equivocality — Jeff Ngan's collection of thoughts, experiences, and projects, inspired by pretty much everything
Me @ Twitter

Niels Bohr put the yin yang on his coat of arms and grave­stone. This makes him the coolest physi­cist ever. #quan­tum­mys­ti­cism

4 years, 3 months ago
Me @ Twitter

Oh how I wish this was a pop-rap-metal super­group. http://t.co/KWB3UcQ

4 years, 3 months ago
29 Mar 11

Version 12

Version 12 has been retired here.

equivocality.com is now run­ning ver­sion 12, in what I sus­pect will be the final design iter­a­tion for this site1.

The gem cannot be polished without friction

I’ve been itch­ing for a new look for a while now, around the time I was in England, some­thing that was reflec­tive of the peace I’ve made with myself and the world.

Life no longer feels like a draft where I’m try­ing to fig­ure things out, so I’ve aban­doned the beloved graph paper back­ground which debuted in ver­sion 9. Most ele­ments and text have been toned down a bit2 to give things a slick, clean, and pol­ished look, very much inspired by Jin Yang’s blog. I’m still in love with the large single-column lay­out that lets me post big pic­tures and videos, and most of the design is still based around that.

I’ve never been a fan of ver­ti­cal rules — they always seem to claus­tro­pho­bi­cally trap con­tent more than any­thing else — but I found they brought much-needed def­i­n­i­tion to the wide col­umn, now that the graph paper is no longer there. Other ele­ments are strong enough on their own to define the under­ly­ing grid. I’ve also added some gravity-defying page cor­ners to bring a bit of depth to the layout.

Even though Version 12 has been based sig­nif­i­cantly on my Version 11 code and design, I decided to give it a major revi­sion num­ber because it’s a new theme at heart. They may look sim­i­lar, but they feel very different.

Read the rest of this entry »

  1. For a very long time at least []
  2. I’ve real­ized that you don’t need retina-burning con­trast to give some­thing strong def­i­n­i­tion. []
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Me @ Twitter

Was just autho­rised to do the shoe game at John’s wed­ding. Now I need to think of the most inap­pro­pri­ate ques­tions pos­si­ble. #YES

4 years, 3 months ago
Me @ Twitter

Found a deliv­ery slip notice on my door, but all my recent pur­chases have already arrived. WHAT IS THIS MYSTERY PACKAGE??

4 years, 3 months ago
Me @ Twitter

Pretty sure I’ll be stick­ing my penis in this at some point. #mak­inglove­to­warm­bev­er­ages http://t.co/ueY3Bex

4 years, 3 months ago
Me @ Twitter

Turns out the bear­ings on my tri­pod stiffen to the point of fail­ure in –10C weather. Also, my balls.

4 years, 3 months ago
Me @ Twitter

Second time in a row that I wasn’t carded at the LCBO. 30 must be the age when I stopped look­ing 18. #asian­ge­nes

4 years, 3 months ago
Me @ Twitter

The cinematographer’s ver­sion of “all dressed up with no place to go”: all geared up with noth­ing to film.

4 years, 3 months ago
25 Mar 11

Pendulum — The Island

I’ve always main­tained that a per­son isn’t alive if their heart doesn’t pound out of their chest when lis­ten­ing to The Island by Pendulum1.

It’s a grad­ual build-up, most of Pt. 1 Dawn being the devel­op­ment until Pt. 2 Dusk hits (at about the 5:20 mark in the video) and the beats really kick in. Then it’s just waves and waves wash­ing over my body like small orgasms and every hair stands on end.

It’s mes­mer­iz­ing to lit­er­ally see how this music makes me feel, as the rip­ples of goose­bumps crest and sub­side. I can trace the paths of shiv­ers across my skin; some last longer, though they may not be as strong, while oth­ers come and go quickly, my body unable to sus­tain the climax.

This is the only song that has this kind of effect on me. There are plenty of other tracks that give me goose­bumps, but none of them do it so many times or with such inten­sity. By far the strongest peak is dur­ing the bridge at 7:10, when every­thing sub­sides to the organ, and it’s like you’re being bathed in the warm light of a sunrise.

  1. To get the full effect, you def­i­nitely need head­phones. Otherwise, it should be loud enough to war­rant a noise-complaint by your neigh­bours down the street. []
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Me @ Twitter

Girls and/or gui­tar play­ers: explain to me how you keep nails any longer than 1mm with­out break­ing them.

4 years, 3 months ago
Me @ Twitter

It’s Aaron’s birth­day, and he gives me this: http://t.co/FlFQsqk

4 years, 3 months ago
22 Mar 11

i know i found the recipe for me

All I do nowa­days is dance. Not in any coor­di­nated man­ner, mind you, and cer­tainly not in the pres­ence of any­one else.

I’m only now start­ing to real­ize how nec­es­sary it was for me to sur­vive that cru­cible last year, and how impor­tant it was for me to save myself. It hasn’t tem­pered the extremes, but they don’t last as long anymore.

Blue Mountain village at night

 

It’s com­fort­ing to know I’ve been through this before. It wasn’t all for noth­ing. I’m a lit­tle wiser now, and I’m not going to make the same mis­takes again.

This win­ter hit us heavy once more, and like it I refuse to die.

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Me @ Twitter

I have moved to pro­gres­sively smaller cones. Many, many of them. http://t.co/ezjMv9P

4 years, 3 months ago
20 Mar 11

nowhere near as morbid as it sounds

All I want to do lately is go out and shoot and edit and post, but I have no sto­ries to tell. I’m still try­ing to write them, so I can put them in these cuts and look back and live for­ever in the mem­o­ries. To dance among the motion and glim­mer, and blink against the bright­ness of the sun.

I’ve been filled with such tremen­dous inten­sity, and hope, and excite­ment, buoyed by the fact that I’ll always have a gui­tar and a dis­arm­ing smile.

burlesque cake

 

Peace has been made with this new-self. It’s as if every change, every cycle I go through, takes time for me to get used to the new skin. I know I’ll always be flawed. I’ll always make mis­takes, but that means I’ll always be learning.

I’ve had enough of crazy devel­op­ments. I’ll be happy once the dust set­tles and I’m back to my reg­u­lar life again, some point beyond the sum­mer. The spring is never remark­able; it’s just a haze between the heat and the snow. It already smells like hot sum­mers nights, a com­fort­ing mix of pollen and con­crete. It’s gonna be oh so good.

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