The nights draw in

So it's started to get dark early here... and while it's still 20c during the day, at night that falls to 4c and the air takes on that crisp, toffee apple, bonfire crackle that you remember from being a kid.

The glow from behind the windows of stores and restaurants is almost hypnotic, drawing you in. Though for waistline and wallet we're trying to resist.

It means that Jude and I are spending more and more time in front of the TV and less and less walking the canals (for pleasure, not trade) but the cool thing is that as we slump in front of another season of The Biggest Loser we're often interrupted by the kick of the baby, saying 'enjoy this while you can, it's about to change'

Well that's what we take it for anyway. It's amazing how you project onto an unborn kid. When I think if baby (can't say the name here, can't say the name) I have a vision of a long, curly blonde haired, free spirited, rock 'n' roll, hippie baby that's one part Jude, one part Joplin, one part Michael Hutchence and one part Hair. I have to get with the program and also imagine a pocket protector loving, math nerd that's one part PeeWee, one part Screech., one part me I guess. But that's hard man, it's hard.

Tad on the busy side

So I spent the back end of last week in New York - where as ever the roads flooded, my plane was grounded and much stress was placed on the elderly body. Coped though and made it back in time for Jude's 20 week scan -- where all was good and due date was confirmed (Valentine's Day). All a bit tight but good to make it.

New York has thrown up all kinds of things that we could be doing and so today will be taken up with cataloguing them and making sure that they get done quickly and right. All pretty standard, just lots of dotting and crossing.

Not a lot else going on right now. Jude continues to be pregnant, the dog continues to grow old in a pleasant way, the cats continue to shed, the photos have come to a bit of a halt as I only shoot at weekends and this weekend was pretty full and the weather has switched to fall - lots of sunshine, lots of cold, lots of leaves blowing.

So quiet... but quiet is good, right?

Apt

I was talking to an old friend the other day (these days all of my friends are old and out acquaintances long) and he was telling me the story of how his business folded, how he lost everything and how his fall hurt a great many people at the time.

He's now ready to come back and try again but the wounds are still visible as scars and people are treating them as though they may be the sores of a leper.

I understand all sides of this one but admire his bravery and his determination to do it again and to do it for enjoyment rather than recognition.

Anyway this image 'even angels get scarred' felt very apt.

The best thing about Dad To Be?

They say that the best thing about 'Dad to be' is that you get to buy lots and lots of tech' gadgets. And had Jude have been having this baby in any of the 10 of the last 11 years I'd have agreed. I'd have had a home sonar kit so that I could listen to the baby's heart, I'd have had a Stokke stroller so that the baby could be raised (like Lazerus) towards us should it cry. I'd have bought the 'Pretty City Titty Milking Bra' (or whatever it's called) and had the solar panels attached. There would have been a baby bouncer thing that mimics the 8 most common movements of mom. There's have been a baby surveillance system that would have rivaled the cameras leading to Michael Jackson's bedroom. And there would have been custom made vinyl wall adhesives in the newly made-over nursery.

But a couple of things have happened in the last year or so. I started taking the meds and the crazy has worn off. We got to know people who had kids and asked ourselves 'why are their houses filled with plastic shite?' We got to know people who said things like 'hey this crib has been in the family for 40 years, I used it, do you want it for a year?' and we learned to say 'yes'.

And of course I started a new business and pumped all of the money it made right back in, to people and flights and logos and trips and websites and office spaces and lawyers and accountants and corporate tax and (mostly) into the bank in case it all goes horribly wrong and we end up having to pay everyone without making a cent (the crazy isn't totally gone, but it's nice to have enough not to have to worry about the swamped, parched nature of a new business. We're very liquid, apparently).

So Jude and I are being frugal, by choice and by neccessity. Trying to keep the baby stuff down to a minimum. Trying to keep it to natural materials. To borrow what we can and recycle what we can't. To keep the baby's environmental footprint down and the costs of baby manageable.

That said for the last four months I've been playing a neat game with myself. One $20 bill from every trip to the ATM wasn't for me and coffee and backalley handjobs from toothless crones (all that $20 will buy you these days I think - that or two 'full contact, full nude' lapdances (but I'd not know what to do with my hands). Instead it belonged to the baby, and today I'd finally 'saved' enough to buy this

It's the I'Coo Pacific and it's really rather neat. German, lightweight, reversible, the seat turns into a bassinet, the bassinet into a seat. There's a universal car adapter, it folds if you so much as think the world 'fold' and no doubt it makes babies smarter, cooler, quieter and more likely to say 'I love you so much, you're such hip people' to their parents when they hit their teen years. It has a foot muff (all the better to avoid frostbite with) and let's not forget the rain cover bunting bag.

