Dead Pigeons and CLMs

detail from illustration "A PROBLEM WHICH WOULD HAVE PUZZLED MR. BERGH.", Wide Awake

I see 2 dead birds on my way to work today— one little sparrow, followed by a pigeon. Birds look very strange when they are deceased. They look heavy and floppy, like a wet rag is floppy. My first thought is West Nile of course. Who's going to call in the dead bird so that the West Nile people can test it? Should I use up another speed-dial spot on my mobile phone? Shit! I forgot my phone in the sun room at home. How paranoid I am, I think. Then just a few steps later I come upon the 2nd bird. It is mushed into the perpendicular meeting between sidewalk and tall concrete column. It just lies there, like a passed out drunk, amidst the plastic cup lids and candy wrappers. Work is arduous. Meeting following meeting. Requests to get things done that would be reasonable if it weren't for the fucking meetings to discuss when the next meetings will be to go over the notes from the previous meeting. I've been working at the same company for over 6 years. They don't have a single record of what I've accomplished or how I've improved. Human Resources claims not to have any past reviews on file. I may as well have just walked in off the street. I am getting a dehydration headache and need to build up momentum to accomplish my list of 'action items'. But there isn't enough time left in the day. I decide to bag off early in the hopes of relaxing and perhaps working from home tomorrow (the only time I can REALLY get anything accomplished). I pack up my bag and my computer and silently make for the elevator. Our office space occupies 2 floors, of which I'm on the upper, so I'm hoping that since I am leaving early the elevator would skip the next floor and express-it all the way down to ground. Well, I'm not quite so lucky. The elevator goes down one floor and opens up to the lobby. Standing there is the CEO, the Executive VP, and the Agency Creative Director, along with the Creative Director for my Department. Basically, pick the 4 most senior people above me and there they are: My boss, my boss's boss, his boss, and his boss's Right Hand Man. My boss, the Creative Director points at me and says, "He's the guy I was talking about... who makes the fancy presentations." And they all look at me, standing in the corner trying to hide the fact that I'm carrying a backpack. I smile weakly. I end up shaking hands with the President and CEO of the Agency. He says something like, we've met before haven't we? And I say yes, of course. The head of all things creative mumbles something about how sticky the weather is and that he's not getting any sleep. I say that the presentations I do are so good because they're done on a Mac which can make the pages bounce and flip and other crazy things. Nobody seems to know what I'm talking about. The door opens, everyone says one parting syllable at the same time. Then I'm running to catch my train to get home. I pass the spot where I saw the dead pigeon this morning. Another pigeon is on top of the dead one, pecking forcefully at it's head. Disturbed, I slow down to a brisk walk, just in time to see the live bird attempt necrophelia. Noticing the appalled look on my face, a few passing pedestrians get to share the horror.

Mundane Modern Icons

I have conspired against the better judgement of my paranoid self, and decided to take my own stab at George W. Bush. With the excitement cresting towards the release of Michael Moore's anticipated Fahrenheit 9/11, I thought it timely to start pushing my iconic wares. Check out mundane media for a link to the store and some free wallpaper. In the near future I will be rolling out an iconic service and imposing it on the world.

Like Sands Through An Hourglass Cursor

I remember signing up for this 'blog' thing many years ago. I read an article about Blogger in SHIFT magazine, and I signed up that very day. I was using it to chronical the pending journey into fatherhood. It was going great, but somewhere I got sidetracked changing diapers and making immunization decisions, and the blog stopped rolling and gathered moss. 2 years worth. And then, a miracle happened. I opened my email one day and there was a letter from Google. They were informing me that since I had paid for a service called Blogger Pro which helped keep Blogger alive during the lean years, and since they had recently bought up Blogger, they wanted to give something back. All I had to do was log back into my old account and they would send me this cool Blogger hoodie (with the less prominant Google logo on the sleeve). That almost kickstarted me. I still wear the hoodie with pride, even though most people don't have a clue what it is ("Must be a SK8R logo"). But then they revamped the site, added photoblogging, made everything CascadingStyleSheet based, and hired some pretty decent designers to create blogger templates... And suddenly I'm back in it. The strangest thing is reading these 2 year old entries. They're weird in and of themselves, but I cannot believe that they survived for that long on the internet. It sort of beautiful and scary at the same time. Most of the little graphics are broken now... but i'll slowly fix this over time. This is fun again, isn't it?

