Just returned to Montreal after spending the night in St. Sauveur des Monts. I love going up there in the Winter, when the property is all soft and snow-covered. I love drying out my skin before a warm fire, lounging around the house and picking up 80 year old history books, running my hands over obsolete Nordic gear.

Fifteen years ago, Anna and I cooked up the idea of spending the millennium there. Because there was some controversy about whether or not the True Millennium was to occur on 2000 or 2001, we elected to observe the millennium for the entire year of 2000 and turn the property into some kind of proto-Jonestown party commune, but with toxic Kool-Aid replaced by tons of beer. Of course, I’d be 32 by then and so well established in life that the idea of taking a year off wouldn’t be a big deal. I’d be ready for a break.

Well, I was close. But the millennium Jonestown lasted 5 days instead of 52 weeks, and I still find myself longing for a seriously long period of checking-out-of-reality every time I go there.

Maybe later this year.

Had a classic Janie moment while up there. In St. Sauveur there’s this McGarrigle family tradition of never wasting a scrap of food. Seriously, it’s like a bloody shipwreck. Nothing gets thrown away. Ever. After dinner, there is but one choice for the food: It is anointed into something resembling an Egyptian Pharaoh-God: carefully wrapped and interred in that kitchen refrigerator for its long and mysterious voyage to the afterlife.

So I’m about to throw out the thumb-sized remnants of an onion leftover from lunch, when I remember the Ste Sauveur nutritional mystery rites. Instead, I carefully wrap it in tinfoil and gently place it in the refrigerator’s crisper drawer.

Janie stops me.

“Don’t put that in there, silly,” she says. “It’s just going to rot.”

“Right,” I say. The folly of mummifying an onion dawning on me. I open the garbage can so she can toss the three ounces of onion away, but she throws me for a loop.

“We’ll take this to Montreal, and use it for stuffing tomorrow.”

Just now, she’s walked into the room to show me three other onion nubs she’s been saving for tomorrow’s stuffing. Clearly her only choice at this point is to take pride in the practice.

Mike seems to be having a bad week, so in the interest of spurring on his January "Month of Purity" I took the liberty of holding his mail for the entire month. No need for postal distractions when you're trying to write ground-breaking a children's book. update For the record, I defer to Mike's superior knowledge of date-rape drugs. And for the uninitiated, Foxy is a synthetic psylocybin. I know somone who took it once and ended up passing out after both defecating and vomiting at the same time. Not a very "foxy" image.

To wit

E is for Ecstasy, all kisses and hugs
F is for Foxy, passed out on the rug
G is for GHB, a date like no other
H is for Heroin, of drugs she's the mother

Joe Strummer has died. Cause of death unknown, so far.

New on Craque POT: The Travel Toothbrush Teepee

This is good news in the battle to control the intellectual property we buy. When you buy a book, you can rip out the pages and reassemble them. You can read it on the bus, or a plane, or in the bathtub. Under the US’s DMCA, this is metaphorically illegal.

Still, the "Free Dmitry" campaign that became a cause célèbre among cyberlibertarians and technologists now appears victorious. Meanwhile, the DMCA seems far less fearsome than its detractors feared -- and less likely to have an impact on innovation.

I'm here. Back in Montreal, which seems somehow more thriving than San Francisco these days. My last days in San Francisco were spent commiserating with Grant Avenue merchants about the poor retail season they’re having, reading the anti-corporate J’Accuse, No Logo, and planning a special edition of the local newsletter I edit covering the retail crisis in North Beach.

I’m enjoying No Logo a lot more than I expected, although it’s starting to numb me with its statistics of misery and hollow despair. What I was not expecting to like about this book is the fact that anti-corporate ideology tends to be elitist, as in, “the poor saps keep shopping at Wall Mart and eating at MacDonalds because they know no better.”

In fact, one of the basic ideas of democracy is that the people are not, in fact, as stupid as all of that, and quite able to make major judgments for themselves. And what the anti-corporatists tend to ignore is that people have very good reasons for shopping at Wall Mart and eating at MacDonalds. They deliver consistent value for the price.

