The Girl™ taught me how to sew. I’ve wanted to learn for years. My mother tried teaching me when I asked as a very young child but was far to complex for my 11 year old mind at the time. I’d watch her make a variety of things over the years — anything really. As the years have gone on, it’s one of the skills I’ve always wanted to add to the toolkit. From my own selfish reasons¹ to other exploratory ones².

With much joy, I learned how to thread the machine, insert the bobbin, and go to town. We’ll see what comes about.

¹ I’ve hemmed a lot of my t-shirts — I wear smalls in shirts but am not as tall as your average American male and so I find most stock t-shirts too long for my liking and torso. ↩

² Making bags, wallets, containers, things that I’m curious about.  ↩

Waking up in Key West is something else. A rooster will likely be heard, crowing away, letting the world around him know that he is awake and he is king. The six-toed cats are on the prowl, hungry and lounging around awaiting for their minders. You step outside — there’s always a view or a pool or a balcony or a porch. Key West is about the outside and the outside spills inside. The sound of scooters are everywhere.

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There’s a place where one should be able to disconnect. Away from the trappings of modern conveniences. No internet, no computers, no phones. No malls, no urban rituals, no desire or lust for material goods. For me, this place does exist. It’s a place I love dearly and it’s called Key West. It’s in Florida.

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Patrick D. gave me a lovely used copy¹ of The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle for my birthday a few months ago. It’s a book that has been on my periphery for years now, ever since I was a young teenager but have never gotten around to picking up. I was glad to receive it.

It’s an epic of sorts but moves quickly — despite my limited reading time, I’ve managed to get through the book surprisingly fast, perhaps a testament to the readability of the book. While the characters and stories don’t relate to me in any direct way, something resonates and — perhaps the underdog nature of the main protagonist, Toru Okada.

Anyway, it seems to me that the way most people go on living (I suppose there are a few exceptions), they think that the world of life (or whatever) is this place where everything is (or is supposed to be) basically logical and consistent. ... It’s like when you put instant rice pudding mix in a bowl in the microwave and push the button, and you take the cover off when it rings, and there you’ve got rice pudding. I mean, what happens in between the time when you push the switch and when the microwave rings? You can’t tell what’s going on under the cover. Maybe the instant rice pudding first turns into macaroni cheese in the darkness when nobody’s looking and only then turns back into rice pudding. We think it’s natural to get rice pudding after we put rice pudding mix in the microwave and the bell rings, but to me that’s just a presumption. I would be kind of relieved if, every once in a while, after you put rice pudding mix in the microwave and it rang and you opened the top, you got macaroni cheese.

I’m almost to the end and I know I’ll miss the world this book has created.

¹ I love used books. This is the hardcover edition, with design by Chip Kidd featuring artwork by Chris Ware. ↩

Recently, Mia and Catano were in town, visiting from San Francisco, The City as they say, as the first part of their vacation/going-to-a-wedding travels. Catano actually has a first name but like Draplin, I prefer using their last name versus their first. Some people just sound good that way.

When we have visitors in town, we get to play tourist. Showing people your home turf as you might not usually see it yourself. While Chicago has been home for a decade now, I rarely do the tourist thing. I have never been up the Hancock or the Sears Tower. I worked in a building right across from the Hancock for a few years, during the dot-com days, up on the 28th floor in a building that charged too much for office space, where money was being spent like it was going out of style. That was 2000 after all.

It was nice — picking out the best that Chicago has to offer, tailored to their specific interests and seeing all of my bikes being ridden around is an interesting thing to behold. Vegetarian restaurants were visited, coffee and tea shops were left in our wake and we rode north, south, east and west.

What interests me most these days, alongside riding bikes and obsessing over trying to find the right small day bag, is conversation and engaging in it on silly and serious levels. Ultimately, it’s what you talk about — how you say and how you listen.

I spoke and listened. What I heard is that good things may be afoot.

It has been said that I’ve got a bit of a shoe fetish or addiction or “worse than a girl.” I like footwear. I’m no sneakerhead — that term is reserved for those who are far more devoted to shoes and the culture around it than I am. I just like shoes in different varieties and types.

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If I had to give this week a name or describe it or make myself sound cool to one of the witty ironic friends I know, I’d coin it a wash-rinse-repeat kind of week.

One of the animals awakes us usually, one of the cats most of the time. The alarm goes off at some point — usually blaring the oddest song you could ever imagine waking up to. AC/DC or Linkin Park or Jimmy Buffett. The station is unknown, perhaps chosen randomly. The TV gets turned on, weather watching. Andy Avalos gives us the dilly. Eventually Decision 2008 comes around in various forms — Clinbama. Obanton. Superdelegatefrajilisticespialadocious.