The Cat Came Back

I woke up this morning after one.

You don't understand. I haven't slept in this late for one quarter of one year. I have a baby daughter who is usually up by six. There was a dull aching pressure behind my eyes, like dehydration after drinking all night, like a hang-over, like trying to quite coffee... Ah, there lay the problem: coffee. I was over 7 hours late drinking my morning cup-o-thickness. I slothenly descended the stairs, my eyes pulsing in pain with every step, reminding myself I should never sleep in again. It was just like the empty promises I used to make to myself about too many drinks.

Anyway, as I was filling the electric kettle with filtered water, I noticed something quite unusual. The cat's bowl was still full of food. Now, you have to see my cat to understand this, but she NEVER leaves the bowl that full. She likes to eat. And that's being kind.

“SHE LIKES TO EAT. AND THAT'S BEING KIND. ”

Flash back to yesturday morning. I'm looking for a shirt to wear that isn't dirty. It's the middle of a hot dirty smoggy muggy summer in Toronto and shirts are in demand. I remember opening the closet in the spare room. I didn't find any shirts. I closed the door. I closed the door. I closed the door.

I ran up the stairs, ignoring the searing needles pushing through my eyes, ignoring the boiling water that will soon become my friendly joe, and open yesterday's closet door. Long pause. Then slowly, and deliberately, the cat walks out of the crack, past my feet without looking up at me, and descends the staircase.

I decided not to examine the state of the closet. I had more pressing thing to do. Like make breakfast. Or maybe lunch.

Astronomers have finally calculated the average colour of the Universe.

“ SKYVORY, UNIVEIGE or COSMIC LATTE? ”

Now I don't feel quite so stupid about wearing beige pants and a beige golfing hat too school in the late eighties.

Designer Eyes

“ Design is the soul of the window through which anologies are made about human eyes. ”

The Madeleine Zoë Shop

Mz Originals supports a very important cause: circa 2020, Madeleine Zoë Theodor McIsaac will be ready to begin her secondary education. All proceeds from these sales will go to the Mz College Fund. Thank-you for your support.

“ Mz Originals Grand Opening ”

Note: All prices are set by cafépress.com and then marked up by 2 or 3 dollars by Mz Originals. Thus, for every item you buy, a few bucks goes to little Maddy's savings.

Heart Transplant

Having a child has tweaked my perspective on myself. I can hardly remember what it was like NOT having a daughter. Who was I? I feel like those days were childhood, and these days are responsibility. I feel like a took my entire life for granted. All of life, for that matter. I really had no memory or concept of what it means to create life or even be life. Sometimes I look down at Madeleine's calm little sleeping face and I think I must be an imposter, or dreaming, or perhaps tripped into an alternate universe. It's so hard to fathom the depths of emotion and the awesome power of creating a REAL LIVE PERSON. In my mind the whole universe has been shifted, affected some way. It's amazing. It's like looking into an organic mirror that reflects the future and the past at the same time.

“FILL OUT THOSE DONOR CARDS”

Oh!
What I was going to say is that it's so easy to take life for granted. I was out for a few minutes buying D some cucumbers and cheese for sandwiches and I caught a headline that said organ donations were way down this year. It made me feel sad. Obviously I'm on a life is precious kick right now. I'm thinking of my own mortality, and immortality-- I may live forever through Madeleine just as my ancestor's live through me.

One night, many moons ago, D and I were playing Pictionary with some friends (they know who they are). I had to draw a quick picture for heart transplant. D liked the picture so much that she made me scan it. I remembered the picture today, and thought I'd share it.

