Clever way to combine the analog book with the fancy pants iBook sort of thingy that I have absolutely no experience with (wish I had an iPod! Argh!).

It’s actually analog AND digital. Clever. Cute too. And interactive…

(seen on Quipsologies)

What are kids? “Drunk Midgets”

It’s embarrassing, yes, but I’m not the first, nor last, to have done it; Monday night – I dropped my iPodTouch into the sink.

The sink was full of water, I was washing my face, the iPod slipped out of my pocket, and plop; it sunk. Horrified and shocked I stared in disbelief, as it seemed to look fine, grabbed it out and dried it off as quick and as best I could, but alas, the poor thing gave signals I did not understand: a black screen, then a faint apple logo, then a black screen with faint apple logo and many thin lines flickering, then a clear black, then, like an S.O.S.; two last bursts of a very bright white light – and it was gone.

The shame of it all. Just before bed, too.
I twisted and turned all night, thinking what I could do to help it back to life – before bed I heated it on the radiator, plugged it into my MacBookPro to charge and try to mount it, but nothing helped. Finally I set it aside, and went to sleep.

Tuesday
In the morning I had to confess my mishap to my fellow UOVOite, Kevin. After a kneeslapping laughter fit, he got around to helping me track down some solutions on the internets.

First thing I found out was that if, at the bottom of your earphone jack, it appears pink – you are screwed. That means water damage, and your warranty won’t cover it. You can plop a piece of tissue down there, if you feel brave/dumb enough to fool your local apple shop into giving you a new one. Otherwise, there isn’t much to do except try to dry it out.

Putting it in an oven seemed to be the most widely proposed idea – 100 degrees for a few minutes. I tried the radiator, as I said… but it didn’t seem to help. It was pretty hot though.

Then Kevin came across a bit of advice that sounded familiar – from watching BBC FOOD – not some computer support thing; pack it in RICE, in a sealed container, let it sit like that for at least 24 hours. The rice absorbs the moisture in the container (thus also from within the interior of the iPod).

I did just that, and still I felt little hope. I snuck a peek at it last night, tried to turn it on – no luck. Back in the container.

Wednesday 11:10
Then this morning I checked again – nothing. Then I decided one last time- I’d plug it in to the computer. Boom.

it’s back. Well… at least it seems to be charging. As I write this, iTunes just started up and asked if I wanted to download and install the newest software for the iPod, and I can see it there in the sidebar, all mounted – but with a very empty battery icon.

11.37
Actually I may have spoken too soon. I just clicked the iPod icon, and it disappeared. Hopefully that was just a coincidence and it had something to do with the update. Please.

(As a sidenote; that is the look of a man on the edge: father of a 17 month old with chaotic sleeping patterns, business owner with constant workload, and habitually forgettful self-haircutterer – and… oh yeah, I’ve been up since 4 am)

9 months later…
Nope. It’s dead. The iPod won’t get past the charging past 1% stage, gets hot, won’t show up in iTunes, and is by all accounts dead. Even the repair shop I took it to said “Forget it. Buy a new one”. They wouldn’t even buy it off me – for parts!

Damn.

Proof that my littlest, Ina, loves the hell out of her old man;)

Looking pretty ragged, aren’t I? Been up since 4.30AM.
No, I don’t know why.

For my 40th Birthday, my wife Marie and her family, got together and spoiled me rotten by getting me an espresso machine – The Isomac “Maverick”, a coffee grinder and other assorted paraphernalia*.

It’s a piece of work, and I’ll tell you why:

Firstly- it produces an espresso on par, or better than most cafés. I’m no barista, but I do know my espresso. This stuff is goooood.

Secondly - it looks the part. It LOOKS like a machine, and I like that. It shines and sparkles in the corner of the kitchen, begging to be used, it whirrs and hisses and spurts. The grinder grinds loudly, producing the fine grinds that give off that inviting, alluring, seductive aroma of… well… freshly ground Arabica.

