My Birthday Present, Precioussss.

For quite some time I've been planning to buy a new computer, and while I bide my time and amass the required funds for such a purchase, I've decided that I need to acquire all the assorted related accessories. So I, with help from my parents on the occasion of my birthday, bought a swanky new computer desk from Leon's Furniture. This post will detail my adventures in assemblyland.

When I went out shopping for a new desk this past sunday, I didn't really plan to make my purchase just yet, so mum and I took her car. We scouted a number of places without me finding anything that both met my strenuous stylistic and functional criteria, and fell within my price range. There were plenty that did one or the other, but none did both. Eventually we journeyed far, crossing what I consider to be the border of this humble town, and went to Leon's across the canal. There, I found my desk. It's everything I needed, and fell JUST barely inside my price range. barely. plus taxes. hehe. Luckily the two boxes comprising the desk fit into Mum's trunk.

These are the two boxes it came in. As you can see, they're quite sizable. One box contains the hardware for the frame and legs, the other, narrow box contains the glass(!) surfaces.




Here's the poorly rendered "picture" of the product on the outside of the box. I assure you it does the final product no justice whatsoever, and in real life it looks much less like cheap patio furniture, and much more like a desk from the land of awesome.

I unpacked the boxes, and like a responsible consumer/someone who has to deal with the stupid shit people do when 'some assembly' is required, took inventory of all the parts to ensure nothing was missing.

Fortunately, all the pieces were accounted for and un-damaged. Unfortunately, they were poorly labeled, and the instructions were just a series of pictures. I'm fortunate enough to have a very high visual-spacial awareness, being a photographer and all, but God help anyone who has not visually-minded. there was next to NO text in the instructions.

Some items were noted as being "small", which helped to differentiate them somewhat from their counterparts. The series of crossbars, four sets of two, four different lengths, have an obscure number next to them. it's illegible in the photo, but with a little lateral thinking, I learned that the number is the length of the poll in millimeters. It wasn't very clear.

I assembled the first section of the base, seen here:
Alas, I realized after I got it together that I forgot to insert the rear foot-guard kick-plate-grate thingummy, (really, if you can think of a better name for it, by all means let me know), which wouldn't fit in between the legs with the crossbar/keyboard-tray-rails installed.

As you can see, it doesn't fit. So I took it apart, wrestled with it some more, and put it back together properly. Luckily, I have eight arms and was able to hold boths sets of legs up, keep the crossbars from falling out of the left side while inserting the opposite ends of each of the four poles into the right side, and then hold that together while my good friend Allan and I screwed each of the four poles fast. It was easy.

Following this, I set in the wooden frame for the keyboard tray, and we've got the first portion of the desk built, sans glass.



I had a little bit of a dilemma assembling the the wooden supports for the glass, the little trapezoidal pieces you see capping the left and right sets of legs. They each have two pre-drilled holes for the cross-bars on which rest the glass desktop, but on one side of the piece, the hole is in-set in another, larger hole.



The image on the right has the inset-hole. Nowhere in the instructions did it say whether this hole goes on the outside or on the inside. At first, I assumed the hole was to accept the poles on which rest the glass top, but I tested this, and the poles don't fit inside the holes. The holes are too small. Then I thought maybe it's so that the screws that hold on the glass-support poles are sunk in, and don't stick out, so I put them on the outside, from where I'd have to insert the screw. I later found out that I was right the first time, but not entirely. The holes are there so that the poles supporting the glass top will fit in between the wood pieces, because the poles are slightly rounded on either end. It's probably only one or two millimeters of wiggle-room, but it's enough so that when you put them there, they stay there so you can screw them in place. The glass-top support poles are painted black, so as to be less conspicuous when they're snugly under the table top, invisibly holding up the solid-black glass. (Some people are geniuses. Other people are furniture designers.) As a nice touch, they've included twelve little rubber rings, three for each pole, so that the glass is resting on something a little cushier than just the metal.

