I don't know if you know Lisa Smith, bassist for the spectacular Pony Up. But I do. When she's not travelling the world, playing in seedy bars, and living it up at SXSW, she cuts hair at Coupe Bizzarre. Which is how I bumped into her when I embarked on my search for a replacement hairdresser.

When madamewoo got an utterly disasterous (but free) haircut, I knew just the person who could fix her hair.

We both left as very happy customers.

madamewoo and I have some very interesting conversations around the apartment. But tonight, we noticed that we often fall into the same patterns about certain topics. Topics where we are at our wittiest.

Since she's been procrastinating about STAT 231, we justified drawing a pie chart. Statistically, it's completely and utterly valid, I assure you.

If a reality television producer saw this, we'd make five-thousand easy!

November was just a whirlwind of activity. I was so busy that I barely had enough time to sleep, much less sort through photographs and write in my journal.

So here's an executive summary, brought to you by my photographic memory. That is to say, my photo albums.

I started the month by flying to Sunnydale, California. I spent a week at the Googleplex working on Ubuntu during the day.

My nights were filled with activity as well. I saw old friends, like Peter, and made new ones too.

The next week was spent in San Francisco. maradydd took me to a Dorkbot. Fun!

Again, the days were filled with work for Canonical. (I took many wonderfully embarassing photographs of my co-workers.)

And again, my evenings were also very adventurous.

I managed to meet lovely people like Rachel, and Sorrel, and Erica, and Sophy. It's strange, but not that strange, how they all are connected to ioerror somehow.

I finally got introduced to Scott Beale at the Laughing Squid party. I managed to convince Marc and Etienne to come along, and I think they liked it. But really, how could they not? There was a steam car, the Photoboof, kettle corn, robots, dancing girls, columns of fire, strange bicycles, art cars, and LEGO.

I returned to Canada where I attempted to collapse, but failed. gorbash_dragon reminded me just how festive this time of year really is.

This began a whole lot of socializing with my long lost friends. So I went to a diluvienne's tea party.

And callmepavlov's Munchkin party.

Expozine, which isn't a party at all. But they threw one afterwards.

And ze_dinosaur's farewell party.

My final event of the month was a blast. denkizero invited me to a launch party, where everything was two dollars, although bad puns cost extra. There was a fashion show, a marching band, an iPod battle (with real iPods), some television interviews, some drinking, some socializing, and a few time-outs.

Whew.

One of the best things about working from home is being able to brunch every day of the week. Granted, not all of my brunches are magnificient affairs. But some of them are.

Today, I sat on my balcony with a proper English breakfast and enjoyed the sharp air. It's almost autumn and the trees are starting to turn. Plus, you get to watch the squirrels jumping from branch to branch. They're so fat that sometimes they almost miss.

I cribbed this recipe for scrambled eggs from Gordon Ramsay. I thought I knew how to make eggs before, but his method is far superior. There are various versions of it over the Internet, likely copied from his cookery book. But this one is far more clear.

---

Sublime scrambled eggs

Ingredients

• Four eggs, cold
• 15mL butter, cold
• 15mL crème fraîche
• salt
• pepper
• chives, snipped finely

Directions

1. Get a cold saucepan. Do not turn on the heat yet. I know, it sounds crazy, but trust me.
2. Break the eggs into a the pan and add the butter. Don't whisk or whip it. Trust me.
3. Now turn on a medium-low heat. Using a heat-proof spatula, stir to combine the ingredients. Keep stirring constantly, scrapping the bottom, sides, and corners. What's we're trying to get here is a very fine curd, so we don't want it to cook too quickly.
4. The mixture will start turning a pale yellow, sort of like custard. Take the pan off the heat and continue stirring. When it cools down a bit, put it back on the heat. Whenever the eggs start giving off significant steam, take them off. The idea is to cook them in a controlled manner, so they don't clump together in one big mass.
5. Continue this on-off dance with your pan until the eggs are almost dry. This should take about four minutes. They should be soft and fluffy, slightly lumpy, and not brown at all. Now, take the pan off the heat.
6. Stir the crème fraîche into the eggs. If you don't have any, a dollop of sour cream will work as well. This cools down the eggs to stop them from overcooking. It also makes them nice and creamy.
7. Add salt and pepper to taste. Then add the chives for colour. Mix well.
8. Serve immediately. Offer them up with buttered toast, jelly, bacon, sausages, ham, baked beans, fried tomatoes, sautéed mushrooms, home fries, and a glass of orange juice. Or simply serve them up, by themselves, with a swirl of sweet chili sauce.

