An adventure I've had in Minneapolis has been featured in a popular technology blog. It's titled Rolling in the Money and I'd like to thank The Daily WTF for sharing it.
The article mentions my friend Calvin's game Venture the Void, so if you want to help out a pal, go buy a copy of his game.
Update: You can also read the original email I sent to Calvin about this outing.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Saturday, February 28, 2009
September 27: Nothing more than feelings
Winnipeg was going to be a cultural haven after the Qu'Appelle and small towns of Manitoba, a sort of New York on the prairie. I was going to get out and experience those high arts, an emotional rush of giddy heights which would leave only the base emotions at the end of the day.
I was up at sunrise, and walked out into the wide world of Winnipeg, wandering its streets and footpaths until I found myself at The Forks of the Assiniboine and Red Rivers. A man jogged with a dog. A bike was abandoned up on the path and following a foot trail down to the river I found a girl, staring out at the sunrise across the river, alone.
The Winnipeg Art Gallery was everything I wanted in an art museum. I walked into a huge exhibit of canvases stretched and warped over the third dimension, gradients of color producing a sensual feel to the minimalist works. This was the early work of Bruce Head, who graduated to explorations of work derived from strips of torn paintings, experiments in ink and color, and fields of lines that defy all description.
By the time I had gotten through the Bruce Head exhibit I was already incapable of taking in the work in the next few galleries, which were full of paintings by other Manitoban geniuses. My hasty notes suggest names like Aba and Charlotte, and I recall in particular an enormous painting of Jonah being tossed to the whale. Here the whale was round and cartoonish, cute except for the blood red eyes and bleeding mouth.
If that wasn't enough, the next gallery had a display meant to showcase all the best work in the WAG's collections. Every worker in the gallery from the cleaning staff to the head curator chose one or two works that particularly struck them. The disparate styles were not jarring but spoke to multiple kinds of genius that go unseen in galleries which emphasize particular historical narratives.
Then it was off to the used bookstores, where I sifted throuh piles of unsorted books, coming out with a couple Steinbecks, Aeschylus, and a couple books recommend by my friends: the Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time and Moving Mars.
The sun set and I found my way to the local indie theatre which was showing the film "Red". This is about a man seeking revenge for the killing of his dog. The killer was a son of privilege and his tenacious fight against the powers that be leads to cruel disaster by the end of the film.
I was tired.
I arrived back at the hostel and played two games of chess against Alex. Alex was a high school grad who anchored a local television station, and won a short film competition which gave him a free year's pass to the movies. In his spare time he fixes up bikes, and in summers he runs a butterfly house for state and provincial fairs.
I was pleased to win both games handily.
I was exhausted. I don't think there really are "higher emotions", just complex combinations of the base ones. The loneliness of the bike girl, the sensuality of Head's abstracts, the catharsis of death in the movie theater and the thrill of victory in chess.
I really could feel nothing any more, a kind of emotional emptiness that could only be refreshed by sleep.
Day 98 ended: HI-Downtown Winnipeg
I was up at sunrise, and walked out into the wide world of Winnipeg, wandering its streets and footpaths until I found myself at The Forks of the Assiniboine and Red Rivers. A man jogged with a dog. A bike was abandoned up on the path and following a foot trail down to the river I found a girl, staring out at the sunrise across the river, alone.
The Winnipeg Art Gallery was everything I wanted in an art museum. I walked into a huge exhibit of canvases stretched and warped over the third dimension, gradients of color producing a sensual feel to the minimalist works. This was the early work of Bruce Head, who graduated to explorations of work derived from strips of torn paintings, experiments in ink and color, and fields of lines that defy all description.
By the time I had gotten through the Bruce Head exhibit I was already incapable of taking in the work in the next few galleries, which were full of paintings by other Manitoban geniuses. My hasty notes suggest names like Aba and Charlotte, and I recall in particular an enormous painting of Jonah being tossed to the whale. Here the whale was round and cartoonish, cute except for the blood red eyes and bleeding mouth.
If that wasn't enough, the next gallery had a display meant to showcase all the best work in the WAG's collections. Every worker in the gallery from the cleaning staff to the head curator chose one or two works that particularly struck them. The disparate styles were not jarring but spoke to multiple kinds of genius that go unseen in galleries which emphasize particular historical narratives.
Then it was off to the used bookstores, where I sifted throuh piles of unsorted books, coming out with a couple Steinbecks, Aeschylus, and a couple books recommend by my friends: the Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time and Moving Mars.
The sun set and I found my way to the local indie theatre which was showing the film "Red". This is about a man seeking revenge for the killing of his dog. The killer was a son of privilege and his tenacious fight against the powers that be leads to cruel disaster by the end of the film.
I was tired.
I arrived back at the hostel and played two games of chess against Alex. Alex was a high school grad who anchored a local television station, and won a short film competition which gave him a free year's pass to the movies. In his spare time he fixes up bikes, and in summers he runs a butterfly house for state and provincial fairs.
I was pleased to win both games handily.