Nothing revolutionary, to be sure, but it shows a little thoughtfulness. Of course, I forgot to slide these little rubber rings onto one of the poles, realizing this after I'd screwed it in place, so I had to unscrew one end to put them on. Not too big of a deal.

The next step was to do the same to the short part of the L as I did to the Long part. I remembered to put the kickplate and cross-poles in at the same time. :D After this, I had to attach the short piece to the long piece via a quarter-circle metal frame. It was tricky, but no more-so than assembling the long-piece, because now the pieces stood up on their own. after attaching the short-piece to the long-piece I officially had the skeletal remains of a desk!

Ooh all them crazy elephant bones. Desk bones. Frame. Desk. TIME FOR GLASS!!!!

This was the part I was worried about. Glass is fragile, and I can be clumsy. On top of that, the big desktop is 2 1/2 feet by 4 feet. That's a big pane of glass. It's almost a pain of glass. I was fortunate enough that the glass survived the trip home, and down into the basement. Now would It survive the trip from the box to the desk? Of course. I was careful, and jammed the desktops into place. Really, they took some jamming. One of my joins must not have been square. the other pieces went in well enough, and so I had an (almost) finished product.

All was assembled, so I hauled out the trusty level to adjust the little threaded feet. Part of the desk is on an area rug and the other part is not, so I hiked it up in the back and all was well. After a quick dust-off to get the styrofoam bits I had an (actually) finished product:

TADAAAAAAAAAAAAA! Desk.

It's been almost a week since assembly, and so far, it hasn't fallen down yet, so I must have done something right. Well, that's all for now, at least until I actually get my new computer. I've ordered it, and it should be arriving sometime next week. I'll give you the rundown on that, complete with copious photos when it gets here.

I'm Still Alive.

NORMALLY, THIS IS THE PART where one would say "I swear to god, I'll never do that again," But it would be sacrilege to speak un-truths on my blog. And besides, I had a good time. My only regret is that I left in such a hurry, and didn't really say a proper goodbye. I'm still surprised that I had the lucidity to collect my keys from Hidden Agenda's fouton, and my cell-phone from the chair at the bar, after they had fallen out of my fucking pants. I guess I knew I was wearing my fucking pants, so I made a mental note to remember to check for things fallen out of my pockets. Still, it would have really sucked to get home without keys. And Viking: I am well aware that I gave you sixty-five dollars for a bar-tab that was more in the region of 45 bucks (we'll say those last three car-bombs were on me, in the spirit of celebration. and because I lost miserably. twice.) And I intend to collect the difference. Maybe. If I remember to. If not, then I'll just sleep with your wife and we'll be even. (Don't worry, Faery. I know you're worth far more than a measly 20 dollars. There's a WHOLE lot of interest accruing as we speak. Type. Skype. Hrm. I wonder if that's where they got the name. *epiphonious fanfare* ;)

MY BIRTHDAY SO FAR has been otherwise uneventful. I somehow managed to avoid waking with a headache, although I suppose my brain owes me for all the tasty tidbits of information I've fed it over the years. I slept in quite a while, and then I got up and wobbled around the house for a while. I'm still a little shaky, but I'm otherwise in good health.

TWENTY THREE YEARS is a long time, but I don't feel old. Or maybe I'm in denial. Either way, it's fun. Well, that's all for now. Cheers.

The Price of Democracy

THIS IS WHAT I GET for offering to let you people choose things. One Vote. Pathetic. You should be ashamed of yourselves.

For those of you who are interested, this is my chat chloe. She's lots of fun.