Serves 2.

Do you know what's great about summer?

Sitting in a bar on St-Laurent, watching the sun go down.

And then your favourite bluegrass singer goes whizzing by on her bike, smiling and waving to you.

Do you know what's great about summer?

Lunching on your own balcony when a brief sunshower decides to join you.

And then a little bird, who looks at you quizzically from a railing before it flies off.

I met wlach today for a spot of coffee. He was in the neighbourhood and rang me up. How could I refuse?

As we were chatting, the topic of reciprocity came up. You know, where I do you a favour and then you return it some day? Paying someone back for a good turn (or a bad one) is something that's rather ingrained in our culture. And it's fairly reliable, if you can account for each transaction. Tit-for-tat is one of the most successful exchange strategies out there. Just ask bramcohen.

But it doesn't fully capitalize on the network effect. You can only tap into the network of people for who owe you a favour. But those people might not be poised to help you. Instead, I advocate another model.

On Saturday, I found a camera case sitting on a bench along St-Denis. Inside was a digital camera and a wallet. Using my well-developed deductive skills, I ascertained the identity of the owner, whom I shall call X. Using my well-developed "stalking" skills, I got in contact with X who came by and picked up the bag. X was very, very thankful. In return, I asked that X offer random, spontaneous help to people who seemed deserving.

With any luck, my deed will pop into mind the next time X wants to brush off someone or walk past something. After all, everybody is really busy. When I first came across this concept, I had no idea that it had a name. But some people have called it paying it forward. Which is a rather apt name. Ironically, this concept only became popular after a large, multinational conglomerate made a film about it.

I figure that since the world of people that I know is very small, and that I'm well connected with others, it's only a matter of time before my little quantum of niceness gets back to me. If I keep on pumping niceness into the system, and others do the same, my small efforts will multiply. After all, the amount of good I can do is limited to how much time I have and the people I know. But my network of friends is much, much larger.

The only problem is that of leeches. People who only take and don't give to the system. That's where being judgemental comes in. When you notice that some folks never seem to help their friends, or to help you, then you have to fall back to tit-for-tat. And spread the news that this person is a leech, so that your friends do the same. This quickly shuts down the drain on your collective kindness, while still allowing you to be a decent human being.

Of course, I paid for wlach's coffee. He's a good friend, after all.

I'm back in Montréal from a ludicrous amount of travelling. It's been exciting and beautiful and grand, but I'm a domestic at heart. So I'm enjoying my cozy, cluttered home and it's just divine. I don't have to live out of a suitcase anymore! I can just sit in my armchair as the sun goes down and peruse my bookshelves.

I bought books as I travelled. Do you know how annoying it is to lug around a backpack full of hardcovers? I did, however, get some much neeeded exercise out of it.

makemyway is staying in my guest room right now. She's been an awfully good influence for someone who claims she can't relax. I have spent the past couple of days doing luxurious things. We've gone to Romados and bought some pastéis de Nata and ate them in Parc Lafontaine. I've become converted to the joys of roasted fennel. We've indulged in homemade strawberry ice cream, bagels with prosciutto, and peaches and cream. We climbed to the roof and watched fireworks. I haven't left the house except for small errands. And then I got to photograph someone drawing on a wall.

Bliss!

I never want to leave Montréal again. Which is patently untrue, but I'll stay for a while. I promise.

I woke up this morning, rolled out of bed, and padded off to my morning toilet.

I had a shower and brushed my teeth. Shaving? Do I have to shave if I work from home?

I suppose I do. One has to be civilized.

When I was in university, I didn't get very much rest at all. There would be weeks where I'd get by on two or three hours a night. This was pretty bad for cognition, and as I got more sleep-deprived, I'd get stupider and stupider. Of course, things would pile up near the end of the school term and I would just stop sleeping completely. I have no idea how I managed to pass my finals after all this dumbening.

At the end of each school term, after all my examinations were over, I'd sleep for thirty or forty hours straight. Then I would wake up and be just stunned at how intelligent I was. This is not because I'm a genius, but because I previously had the I.Q. of broccoli.