Oddly enough, it somehow reminds me of my old ’73 Mini. I think it’s the straightforwardness of it. It even has the same number of switches, no electronic display, nothing aside from what you really need to do the job. It’s made of metal, and it looks like it. It’s honest. Like the Mini, you have to wait for it. It requires patience both to get started, and to learn how to get that cup of espresso just the way you like it. Both require a bit of ritual – priming the choke, pumping the gas, and saying, “Please, please start!” to the Mini /and switching on the Maverick, letting off some steam, waiting for the green light to go off – and then you’re good to go. Now comes the rumble of the 1000cc engine, and the grinding of the espresso beans. Lovely.

It’s also a pleasure you earn – espresso and driving the Mini. The amount of preparation and clean up is disproportionate to the time you actually enjoy the thing – but the amount of enjoyment is enough to make you forget about the effort you put in.

It’s a messy affair, making espresso – the coffee grains end up everywhere – but it’s worth it. I drink less coffee during the day now, the coffee tastes better. Since espresso is less acidic, it’s also better for my innerds.

I miss my Mini, but now I have my Maverick!

*DreamFarm’s Grindenstein Knock Box, Motta Wooden Handle Tamper (58 mm), and cups from d’Ancap

I have a new form of excercise these days. Daughter Tilja stretches her arms up to me, saying, “On the shoulders, Pappa!”, I turn on the stereo so we can here Feist sing “1234″ and we start dancing around the apartment, ducking door frames and ceiling lights. Usually Tilja sings so loud we can’t hear the stereo anymore – then she orders me to run and spin. This can go on for quite a while:)

In celebration of that – here’s Steve Zissou, with a kid on his shoulders. One for the toque-wearers. Half way through, it turns into “one for the uniforms”;)

Tilja and I caught this animated series on SVT this morning – both of us stopped playing and were mesmerized by the music, figures, and that crazy movement of Pulpo (the red figure).

Nice stuff! Looks like Finland meets Barcelona=)

Stor Fisk made them, Veronica Lassenius drew the pictures.

Saari TV

When Tilja was born, we received a gift of a painting of the Northern Lights by my Grandmother, Phoebe-Anne Magee*, from my Aunt Margot and Uncle Lee. Compact in size, and simple, yet colourful in subject – we fell for it straight away, and felt we should get it properly framed at some time. Actually, I thought I would make a frame myself.

During our trip to Canada this summer, my Grandmaman, Marie Séguin, gave us a gift of a painting by my Grandad, Harvey Séguin**. This was also compact in size, and simple yet colourful in subject. It was also of the Northern Lights.

Turns out they are exactly the same size.

So, now, as we had the trio of paintings in the bedroom framed, we had these two grandparent paintings framed as well – and hung them together above TIlja’s bed. It’s a good place for them. You see them as you enter the apartment, and it’s one of the last things we see before we all sleep.

*Granny still produces a steady flow of paintings from her little studio set up in her house in St.Andrew’s, New Brunswick

**Grandad died a few years ago, but had enthusiatically picked up a brush during retirement, and produced quite the body of work in his own home studio in Hudson Heights, Québec.

three oldies finally get professional help – being framed at a local framemaker’s.

This first one has a brown tint to the black frame, with an accent of red on the very edge. It brings out the browns and pinks quite well.

This has a white/blue grey sort of feel – bringing out the cold blue in the picture.

The last one has a darker frame – near black, also with a red edge, to bring ot the black and pinks.

The funny thing is we went in there thinking we’d get all threee framed exactly the same – in simple profiled oak. As we talked with the framester, we came to realise we could just as well do each painting justice and frame them individually, and have them still belong to the same “family”.

It was unexpected, and exciting feeling this world open up to us. Suddenly I felt a little grown-up, that maybe we had graduated from the IKEA frame section, to the world of custom framing. Suddenly I understood why folks who actually collect art have different frames for each piece. It wasn’t because the frames just came with the paintings when they were purchased – they belonged with them.

Interesting.

Now I don’t cringe seeing the unframed paintings on the wall. The look finished. I can keep my hands off them, and stop thinking what I could have done differently. Now – it’s too late.

Nice.

Funny:)