In the past I'd have bought this without thinking, then changed my mind and bought something more expensive, giving this one away over an expensive dinner that I'd pick up the tab for. Somehow seeing it as the result of 4 months of covert saving makes it all the sweeter. Unless it sucks. At which point I'll pay myself a huge dividend and head straight to the Bugaboo store....

And time, goes by, so SLOWWWWWWWLY

Bollocks it does. It's racing by faster than you can say 'holy sweet donut holes' - which is something that you should say daily in my opinion. And I like to opine, which isn't an Irish Christmas Tree, it's an action. And one that I do so well.

Anyway this week has seen lots happen. Propellerfish finally got a new website up. It took forever but it's there and awaiting content. And it arrived just in time, as friends of ours announced their start-up Co: and us a part of the Co:llective and Co:alition that goes with it., They were in the New York times, so suddenly our hit rate went up, our twittering became more watched and a million service companies called and offered to sell us what they do for a living. Very cool. We also got Federal Incorporation, so very cool timing all around.

In 'other news' we think that we've landed on a name for 'the baby' that's a mix of Dutch, International, easy to spell, hard to say, good looking when written by hand, acceptable to the Quebec Baby Name police (no umlauts, no unpronounced French accentry) and really rather cool. It's staying under wraps for now, but I like it a lot. And I can only find one person who has it - and then as a nickname. Well done Jude, when the naming side of the business is short a person I know who to call.

Photographically it's all about the boys with the great hair and the crummy apartments. Fabulous by night  they light up the social scene, air kiss and know everyone. By day they lounge on mattresses that have seen a dozen like them pass through and burn out, in apartments strewn with the debris of little cash and too much time somewhere at the end of the subway line. I'm liking it. Shooting more this weekend.

More cheek time with hospital chairs

So when Jude was sent to the emergency room this week we didn't have time to pack cushions, or e-books or any of the things that make interminable waits on hard plastic chairs that little more bearable. Instead we hunkered down, we bought terrible magazines from elderly volunteers who see counting change as a kind of zen sudoku, we watched the people to fat too fit in the seats, yet too fat to stand do little circles.

Actually they were fast - day one. They checked us in, registered us, listened to the baby's heartbeat, made an appointment for a thorough ultra-scan and then let us go. The next day took longer, scan, move, wait for results, wait for injection, wait to see whether there was a reaction to the injection.

The good news is that the scans were all good, Jude is fine, the baby is fine and it looks as though it might well be a boy. The bad news - boy's names are HARD. I fancy recycling a Coco, a Lulu or a Lili. Jude's less certain. So instead we start the search for a boy's name that won't lead to fights (sorry Sioux, sorry Gaye Mary), won't sound too Sarah Palin (bye bye Thak, Thud, Skud and Moses) and won't get the kid internally searched at airports (ciao Jorge, Jihaad, Mosef)... I'm currently stuck on Berlinn... will try to get past that.

First post of my 40s

So 40 came and went. I spent a big chunk of the day at the oncologists - which was a good thing. I now have a schedule for scans, two people on my case and a team following up. The Canadian system works well when you're in it - the problem in Quebec is getting into that system. One for Propellerfish I think. "How do you provide consistent healthcare when half of the people in the Province don't have a doctor of their own?" Would love to do that one.

Lots on with P'Fish at the moment. Am talking to quite a few people about being their 'innovation provider' - the trick will be finding the right people to power. I'd hate to be 'powering' people who don't really get it, or don't really like us or just don't really play well with others. So it's lots and lots of conversations about feel and mood and ways of approaching things.

On top of that have a couple of Salons coming - to show people what it is that we do and how it feels to do it with us. They're always fun to do and almost always end up churning out an idea that somebody wants to pick up and run with.

Looking at a busy period coming up too, with banks, energy drinks, governments, PR agencies, jewelers, auto manufacturers, drinks people and confectioners all vying for a place on the books.