I was exhausted. I don't think there really are "higher emotions", just complex combinations of the base ones. The loneliness of the bike girl, the sensuality of Head's abstracts, the catharsis of death in the movie theater and the thrill of victory in chess.
I really could feel nothing any more, a kind of emotional emptiness that could only be refreshed by sleep.
Day 98 ended: HI-Downtown Winnipeg
Friday, February 27, 2009
New meta-blog and meta-meta-blog
Okay, I agree with others who have said that there is no reason to blog about not blogging. I am now posting at least one entry a week, which might not be a torrent of information, but does at least mark this as an active blog. However, my goal remains to post quality content every day. One reason is it would be unfortunate if I embark on the next portion of my trip before bringing the story up to Minneapolis. Another is a couple people (primarily the couple who raised me as a child) do remark if I fail to update.
To prevent further pollution of this blog by a morass of excuses for missing a day or writing poorly, I have created a new blog Kevin's little blogging excuses, where I will speculate on the probability of a new blog entry being written up that day, and at least offer some lame apology if I fail to update.
When I got that site up, I realized that there was a problem. What if I don't update Kevin's little blogging excuses as well or often as I should? So, I set up the blog Excuses excuses where I may or may not apologize for the "little blogging excuses" blog.
Now, I admit to being a little worried about what will happen if I have trouble with that blog. If necessary I will have to petition blogger to allow an infinite progression of meta-blogs.
To prevent further pollution of this blog by a morass of excuses for missing a day or writing poorly, I have created a new blog Kevin's little blogging excuses, where I will speculate on the probability of a new blog entry being written up that day, and at least offer some lame apology if I fail to update.
When I got that site up, I realized that there was a problem. What if I don't update Kevin's little blogging excuses as well or often as I should? So, I set up the blog Excuses excuses where I may or may not apologize for the "little blogging excuses" blog.
Now, I admit to being a little worried about what will happen if I have trouble with that blog. If necessary I will have to petition blogger to allow an infinite progression of meta-blogs.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
September 26, Part 2: Of people and paddles
"It's leatherman!" the teenage girl said. She was working the counter at the donut shop up from the boat club. She waved her arms in front of her, the left elbow went down while the right was up, and vice-versa. It was a motion that resembled the hypnotic action of a TV show magician. I guess it is also the motion teenage girls use to greet middle-aged men dressed in leather.
"Is it all leather?" she asked him. Yes, it was. I couldn't help but overhear him explain that every article of his clothing was 100% leather.
The woman at the next table leaned over to me. "Are you a kayaker?"
She must have been asking because I had a two-meter long kayak paddle leaned up against the wall next to me. "Ah, no, I'm actually going to try to sell this paddle." She nodded at this strange explanation, in which I failed to explain that I had been canoeing across Canada and for three months had not used this paddle since the first day. It was time for it to go.
The bus stop was right out the door. School must have been out because three kids were trying their skateboard tricks there. It is a mystery to me how skateboards have maintained their coolness factor when I don't believe I've ever seen a successful trick performed on them in real life. You would think so much public failure would drive kids away from the machine.
My bike was in the shop to get cleaned up, so I boarded the bus with the others. At the next stop, a young black couple were arguing. She kicked him and hit him, and the bus was not a moment too soon for the young man. He calmly boarded and paid the fare, and looked back towards us on the bus, desperate, and alone.
One of his eyes was red, red where it should have been white.
MEC had advertised a gear swap. I explained to the head gear swapper that I wasn't sure when I was leaving town, and I was looking for advice on selling this kayak paddle. I would have had to pay something like $10 just to enter it in the swap, and it was unclear whether I would be able to retrieve any money. He suggested I just take it to Salvation Army.
I walked for some time in the direction he pointed, but I must have looked lost carrying a kayak paddle through downtown Winnipeg because a businessman on his lunch break asked where I was going.
"Salvation Army," I said, "but I'm not sure where that is."
He dialed up 411 and I heard this part of the conversation.
"Winnipeg."
"Winnipeg."
"Win. Ni. Peg."
"Salvation Army."
"Salvation Army."
"Sal. Va. Tion. Ar. My."
"Yes, I'm at the corner of xxxx and yyyy and I'm wondering if there's a Salvation Army nearby. Winnipeg. Xxxx and yyyy. Yes, Salvtion Army. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Okay, thank you. Bye!"
He directed me south on the next street and my walk continued.
On the way down I saw a man in one of those hooded jackets with patterns on them, white and puffy with repeated images of skulls and things. It's a fashion I associate with people who have a need to look tough like rappers and high schoolers. He was walking a tiny terrier on a pink lead.
I arrived at the Salvation Army. "Do you take this?" I asked the dishevelled old woman at the counter.
The answer was "Yes." I wouldn't need to just drop my paddle off in an alley after all.
Just before sundown I found the Hostels International downtown Winnipeg location. It was about a block and a half from the Quest Inn where I had started the day. I met some interesting people there I will mention later, and according to my journal:
Day 97 ended: HI-Downtown Winnipeg
"Is it all leather?" she asked him. Yes, it was. I couldn't help but overhear him explain that every article of his clothing was 100% leather.