The Extraordinary & Dramatic Entrance of Madeleine Zoë Theodor McIsaac

Dear friends, Observe the extraordinary and dramatic entrance of Madeleine Zoë Theodor McIsaac into this side of reality. Born April 15th, 2002 at 3:33am, at St. Michael's Hospital, Toronto, Ontario, Canada. Blonde hair, blue eyes, big feet. 8lbs 2oz, 20.5 inches long. Beautiful and fearless. Madeleine has shifted all the family titles, creating: 7 Great-Grandparents (Jakob, Anna, Frank, Anne, Fran, Rod, Agnes) 1 Step-Great-Grandfather (Harold) 4 Grandparents (Ken, Val, Ted, Carol) 2 Uncles (Michael, Scott) 2 Aunts-in-waiting (Katherine, Justyna) 2 Siblings (Griffin the dog, Sabine the cat) 1 Dad (me) and 1 Mom (Dayna)

“Madeleine Zoë Theodor McIsaac”

Thank-you to midwives Patrice, Cat, Mel, doula Lisa, 2 superhero paramedics, and the staff of St. Mike's. We started it, but we couldn't have done this without you. Love Dayna & Jason and Madeleine. For more pictures, click on Madeleine, left.

Pre-Labour

Woke up at 4:30am. Been up ever since with contractions (D's, not mine). Today could be the day we have a baby.

“ The Fingernail Wing has Crossed the Finishline ”

Or it might be early tomorrow. You never know. D is getting a massage from a specialist in our bedroom and I'm going to sleep now so I'm ready for the birthday party later on.

Double Klik

Not everything is fully automated, but I have just implemented a mailing list feature for mundane media. Now you can be inundated with MORE SPAM, everyday! Just click on my head (left) to set this process in motion. Send a self-addressed, stamped email to mailing list with the word join in the subject, and you will be notified, however infrequently, whenever this website has been altered.

“NEW FEATURE: mundane spam”

Here's what unsolicited customers have been saying:

	I AM SO FED UP WITH BEING SUBSCRIBED TO ALL SORTS OF WEBSITES WITHOUT MY PRIOR CONSENT AND KNOWLEDGE; IN FACT, I AM SO BURNED-UP AND USED-UP ABOUT THIS ISSUE THAT I DON'T SPEND ANY TIME BEING HAPPY, BUT RATHER SPEND ALL OF MY TIME GNAWING ON MY KNUCKLES AND JUMPING AGAINST MY VELCROED WALLS WEARING A VELCRO SUIT.
	--name witheld

Powerful stuff. Just image the responses we'll get from people who actually want to be on the list!

Happiness is a Cool Fridge

According to the repair clinic, there could be two things wrong with our refrigerator: frost build-up on the evaporator coils, or a clogged condenser.

“Appliancology 101”

Our first fridge simply died. Our second (used) fridge lasted about 2 days before we had to call a repairman. Now the allegedly fixed refrigerator has died a 2nd death. God bless thrifty landlords. Anyway, we are now days away from our homebirth, desperately in need of a fridge to store extra food, cold compresses, ice, etc etc etc etc, and lo-and-behold no ice box. Repairman just called, said he'd be here in 45 minutes. Right now he's only 2hrs late. Sigh.

Wunderkind Scores 100% on First Test— before Birth!

(Toronto) On April 10th, 2002, in a stunning display of pure genius, fetal Baby McIsaac scored 8 out of a possible eight points in his/her first ultrasound exam. The Biophysical Profile, as it's called, awards 2 full points in 4 different categories: AFV (amniotic fluid volume), Fetal movements (gross movements), Respiratory Movements (breathing), and Fetal Tone.

“Baby Passes First Test with 100%”
As demonstrated on the diagram (left) fetal Baby McIsaac scored perfect points in all areas. Also of note are the unmistakably life-like pencil illustrations of the placental and fetal positions, the age of the baby (40 weeks, 6 days), and it's phenominal weight of 4549g (which equals 10.03lbs).

picture omitted

I couldn't resist looking on the internet after all the joking about 'placenta and onions'. All I can say is, beware of what you're looking for because you just might find it.

“Placenta Recipes!”

The following link (if you dare) are placenta recipes from Mothering Magazine, September 1983, Vol. 28, pg 76. I might never look at pizza the same way again...

Spanning Time

I love making icons. I created these icons of D. and I (i guess by now you've probably figured out her real name) on my last day of work before vacation/parental leave. I think I'll miss the $30,000 colour printer almost as much as my friends at mmi.

“Jason & Dayna spanning time”

After setting the artwork in Illustrator, printing the page on the Tektronix, and pasting it to a piece of presentation board I simply cropped it and punched a hole thru the centre. Then I took my cheap old $4 IKEA clock apart and used the guts to make this modern piece of art.