Later, Where in the World is Matt Lauer? In a galaxy, far, far away.

Quick shower, throw on the kit. 12 miles, around 50 minutes door-to-door, 900+ calories burned.

Email, work, shut down all distracting communication outlets (Twitter, I’m looking at you). A few moments of gravity and depth and plenty of pointless ones to match. Lunch run or lunch made, work. Email is a nuisance. 4:30PM, time to walk the dog.

5PM: Looking at ingredients in the fridge and devising a menu for dinner. Start dinner. Two and a Half Men. Work.

10PM: Two and a Half Men.

Sleep.

Repeat.

“Why can’t they get some natural lighting in here?” I wondered to myself.

The fluorescent lighting above lent only more of a feeling of despair and dinginess to the small room that I waited in. It had some upsides though. A trash can that was wood paneled¹ that I would have loved to have taken home. The old school blood pressure gauge that is so concise and simple yet bold with its burnt amber number wheel that it made me ponder why we have to make things look so stupid and 3D these days with depth². Maybe flat is the new black.

The doctor was all business. He poked me here and there. Made sure my breathing was up to snuff and that all other bits were working well. He wrote some things down then debriefed me. The nurse would take me away to administer injections and draw some blood.

I’ve never been shy of needles or having blood drawn. It has been said that I have a relatively high pain tolerance. I’m not so sure it’s pain tolerance as much as it is a sort of resignation to getting hurt. Years of skating and now cycling have left me with my fair share of injuries and so perhaps a tolerance of some kind has built up. I don’t fight it. I like to move on, thinking about what has to be done next to get past it.

Five jabs altogether. Four had things put in me and one took things out of me. The nurse asked if I were needle-adverse. I assured her no but thought about the last time I had this many injections³ and felt confident with my response.

I was not mistaken. It was over in minutes.

¹ Makers of household items take note: make wood grain paneled trash cans. They’ll sell like gangbusters. ↩

² Gradients, drop shadows, rounded corners, et al. ↩

³ The big bicycle accident, number two in a series of three over a six-month period where I started to wonder if perhaps I was cursed for some odd reason.  ↩

Jim Coudal kindly asked if I’d like to be guest editor for Fresh Signals for the month of May over at Coudal. Who could say no to that? Expect the usual items of fancy, delight and wonder. And perhaps a WTF or two.

There’s a specific moment that I call a London Moment™ or London Moments™. I’ve tried to write about this before but I don’t feel it was very successful that first time around. I’m going to try again.

It’s made up of two primary things — nostalgia and a specific instance. It gets its namesake from London itself, from the last time I was there in 1998. At the time, I was staying at a relative’s flat — a recent failed relationship had put me in an odd place but I welcomed the reprieve on the other side of the city.

The particular moment deals with being in the shower, preferably hot, with the sun streaming in through the windows casting a particular glow — orange almost, a gold of sorts that doesn’t occur very often — only on some mornings and some evenings. There is a combination of déjà vu and all that has come before this moment. A welcome sadness with a nice tinge of hope thrown in. A mild sort of cartharsis.

I still don’t think I’ve explained it well this time round either but perhaps that’s what makes it magic — that’s what makes it a London Moment™.

The 7:30AM doors open and subsequent 8AM start made me wonder how many people would actually show up for such an early event, let alone, one by me regarding Creative Content for the Web. To my surprise, I was proven quite wrong. People were willing to come out, indeed.

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My parents instilled a sense of fashion into me as a child. I grew up surrounded by piles of Vogue and more of their ilk. My mother and sister rattle off designer names, as familiar to them as their own family. My father aligns himself with designer names that simply sound aristocratic — Ralph Lauren, Hugo Boss, Valentino and their kind.

I resisted their call to fashion, opting instead to embrace the styles of skaters and snowboarders, hip-hop and grunge. Despite disappointing my parents when I’d wear the nice striped shirt and slacks only when I had to attend a function of some kind, I soaked up the magazines and the names and more importantly cultivated the eye for what made clothes look good.

My family would probably chuckle today and be proud. That I’ve finally over the past decade, come to embrace a good cut, a fitted shirt, a proper pair of pants that fit and a shoe collection that women I have known have been surprised to see, almost jealous in some cases.

I like to watch trends. I keep an eye out on what the kids are doing these days — currently, I’m not too happy with the selection of American men’s fashion at the affordable level. The classic brands have remained preppier than ever and the rest are going with some kind of hip-hop indie hybrid comprised of chunky Nike dunks and tight jeans matched up with your father’s blazer on top of either a striped t-shirt (either slanted, horizontal or asymmetrical), a striped sweater or cardigan or some other pattern variant (houndstooth, herringbone, etc).

