Author: James McNally

Back From SXSW

I’ve been back since last night, but haven’t even looked at what anyone else has written. To sum up, SXSW was a blast, an energizing and very rewarding week. I’ll be working on a section with more detailed recollections and photos this weekend, but for now, special thanks are due to a few people: Michael and Ari Brown for their incredible hospitality, Davezilla for his stupendous generosity, Rebecca Blood for her amazing and genuine interest and affection, and Brad Graham for all around hilarity. More to come soon…

Thanks are also due to my pal Brent, whose updates were always interesting and only mildly disparaging of me. Should he get his own blog, folks?

{bg} The Big Man Is Back

Well the big man of the house has returned from SXSW, and we’ll be enjoying a good curry while he tells me all about his trip. (We usually meet with Brooke over here at our pad for curried chicken and The West Wing on Wednesdays.) I’ll have to show him the website for Lionhead Studios, which is the best company site I’ve seen in a while. Plus the screens from their new game, Black & White, are spectacular. Now I just have the long, long wait for the Mac port. {bg}

{bg} What Good Are Computers?

As I’m suddenly afraid that no-one cares about me or my blogs, I was hoping that anyone who reads and has access to email would consider the following question: “What good are computers?” Answers have no requirements whatsoever, but I’d like you to send them to brentg@NOSPAMrogers.com Flames gladly accepted. Fun or clever answers get posted (when I figure out how to!). {bg}

{bg} Cats

Today I have to do my duty to cats and friends’ dads. Sammy and Suzie, James’s Dad’s cats, need some company and the usual other attentions while John is off in Eire, so today is my turn. I love the cats, but the trip to and from the place called
Don Mills, in the north end of Toronto, is somewhat bleak. Big, wide, half-empty roads leading up to a big hilltop where the wind scours your very soul. Then a pleasant elevator ride up to a cosy apartment saturated with ten years of cigarette smoke. But there’s usually beer in the fridge! And apparently there’s a ghost car somewhere in the neighbourhood…{bg}