Kelsey Lian

I painted this after an Alleycat with Stuckylife and the Vancouver Island Alleycat Racing Association (VIACRA) last year. I finished the whole race, came in just after the first group of women finished and even had energy left to bike home.

It was a wheel-spinning, leg-pumping, demented amount of fun, and there's one coming up: the annual TurkeyCat. 

Friday Oct. 11, 6:30pm - Race starts at 7 - Cecelia Ravine Park

Bring a bag, lock and bright lights. No entry fee, but expect to spend aprox. $10 on food bank items.

It's for a good cause. Get into it.

Find more info at stuckylife.com 

My childhood best friend had a cat. It was essentially the only cat in my life at the time, and it was (to put it bluntly) a total psychopath. 

They had rescued the cat from a shelter, and I’m sure the poor thing had its reasons for being completely and UTTERLY insane, but it was always a bit of a gamble being in the same room as that particular feline. One minute it would be demanding attention by forcing itself onto your lap, happily purring away, and the next it would be ATTACKING YOUR FACE with all of the claws-out fury it could muster. I’d try to be alert to signs of an oncoming cat-astrophe, but there never seemed to be any. I rarely left that house with my skin wholly intact.

Consequently, and despite their online popularity, I’ve never really been a cat fan.

But, since I'm generally responsible and I guess have something of a trustworthy face, friends keep asking me to cat sit.  

I finally relented, and it turns out:

I’ve unfairly been generalizing an entire species. I’m a speciesist.

Turns out, cats are alright! They have personalities. Laid-back "bro" Dickens, total sweetheart Rosa, mischievous scamp Cindy.

This is Sampson. 

I've only been cat sitting for approximately 20 minutes, and I've taken over 50 pictures.

A design mentor of mine once said that the most well-designed thing that he owned was a wooden spoon that he inherited from his mother. It’s beauty came from its simplicity and it’s exact fulfillment of function.

He showed me a picture. It was exactly as you’d expect. Smooth wood, darkened at its end by many years of high heat and hearty stews. But he was right, it was perfect.

Simplicity is difficult. Clearly defined purpose isn’t a luxury we come across often, and perhaps there’s why there’s such joy in things that are so well defined.

To make a cup of coffee: Grind, brew, filter.

The chemex is simple. The last time I brewed coffee in a Chemex for someone, they watched the process, fascinated, before spewing out “That’s it?” with an air of incredulity. Yep. That’s it.

Grind, brew, filter. Be exact. Easy.

There’s a reason why siphon bars are sitting disused in cafes all over North America; there are too many elements to the process. Sure, you feel a bit like a mad scientist. Sure the coffee tastes great. But you’d be hard pressed to find someone who could tell the difference, and no one who just wants a good coffee is going to make it with a siphon if there’s a Chemex or a V60 around.

This article encompasses two topics very dear to my heart: good coffee and good design. Keep it simple, stupid.

Worth a read.

Don’t stress, folks. Victoria is just having a meteorological temper tantrum; looking for attention and trying boundaries like any small to mid-sized city.

There are only a handful of albums that mean as much to me as LCD Soundsystem’s last two:”Sound of Silver” and “This is Happening”.

I discovered them at a point in my life where they spoke directly to my experiences as a young adult; transitioning at what felt like a breakneck pace from the experimentation of my teens into a more stable sense of self, defined by the ups and downs of my relationships with places, people, and partners. James Murphy’s poignant and infinitely interpretable lyrics layered over rolling, sparkling, melodic, effervescent synths and perfectly stacked percussion took my hand and guided me through a very experience-dense phase in my life. To say that I’ve laughed and cried and danced along with these records is the understatement of the century.

When James Murphy and Pat Mahoney walked past the benches and through the doors of the Chinatown Habit after their DJ set at Rifflandia the night before, I nearly lost my composure.

Luckily, instead of bawling into either or both of their shirts, I managed to squeak out how much I enjoyed their set and offer to buy their drinks in exchange for this picture. They were both quite chatty and lovely, and have absolutely solidified themselves in their places as musical idols of mine.

When I was around 6 or 7 years old, I had a pop-up book called “Animal Homes.” My favourite interaction with the book was with the image was of a weaver bird as it built its house.

I spent almost a week on these lights. They were brittle, fiddly, and frustrating, but I enjoyed every minute of weaver-birdery.