The local hardware stores in my neighborhood are poorly stocked, run by incompetent, often rudely indifferent salespeople, and they’re over-priced. Sure they don’t have neon signs, and they’re run by local business people, but they really ain’t all that.

I used to work at a café in Toronto, called Dooney’s. It’s mentioned in Naomi Klein’s book because it successfully fought an attempt by Starbucks to “steal” (i.e. pay its landlord – presumably a local businessperson – more money) Dooney’s lease. Was Dooney’s such a great place that it should have been preserved? I’m not completely convinced. Probably. It had its own little culture (mostly of tiresome regulars), that small business ethos (treat the employees like shit), and a local businessman at the helm. But he was no saint, and if he had had the brains to start a chain like Starbucks, I’m sure he would have tried the same lease snatching tactics himself.

Maybe it's because I finally emptied that archeologically significant mound of recycling next to my desk. Maybe it's because I'm leaving for Montreal in 15 hours, but I've finally figured out the slogan for 2003. It's the Year of Getting Shit Done.

Oh, and the word is that everyone is writing a book in 2003. So start yours now if you want to get ahead of the game.

Internet trend I tired of the most quickly: Cyberbegging

After six and a half years, my father finally finished his McMillan Family history. It's a pretty amazing project, 2 megs worth of writing detailing everything he could discover about the McMillan side of the family, back to Hugh McMillan, who left the town of Neribolls Scotland in 1832 for a better life in Ontario Canada.

Congratulations Dad!

Sick and Twisted File

OK this is just so completely, unbelievably weird, I have to link to it.

"DESPERATELY SEEKING VICTIM"

"The accused supposedly first cut off the penis of the victim by mutual agreement because they wanted to eat it together," the statement continued.

Of course, this is even sicker and more twisted, if you dare to read it (thanks to Anna for making me aware of this whole ana phenomenon. And no, I don't believe it's a joke. eeigh.).

Sometimes my job can be really interesting. I spent a few hours today talking to the ATF about rocket propellants. It was fascinating, but also a strong reminder that politics is all about keeping up appearances, and sometimes the task at hand... well that just gets in the way.

On the other hand, I just published an interview with one of the guys writing America's Cybersecurity strategy, and it was refreshing to talk to someone who knew what he was talking about and how to be candid enough to not come off as a total idiot.

This story also marked my first byline for LinuxWorld after leaving it to wither on the vine back in 1999.

I killed Streakerwatch! today. I just don't have time to nurture my inner Benny Hill these days. If anyone wants to take it up, let me know. It's yours.

For the Record

Today was the day I finally got bored of electronica. This is a problem, because I'm already bored of rock and hip hop and all other forms of music, except the ones that are too intellectually demanding for me to appreciate (e.g. yodeling). I guess I'll have to seriously get into amateur pre-pubescent choral music or oompah.

To whit, here's an email snippet with Jimmy!:

From:
Bob McMillan
Date:
Tue, 10 Dec 2002 23:09:58 -0800
To:
James MacDougall

Everyone in Leiderhosen!


James MacDougall wrote:

> Hey Bob I just saw a Gap ad with Bavarian Beer Hall Music, you know an
> OOMPAH band. You just know it's going to be the next big thing!!! (I get
> your point).

God Punishes Who for Lying about "Final" Farewell Tour

Meanwhile, in other Who news, Pete Townshend told London's Sun newspaper this week that while he can still see for miles and miles, he can't hear a darn word anybody's saying these days because he has suffered "a further deterioration" in his hearing following the Who's summer tour, which Townshend and Roger Daltrey (news) completed sans Entwistle. Townshend has been suffering from a hearing condition called tinnitus for years, which his doctors blamed on excessive noise from the Who's high-decibel shows.

"My right ear...has suffered badly. I've no idea what I can do about this," the 57-year-old guitarist said.

Note to James. You wrote:

Oh and Bob I read your very interesting comments about music and commercialism. You brought up a lot of interesting points, but 1998 was when the Swing revival was at it's commercial peak here in the great white north

I was not disputing that there was a swing revival in Canada in 1998, but whether or not a Gap ad caused it. Since swing dancing was all the rage on the West coast in 1995-6, I find the claim dubious. And further, since there was a widely released film called Swingers, that came out in 1996, the claim could be seen as ridiculous.

