Monthly Archives: June 2007


equiv­o­cal­ity 8.0 has arrived. Though arriv­ing with lit­tle fan­fare, I felt this design update was impor­tant enough to have it’s own entry.

8.0 is an evo­lu­tion in the design of this blog. I wanted a lay­out where the infor­ma­tion was pre­sented with less clut­ter, while main­tain­ing the min­i­mal­ist feel. There’s a rea­son behind every mar­gin, every line, every shade.

Continue read­ing “8.0″…

New Glasses: Wide-Arm Wireframes

Thumbnail: Colour is gunshot metal
Thumbnail: Front view
Thumbnail: Side detail, D&G logo
Thumbnail: Side view
Thumbnail: White designer case
Thumbnail: The branding on the case
Thumbnail: Texture of pad printed fabric

I finally got some new glasses. It’s been years since I had my pre­scrip­tion updated and things in the dis­tance were start­ing to get blurry, mak­ing my eyes tired very early in the day. This time I got a wire-frame pair, instead of the thick emo frames I got last year, though they’re still D&G.

The wide arms are in now, but I really don’t like that style (or maybe it just doesn’t fit my face). I also tend to not buy any­thing that’s cur­rently fash­ion­able, as I pre­fer clas­sic designs. The wide wire-frame arms on this pair push the whole idea of trendy, but are oth­er­wise acceptable.

I’m still get­ting used to the weight. They’re very light, but still not as light as my last com­monly worn pair, which were like not wear­ing glasses at all. The good thing, I’ve come to dis­cover, is that they’re not flex­i­ble, and while this makes them more frag­ile, they’re much eas­ier to clean as they don’t bend when try­ing to hold steady.

Some peo­ple ask me why I don’t get con­tacts, and it’s because glasses are a part of my per­son­al­ity. In a way, they define me, stay­ing in touch with my dorky past. At the wed­ding Tom asked me to take them off for the pic­tures since they turn photo grey from UV light, but I refused. I think I would have looked stranger with­out my glasses, then with my eyes obscured by tint.

Choosing these frames took a cou­ple of vis­its. I had a hard time trust­ing Bronwen’s opin­ion because some­times she thinks I look good in things that make me either laugh or hurl. I went to Lenscrafters with Aaron and he tried on one pair that imme­di­ately made me think that’s the one, but I didn’t have that instantly recog­ni­tion with mine. Louise did though when I showed her, and that’s when I decided on them. Apparently they make me look more mature, or some shit.

Thoughts On Missing A Play

In post war England, an immi­nent mur­der is announced in the local paper. A mur­der does occur, but not the one expected and it is Miss Marple who comes to the res­cue to solve the mys­ti­fy­ing case.

Two tick­ets, but I’m on the down­swing. It’s the intro­verted end of my cycle and I can’t meet new peo­ple or go out­side with­out feel­ing some kind of anx­i­ety. I used to live two blocks away from the the­atre, pass­ing it many times but never in atten­dance. I always kept an eye out for a play I wanted to see — Equus, or Hamlet, or Picasso at the Lapin Agile — but noth­ing piqued my inter­est. This time, the oppor­tu­nity pre­sented itself, Pearl double-booked with extra tick­ets, and I couldn’t say no.

I force myself to go.

It’s a lit­tle warm to be wear­ing a blazer, but noth­ing else affords me the pock­ets for my Moleskine, pen, lens cloth, and iPod. Waiting at the bus stop, I write.

At this time on a Sunday, I’m usu­ally wind­ing down. Taking out the garbage, doing the dishes, fin­ish­ing off an entry, get­ting things squared away for another week. Instead, I’m head­ing out. For days I’ve been try­ing to write about how jum­bled I feel. There have been new devel­op­ments, both good and bad, leav­ing me with a mix­ture of excite­ment and dis­ap­point­ment. The most I can say is that it makes sense, how I feel, and I can trace every emo­tion to a cause.

The bus comes. On it, I lis­ten to my music but I can’t get in the right head space. Nothing fits. I’m not feel­ing sad, or happy, or jaded, or ener­getic. I skip song after song.

Stepping off the bus, my ago­ra­pho­bia begins to choke me.

Continue read­ing “Thoughts On Missing A Play”…

They Know I Know They Know

The guys, they tease me. Call me “fucker”, half jok­ing, half jeal­ous. I ner­vously laugh it off, but this gives me away. They know they’re right; no direct neg­a­tive acknowl­edges their sus­pi­cions. I don’t want to admit it, but I can’t stop laugh­ing. We’re all think­ing the same thing.

To deny myself is to deny them too.