week fifty one

Books Read:
59. Friendly + Fire — Danielle LaFrance
60. Read This if You Want to Take Great Photographs — Henry Carroll

Kilometres Ran:
this week — 48.4
to date — 2,049.15

I’ve been casually looking for a decent book on photography for a long time and this is definitely the best one that I’ve come across. I found it in the gift shop on the modern art museum / architecture and design centre in Stockholm. It seems a weird choice of souvenirs, but I bought it anyway. The best part of the book is that for each tip and lesson there is a photograph that exemplifies what is being taught, but not some crap pic from iStock. Rather some of the best photographers and some of the most iconic photos. Anyway, it’s a good book and I want to take better photographs. I’m not sure it’s working but that’s mostly because I don’t bother practicing enough. PS most of the photos on here are, ahem, appropriated. I’m avoiding writing about LaFrance’s book because it is amazing and I love it and people way smarter than me have written smart things about it. You should get it though. And follow her on Twitter because she is very entertaining.

Sending the Christmas holiday in the provincial capital and cruising people’s Strava activities for running route ideas (thanks Karmen Jay). Today I ran by the legislature and over the blue bridge, forever to be under construction. It’s very cool and crisp and there’s little wind and so far no rain. I don’t think it’s cold enough to snow. I’m not sure Victoria can handle snowfall any better than Vancouver, who sucks.

week forty six

Books Read:
55. You Are Not So Smart — David McRaney

Kilometres Ran:
this week — 51.36
to date — 1,810.47

I read You Are Not So Smart when it first came out in 2011 and I was reminded of it when I came across an article by David Ignatius in the Washington Post back in August called “Why facts don’t matter to Trump supporters” so I thought that McRaney deserved a revisit. My mother cancelled Christmas. It came via email the other day. Seems that she got into a bit of a squabble with my sisters when she announced that she was/is a Trump supporter. Is “squabble” racist? I don’t think my sisters have read Ignatius or McRaney. I don’t think it would have mattered. A couple Christmases ago my mother gifted me a copy of Steven Galloway’s first novel Finnie Walsh, while lamenting that she wished that she could have gotten him to sign it for me, alas. I asked her if she read it and what she thought and she said it was fine but she really found the foul language off putting, as if she imagined Steven and I were still seven years old playing K9 cops with his two pure-bred german shepherds back in Kamloops in his yard that neighboured my grandparents’ pink house on Parkcrest Avenue. There’s nothing better than a conversation without room for any nuance. Like everything is black and white. Zero shades of grey. You’re either with us or the terrorists. Or the racists. Or the child pornographers. Or the apologists. That copy of Finnie Walsh is my signed copy that I lent my mother to read. Too bad Christmas is cancelled. I guess that war’s over.

I ran, and I’m tired.