10.0 is currently being featured at Perishable Press, the first in a series of articles exploring minimalism in modern web design. From the article:

Equivocality’s new minimalist design is very impressive. The site appears clean, bright and refreshing and navigates with natural simplicity. Jeff has eliminated clutter to focus on content, which is strongly unified within the site’s sharp, spacious design. Attentive visitors will revel in the site’s exquisitely restrained details, such as the subtle texture provided by the bleached background grid, or the dynamic interplay between complementary typefaces, Arial and Avenir. Overall, the design’s thematic neutrality and universal approach inspire visitors to relax, focus, and enjoy.

In addition to a detailed site review, Jeff Starr did a mini interview with me. I’ve come across Perishable Press several times through my Wordpress wanderings and it was great to work with someone I’ve always known but never met.

The rite of passage for the males of our generation — the generation of the metrosexual and hairless pornstar — is getting waxed. As an act of true love for Sheila in enduring the pain, John asked me if I would clean up the hair on his back and arms. I agreed, as long as I could film it.

Waxing John from Jeff Ngan on Vimeo.

I suppose that near the end of the video my sadistic side comes out when I start to laugh, or dare I say, enjoy hearing him scream.

“This is like true friendship”, he says, “Waxing your best friends back when you’ve got a Y-chromosome”.

I met her a few times. She was nice. Quiet. I was one of the more junior students and she would occasionally give me words of encouragement.

But what endeared her to me was the way she interacted with him. A comfortable familiarity, an unspoken bond they never overtly displayed in public but kept hidden between them, a secret they shared as if to reveal it was to spoil it.

Sometimes, they’d talk about their kids. They were getting older. Getting married. Moving out.

When they found the cancer in her body, he suspended classes immediately. He told us we could find new teachers with his blessing. I looked up their address and sent a basket filled with pâté and dipping oils. That was over a year ago.

And as much as I’d like to do something, anything to make him feel better — offer my condolences, tell him he has an ear — there isn’t anything I can do. Nothing will make up for his loss.

Our bond will remain unspoken too.

If you gave me the hypothetical option of photographing anyone I wanted, I’d ask if it could be someone who had already passed away. If so, I’d choose a Byronic hero like Mikhail Lermontov, or another one of the 19th century Russian Romantics, or even Lord Byron himself.

If I could choose someone living though, I’d choose Tiana.

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I have suicidal thoughts every now and then.

They don’t necessarily come out during bad times. It’s rather random. And it’s not like these thoughts involve planing how I’m going to do it, I just think of how much simpler things would be if I weren’t living. A line from Being John Malkovich comes to mind:

[Consciousness] is a terrible curse. I think. I feel. I suffer.

I think the root of my “suffering” is the anxiety I harbour. Anxiety about social situations, the state of the world, and other trivial details that make life seem complicated. I don’t want to have these thoughts, but I do. Then life gets even more complicated, and I get more anxiety. It’s a vicious circle, until it becomes not about the anxiety itself, but anxiety about having anxiety. I didn’t really identify it until I was in the car with Julie, feeling sick and sicker until I almost asked her to pull over on the highway.

All I want to do is stop thinking. Suicide would be such an easy solution, and as much as I disagree with the reasons for suicide in the first place, I honestly believe this is true.

I know I have a good life, I know how illogical these thoughts are, but that doesn’t stop them from reoccurring on a monthly basis. I remember having these thoughts as early as high school, although they were much more common back then.

More frequently, I have thoughts of mutilation, about once a week. Not self-mutilation, because there’s never anyone specifically doing it to me. It’s just me in blackness, then a floating knife flying into my windpipe, or an axe splitting my head down the middle, or an ice-pick in the back of the neck, or…well, you get the idea.

I’ve never told anyone about this. Not because I’m ashamed of it, but because I didn’t want anyone to worry. Not even my closest friends know.

But harbouring this fear and anxiety, I’m slowly realizing, is difficult. It’s preventing me from enjoying life. I’ve decided to get some help; my first appointment is in three days.

I’m tired of living with this.

I asked Julie to come to the show with me. I did it with trepidation, because I considered it a big favour, and felt like I didn’t know her well enough to ask. But Blake was out of town and she was going out on Saturday, so it just happened that she decided to keep her Friday free.

It pretty much saved me. When driving to the pub, I was hit with an anxiety attack, which I’ll elaborate on in another entry someday.

Julie was the perfect person to bring, I imagine because she has experience with people who suffer from anxiety. I told her I may suddenly want to leave at any point, possibly even on the way there. She told me she didn’t mind coming, she didn’t mind leaving, she didn’t even mind standing outside the pub with me for a couple minutes in -16°C weather while I mentally prepared myself. I owe her big time.