An Excerpt from Licorice Dreams

A reader has expressed an interest in hearing more about the good doctor Hans, and so I offer this small anecdote as a token of good will. The story is told from the first person perspective of Dr. Hans Dutchman. I felt that writing his biography as if it were an autobiography, the transposition of his very own memoirs, would give the unfamiliar reader some added insight into the doctor's life and character. Without further ado:

"THE SUMMERS OF MY YOUTH ARE REMEMBERED, however fondly, through a haze of impenetrable smoke, but one year penetrates through the fogs of time far more than any other. The year was 1976. The warm August sun was waning in preparation to give way to the chill fall winds. I had just turned twenty-one, and now fully a man, I had confronted my philandering father, voicing my outrage at his dalliances with the young men at the university. I told him it could not continue, that it was unethical to prey upon these hopeful students, to dangle their success in front of their eyes like so much chum. I told him that it was an affront to his marriage, that my mother would no longer stand for it, and neither would I. Confronting my father was the bravest thing I had ever done. It was also the most foolish. When I threatened to tell The Board of his exploits he became angry and expelled me most violently from our home. His home. For the first time in my short and sheltered life, I had nowhere to go.

"LET IT NOT BE SAID that my father was a cruel or irresponsible man. He was proud and strong, despite his flaws, and he taught me many of the values to which I steadfastly hold, even now. He taught me to stand up for myself and those I care for, to love and cherish all things on this earth and to work hard for dreams. Perhaps it was only to assuage his guilty conscience, or as a way of purchasing our acceptance, but even throughout his numerous affairs he had always provided for us, and we never did want for anything. In ways, I admired him, and was proud to call him Father even up until the day he died in that tragic ballooning accident. If there is one thing you absorb by way of advice from these memoirs, it should be this: Never take a balloon ride from a Frenchman."

I hope you've enjoyed this small morsel of truth. If you wish to read more, I encourage you to seek out a copy of my book, published by Preposterous Press, London.

Shopping, Chapters and Ribfest, Part Four

"What!! There's MORE!?"

Yes of course there's more. The title of this epic series of posts is "Shopping, Chapters and Ribfest" and I don't recall having written about ribfest! Do you know why I don't recall having written about ribfest yet? That's right. Because I haven't. What follows is (maybe) the conclusion of this tale.

SHOPPING FOR BOOKS IS EXHAUSTIVE WORK, and after leaving Chapters with our purchases, Faery Viking and I required food. Luckily for us, this weekend happened to be the annual Ribfest. It is exactly as it sounds. A festival dedicated entirely to ribs. Okay, not entirely. There are other things, like chicken and funnel cake, obscenely large bags of kettle-corn, lemonade, ice cream, deep-fried onion blossoms, and chips. Generally anything that causes one's heart to say "Fuck that noise, I'm out". There is also live music, some good, some really not so good. The only downside to Ribfest is that every year it makes our beloved park smell like grease and rancid pork for weeks afterwards, normally a small price to pay for the glory of ribfest. This year, we were very lucky in that it rained quite thoroughly the day after the festival was finished, washing away the stinky. This is Ribfest, and we had been there already. Twice. In the past two days.

SO IT CAME TO PASS that as we were leaving Chapters I voiced the concern that all of us were feeling quite thoroughly:

"What are we gonna do for food?"

There was a shared moment of tense silence, as we all knew what was coming. Viking turned his bearded gaze on me and said:

"We could always--"
"Let's Go."

And we were off, tearing south along the busy streets of the city, carving a swath through traffic as might a lion plunging through a herd of zedbra. In little time we were there, and we passed through the gated entrance to the park, and to ribfest.

The visual assault of the rib-smiths' kiosks is immediately striking. There is much to take in, and there are decisions to be made; Whose ribs do I eat today? The natural response to such a question is "The Dutchman's", because his fabled intercostals are surely the most juicy and tender, Alas, ribfest is only for pork ribs, so you're off the proverbial hook this time, big guy. Instead, I opt to try the culinary stylings of Billy Bones' BBQ, whose kiosk you can see in the approximate center of the photograph to our left. I had not yet sampled Mr. Bones' wares, and it is in the spirit of ribfest to try as many as you dare and decide which you like best. On a previous visit I partook of Turtle Jack's pulled pork sandwich, which was indeed delicious. It was sweet, and saucy, but I felt it lacked the Kick that I tend to associate with the name 'Jack'. Don't ask me why I associate 'Jack' with spiciness. I don't know anyone called Jack that I might connect to the telling burn of spicy foods, so we'll just say I can't explain it and leave it there. Indeed, Turtle Jack's pulled pork on a bun was satisfying, but I knew that no mere sandwich was going to sate my ravenous hunger, so I went whole hog, so to speak, and dined upon Billy Bones' Smokehouse Sampler. Six ribs, a quarter chicken, and a mittfull of pulled pork.