Once I was riding my bicycle to school, as I had to go to class. As I was cycling up campus, my body decided that this was too much consciousness and that it'd had enough. I woke up a little while later, sprawled on the grass, with a bicycle on top of me. I recall feeling strangely peaceful and well-rested. Until I became aware of the road-rash.

Now that I'm no longer at school, I don't do this anymore. I'm a much happier and pleasant person when I'm not fighting unconsciousness with every blink of the eye. It's also a lot safer now that I don't spontaneously fall asleep. But I still get pretty sleepy just after lunch, and I'd be pretty unproductive for the rest of the afternoon. At first, I thought this was just from eating something heavy, but even if I skip lunch, I would still get tired. So then, I decided to do something totally crazy.

I go to sleep when I'm tired. In the early afternoon, when my eyelids droop, I just walk over to the couch, curl up, and pass out. About half an hour later, I wake up again automatically. You won't believe how good that feels. Plus, I'm really awake so I get up and do some more work.

You should try it! If you can't take afternoon naps on weekdays, at least give it a shot on the weekends.

I woke up with the sun streaming in the window.

Sleep! Splendid, sumptuous sleep. How I have missed you!

(Wait a minute. I'm still at the office.)

(Oh hush!)

I lost my hat in San Francisco.

I've gone for a couple of days without one, but my head feels funny. So I went on a quest to get a new one.

I went to the Bay, where I originally got my hat, but they were sold out.

I went to a hatter on Mount Royal, but they were closed. Curiously, their hours and sign both claimed that they were open.

I then went to Ste-Catherine, where I remembered there was a hatter. Unfortunately, I walked east instead of west.

Fortunately, I didn't give up hope. So I found Henri-Henri and picked out a cap that resembles the one I lost.

I think I shall have to return to buy myself a bowler.

"Visa Canada says that over 2.5 million Torontonians will be out shopping today, spending an average of $320 each."

There's an all news radio station in Toronto that gives you this strange snippet of reality every fifteen minutes or so, with breaks for driving conditions and the weather report. I remember drowsily listening to the radio talking about the very traffic jam we were stuck in.

We had decided, foolishly, to drive to Yorkdale. And I was hopped up on anti-histimines, so that I didn't have to carry around a dozen tissue boxes.

Boxing Day is one of those strange Canadian holidays. One where people wake up early after a night of revelry, go to the mall with everyone else, and fight over who gets to spend money. It's a truly bizarre way for merchants to get rid of their year-end inventory.

We dropped off my mother and f_law at the front door and went over to a nearby hardware outlet to pick up some things, when I noticed that their paint section had a display of painted poinsettia. The plants didn't seem too happy with this, because they had gone brittle and droopy. After purchasing a new snow shovel to replace the broken one, we drove to the mall's parking lot.

There were all sorts of cars, many of the SUVs, which seemed to be quite upset at the situation. They'd drive around and around in circles, obviously looking for a free spot. Meanwhile, dad and I decided to relax and wait. Like an island of calm in a sea of road rage. We stopped the car close to an entrance of the mall so we could see if anyone was leaving. Soon enough, some family came out and put their shopping into their car. They pulled out and we pulled in.

After going inside the mall, we called Flora and discovered that they were looking at cosmetics. We found each other and I found that everyone was interested in finding me some new clothes. I think we spent the rest of the afternoon going from store to store until we found things that were (a) not tacky and (b) fit. This was far more difficult than it should be.

But we prevailed. And I think we succeeded.

I have finally come to terms with the fact that I make a lousy bachelor. I can't seem to live this bachelor lifestyle properly. It's quite embarassing to have people over and show them my flat. But I just can't seem to force myself to live that way.

My idea of a bachelor pad is a place where I can lounge about all day reading whatever I please. Whenever I don't clean up, there are books strewn all about: the dining room table, the sofa, even the bed. I understand that this version of bachelorhood is a little archaic.

I'll throw my clothes into piles, which is promising; except I sort them by colours, which defeats the purpose.

It's not like I don't try to live like a slob. Sometimes, I leave my dishes in the sink, but then I have to cook something so I clean them all. Oh yes, cooking. So I decided that I would indulge in a bachelor supper tonight: beans with pork. Pretty standard fare, hmm?

