Enthusiastically Eschew
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The hand in the picture above, for those of you who have never come across it before, belongs to Bob Ross, who hosted “The Joy of Painting” during the eighties and nineties. If you haven’t seen it, I pity you wholeheartedly. Speaking in a calm voice, Ross takes you through the steps required to create extremely impressive art work.
I don’t think I have ever seen a television show that has made me want to swear as much as “The Joy of Painting” does. His calm demeanor does absolutely nothing to blunt the astonishment I feel at every stage of the painting’s construction. Here is a man taking extremely simple steps, steps that a monkey could replicate, to produce a profound work of art.
Of course, if you ever tried to pull out a canvas and do what he does, even as he’s doing it, you’d likely fail miserably to emulate his artistic talent. The show styles itself as a sophisticated “Paint by the numbers”, but I don’t doubt that what he’s doing is anything but difficult.
The reason I decided to write about this was because watching Bob Ross reminded me very distinctly of Sherlock Holmes. I always shared a wry smile with Holmes when, in his adventures, an exchange such as this one would play out:
*
(The following line is the first line in the conversation. Holmes has not spoken a word to Watson before he says this.)
“So, Watson,” said he, suddenly, “you do not propose to invest in South African securities?”
I gave a start of astonishment … this sudden intrusion into my most intimate thoughts was utterly inexplicable.
“How on earth do you know that?” I asked.
…
“Now, Watson, confess yourself utterly taken aback,” said he.
“I am.”
“I ought to make you sign a paper to that effect.”
“Why?”
“Because in five minutes you will say that it is all so absurdly simple.”
“I am sure that I shall say nothing of the kind.”
” … by an inspection of the groove between your left forefinger and thumb, to feel sure that you did NOT propose to invest your small capital in the gold fields.”
“I see no connection.”
“Very likely not; but I can quickly show you a close connection. Here are the missing links of the very simple chain: 1. You had chalk between your left finger and thumb when you returned from the club last night. 2. You put chalk there when you play billiards, to steady the cue. 3. You never play billiards except with Thurston. 4. You told me, four weeks ago, that Thurston had an option on some South African property which would expire in a month, and which he desired you to share with him. 5. Your check book is locked in my drawer, and you have not asked for the key. 6. You do not propose to invest your money in this manner.”
“How absurdly simple!” I cried.
“Quite so!” said he, a little nettled. “Every problem becomes very childish when once it is explained to you. … ”
*
Holmes would often share these observations with his associates, and they would often be surprised, but then claim it was “absurdly simple” when explained to them.
Hopefully you’re seeing the connection between a painter and a detective: Both are producing miraculous works of art (Paintings and deductions), and both arrive at their destinations by seemingly simple, but assuredly complex, processes.
If only more Ross’ and Holmes’ existed.
Auspicious Aubade
Even though it is Winter, every once in a while I’ll smell a barbecue, and it’ll bring two feelings to the fore: Anger and reminiscence. The anger is likely due to the fact that I’m not attending the barbecue, which I suppose any meat-eater can understand. Barbecues represent two things wholeheartedly: Manliness and deliciousness. Missing out on either is reason enough for anger.
The reminiscing, as far as I can tell, has something to do with France. We used to stay at a campsite there, and taking a short walk would bring any number of barbecues to my nostrils. I think there is something about those younger years that I miss, but I wouldn’t like to try and put my finger on it just yet. Perhaps when I am older, and miss it more.
It is also possible that I reminisce simply because barbecues remind me of summer. I would refer you to some earlier posts concerning how I feel when everything gets warm, but since those posts have been lost to time, I will simply assure you that my feelings regarding summer are generally positive.
In other news, I have recently noticed that, whilst iced tea is popular here in Canada, the flavour I prefer (Peach) is not. I like to drink peach iced tea since as far as I’m concerned, it is the “standard” flavour, much like vanilla (In popularity, rather than taste). Here in Vancouver, however, there is hardly anything but lemon flavoured iced tea. They also have something called “California Style” or somesuch nonsense, but that is simply lemon iced tea with other fruits thrown in for exotic effect.
Where’s my motherfucking peach?
Reproachably Rapacious
I went for a meal yesterday with some people I know and some people I don’t know so well. I phoned Augustine and asked if she might like to have a meal with me on Thursday, but she was busy so it was moved to Friday. My birthday was really the inspiration for the idea, but I didn’t want to make it a “birthday meal”, since it wasn’t. Augustine and her friend bought me a delicious cream cake anyway, which was very heart-warming.
Here is the restaurant we went to, just in case you’d like some context in place of imagination:
Impressively Chinese
Whilst I was waiting at the bus stop, I happened to look over at the bench that is sometimes useful in warm weather, and noticed an empty pill bottle. Not the large white kind you buy aspirin or paracetamol in, but the small clear yellow kind they give you prescription drugs in. So, naturally, I went over, picked it up, and read the label.
“Doxycycline”.
I had no idea what that was, so I read further, looking for some indication of what it treats.
“Take once a day for seven days for the treatment of sexually transmitted diseases.”
Before I dropped the bottle back on the bench I made sure to lick it clean.