I was reading recently about how in these post-Enron times financial analyst firms and publicly traded companies are trying to disclose themselves out of conflicts of interest: as if admitting you have a conflict of interest somehow makes it go away; it doesn't. Anyhow, it was interesting to read this little blurb in the boilerplate of a Meta Group press release. Meta Group is a technology analyst firm that recently predicted that Microsoft will support Linux in a couple of years.

Delivering objective, consistent, and actionable guidance, META Group enables organizations to innovate more rapidly and effectively.

Just in case you're glazing over from the jargon, here's how Webster's defines "actionable:"

Giving cause for legal action

Now that's the kind of guidance I don't want.

This one is for geeks only, but here's an interview I did recently with a very cool open source lawyer named Larry Rosen. If people realized how badly the US patent system was being abused by computer corporations (and clueless Patent Office employees), they'd demand changes. This is the kind of corporate bullshit that will eventually destroy America. Seriously. We are creating a system that drains productivity and creativity at every turn, and sooner or later the creative and productive people are simply going to go somewhere else.

I read this interesting item about Anna's cousin in Naomi Klein's No Logo yesterday. Writing about the Gap's 1998 Khaki "Jump, Jive 'n' Wail" ads, she says.

The question of whether these ads were "co-opting" the artistic integrity of the music was entirely meaningless. The Gap's commercials didn't capitalize on the retro swing revival -- a solid argument can be made that they caused the swing revival [In 1998? Maybe in Canada, but I entirely disagree with this statement -- Bob]. A few months later, when singer-songwriter Rufus Wainwright appeared in a Christmas-themed Gap ad, his sales soared [Another questionable claim. Again, maybe in Canada. -- Bob], so much so that his record company began promoting him as "the guy in the Gap ads."

Why, really, are these commercial relationships so distasteful. Maybe the most obvious response would be to say it somehow cheapens the art, which we imagine as a pure and non-commercial endeavor.

Naomi Klein has this idea of a separation between commercial and public culture. That for-profit enterprises are somehow infringing on our public culture by doing what 20th century marketers all want to do: take something pure and cool and personal, and tack their corporate brands onto it. But I'm not so sure the separation is really there. As Dr. Johnson once wrote, "No man but a blockhead wrote but for money."

So I don't buy that argument. Musicians are engaged in a commercial enterprise. They charge money for their CDs and concerts and T-shirts. They craft these images of non-commercial artistic integrity for the exact purpose of gaining money and fame. Maybe that's why the Langley Project holds so much appeal. Because these kids were obviously not Rock'n'Rolling for the money. They were singing for a much higher reason: because their teacher forced them to.

So fundamentally, what is the difference between the Rolling Stones -- a multi-billion dollar corporation/rock band and the Gap? Or for that matter, between Rufus Wainwright and J Crew? Is it just a matter of degree? Somehow I feel violated when I see billboards and product endorsements everywhere, but is that simply because I have a mistaken concept of art and civic life. Am I like those professional sports fans who somehow feel connected to a team of itinerant millionaires who don't even honestly represent their own cities while engaged in a fundamentally commercial and trivial enterprise?

Well, yes. I am. I've been to many professional sporting events. And the reason I enjoy them is because they're fun. It's fun to participate in society and, no matter what the intellectuals would have us think, going to a football game is a kind of participation. It is meaningless, but in all honesty, is it any more meaningless than a great play or political rally? When you live in a democracy and enough people participate in something, that event takes on an intrinsic meaningfulness that nobody can really argue with. It's who we are.

Yet still I have this nagging disdain for a commercial enterprise trying to invest itself with a false meaning. I have this idea that my immediate environment should not be filled up with advertisements. I don't want to be constantly influenced. And, worst of all, I don't want to be influenced by corporations that have no real accountability.