We played cards to get my mind off the anxiety. I taught her how to play Slapjack, she taught me how to play Egyptian War. It worked.

While waiting for the show to start, I gave Krista the large prints from the previous shows. Krista gave us some random Larry and Bob balloon stickers she found on the bus (Julie and I think they were from a deaf person). Julie also met Cory there, her schoolmate from horticulture college, and Krista’s sister.

At the first show, I told Shane he should make an acoustic version of his album. Since I paid him in person for a pre-release EP that night, he told me he did have an acoustic version and promised to give it to me. I asked him earlier this week if he could bring it, which he did, but he forgot it in his suitcase. Quite a pity, since he told me he was in the studio making sure he mixed it right for me. He felt terrible about it, and told me he’d mail it to me instead. March 14th is when the album officially comes out.

The sets were rather short. Shanker and Romps opened for them, a garage rockabilly duo. Our view of this performance was a bunch of people who were much taller than ourselves.

The highlight of the show was seeing Shane perform It’s A Drag (and getting a video of it!), my favourite song on the album. Krista did the backup vocals. This is the only time you’ll hear such a dulcet harmony from another awesome artist, certainly something you can only experience from a tour. Krista also got Cory up on stage for the Bumblebee Song as an encore.

Julie asked me if I still had a crush on Krista. I had to think about it for a little bit, and the fact that I had to think about it made me realize that I don’t anymore.

Other shows with Krista Muir and Shane Watt

1. At the Workshop Studio & Boutique
2. At Le Petit Salon des Arts
3. At Irene’s Pub

When a man is full, what can he do?

Burst.

—Zorba, the Greek

Or in my case, overflow.

I started crying in class. Thankfully, no one noticed. People can get awkward around a crier. Unfortunately, suppressing a good cry is as unsatisfying as stifling a sneeze.

A lot of people having been saying the wrong things to me lately. On top of that, the abundance of interaction I have with people — a side-effect of my projects — is leaving me drained and overstimulated.

I don’t even have time to deal with this. I have to put it all aside, because there are more important things to think about right now.

At the bus stop, I realized that I have a tendency to brood. I don’t listen to happy songs to get me out of the mood. It’s all minor keys and lemon peels, so I can help it run its course.

It’s been a rough week.

Sometimes, a part of myself spills out.

I can’t believe it’s only Wednesday. The week is passing by at a snail’s pace. I’ve been overwhelmingly busy and exhausted.

So far, I have 11+ gigs and 1650+ photos on my hard drive for the exposition alone. I’ll be using about ten of them. As the show is about a month away, I’m trying to wrap up the photography by next week. That should give me enough time to work with the photos, then get them printed and framed before they’re hung in the gallery.

The rest of this week’s schedule is as follows.

• Thursday: Tai Chi class
• Friday: Show at Irene’s Pub (Krista and Shane are in town again)
• Saturday: Getting some photos printed, meeting Shirley at her work, photoshoot with Jaimee
• Sunday: Extra-curricular Tai Chi practice, photoshoot with Jaqui

And some miscellaneous pictures I’ve taken in the last little while that I never had the time to post.

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Introducing the tenth version of equivocality.com.

Surgical Style

When approaching 10.0, I knew I wanted a notebook feel, so I used a grid background to give the hint of paper. The idea was minimalism. Single column, no more icons, and super stripped-down meta data.

It’s still based on the good old 480 pixel-wide column, although it’s broken down into a grid with two main columns, which is used for the footer and other varying pages. The dates on the left side are bullets that break out of the grid to help visually separate entries, and for a bit of style. Otherwise, it can be a little boring.

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I saw her there again. She was sitting in a corner of the coffee shop, head on the table. Last time she was still carrying her grocery bags. This time, there were no bags, no Dora The Explorer hat. Only a thin, hooded winter coat, and salt creeping up to the shins of her sweat pants.

Occasionally, she would prop her head up, as if to reorient herself to her surroundings, and her matted hair would fall about her face. She never seemed to notice. She was gone again.

But was she lost to the world, or was the world lost to her?

It was one of those days at work. Things weren’t exactly going wrong per se, but it was stressful enough as it was. People were all over me, wanting this or that, undermining my decisions, interrupting my conversations, running around like their heads were cut off.

I kept reminding myself to breathe deeply (from the feet, as the Taoist sages are often described as doing) and calmly, kept thinking about the word tattooed on my wrist, and it worked for a while.

By 3:15, I had to get out of the building. It was supposed to be a three-song walk, but it ended up being nine. I didn’t even bring my coat; I was burning so much inside, that I didn’t need it. The winter slushed creeped up my jeans by six inches, but thankfully no one noticed.