I’m personally a man of solid colours and clean cuts. The Europeans have long been prescribers of this aesthetic, as well as some of the Asian countries.

Menswear is described by many as hard to do — there’s a limited canvas to seemingly work with — masculinity is measured in finite terms and the clothes, made to match. Very few designers and companies make menswear that I feel push the boundaries even a little bit, re-inventing old classics into new silhouettes and shapes. There are a few I do like though.

The scene at the post office was to be expected — a long queue and no certified mail tags to be found. I had already sent out yearly taxes last week but I was here to drop off the quarterly return.

I don’t wait in the line. There’s an automated machine on the other end of the long, almost-hallway-like shape of this particular post office only enhancing the seeming severity of the queue here. I always head there unless I need to send something international.

There is an inherent fear of the automated machine. It typically sits alone, waiting for someone savvy to come along and happily use it. I belong to this small elite¹ group of people. Those Who Do Not Fear The Technology™.

However, on this day, there are two people ahead of me. Savvy types. Well, except the fella up front who’s being guided by a postal worker. It’s obviously his first time. Eventually he has to get back in line — the machine fails him somehow. The lady in front of me is better but not by much. She falters slightly and the postal worker who’s beautifully decked out in some kind of ladies Burberry jumpsuit with matching Burberry visor and shoes, comes to her aid like some kind of BurberryWoman™ superhero.

While this is going on, I finally notice a girl, who looks like a college student. She’s scribbling furiously away on a plastic chair with a deck of envelopes and other papers next to her. I finally realize that she’s actually doing her taxes right then and there, at the post office. I start to imagine her plan for the day — I’ll wake up, go to the post office and do my taxes then mail it off! The USPS: Your One Stop Shop.

Certainly.

—

¹ I wonder if Obama does as well.  ↩

The weather’s in flux lately — ups and downs, downs and ups. We had a brief reminder of winter this past weekend as a few snow showers passed over the city, their thickness a surreal unpleasant memory. It’s officially Spring™ no?

We found ourselves trapped at home all day Saturday. A mix of extra work, overcast and cold skies and a general lethargy providing a game plan for staying in.

Sunday was a different day — cabin fever galore and the sun was out. It was still very brisk out but as I showered in the morning, that usual nostalgia for times past (moments I call London Moments, to be explained at a future date) crept up on me and I got the idea to venture out to a coffee shop. The Girl™ was amenable to this and so I looked up free wifi close by and found a coffee shop I’d never heard of before but looked like just the place I’d like. Dollop. How could you not get on board with a coffee shop that uses Tumblr for their site?

It’s located in Buena Park, Uptown. Not too far away from here, perhaps a little over a mile and a half. The space is eclectic and a mixed bag in the way I like coffee shops — a mish-mash of furniture and pieces from mid-century modern and thrift. The staff visually identifies as hipster but without the pretense. They seem to be a mellow crowd. I like any coffee shop thats not about getting people in and out — laptops galore and people who are settled in for the long haul.

I had my Field Notes and she had her MacBook. I powered through the outline and talking points for my upcoming presentation (as well as dipping into Embrocation, Bon Appetit and Paste) and she worked through the chicken scratches of plumbers and the verbosity of interior designers in usability testing notes.

The hot chocolate was crap (but made so much better with a lot of cinnamon) as we’ve found many coffee shops to be, but the water was plentiful and free and the spicy hummus and tabouleh wrap was tasty and they were serious when they meant spicy. It was warm, relatively quiet, cozy and comfortable.

I’ll likely be back when the home studio feels a little too cold.

A quick notice for those in Chicago: I’ll be speaking for the local chapter of AIGA for their Tools of the Trade series of talks. This one is called Creative Content for the Web where I’ll be talking about creating and managing interactive communities and self-initiated projects, as well as some of the basic technology aspects of CMS’s and interface design.

The official blurb: “In 2007, AIGA Chicago introduced Tools of the Trade, a practical business workshop series for designers. Mirroring the Business of Design Series, these events address the hands-on needs of design businesses. Join AIGA Chicago and Naz Hamid as he spreads knowledge on his expertise of interface design and large-scale interactive projects geared to building communities and groups.”

The event happens Thursday, April 24th at the Alliance Francaise at 54 W. Chicago Avenue. Doors are at 7:30am, with the presentation from 8 to 9:30am, with a half hour Q&A session after. Details, registration and cost are here on AIGA Chicago’s site.