As I see it, the difference between Rufus Wainwright and J Crew is one of accountability. If Rufus decides to take the money and shill, he's accountable for that decision, but if J Crew decides to outsource product to an Indonesian sweatshop, who is really accountable? Ethically? Certainly not J Crew's founder, Arthur Cinader. He's been out of the picture since the early 90's. Not the CEO. CEOs in most large companies are little better than overpaid middle managers. At best, they own a tiny fraction of the company's equity and they are not accountable in the same way that Rufus, or even John D. Rockefeller (whose company, Standard Oil, remained in private hands for most of his tenure as a chief executive). These companies are owned by "the market." And the market is never accountable. J Crew's majority stake-holder, by the way, is a privately held $7 billion investment company called Texas Pacific Group that was founded by David Bonderman, James G. Coulter and William S. Price III. Whose money is really behind this sweater and jeans company is anybody's guess.

That's the problem I have with rampant commercialization of our public lives -- that, more and more, it's being done without accountability. In the 14th century, when the aristocracy and the church bullied their way into public life, at least there were popes and kings and gods who would ultimately take the blame for ruining things. That's no longer the case.

OK, gotta get back to work...

A gross miscarriage of justice

A jury on Thursday handed a life prison sentence to a Texas man who shot and killed a longtime friend he accused of drinking the last beer in his refrigerator.

Meet the Meades

Michael Jackson and Anna finally have something in common:

NURSING a spider bite, Michael Jackson limped into court with a bandaged swollen foot to testify in a lawsuit that alleges he failed to follow through with two millennium concerts.

A fun Christmas game.

Use the arrow keys to navigate.

When I lived in Canada, thanksgiving never really meant much to me. It just seemed so much like the CFL or Canada's monetary system -- something we had half-heartedly borrowed from somewhere else. An awkward festival observed in a half-assed way.

But America has always had that perfect combination of drive and forgetfulness that lets mythology flourish, and Thanksgiving in my adopted homeland -- with friends instead of family -- somehow feels like a more meaningful holiday than it ever did in Canada. Some days -- like Valentine's Day or Christmas -- kind of creep me out, but Thanksgiving has always been the one holiday I most eagerly anticipate in my adoptive land.

I love that it's a holiday of abundance. America has always been good at taking note of that side of the equation. But Thanksgiving is also a day of appreciation, and there are just enough people here who get that here -- like my friend Marc Bruno, who was serving turkey to the homeless in Washington Square Park on Thursday afternoon -- to keep my cynicism at bay.

I ran into Marc about two hours before our plane left for Seattle last week, a very large bottle of rum in my hand. He was carrying a metal tray filled with paper plates, and the park people were coming up to him to be fed. They didn't seem particularly appreciative, but that was not the point. Marc and his little brigade of volunteer cooks were the ones who seemed to most appreciate the situation, and that made me feel good about my neighborhood. I guess it's a latent Christian impulse -- to find service so admirable.

My admiration, however, did not impair my single-minded drive to get to Seattle and eat and eat and eat, and within six hours Anna and I were comfortably situated at Mike & Melissa's new apartment, getting to know their Seattle crew.

American Thanksgiving may make no sense to those outside of this country, but as Rick Meade said to me, "The rest of the world likes David Hasselhoff. It doesn't matter what the rest of the world thinks."

Other than meeting "the Meade's" (Melissa's extended family of cousins; and by extended, I mean well in to the 6 foot range), a great highlight of the week was me getting turned on to the Langley Project: a recording of 9-12 year old school children from Langley, BC that was made in 1977-78.

It's hard to explain what's so compelling about this music. I think it's the fact that Rock and Roll has always had room to appreciate those who were trying their best, not matter how crappy and un-talented they might be (e.g. the Beatles), and the boys and girls jamming along with rock star wannabe/grade school teacher Hans Fenger definitely give their best in this recording.

You can check out some of their songs here. Anna's favorite is Space Oddity, and that may be their best, but I somehow lean toward Rhiannon.

When Mike played Desperado for me, he introduced it by saying, simply, "Now this one is just beautiful." It depressed me to learn a bit more of Desperado soloist Sheila Behman's take on the session. She makes a guest appearance in the Hans Fenger interview and is asked what she thinks of when she hears Desperado:

"Melancholy is the first thing that comes to mind... well... I mean it was the 70's here... the majority of us in the 70's came from troubled families, so maybe it was a reflection of that... it was soul food... we couldn't get enough of it. It was to express our torments."

She said that the music put her in touch with a part of herself that was "dormant," but that "after Hans left, that was pretty much gone."