Plus the new website is at the Proof Reading stage - which is more exciting than it should be. Liking it a lot.

Throw in Jude now looking properly pregnant (Valentine's Day Birth) and the fact that she got me a gallery show for my birthday (so lots of pictures to take, frame and name) plus a commission to take for a very cool website and a request to be the photographer for "an erotic masked ball" (still thinking about that one) and it looks as though the next six months could be hectic.

Cool

Tick, tock

A decade ago I was in Bali, enjoying my 30th birthday. I was living in Singapore, the career was going well, I was being courted by companies from all over the world. I'd never been sick. Nobody around me had died. I had no reason to believe that I'd ever lose a job, or be 'let go'. Nobody close to me had ever really let me down. I was invincible and invulnerable. And an asshole because of it. 

A decade later I'm sitting in Montreal. Sickness, betrayal, loss of job, death and doubt have all visited me. And they've taken my hair and the elasticity of my skin. They almost took my sanity. But somehow you get through.

And you do more than get through. I have a fledgling company that's about to take off, a business partner that's shown enough patience with me to be in line for sainthood but enough steel to make me get up in the mornings. We have a baby on the way. New friends around us. And 30" waist pants (still)

I'm less of an asshole. Calmer. More centered. Less sure. Better. 10 years vegetarian. 4 years cancer free. A person rather than a cartoon.

Life is good.

Who knows what 40s will throw at me, I know it will be something (there's progress), I also know that I'll sail through (even if it gets choppy)

So here's to the people that made my 30s bearable (thank you people) and to the next decade... who'd have thought I'd live to see it?

I know that...

I know that pregnant women are supposed to be beautiful. That they're supposed to glow. To have a luminescence about them. To radiate.

But let's face it that usually translates to 'pregnant women are heavy, they sweat and perspire their way around, looking hot, bothered and blotchy.'

And for many people that's the case.

But I have to say that I think my wife looks tremendous as a pregnant lady - carrying it off with a breezy aplomb that brushes aside the nausea, aches, pains, cramps, swellings, cravings, more nausea and general unease.

It's all in the genes apparently

The oldest argument

I was talking to some friends at a local sex worker advocacy group the other day and she dropped a statistic that in North America 1 in 7 men have paid for sex in their lifetime. That's not 'paid for sex' as in 'dropped a wad on an expensive dinner' but as in 'thanks for that, there's a $100 on the side table'

I decided to look up whether she had her facts straight and it seems that she does. Almost all of the surveys that I've seen for North America seem to hover around the 15% mark. Which begs the question - what are all of these guys paying for.

In the liberal corner you tend to hear 'companionship, fantasy, human contact'
In the conservative corner 'control, dominance, a chance to express innate misogyny.'

I'm pretty sure that it's a little of each, depending on the person who's doing the paying.

Which is a 'shade of grey' argument.. but an honest one.

I wish I had a better response and I'm trying to learn as much as I can about the issue. I've been to 'Sex workers do reading', I've been to a few Sex Worker's Rights meetings here and I'll talk to anyone with an opinion that's been informed by someone.

For some reason it's a subject that fascinates me...

Is this someone selling intimacy or someone selling the surrender of self determination?

And of course I'm not talking about people forced into the industry or tricked into it or trafficked in. I'm talking about the people who look at it and think 'why not?'

There's a photo series in here somewhere... taking pictures of prostitutes, their johns and their persecutors. I'm just not good enough (yet) to do it justice.

A minor miracle

Getting a doctor in Quebec is a little less difficult than getting head in synagog. It's pretty much impossible. And for a number of reasons. But ultimately, about half of the people here have no doctor of their own and rely on 'walk in' clinics for their care.

So when you go to a walk in clinic, you're greeted, they take your insurance number (province provided) and they give you a seat. Your home for the next two hours at least. You wait your couple of hours (longer sometimes) and then are given a room number.

Go to the room and in springs a doctor. Last time for me it was a young guy in nice jeans who opened with

"We are busy. I have no time. You have 1 minute. What do you want?"

"A repeat prescription and a referral to an oncologist so that I can schedule scans"

"That's two things. I have time for one. Which?"

"Erm they'll each take about 30 seconds"

"And you have 40 seconds left. Choose one now, then take a seat and wait again"

"That's stupid"

"20 seconds. Choose or leave"

"Which is most likely to kill me. Not having the drugs or skipping a scan?"