On the way back from the restaurant, whilst riding the Skytrain, I noticed one of the new advertisements that McDonalds is running. I’m not sure if they’re running in England, since the adverts seem to be related to the Olypmic games, but they’re going to great pains to use the word “Golden” or “Gold”. The poster in question had a picture of some McDonalds fries, which are golden in colour.
I’m fascinated by the idea that advertising, in many instances, is simply a method of changing the public’s perception or perspective on something.
What I realised about this McDonalds advertisement is that they were attempting to make the public look upon the golden colouring of some of their foods as a good thing, when in actual fact the food is golden because it has been deep-fried. A terrifically clever move to make.
Machiavellian Machination
I had never seen Love Actually before today, and I’ve always heard good things about it, so being a romance buff I decided to watch it. Aside from some slightly nausea-inducing dialogue involving children, it was as good as people say.
It also reminded me that I love Hugh Grant, so I went ahead and watched Notting Hill as well, another film that I’ve never seen.
The reason I mention it is because watching Notting Hill a long time ago would have been a massive help. You see, two and a half weeks ago I was working in a small book shop in London, when an extremely famous and deliciously attractive American actress walked in.
She struck up a conversation, and asked if I’d be kind enough to buy her a coffee and then show her around London. This is almost exactly what happens in Notting Hill, but of course I didn’t know that because I hadn’t seen it at the time. Not knowing, as I do now, the proper procedure in these sorts of situations, I told her to “Fuck off.”
Of course, if I had followed Grant’s lead, I’d be married now, and living happily with someone I love.
Still, I’m not going to beat myself up over it, even though the whole episode has made me feel like a real tit. Let’s just hope the situation rears its head again, eh?
Artificial Artiodactyl
You know what I’m sick and tired of? Speciesism. I can’t speak for reptiles, or birds, or amoeba, but as far as mammals are concerned, it really grinds my gears that some of us are getting preferential treatment.
Here’s an example:
If I show you this picture, you think, “Oh! Super cute!”:
But then I show you this one, and you think, “Woah, that’s gross!”:
So what’s your excuse, buster? Why are you adoring one mammal, and baring a visage of disgust with the next? WHERE DO YOU GET OFF, MOTHER FUCKER?!
I for one believe these hate crimes have to stop, right now. To show my support, I’m buying my daughter a fat guy with skin rolls for her birthday, instead of a puppy.
In the mean time, maybe you should think about what you’ve done?
Educationally Evince
I made another comic! Not the ones I regularly make, but the ones I don’t regularly make! The ones which look like actual comics! Here it is!
You have to click me to see the whole thing!
This one’s got super heroes in it! It’s a wild ride, that’s for sure!
Lethargic Lineament
I realised late last night that I dropped the ball on my weekly update of Claptrap and Piffle!.
Luckily, technology has my back, since it is possible to set your publish date on Wordpress. I solved the problem by simply setting the date of today’s post to the 22nd, which is yesterday’s date!
Why not visit, to see this wonderful falsification in action yourself?!
Verifiably Veritable
Have you ever peeled a lemon?
I doubt you have, since not much in life calls for it. You squeeze halved lemons for lemonade, you slice them for tea or to put in you drinks, you scrape off the skin when you need zest. But hardly anyone eats lemons.
Which is why you’ve never peeled a lemon. But don’t worry: I’ve just done it for you.
I became curious about this when I had a discussion with a friend of mine, back in Cardiff. She didn’t believe that lemons came in segments, if I remember correctly, whereas I was sure they did.
Of course, this post isn’t some effort to prove someone wrong. It’s more of an exercise in curiosity.
I was at the supermarket this morning, so I decided to buy two lemons (Just in case one… was a lemon. *AND THE CROWD GOES WILD*) and bring them back here to peel them. Then I decided that it’d be best if I took photos, because it’s not every day that you see a lemon segment.
A peeled lemon, sitting next to his luckier brother.
A lemon segment and the remaining lemon, making what looks like a sort of sad face.
I am now in the process of eating a peeled lemon, much like you would a peeled orange. It is an activity I suggest you take slowly.
Lyrical Lacuna
I’ve bought two books since I’ve been here. Both have been science fiction, and both have been Asimov. He can always be counted on to explore logical possibilities, invent interesting worlds, and explain everything extremely clearly without resorting to treating you like an idiot. Which I am very fond of.
I very recently finished the second Asimov book, and was left with nothing to read. This morning, however, a package arrived from America with a book in it. Which would seem to be excellent timing, although it is of course nothing more than coincidence. The reason I mention it, however, is because I don’t recall having been told that it was going to arrive, so I am unsure as to who it came from. The title of the book is The Tipping Point: How Little Things Can Make A Big Difference, and it’s by Malcolm Gladwell.
If you’d like to come forward and admit to ordering it for me, I’d be happy to thank you more personally, but if not, then you should know that it couldn’t have come at a more ideal time. Thank you.
Catatonically Countervail
I went to a pretty rockin’ party last night. I met new people. It was good.
But that’s not the point. The point is, when I was on the bus home this morning, I saw this business:
Death By Chocolate
And then, just five doors further up the road, this other business:
Dr. Bernstein Diet Clinic
I suspect that the patrons of these two establishments (And I’m almost certain there’s a lot of shared customers) are in a terrible shame spiral right now.
