Home
Treasures in the Trash
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Found
- Hits: 1868
"On the second floor of a nondescript warehouse owned by New York City's Sanitation Department in East Harlem is a treasure trove—filled with other people's trash."
Collection of found objects picked from NYC's trash, curated by Nelson Molina.
Via Atlas Obscura: http://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/fascinating-photos-from-the-secret-trash-museum-in-a-new-york-sanitation-garage
Folk Kink
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 2790
FOLK KINK - A term first used by Rod Boyle in the blog posting of the same name, "Folk Kink" is a term that embraces a comprehensive and multidisciplinary array of amateur sexual techniques. Seen as a reaction to more specialized and dispassionate Kink techniques and fetishes, such as latex, Shibari and Kinbaku, Folk Kink embraces and celebrates the enthusiastically bungled knots, duct tape trusses, toy handcuffs, clothespins, belts, straps, candles, saran wrap, the hastily improvised (and ill advised) lubricants and generally the DIY aesthetic that makes interesting and exciting sex available to the untutored dilettante.
Realizing the complex nature and nuances of sexual behavior, the Folk Kink enthusiast will typically resist the more formal labels and -philia's in favor of a more expansive and compendious approach to sex that not-infrequently necessitates the bemused involvement of the Fire Department or EMS services. With their willingness to creatively pervert handy and everyday materials to unintended ends, the motto or creed of the average Folk Kink Practitioner could be summed as
"It's the amps that Kill, not Voltage...".
A reassurance designed more to loosen bowels than knots. For a more expansive (although by no means complete) look at the ways one can specialize their enjoyment of sex follow the read more - or spend a couple of hours on Craigslist...
In Praise of Dollarama Paints
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Other
- Hits: 1835
Now in the past whenever I wanted to paint I'd run down to the art store and spend $20, $30 a tube and $30 to a hundred dollars on canvas, another couple hundred dollars on brushes and I'd be set. I had read all the books on the properties of materials, the fugitive colors, pigments, qualities of the various mediums, and was perfectly prepared to create a masterpiece.
...In all respects, of course, excepting for talent. and while it was certain the quality of materials would ensure my masterpiece survived it was also certain that by the time I was done I'd just lavished an awful lot of money on something that most definitely was not a masterpiece. My talent was clearly not equal to my vision...
Now, the rediscovery of disposable paints, a dollar a bottle, every color imaginable with names like "flesh tint", "expresso" and "blue", I find that for hundreds of dollars less I can create perfectly shitty paintings bound for the garbage, a hundred paintings for a fraction of the price I was formerly wont to spend.
I have entirely legitimate reservations about the quality of materials, the permanence of the colors, but given how seldom it is I'm pleased with my efforts this seems the perfect way to acquire the skills, an abundance of bad paintings made for the same price I once would have spent on a single bad one. And, presumably, I'll be getting better along the way, learning to mix and harmonize colors, at two or three dollars per painting it's cheaper than a course or degree at ACAD and allows for infinite experimentation. Now only to find the time...
Broken
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 2214
The Calgary Economy is clearly broken, skyrocketing and under-reported unemployment, 7.9% doesn't count those who were contractors, who left the province, those who's EI has run out, every customer and supplier is singing us the same old story: "Never seen it this bad..."
The restaurant, it's been dying slowly, the past 5 years, fewer and fewer customers returning, there are a lot of new and fashionable choices, we're not amongst them.
We lose customers, death, retirement to warmer climes, once a week regulars now drop by once a year, this year, the past few months, we're clearly not making any money, and the boss is getting increasingly grouchy. He reluctantly cuts back, minimally, on staff, weekends we still bring in part-timers so he has someone to play cards with, do his prep, but really, he could get by with half the staff. Fire a waiter, close on Mondays, and he'd save $3,000 a month.
Never on the full timers. We're salaried. All three of us, even for a single table, are brought in, try and take a slow lunch off and see what happens, I dare you, the Nephew did, screaming, yelling, we're all going down with this ship together...a large booking on a slow night and you lose your day off...working more hours for less money, don't question it, it's ridiculous, but ride it out until summer, bide your time..."You're lucky to have a job" the owner reminds us, his own form of motivation, sometimes I wonder...
You know he's thinking it, the problem is, of course, that while the restaurant at the moment would run fine on two waiters, if one of those waiters was his nephew, well...
Not so good. The Nephew, never together in the first place, is falling apart, nervous tics, stutters, multiplying, his uncle doesn't want him to take orders, answer the phone, his once a year haircut, once a month shave, distinct fashion choices, his cell phone glued to his hand, ass glued to the chair, he's worrying about his own job, wondering if he's angered his uncle, doesn't occur to him that he may have overstayed his welcome, that it might be time for him to try and find his own place, he's comfortable in the bosses basement and loudly tells us how much he's saved...
Business, slow, we order bread now twice a week, only half orders, still we never have it fresh, always bringing it out of the fridge, the freezer. Desserts, food, spoil before we get a chance to serve, the cheesecake turns blue and the ice cream is encased by frost, sitting in the fridge for weeks, months even...
He's losing money, hand over fist, he should just close, but what would he do? Without hobbies or close personal friendships he'd be done, dead in a year or two, heart attack, stroke, the restaurant, it's the only thing he's lived for for the last 30 odd years...He hides in his office, surfing the internet, venturing out only to rail at staff or visit with a few of his favorite customers.
The glasses, water-stained, the china chipped and cracked, the drapes dusty and tied up with duct tape, the paint worn and stained, carpets faded, the restaurant is done, it justifies no improvement or renovation, it should, really, just close, end it all already, but he won't, still, save every nickel, every dime, his mood swings are extreme and employment, at the moment, is day to day and precarious at best...
A***** and I, we're both taking solace, it's just a matter of time before one or both of us are gone, it's intolerable, unlivable, and when we're gone we imagine how happy the restaurant will be with just the owner and the Nephew...
Page 545 of 878