I assure you the photo does it no justice, and while it may look like so much dead animal, it tasted like so much dead animal with barbeque sauce. And it was spicy. Swelteringly so. So spicy that this sentence needs more 'S' sounds to successfully illustrate the spiciness of this dish (and for that I am sincerely sorry). It blew Turtle Jack's pulled pork sandwich out of the water. The chicken in particular was some of the best barbequed chicken I'd ever had, and I'm not a big fan of chicken on-the-bone. (Dutch on-the-bone is an entirely different matter. ;)) The ribs themselves were yummy, and so was the pork. Hungry yet? Good. It's too bad ribfest is over, otherwise you might be able to partake of it. Or, maybe there's a ribfest coming to a town near you soon. If I give them more free advertising, maybe they'll pay me for it. ;) More likely, they have no idea who I am, a lonely blogger in the middle of the bleak wide tundra that is the internet. But I digress. Following the torrential disassembly of the Smokehouse Sampler, and after the Faery and Viking had had their fill of their respective gastronomic endeavours, we headed to the Avondale for beverages, snacks, and witty banter with our friendly neigbourhood Clerk, and then it was back to the apartment for general laziness and sergeant hanging out.

~Fin~

Shopping, Chapters and Ribfest, Part Three

IF YOU'VE EVER BEEN IN A CHAPTERS STORE BEFORE, you know that it is invariably huge. A paper sea stretches out before your eyes, waves of books of all sizes and discarded Venti mocha frappuccino cups litter the shelves. The books don't so much litter the shelves as are placed there by hardworking, italicised workers such as our fine Dutchman. . . excuse me. . . Dutchman. We came to Chapters this day with a singular purpose in mind; Buy Books. You see, like any other respectable individuals with some fragment of a soul, my friends and I (read: Faery, Viking, Elf, Dutchman, Kitty, and Cowgirl) were present at Chapters on the most hallowed night of July 21st, 2007 for the release of the final installment of the Harry Potter series. Because we pre-ordered the tome weeks and months ahead of time, we received, as a token of thanks for our loyalty (read: Consumer Whoreistry) to the Indigo/Chapters/Coles (really, Dutch, what are they calling themselves these days?) chain of bookstores, a Magical Gift Card. The folding envelope that . . . enveloped the gift card is pictured.

Now, The envelope clearly states that by redeeming the magical gift card one might be awarded a sum of up to and including $1000.00. Of course, being intimately experienced in retail marketing tactics, (read: Scams) I knew that I was incredibly unlikely to garner such a tidy sum, but there was hope. Always hope. Futher inspection of the interior of the envelope leads this humble consumer whore to an unfortunate but expected revelation: Fine Print.