"10 secs"

I chose the prescription(I told him what I needed and how much, he took notes and signed off, not a glance at my records), mentally braced to come back the next day and tried not to swing for the man.


Jude didn't take this in a supine position. The number you call to get a doctor (811) actually laugh when you tell them that you're looking. I tried for 14 hrs over 2 days once, got close then had the guy take money to register me on to then say it was for his 2 year waiting list. Not Jude.

As faculty at the university she gets access to a doctor. And was lucky enough to be one of two people 'chosen' to receive a doctor to take her through her pregnancy (they take 2 people a month, she's one of the 2 in Feb)... so today she talked to that doctor, who had heard of a program, who might be able to get you in to see interns at the hospital. They'll rotate. They have a 50% cancellation rate but they keep your notes, they have an appointment system and they can write referrals. Four hours and a couple of calls later I was in.

Nobody here can believe it. I have a kind of family doctor (sorta), who will know who I am and actually keep notes AND they're affiliated to a hospital. And I've been here a year.

Jude be a star

A perfect category?

I co-run a company that's all about developing opportunities. Which sounds kinda new age, but is actually extremely commercial.

It's all about spotting the kinds of things that people will pay for and then helping companies come up with new products, new services and new ways of doing business in order to make money from that need.

So I tend to look at most categories and companies with a critical eye. Why isn't packet soup sold in vending machines at the office as an alternative to high fat, high guilt chocolate items? Why is your 20 mins waiting for a 4 minute meeting with a doctor wasted reading old magazines when it could be used to help make that 4 mins more effective?  How do you make a toy that makes kids laugh like drains but offends moms more palatable, without it losing its appeal? Why don't hybrids feel more like computer games? Why aren't ALL tables and chairs self leveling? Why can't I choose a 17.5 year mortgage with annual payment holidays? Why can't I borrow money from me facebook friends?

You get the picture.

So imagine my surprise when I jumped the gun and went looking at baby strollers. They're about perfect. They twist, they turn, the rise and fall, the convert, they fold at the touch of a button and self unfold at a kick. They have a frame that takes different 'tops' - they grow with kids. You can add ride along plates and toddler seats, car seats and bassinets. They have cup holders. They have shopping baskets. And parasols. They have converters to turn bassinets into workable cribs. They have wheels that lock and swivel. They have soy interiors, so that they're not allergic. The sun visor is UV protective. Some of the materials are mosquito repellent. I can think of NOTHING that's not on either a STOKKE, an UPPA, a BUGABOO or perhaps a Quinny. And that's never happened to me before. Hell they'll even bounce and play music if you ask them to. It could just be the perfect category. 

There's even Rock Star Baby

"Spa"

In Montreal the word "Massage" is a euphemism.
You usually look for "Spa" if your want something other than a light rub, a quick tug and a hefty bill.

But today I saw a new place - and it looked good.
Male beauty salon - manicure, pedicure, tanning, blah blah
The window was full of services

So I went in and asked about a pedicure.

"Oh we don't have that. But we have 4 beautiful girls to choose from. And a great massage room"

"I'm sure you do, what do you mean 'we don't have that'"

"Well we're on a main street, we want our customers to be able to leave without being stared at"

"So you're not in the pampering metrosexuals business then?"

"Nope"

And so it goes. It seems that in Montreal you don't just have to take the word 'massage' with a smear of lube, but anything prefixed with 'male'... heaven knows what goes on in the male pattern baldness center

Are you a casual couple?

Not casual as in 'I just screwed the pizza guy' - 'me too!' - but as in relaxed, laid back, kinda cool and overall just hip to be around. If so then I'd love to photograph you naked for a series that I'm doing that's all about being 'naked not nude'... nudes always being meticulously lit and bathed in soft light.

Let me hear you say 'yeah'

Unless I'm very much wrong

... this isn't indigestion

So far all of the tests and scans tell us that it's a very healthy baby, due on Valentine's Day...

(S)he already has my head,,,,

Sleepless in... where was it again

These days I'm finding it hard to sleep. Or rather I'm finding it hard to drag myself to bed. Instead I sit up at night trying to take in every moment before 40 hits me like a steam-roller and, mixing metaphors, knocks the wind out of my sails.

