I saw a sign at the post office that said "Addresses on all mail to Canada must be printed in capital letters."
I'm trying to figure out why.
I thought perhaps it was because Canadian postal codes include numbers and letters, but I believe code order is invariably letter-number-letter-number-letter-number, thus I can't understand how anyone could mistake an "l" for a one or an "o" for a zero. Besides, an uppercase "o" looks like a zero too.
Was there an outbreak of dyslexia among Canadian postal workers?
I'm tempted to mail something to Canada with a lowercase address on it just to see what happens.
I'd also like to mail something to Canada with the address in all caps, but also in a really ornate cursive font.
I hate how a capital "r" looks in Helvetica.
Potent quotables I highlighted while actively reading Chuck Klosterman's latest book Killing Yourself to Live:
I shall ride a silver Ford Taurus. It's currently parked outside my apartment. The moment I turn the key, I decide to rechristen this vehicle the "Ford Tauntan," just in case I drive into an August blizzard and I need to stuff a freezing Luke Skywalker into the cozy engine block (13).
Cracker Barrel is sublime: You can order chicken and dumplings with a side order of dumplings (68).
Joy Division's singular directive was self-loathing. Every guy in that band should have hung himself, probably; nobody would have missed New Order, except for a bunch of idiots who think taking drugs and dancing is more fun than drinking and feeling melodramatic (107).
There are a lot of drunks in this world, but people in the Midwest drink differently than everywhere else I've ever been; it's far less recreational. You have to stay focused, you have to work fast, and you have to swallow constantly (160).
Here in Montana, I understand everything that is happening in Manhattan [blackout of 2003]…but everybody who's actually there remains completely clueless as to why there is no electricity. I know that the power is expected to return tomorrow afternoon; they have no idea if this will last a day or a week or a year. It's like looking down from heaven and watching all the mortals majoring in philosophy (203).
If rock musicians were 16-ton ivory-bearing pachyderms, Seattle would be America's elephant graveyard. And I suppose that could still happen, assuming Elefant lead singer Diego Garcia gets assassinated on top of the Space Needle (221).
I am certain Kid A is the official soundtrack for September 11, 2001.
[note: his explanation is lengthy, so I'm only re-printing some]
The first song on Kid A paints the Manhattan skyline at 8:00 A.M. on Tuesday morning; the song is titled, "Everything in Its Right Place." […] We soon move to song two, which is the title track. It is the sound of woozy, ephemeral normalcy. […] But something happens three and a half minutes into "Kid A." It suddenly doesn't feel right, and you don't exactly know why. This is followed by track three, "The National Anthem."
This is when the first plane slams into the north tower at 470 mph.
"The National Anthem" […] is a completely different direction from the first two songs on Kid A, and it's confusing; it's chaotic. "What's going on?" the lyrics ask. "What's going on?" It gets crazier and crazier, until the second plane hits the second tower (at 9:04 AM in reality and at 3:42 in the song). For a moment, things are somber. But then it gets more anarchic. Which leads into track four, "How to Disappear Completely." This is the point where it feels like the world is possibly ending. People try to convince themselves that they are not there. People keep repeating, "This isn't happening." […] And it's followed by an instrumental piece without melody ("Treefingers"), because what can you say when skyscrapers collapse? All you can do is stare at them with your hand over your mouth (86-87).
Toronto International Film Festival
north american premiere of david cronenberg's a history of violence
Voodoo Music Experience
currently only $50 for both days
featuring a one-off reunion of the promise ring