Migraines, asthma and excema. Those three things run rampant on my mother’s side of the family and in subsequent generations — in my cousins, my nieces and nephews and my sister. You either had one or if you were truly unlucky, all three. They varied too — in severity (one of my cousins, at a young age could never go out due to the fact that any exertion would send him into an debilitating asthma attack and another cousin had a form of excema rash all over his body, also as a child), in the age it occurred, in the combinations you’d get them in.

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Another year came around, knockin’ on the door, introducing me to the decade that qualifies me to now watch the late 80’s show thirtysomething. Getting older is something I look forward too — there’s a perception that once you’re past your twenties you’re past the so-called glory years.

A case in point perhaps: an old high school friend of mine used to listen to Bryan Adams. Yes, that Bryan Adams. And notably, he loved the song, Summer of 69. He wanted his own Summer of 69. I read somewhere a few years later, someone being humourous about the song — essentially commenting on how sad it was that Bryan Adams would write about one specific period in his life (or whoever the protagonist of the song was or is) and how it was the best time of his life. I had to agree. If your life boils down to just one specific period, then I feel for you.

To me, the years get better and better. And there’s still a lot to do — I feel I’ll never get to do everything I want to, but it’s good to aspire to something, however small or large it may be.

More here.

The backyards of the houses around here look like movie sets. Glistening with fresh snow and a soft ambient light made up of miniscule flurries. I keep pace behind the canine leading my way through the inches. It’s odd to see this whiteness again, a return to earlier in the year. As predicted, March brings one last hurrah, one last snowstorm.

I look forward to the warmth that’s on deck for the end of the week, a high of 60°. The day I turn thirty.

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Back from Austin and into the flow of life and work. It feels good to be home. A very huge thanks to everyone who attended my presentation — it was very nice to have you all there. Slides will be coming shortly — I need to make a few quick edits and sync up the versions I have here and the one I tweaked while in Austin.

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Possibly my favourite two photos from this past SF Trip, for very different reasons. On the left, Adam Alpern Kogswell and on the right, Catano’s roommate has a media room that has a horror corner.

More photos from San Francisco on Flickr. Day Two (start here) and move right.

Judah holds court, undoubtedly telling tales of NAHBS the weekend before. More from SF: Day One.

The Girl and I took a break from the classic winter we’ve been having in Chicago by deciding to hop on a flight to San Francisco from Feb. 14th- 18th for some friend-visiting, bike-riding and general-relaxin’.

SF is like a second home to us. We have as many friends there as we do here and it’s a nice feeling to have. It also makes for a pretty hectic time of trying to see as many people as possible yet at the same time, having time for ourselves. We quickly learned that we needed to step back and slow down the last two days we were there and we did. Photos tell a better tale so I’ll leave it at that. More to come.

When Andrew heard and subsequently saw me working on this site, he asked “Why?” A good question indeed. Why another site when I have a few as it is? I tend to shuffle things around to some degree. Part of it is pure fancy and desire and another part of it has to be a search for some kind of balance. Also, holding onto domains, blurs the line between what I do with them and what I want to do with them.

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Towards the latter half of January I “announced” my solo musical project, Murders & Mysteries. Judging from the comments on Flickr and from the friend requests and comments on Virb, it’s been modestly (and surprisingly) well-received for which I’m really grateful and humbled by. I really do enjoy working on music — something which I’ve always been interested in but have never wanted to pursue as a real career or make a living off of.

All that aside, after returning from San Francisco yesterday, I wanted to put something new out there. And so I have. I’ve Got a Bad Feeling About This is up on Virb. It’s not officially going to be on the EP I intend on putting out at some point, but it may end up being some kind of bonus track. The title is a quote from a sci-fi franchise. I’m sure you know who said it and what movie it was in. It’s a work in progress at this point but I like how it’s shaping up.

I’ve mostly recuperated from the behemoth that is SXSW. I took a lot of notes in my moleskine and decided to do an infographic poster regarding my experience (instead of being lengthy with words — I am a designer, so I should flex the muscles a bit and display information concisely and visually) and some of the smaller details and minutiae of the event. You can see a larger version here or you can download the printable 11×17 PDF poster here.

Some notes:

1. Info is as accurate as I remember, refer or calculate.
2. The blocky typeface for SXSW 2007 is custom and created just for this. I started work on it at SXSW itself.
3. Some of it is humourous. Some of it is serious.
4. The list of people I met obviously resembles a tagcloud — the key should be evident — the larger your name is, the more time I spent with you.

My SXSW photos, all 140 of them are here.