I've learned a lot this week. For every person we talk to, there are 2 more ways of inducing babies to ad to our list. And since we don't have much to do other than wait... we try them (barring any risk to personal health or the well being of the baby-- although, perhaps that's the problem: baby is just a little toooooo comfy in there).

“Sex, Walking, Indian Food, Nipple Stimulation, and Cervical Sweeps”

I did a search for induction on Google. The image to your left was the most intriguing. I have very little idea of what it means. But it's French, so it must be interesting. Maybe we'll try that later on tonight.

We were so ready last week. Come on, baby! Let's go!

41 Weeks and Counting Every Minute

Okay, so the baby is now one week overdue. That doesn't really mean anything. Perhaps the baby isn't ready, perhaps the due date is wrong (I heard the other day that they are considering creating due weeks instead of due dates, because 85% of kids aren't born as marked on mommy's calendar).

Everyone keeps calling and pretending it's not about the baby. Today alone, 3 people stopped D. and I on the street to ask when she was due. "One week ago," she says. And nobody believes her. She looks about 7 months pregnant, but then again she's quite tall.

We went for an ultra-sound today as a precaution. If you ever need to prove the Chaos Theory send someone to a hospital. We went looking for radiology, on the fifth floor. Of course the fifth floor, and only the fifth floor was being serviced and we had to walk over to a different wing only to find out we weren't even in the right building yet. So then we find the right building, the right floor, but at the wrong time. We are now over 15 minutes late. When you are scheduled for an ultra-sound, suddenly the hospitals are working efficiently and on time. So we missed our appointment.

“Honey, I Blew Up the Kid!”

Luckily there was a 3rd party ultra-sound clinic a block away, so we were deferred to them. I nice Russian lady squirted what looked like sparkling blue clear toothpaste on D.'s belly and proceeded to wave the ultra-wand around like an x-ray joystick. It was great to watch, but I swear there was very little to see. You know that canned ham you can buy that has bits of fat and corn in it? The baby basically looked like a black and whit sliced version of that. Honestly.

We told the nice Russian lady that we didn't want to know the sex of our baby because we'd already gone 41 weeks without finding out and didn't want to ruin the surprise now. She said she wouldn't tell us what he was. Oops. Must have lost something in the translation. D. just looked at me desparingly and said, "I hope you really like the name Sebastian, 'cuz it looks like Madeleine will have to wait."

Then the nice Russian lady did something very very wrong. She told D. that based on her brief measurings of the black-and-white corned-ham slices, she calculated that the baby was about 10 lbs. You should have seen D.'s eyes open. And her mouth. Being the ever-so-helpful partner, I asked what margin of error we were looking at. A few grams. Oops again.

It wasn't too long after we left that D. was on the phone with our midwife. Apparently they're often wrong, or at least that what the midwife told D to console her. Why, just last week a woman was told to expect a 12lb baby, and it was only 6. I guess all this science isn't always a science, if you know what I mean.

And it's also too bad that pigs don't fly and that Baz Lurhman didn't win best director at the Oscars. Things were so much simpler in the 50's, don't you think? Midwifery was illegal, doctors were gods (that smoked your favourite brand of cigarettes), and the Nuclear Family was replacing happy communities everywhere.

“Advertisement for Mennen Baby Oil from Photoplay, October, 1951”

This ad is courtesy of adflip, an excellent source for finding vintage magazine advertisements. They also have a wicked search engine. To find this particular gem, i simply typed BABY in the search field. Anyway, as I was saying, i'm off to buy myself a grey fedora and a flannel suit...

mbanks

I dispise it when an artist is described as a mixture of two or more completely different famous artists. It's simply not fair. I will never forget the Canadian band Kashtin-- not because I like or even listened to the band, but because they were perpetually advertised on the CBC as sounding like PINK FLOYD WITH NEIL YOUNG'S INSTRUMENTS. Now, is that a fair statement?

“He writes like so-and-so mixed with whats-his-name, only completely different...”

I recently described the Baz Lurhman musical Moulin Rouge as The Sound of Music meets The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I don't think my statement was literally correct, but it did express how I felt at the time. Flawed flawed flawed. Now I'm reading The Player of Games by Scottish author Iain M. Banks. It's difficult not to say he writes like Philip K. Dick with a dash of Douglas Adams. But I won't. Bloody great book though.