Well, I dug around in the pantry and found some dried beans, which I reconstituted this morning and drained. Then I found some bacon in the fridge from my expedition earlier in the week. Well, then we need something to go with it, so the bacon goes into the bottom of my pressure cooker with some diced red onion. After that started smelling good, I dumped in the beans, some ketchup, maple syrup, brown sugar, mustard, and cayenne. I clamped the lid on and cooked them for about fifteen minutes. I'm eating them now with a bit of toast and they're really quite good.

I don't think I'll ever get this right. Help?

pcolijn: It's simple to work while napping, while not easy. Just become so obsessed about work that you dream about it.

There are a couple minor, uhm, personality quirks that I've acquired from doing this. But everything's an engineering trade-off, right?

Pop Montreal is rolling into town and so for the month of October, there will be a smörgåsbord of music that I can try out. Last night, was the beginning of this adventure.

I showed up to La Tulipe a little early and looked about the place. It was much less packed than the Sufjan Stevens concert, so that was quite nice. I found myself wondering if I should sit at a table up front, but then realised that I couldn't take any pictures that way. So I sat on some steps that were leaning against a wall, where I could stand up without disturbing any one.

A mandolin player and a drummer came up on stage and set up some sheets of music. Then six women, the Mediæval Bæbes, walked on and started singing a Latin choral piece. It was very well received by the audience, and sounded quite pleasant. After that, one of the singers started talking about the group and introduced the next song.

All of their music was wonderfully melodic and pleasing to the ear. The vocals were obviously the star of the show, with subdued accompaniment, which is something I quite like. They did a wide selection of group singing, with your standard choral group, and then some rounds, and even some dancing. I lack the musical background to describe what I heard, but it was all quite fun. And the performers seemed to be having a marvellous time: they would tell little jokes as part of their introduction to songs, and then would gossip amongst themselves every so often.

I didn't recognise many of their songs, except for "Scarborough Fair" which is recognisable by the Simon and Garfunkel version. Oh, and a French folk song, about dancing, whose name I could not tell you. The mandolinist did a solo which was very impressive, and one of the women also did a solo which was pretty awesome.

By the end of the concert, I was sitting beside an old woman would was enjoying herself immensely. She was the first one who stood up and started screaming "encore!" when the performers left the stage. Oh dear, now I'm at the point in my life where I'm more demure than grandmothers.

After the show, I bought a CD, got it signed and then headed out. The night was warm and the bus had just gone past, so I walked home humming to myself.

I had a great sushi dinner with elliptic_curve and pphaneuf. We went to Kanda Sushi, which had horrible fish during the week, but Friday night was apparently a good day to get fresh fish. It was utterly fresh and wonderfully flavourful. Yum!

I'm continuing my exploration of musical trends by going to concerts with Julie. We showed up at La Tulipe about an hour late for the concert.

Outside, there were people smoking and talking, so we figured it wasn't too bad. We were accosted by a scalper but I just walked past him like the bottom-feeder he is. We went in to the smoke-filled club, which is interesting because it's a non-smoking place, and sat down at a free table. This turned out to be a good idea because the show was sold out, so that the hallways were filled to capacity.

We had missed the opening act, and soon after we sat down, Sufjan Stevens and the Illinoise got up on stage to enthusiastic applause.

It was about then that I noticed the σ of people's ages in the room was really huge. In front of me sat a boy of twenty with combat boots, piercings and tattoos drinking beer from a plastic cup. Beside him sat his father with a bushy beard and a cardigan. This wasn't an isolated incident: these people were everywhere! Sure, there were young couples going to this show, but there were sure a lot of mature fans there. The dad in front of me seemed to be really getting into the music!

I didn't really understand all the cheerleading that went on in Sufjan's show. Halfway through, I realised that this band was a reincarnation of The Patridge Family — obviously an episode where they visit Canada and tell us how great the United States is. He cheered out names of towns in Illinois while the girls on stage looked cute and waved about pom-poms. And sang songs that were wholesome as mother's milk, that were more patriotic than "one nation under God." Normally, I don't mind this sort of thing, but this guy's a folk singer. Shouldn't he be singing about loss and war and life and death?