As you can see there are a modest number of denominations one might possibly receive towards their purchase. For of course there must be a purchase. One could not expect someone so venerable as a corporation to give its customers something out of the kindness of its . . . swiss bank account. (Yes, I almost said 'heart'. It's a good think I caught myself.) No in order to redeem your Magical Gift Card (which was, much to my chagrin neither magical, nor much of a 'gift' if one uses the common definition of 'gift' being something given freely and without the expectation of recompense.) one must purchase fifty dollars worth of books. I hazard to guess that one might purchase other merchandise as well, but I didn't ask. Perhaps Dutch might magnanimously shed some light on the subject. Regardless of what you are required to purchase, you still must spend Fifty(50) dollars($) before you are eligable to win your 5, 10, 25, 100, or fabled 1000 dollars towards your purchase. I was pleasantly startled to learn that your earnings were applied to that very same 50 dollar purchase. Certain Corporations have been known to require yet another purchase to redeem the cards. But lets not go there. Now, lets note that our requisite Fifty Dollars must be accumulated Before taxes, and After any discounts applied from membership cards, one of which I happen to have. This discount card will give you 10 percent of regular merchandise, and up to 30 percent off of bestsellers. Examining my receipt, I can see that the membership card discount is applied before taxes. A 10% savings on $50 is $5 leaving $45.00 So one must buy about $55 worth of merchandise in order to be eligible for our potential $1000 savings. Then, you are of course required by law to pay taxes on goods not deemed 'life necessities'. There is an argument to be made for the necessity of books but that's another post altogether, and one that I don't feel qualified to argue. I'll leave that in the capable hands of the Faery. Take up the flag, my friend. But I digress. Taxes in my province amount to 14%. $50 plus 14% is $57.00. So in order to win a potential $1000.00, one must invest $57.00. It's difficult to argue with the fact that earning $1000 on a $57 is quite a handsome return, if indeed one could count on it. Alas, one cannot. turn your attention now, to the even finer print in the white space on the lower portion of the envelope. Please note that this little white square full of legalese was entirely concealed by the 'gift' card proper, which was affixed there with that gluey-tacky-sticky substance that commonly fixes similar cards to their respective envelopes and letters. You know the stuff that you forget to peel off your credit cards after receiving them in the mail and so when you get to the cashier with your 57.00 worth of books and attempt to pay you have to wrestle with reclaiming your wretched credit card from your wallet after the card has been stuck to the 4 other cards you've jammed into the pocket designed to hold but one slender piece of plastic. That stuff.


So this fine print, Of which I have provided yet another detailed photograph, details the restrictions and requirements of receiving one's 'gift'. Pay particular attention to the closing paragraph in which we are informed of the Odds of Winning. You notice that the number of cards that will award an individual $1000 is precisely 15, amounting to a staggering 0.01% of the total number of cards given out. The fabled odds of receiving? 1:20,000. In order to put this into perspective, I've dug up some fun but probably disreputable statistics:

"The odds of successfully navigating an asteroid field are approximately 3,720 to one!"

Odds of getting a hole in one: 1:5,000

Odds of being considered possessed by Satan: 1:7,000

Odds of finding a four-leaf clover on first try: 1:10,000

Odds of bowling a 300 game: 1:11,500

Odds of being murdered: 1:18,000

Odds of injury from fireworks: 1:19,556

Chance that Earth will experience a catastrophic collision with an asteroid in the next 100 years: 1:5,000

Chance of dying in such a collision: 1:20,000

Your chances of dying in a potential asteroid collision are about as good as receiving $1000 from this 'gift' card. How do you like those odds? They're not very good, are they? But of course, there is still hope. Always hope.

HAVING COME TO TERMS with the train robbery that is corporate marketing, and accepting the fact that I must choose $50 before taxes and after discount worth of books. Aye. There's the Rub. Choose. Just fifty dollars worth. How could I choose just one or two? The Indigo-Chapters chain of bookstores stocks upwards of 150,000 titles at any given location, and I am forced to restrict my choice to a meager fifty dollars worth of what might as well be finely crafted gold, (and some of it is. I looked long and hard at that special edition of Deathly Hallows.) how could I be expected to Choose. A cruel and heinous villain might ask a mother to choose which of her children dies. An equally vicious mugglenet poll might ask one to choose whether Ron or Hermione dies (Ron, hands down), and now the heartless, faceless corporate execs want me to choose which book to buy. I wandered through those aisles for what seemed like hours, brushing my fingertips lovingly along the spines of those precious objects, occasionally lifting one gingerly from the shelf to read its synopsis, or examine its illustrations or photographs. Despite the adage, I do a lot of my judging of books by their covers. First impressions are extremely important, and I want a book that I will be proud to display on my shelf, and brilliant cover-art can be a source of joy for anyone. The sense of excitement felt when one reaches the point in the book pictured on the cover, is unforgettable. The image that has been the source of your curiosity and wonder now has meaning and weight. You understand. Similarly, poor cover art can irrevocably damage an individual's perception of the book ("That is NOT Kalam Mekhar! No fucking way") or mislead a potential reader. A book's cover is a gateway to its story. Occasionally I found a book that spoke to me. I picked it up, turned it over in my hand and read a page or two, and thought to myself, "This is the one," and so I would take it with me, carry it a few steps, maybe as far as the next aisle, until I found another one, then I would take this one, replacing the first. So it went for almost an hour.