Tyler was leaving as I was stepping back into the office. He invited me to an art show at Bablyon tomorrow¹. I told him that I’d think about it, knowing in my head that I wouldn’t go.

I had to stay late to work on the server. Fifteen minutes later, Tyler walked into my office (he must have walked part way, then turned around) and asked if I was alright. Admittedly, I’ve never been able to hide my moods very well, but I thought I was doing a decent job of it². He told me he could feel that my energy was low, so he asked if I wanted a hug. I politely declined, not because I didn’t appreciate the gesture, but because I didn’t think it would have helped. He gave me a firm pat on the back anyway and stepped out of my office.

And it helped more than I ever would have expected.

1. Which is strange, because the last thing I went to see at Babylon was a Dwarves concert [↑]
2. Something of an old habit of mine. Not being able to hide my moods is often a blessing in disguise for me, because it communicates to people that something is wrong. Otherwise, they’d never know, and it would never be fixed. [↑]

I’ve officially retired my old notebook, the one I’ve been using since 1999. Starting in my first year of university, it went everywhere with me. Long trips, short trips, camping, in the bath, you name it. I even included it on my list of what I was bringing to Hong Kong. It’s filled with so much randomness: doodles, code, thoughts, quotes, lyrics, bad poetry (my own, of course), lists, ideas. One day, I’ll scan them in and document them.

But alas, it’s full.

As a replacement, I bought a set of three Moleskine Cahiers. They’re thinner and lighter, which is exactly what I’m looking for; it took me over eight years to fill my last one, and I didn’t need something that would last that long.

I do have several pocket size Moleskine notebooks scattered around the house and in various bags for use in situations such as riding the bus, but those are rather difficult to write in unless sitting at a desk due to their small size.

These cahiers are a little different. From the insert:

THE MOLESKINE CAHIERS are journals with heavy-duty cardboard cover, in black and buff with visible stitching on the spine. The last 16 sheets are detachable and there is a wide pocket for loose notes.

The pages have a delightfully smooth feel to them, and absorb ink without bleeding. I’ll be keeping one in my backpack, one in my shoulder bag, and one in my camera bag. I need them now more than ever.

There’s so much to write and so little time.

Sometimes, all I need is a friend to support me.

Even the times when I know I’m stupid or illogical. Especially those times, I just want someone to listen and agree.

I remember Aaron going through a rough patch a couple years ago. He told me he couldn’t let Rob know, because Rob would have jumped in his car and busted open some heads. Aaron confided in me because he needed an objective opinion to work through the situation, whereas Rob may have hurt more than help.

Even though I agreed, I felt like Rob’s ardent personality was a sign of true brotherhood. It doesn’t matter what the logic is, it doesn’t matter what the reasons are, your enemies are his enemies. It’s almost like he’s blinded by his love.

And as much as there are times when Aaron doesn’t tell Rob something, I’m sure there are times when doesn’t tell me things either because he needs an fervent friend. He needs someone who will take his side no matter what. I know I do.

Don’t get me wrong; I have plenty of friends I can go to for an honest opinion. In fact, I go to them more often than not. John’s always there to contradict me and keep me in check, Pat’s there to rationalize the situation, and Aaron’s there to help me find a solution. But every now and then, the unconditional support of an ardent friend gives me strength and courage more than anything else.

Everyone should have such security. To be able to call someone at any time of day who’ll be there in a heartbeat¹. Everyone should have a friend like Rob in their lives.

The ardent friends are just as important as the objective ones.

1. Of course, you have to earn that kind of respect from Rob, because he doesn’t give it to just anyone. [↑]

The last time I took pictures of Tyler was at the bike park. He looks very different without his beard. I prefer with than without; it adds so much more personality.

Included is one for my body shot series.

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Angel I can see myself in your eyes
Angel won’t you feel for me from your heart
Do return my heart to me
No don’t insist I’m already hurt

— Blonde Redhead, Elephant Woman

Yep. It’s over. Although she still doesn’t know.

Maybe it was just a phase. Maybe I’ve accepted the fact that she’s taken. Maybe we’re too similar. Maybe I’ve realized it would never work. Maybe I just love her less, the more I know her.

Or maybe it was just a phase. One of the many things cured by time.

It makes me wonder if I cling to such feelings simply because I love being in love, unrequited or otherwise. It’s like when you’re in a purely physical relationship with someone, and you start getting feelings for them. You wonder if you’re really in love with the person, or in love with the idea that you have someone with whom to go to bed, someone to kiss and kiss you back. It’s a blurry line, something you don’t figure out until you remove yourself from the situation.

Not that it matters. I’m over her.

And I’ve lost my inspiration.