The technical aspects of his music were done pretty well. Banjos, acoustic guitars, and trumpets have always been pleasing to my ears. Sufjan's voice was clear and crisp; his female backups made pleasantly perky sounds. And the crowd really seemed to enjoy themselves, so who am I to complain? But I didn't like his sound enough to compel me to buy his work. Or stand about forever around the merchandise table. I have to admit though, his band looked like they were having tons of fun on stage.

Afterward, we walked past a Tim Hortons, and saw lots of kids inside that looked like they just came out of an indie-folk concert. We poked our heads in and confirmed they were Ontarians trying to get a soup-in-a-bread-bowl and a large double-double. Ontarians are funny with their habits, I have to admit. I understand that they had come all the way down to Montréal, because Sufjan was not playing in Toronto!

I'd never been in La Sala Rossa before. Oh, I've walked past it a couple of time and looked at their "hiring a cook" ad, but never with any interest. It's a pretty interesting place, with a small Spanish restaurant on the second floor. The venue on the third floor is a nice room that's got the feel of a gym that's been turned into prom night.

Julie and I got tickets to see this show, because she had seen Xiu Xiu before and liked them. I was willing to do a little bit of audio experimentation, so I was happy to go along.

The opening act, Yellow Swans, appears to be an exercise in controlled feedback. "I have to say that it's loud," admitted the lead guitarist. They had brought their own speakers, probably because people would get mad if they destroyed someone else's. But they did their thing and it did seem like some people enjoyed it, even though I had no idea what they were trying to accomplish.

I went to the DJ's nest to take pictures of Frog Eyes. Other people got off the floor and started standing near the stage. I really couldn't understand the lyrics of the main singer, only his very heavy breathing, which is sort of sad. I did get a nice vibe from the drummer, who had absolutely impeccable time. Julie bought one of their CDs, so perhaps I will try listening to that and see if I enjoy their stuff.

By the time Xiu Xiu came on stage, the place was getting too warm for the air conditioning to keep up. About a hundred people had shown up and the HVAC system was having trouble with the smoke and the sweat.

I was taking pictures of the band up front, and a girl offered me her chair to stand on. Then later, I bumped into someone else with a PowerShot G5 who was trying to get decent pictures. Sadly, my camera is too dinky to get anything but blurry pictures in a darkened room. I'll just say something like, "it conveys a sense of dynamicism from the performers." Yeah, that's it.

After putting my camera away, I did a little moving to the music. What was amusing was that the show was filled with people in tank-tops and tight T-shirts. Hands crossed across their chest, or hands in their pockets. They all looked approximately the same, which is pretty funny, and pretty Torontonian normal. I bumped in to a girl, or rather she bumped into me, who wore a white flower dress. She was bouncing around and having a great time dancing. Later, I saw her hopping up and down with a group of three people. I have to admit that she was the best dressed concert-goer there.

Beside me were these two teenaged kids: it looked like they were on a date. The boy was dancing his heart out, or perhaps his brain. His style of dance really didn't coincide with any rhythm (Xiu Xiu played in 2/4 or 4/4 time); I was initially concerned that he was having an epileptic fit. Eventually, his date became less embarassed by him and started dancing as well. She did much better.

Oh, and Julie? She had a drumstick thrown at her by Jamie. Not on purpose, I think. But now she has spoils and a souvenir!

I've been exceptionally tired lately. I keep on having to take naps throughout the day just to be able to think properly. I think this is a sign that I'm taxing my resources.

But sleeping has not been particularly useful. I have fitful dreams of programming, which is sort of bad, since my brain doesn't simulate development environments very well. And I have yet to have ephiphanies of the same class as dancing carbon atoms, so this hasn't been very productive.

I've been basically programming non-stop for a couple of weeks now, for some definition of non-stop. Something interesting that I've noticed is that thinking analytically is a pretty difficult thing. I observe this because the more I work, the less I'm able to think outside of work. And I have plenty of hacking to do in my spare time that I keep putting off; much to my users' dismay.

I felt a little under the weather this morning: sore throat, dizziness, lethargy. pphaneuf thinks I caught his cold or something, and who am I to dissaude him from taking the blame?

In my groggy state, I got out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. I took off my glasses, turned on the taps and reached from the facial soap. "Oh dear," I thought to myself, "you're seeing double again, aren't you?" Then I put on my glasses, and lo, there were two bottles.

A quick moment of inspection led me to deduce which one was mine, and which one was imported from that other country.