I HAVE NEVER BEEN INDECISIVE when shopping. I know what I want, I go into the store, get it, and leave. If there is a choice to be made, I choose. I coldly strip down the decision to bare facts and gut feeling. Which is better? Which do i feel like getting. It's that simple. Usually. I don't know why I had such a hard time deciding. Maybe it had something to do with the fifty dollar requirement. I wasn't looking for a book that I wanted, there were other criteria. I felt compelled to do it because of what I was convinced was $1000 waiting for me to claim it. And anyone who knows me well knows that I rebel fervently against compulsion. I began to feel a great resentment towards Indigo-Chapters for forcing me to buy something just so I could claim my prize. "Those bastards and their gimmicks," I thought. I Did eventually decide upon my purchase. Two books. The first is a practical guide to portrait photography, something I've never had any instruction in but recognize the necessity for, in order to be a successful photographer. I've yet to crack its cover. The second is a gem.

Entitled "Flight", It is the third volume of a collection of short stories in graphic novel form. The style of the art is breathtaking, as are the stories themselves. Predominantly fantasy, They have all the flavour and wonder of Charles De Lint, but with some of the cutest, most beautiful, and darkest artwork I've seen. Highly recommended to anyone with an interest in fantasy, urban fantasy in particular (I'm looking at you, Faery). I haven't read many of the stories yet, but so far it is suitable for mature children. Some of the stories are frightening or sad, but there hasn't been anything that would get it an r-rating. As I type this, it's calling me, so I end this here, leaving you in favour of a few morsels of inked paper, but don't feel bad. I'll be back.

Shopping, Chapters and Ribfest, Part Two

So after hitting the apartment to pick up Viking, we headed down to Chapters

Chapters is a large and imposing feature on the bleak flat landscape that is our small pin-dot town *snicker*. You can't beat starbucks.








This is Dutchman. He works at Chapters. He was just starting his shift, so He was happy to see us. Somehow I can't seem to annotate these photos with out sounding like a children's storybook. This is Dutch. See Dutch work. See Dutch call mall security and have me hauled bodily from Chapters for public mischief. Alas, there are no pictures of this, mostly because my camera was confiscated in the kerfuffle. Also because I made that part up. You can see more of Dutchman in my captivating exposé Licorice Dreams: The memoirs of Hans K. Dutchman

Shopping, Chapters and Ribfest

I spent Sunday wandering around town with Wenchfaery and Viking. There was much shopping and indulging in the delights of ribfest involved.



After much indecision, Wench was convinced to choose a clear plastic iPod case.















Afterwards we headed back to Wench and Viking's apartment to pick up the Viking. This is pretty much all he does.









Viking doesn't like having his soul stolen.














This was the first part of our journey around town. I wanna post this so I can get away from my infernal machine.

I am SO blogging this.

I guess this means that I am officially a 'blogger'. As this is but the inception of this fine corner of the internet, I'm not really sure what its exact nature. It will probably end up being a combination of a photo-blog, random articles about my day, and some of my writing. Hopefully, you'll get something out of it. Off to fiddle with the settings and templates. Enjoy!