in the east will be deep dark purple billows, while the buildings, reflecting the western sky's setting sun, will be blazing golden molten shards. I've tried to capture it, but I'm like a boy in boxing gloves grasping at a butterfly. Too clumsy and too euphoric to know it.

Sometimes, you can just point your phone at the sky and things turn out alright. The idea that my phone is the best camera I've ever owned is still odd to me. I know on the photo sharing site, Flickr, photos taken by phones outnumber those taken by cameras. We live in an era of "phone-ography". Video is becoming more common too, so instead of a slide show of stills, I thought I'd assemble a slide show of video clips. I think I enjoy these brief vignettes more than stills. Little living dioramas captured in my phone. What would Alexander Graham Bell have said about that? Probably something like "Mr. Watson, come here. I want to show you something." – which nowadays might get you in trouble.

To see much better photography of Toronto's waterfront, like the one below, go see Uncharted Waters at the Harbourfront Centre.

Johan Hallberg-Campbell, Terminal A, 11:14pm; March 17, 2012 – Billy Bishop Toronto City Airport, image via Harbourfront Centre

Sprezza-Toura 

I've commented before on my love of the Italian term, "sprezzatura" defined as a "studied carelessness" or something like "making the difficult look easy". Like the guy who carefully arranges his hair to look like he just got out of bed, and looks good doing it. I might be wrong but I think in the cycling world it's occasionally used as the Italian version of the French, "souplesse" which refers to that cyclist who possesses a smooth yet strong cadence and style. A natural athlete for whom his or her sport just doesn't seem that difficult.

Thus the terrible pun of this post and video. Glenn and I were making 800 km look easy. In fact, it was easy. As a well known idler and dawdler, I'd be the first to admit that averaging 100 km a day with 40-50 lbs of gear on your bike for over a week seems impressive, but to be fair, I think there were four days over 100 km and four under. I recall one 90 km day that was mostly "up hill" either entering or going through Adirondack Park which was by no means easy and the last 40 km riding into Montreal I had a charlie horse in my thigh that reminded me of a medical test. You know that one where they insert a needle in a muscle, then by running an electrical current through the needle the doctor attempts to activate your tear ducts. Despite that, I was fine the next day and even found myself wishing I had joined Glenn on his more impressive 200 km ride to Ottawa where I could've taken the train to Toronto rather than from Montreal. In general, alternating shorter days with longer ones meant that you recovered nicely without seizing up and that you ended up in nice places. Our only regret was probably staying at a motel in Burlington when the next day we rode by a perfectly nice campsite only minutes from the café where we sat trying to find a campsite the previous afternoon. I still don't know why Google is so reluctant to find campsites when you type the word "campsite" but is very fond of giving you camping supply stores or popular mini conferences such as "BarCamp"?

That would be my only piece of advice. Do not, under any circumstances trust Google Maps. I'm not suggesting if something ain't on a printed map, it probably isn't there, I'm just saying you'll have no way of finding it. I will say Google Streetview is not bad at determining whether that road you're looking at on a map is a cozy bike-friendly route or a behemoth eight lane super highway not fit for man or beast. Google Maps delights in showing right-of-ways long since gone-away or even mysteriously suggesting since you are on a bicycle you, like Elliot and E.T., might like to take to the sky in some Spielberg-esque inspired fantasy, all with the caveat that Google Maps is of course, "in beta" and in all likelihood not at all or in any way accurate. Unfortunately, good cycling maps seem hard to find. In an era of Google, Yahoo, Bing, OpenMap data, GPS devices for driving, running or riding not to mention unmanned drone strikes, the good old fashioned printed map is going the way of an extinct species. Eventually, I found some maps of Ontario and New York state in one of those massive book stores in the travel section. Apparently, no one plans to travel outside the Eastern Seaboard from Toronto as that was pretty much the extent of their maps.

Consider this video your virtual tour. You can even say, "I virtually rode to Lake Placid." I did, really.

Adirondack Sprezza-toura from rowdyman on Vimeo.

Able to Endure 

This weekend the streets of Toronto have been closed or diverted for a number of community or charitable events. One of which is the Ride to Conquer Cancer, a 2 day, 200 KM ride to raise money for cancer research. I ride every day and it is a part of my life. I once calculated I ride about 250 days a year and probably ride over 3000 KM. I try at least once a week to do a longer ride, which is entirely different type of ride than my commuting one, which is short and fraught with close calls. The longer rides on the weekend though are entirely about freedom. Some middle-aged guys might buy a big motorcycle but others, like me, spend a few bucks on sweet bicycle. Whether I'm topping out at 50 KM/hr or cruising at 20 KM/hr, you'll know me by my huge, maniacal smile. Plenty of people effortlessly pass me, but after 3 or 4 hours I know I've burned up over 1200 calories, I've sweated out all the "toxins" and bad stuff, and I've injected enough oxygen into my brain to light up every synapse and nerve ending. I don't ride an engine, I am the engine. That feeling is pretty goddamned empowering.

Then you see a story like this one. Damian Lopez Alfonso lost both arms and was badly burned over his face and body when as a boy he was electrocuted trying to retrieve a kite from fallen power lines. His story of pushing himself further and achieving freedom through cycling reminds us not only of the power of sport but as Plato said, "...that the soul of man is immortal, able to endure every sort of good and every sort of evil...". Seeing his joy in cycling makes me feel like a complete fool for ever feeling sorry for myself. Ever. See his story in this short video from the New York Times.

Year of the Rabbit 

It's a week too late to wish anyone luck for the Chinese New Year, but when I saw this great bit of animation celebrating the year of rabbit, I had to share it.

Year of the Rabbit from Frater on Vimeo. via The Fox is Black

I'll tell you a little secret, when I see a film that I really like, it's almost too much to bear because seeing it is so inspirational, I want to stop and immediately go make my own movie. That's the way I felt when I saw Snatch, Fanny and Alexander ¹ and it's the way this short made me feel.

FN1 True story: when I watched Fanny and Alexander, I had to stop the movie because it was just too beautiful. Then, I immediately went upstairs and created an animated Christmas card.

Hausu! 

Image via Mubi.com Movie Poster of the Week: "Hausu"

Friday night we watched an incredibly campy, and well, almost indescribable Japanese art horror movie called "House" (or "Hausu") from 1977. The effects are sometimes absurd, sometimes sublimely beautiful. I have to admit my hopes weren't high going in especially as my main reason for wanting to see it was the great poster seen above. But, you know, it was pretty amazing. After watching some of the DVD extras it became clear to me that Japanese pop culture isn't that crazy but the director, Obayashi was, and he, and other artists like him became highly influential in Japanese main stream through films and advertising. Turns out this was the same guy who directed Charles Bronson in some memorable "Mandom" commercials which, like "House" have to be seen to be believed.



I feel I understand the Japanese psyche better now. Or not. Maybe I understand it less but it's still fun to watch.