The woman at the next table leaned over to me. "Are you a kayaker?"
She must have been asking because I had a two-meter long kayak paddle leaned up against the wall next to me. "Ah, no, I'm actually going to try to sell this paddle." She nodded at this strange explanation, in which I failed to explain that I had been canoeing across Canada and for three months had not used this paddle since the first day. It was time for it to go.
The bus stop was right out the door. School must have been out because three kids were trying their skateboard tricks there. It is a mystery to me how skateboards have maintained their coolness factor when I don't believe I've ever seen a successful trick performed on them in real life. You would think so much public failure would drive kids away from the machine.
My bike was in the shop to get cleaned up, so I boarded the bus with the others. At the next stop, a young black couple were arguing. She kicked him and hit him, and the bus was not a moment too soon for the young man. He calmly boarded and paid the fare, and looked back towards us on the bus, desperate, and alone.
One of his eyes was red, red where it should have been white.
MEC had advertised a gear swap. I explained to the head gear swapper that I wasn't sure when I was leaving town, and I was looking for advice on selling this kayak paddle. I would have had to pay something like $10 just to enter it in the swap, and it was unclear whether I would be able to retrieve any money. He suggested I just take it to Salvation Army.
I walked for some time in the direction he pointed, but I must have looked lost carrying a kayak paddle through downtown Winnipeg because a businessman on his lunch break asked where I was going.
"Salvation Army," I said, "but I'm not sure where that is."
He dialed up 411 and I heard this part of the conversation.
"Winnipeg."
"Winnipeg."
"Win. Ni. Peg."
"Salvation Army."
"Salvation Army."
"Sal. Va. Tion. Ar. My."
"Yes, I'm at the corner of xxxx and yyyy and I'm wondering if there's a Salvation Army nearby. Winnipeg. Xxxx and yyyy. Yes, Salvtion Army. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Okay, thank you. Bye!"
He directed me south on the next street and my walk continued.
On the way down I saw a man in one of those hooded jackets with patterns on them, white and puffy with repeated images of skulls and things. It's a fashion I associate with people who have a need to look tough like rappers and high schoolers. He was walking a tiny terrier on a pink lead.
I arrived at the Salvation Army. "Do you take this?" I asked the dishevelled old woman at the counter.
The answer was "Yes." I wouldn't need to just drop my paddle off in an alley after all.
Just before sundown I found the Hostels International downtown Winnipeg location. It was about a block and a half from the Quest Inn where I had started the day. I met some interesting people there I will mention later, and according to my journal:
Watched debates: same stupid talking points from 3 months ago plus news that Russia invaded Georgia!
Day 97 ended: HI-Downtown Winnipeg
Ugh, Winnipeg
So it turns out I did not take very detailed notes during my stay in Winnipeg. One page of my notebook only covers two days, the next, about five. It's difficult deciding how much I can expand these entries into full posts, and to what extent I should bother.
On the other hand I did type up about a day and a half's worth of material while I was there. I'm going to try to see what I can do with what I've got, but if these posts vary significantly in length or quality it's because of the lumpy source material I have here.
I am also a bit worried now about my Mississippi River material, now. I haven't reviewed it but I remember the cold making writing rather miserable, even though a lot was happening. This is one reason the blog just shut down during that time.
I'm going to try to just keep going on, but blog updates may become irregular when I hit rough spots, like now. I'm sorry about that.
Thank you for reading.
On the other hand I did type up about a day and a half's worth of material while I was there. I'm going to try to see what I can do with what I've got, but if these posts vary significantly in length or quality it's because of the lumpy source material I have here.
I am also a bit worried now about my Mississippi River material, now. I haven't reviewed it but I remember the cold making writing rather miserable, even though a lot was happening. This is one reason the blog just shut down during that time.
I'm going to try to just keep going on, but blog updates may become irregular when I hit rough spots, like now. I'm sorry about that.
Thank you for reading.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Minneapolis Central Library
Since I have arrived in Minnesota the libraries have fascinated me as being relatively larger, more connected, and newer than their brethren in Canada.
The Minneapolis Central Library is the epitome of that. There are four floors, full of books and computers. Despite the number of computers, you still usually need to book a time to use one. The stacks use the Library of Congress system, so much of my time is spent browsing the familiar Q and QA sections, with occasional forays into G465 and other familiar places.
Unlike the University of Calgary library, the books do need to be renewed more than twice a year and so I have racked up some fines.
This photo shows the almost crystalline structure of the entrance. During a thaw, police tape and pylons block off most of the entrance to protect us from the ice which falls from that overhang.
It's about a fifteen minute walk to the library, a frequent destination to pick up books or escape the roommates for a time. The Minneapolis skyway system provides a longer, indoor route most of the way when it is bitterly cold out. If I just walk down Nicollet Mall, I can see beggars, hear a jazz trumpeter, pick up supplies at the Target of Targets, and see the point where Mary Tyler Moore threw her hat up in the air at the beginning of her TV show.
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