Not that I've loved my 30s. They don't have the 'can't be knocked down' swagger of your 20s or the 'been there done that, about to do it again and with more elan' confidence that I'm hoping my 40s will bring.  I think that Elan should be the way forward for me... if I can pull it off.

But there's something melancholy about being up alone. The lig near silence (only the hum of the fridge and a dripping from the roof as today's rain finds its way back to ground keep me company) tends to make for movements that are lighter, more considered.

And still it comes. 40. Rolling toward me like the cloud racing up the beach on a sunny day. There's no way to stay ahead of it and no cure for the darkness into which it sends you. 40. And what? Now what? These aren't the questions that keep me awake, nothing keeps me awake but the desire not to go to sleep, to waste a night that others, somewhere, are savoring.

I like melancholy. That's a problem. Or it could be. But most of all I like the night. The darkness allows us to lower our masks and allow a different persona to emerge. I like myself at night. During the day I'm too busy being my day self to notice this, quieter person. And I don't write crap.

40. man.

Has it been that long?

t's been an age since my last post. I blame Pam. I've been traumatized by memories of her slow motion dancing, Shatner type girdle and 'better known for my lie down than my stand up' type lines for weeks now.

Luckily the summer is simmering along nicely, I have proposal after proposal after proposal to get out to people and there's enough on the horizon to make the haze of the desert bearable.

And then of course there are the festivals. They're everywhere. You can't move for the happy people buzzing along in street pedestrianized and wandered by drag queens. Drag is everywhere and happily it's Guy Pierce rather than Terence Stamp in flavor. Crude, over the top and quite, quite lovely.

Mind the free festival period is slowly coming to an end as the paid festivals (music mainly) start to take their place. This weekend was Oshega (Arcade Fire, Weezer, DEVO!, Keane?), the weekend before Heavy MTL (megadeath. slayer, korn, Alice Cooper?) and we have some very cool people filling up the evenings in the parks at things like Picnik Electronik (Justin Martin, Elite Force, Paul Ritch)...

So there's still time left for fun...

This is what my world looks like right now (well my evenings, the days are spent kicking myself into gear on the biz, but that's another post)

Pamela Anderson Gala

So it turns out that watching Pamela Anderson do comedy is about as comfortable as having a proctological exam from Edward Scissorhands.

We squirmed, we twisted, we held up our hands in horror, we covered our ears at the deafening volume, then our mouths as she left her dancing partner on stage for what seemed like a week as she changed outfits, slowly.

Oh it was horrible. She dressed as a seal (to go clubbing, geddit), she danced (slowly) --- she wished she wasn't there. And the audience wished that they weren't either.

Minchin

I love Tim Minchin. I think that he's inventive and relevant and witty and in no way a modern day Richard Stilgoe passing time until the call comes from dictionary corner.

And Rove is the reason I moved to Australia. While I was out there checking out a job he interviewed Elmo - and we decided 'any place that has a place for this on TV is a place we'd want to live'

Jarred Christmas is from New Zealand, which might explain why his parents misspelled his first name. And why he does the occasional 'hobbit' joke... it's the law there. In the same way that a New York brick wall necessitates an opening that goes something like 'I know, I look like the bastard offspring of A list celebrity x and C list celebrity y' - so too do New Zealand comics need to talk Lord of the Rings.

As it happen Jarred was a very cool host for this, got the energy going, handled the bizarre heckler well and kept things on track. Rove looked like a millionaire TV producer trying to prove to himself that he'd still got stand up chops - he does but he has no material.


And Minchin, well he was good - and better than good when he was being venomous 'fuck you motherfucker' was genius.

Mighty Boosh?

So last night I took advantage of Zoofest's cheap tickets and went down to see Noel Fielding play a very small room, at 10.30pm in the Red Light District of Montreal.

And he was nae bad at all, actually.

It's weird to watch a comic morph from James Joyce "Stream of Conscience" nonsense verse "where's he going?" into more of a life experience "this happened to me" kind of act. It's a tricky tightrope but he's walking it quite well - dropping character occasionally, infusing the real life stuff with flights of fancy and generally trying to live up to the promise of his outfits.

It jars at times - Kiss at 6 years of age, sledding with kids at Xmas. Not bad gags but tonally very different to 'my neighbor the porcelain monkey with the wooden legs" for example

Still a decent night for twenty bucks... and the chance to see a 'big name' in a small venue