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The CBC logo, rendered in back bacon (or what Americans call “Canadian Bacon”). All this picture needs is a Bloody Caesar.

Comic Sans is probably one of the most misused fonts out there. Originally intended for the comic book-style speech bubbles for “Clippy” and other assistants in Microsoft Office, it got used first for “fun”, “childlike” documents and signs, and then found its way into far less appropriate venues, including those shown in the photos below:

The Comic Sans Criminal site does a great job telling the story of Comic Sans, where people went terribly, terribly wrong with it, what the appropriate uses for Comic Sans are, and it ends with the Comic Sans Pledge:

Check out Comic Sans Criminal! It’s a beautifully-designed site that makes use of some good HTML5 tricks to turn it into an entertaining and gorgeous slideshow, and if it stops you from using Comic Sans inappropriately (or even better, altogether), so much the better!

This article also appears in Canadian Developer Connection.

A few weeks ago a friend saw that I needed to go out for a drink and invited me for a Saturday night out.

“What sort of place would you like to go to?” he asked in his Facebook message.

“Someplace interesting, but not so loud or distracting that we can’t talk. Even better would be a place I’ve never been to before,” I replied.

“Have you ever been to the Black Dice Cafe?” he said.

I hadn’t, so it was decided: we’d meet there on the upcoming Saturday.

The Black Dice turned out to be the perfect place. It’s on Dundas just a little bit west of Dufferin (1574 Dundas Street West, to be precise), just a little out of range of the gentrification. Like many places in Accordion City’s core, it’s a long, skinny place, with a half-dozen tables in the front and the bar in the back. Across from the bar is an old-school electromechanical pinball machine, and by the tables was an original Seeburg jukebox that actually played 45 RPM singles, mostly tunes from the ‘50s and ‘60s.

The Black Dice is part pub, part early Rock and Roll museum. It’s decorated with 1950s and early 1960s memorabilia: old records, photos of Elvis and Buddy Holly, a black-and-white TV above the bar that seemed to only play commercials from the time of Don Draper, old license plates, signs and other knick-knack from the time bookended by Bill Haley at one end and The Animals on the other.

Staffing the place was a woman in a black cocktail waitress dress tending bar, and in the kitchen, an Asian guy in a porkpie hat, suspenders and checkered pants who looked as if he were trying to bring the Japan’s greaser subculture here, in an odd sort of cultural return trip. Both were the sort of charming, quirky hosts that I like.

The only incongruity in the Black Dice’s illusion of a time warp back to the ‘50s is the menu. It has none of the old standbys that you’d expect: no burgers, hot dogs, fries, shakes or malteds. Instead, there’s edamame, a great salami and provolone sandwich with chips and a very cosmopolitan beer menu. I’m not complaining.

I ordered a Sapporo and enjoyed some old-school pinball:

We talked about life, the universe and everything, which was exactly what I needed, in a great little place where I’d never been before. That in itself would’ve made it a fine evening, but it was actually better thanks to what happened before we got into the Black Dice.

Earlier That Evening…

Just before leaving for the Black Dice, I right by the entrance to my apartment and looked at the accordion, which sat on a chair right by the door. Should I take it? I thought. Probably not much call for it tonight; we’ll just be talking and drinking beer.

I’m often asked if carry an accordion with me all the time. It’s not all the time, but it’s fairly often, especially when stepping out for a social event, whether work-related or personal. Having the accordion handy (and having the chutzpah to use it) has opened all sorts of doors for me and brought opportunities that would’ve otherwise been missed. The times I regret not bringing the accordion far outnumber the times I regret bringing it.

I reminded myself of that little fact, slung the little red Silvetta over my shoulders and headed out the door.

I’ll admit that walking around with 15-ish pounds of musical instrument looks like a silly affectation. It looks like the act of a conceited ass (and hey, it might be). I’ll even concede the point that it’s not normal. I’m cool with that — great stuff happens when you break past normal.

A Slight Detour

I arrived first, a couple of minutes after the appointed time of 7:00 p.m. and saw the “CLOSED” sign on the Black Dice Cafe’s entrance. A quick glance at the hours posted on their door revealed that they were open, but not until eight.

At about the same time, my friend sent me a text message saying that he was running about ten minutes late. I was about to fire off a quick “no problem” reply when I heard accordion music coming from next door, accompanied by what sounded like a guitar, a kettle drum, a triangle and raucous voices.

I looked at the place next door. It was a little Portuguese watering hole; its sign read JJ Sports Bar. They were open and I could see a full beer fridge in the back; I figured I might even be able to establish some bona fides with the accordion.

“Black Dice not open until 8,” I texted. “Meet me at the sports bar next door.” About a minute later, he replied with a text along the lines of “Uh, okay.”

I walked into JJ’s, holding up the accordion in front of me, as if it were a passport and I was entering customs. A half dozen men from three different generations were gathered around a table covered in beer bottles, one with an accordion, one with an electric guitar, one with a small drum and one with a triangle, and they turned to face the stranger who’d just entered the room.

“I’m going next door for dinner and they’re not open yet. I heard the accordion and thought I’d see what’s going on.”

They stared at me in disbelief for a moment, and then a number of them threw their arms in the air and yelled “ACCORDION!”

“Come! Join us! Play! Get this man a beer!” Magic phrases, all of them.

Folk Music and Oaths of Fealty

When my friend arrived at the bar ten minutes later, he walked into a scene like this with a very amused look on his face:

We played a selection of Portuguese folk songs, most of which were rousing two- or three-chord ditties that were meant to be sung after many servings of beer or aguardente. Folk music isn’t about precision or virtuosity, but about the heart (and alcohol) you put into it, so it didn’t matter if I’d never heard the songs before. I just asked what key they were playing in – G – and dove right in.

My friend established his own bona fides with them by surprising them with an order for port. He also took some photos and shot some video of the performances. Here’s the fifth and final number I did with them, an extravaganza featuring three accordions (a third bellows-squeezer came in after we did):

“Obrigado, guys,” I said when it was time for us to leave. Thanking them in Portuguese put me over the top.

“Come back any time, Joe!” one of them said.

“And if someone gives you shit,” another guy said, raising his fist, “call us, Joe! We will help you!”

“Did those guys just offer to beat up people for you?” asked my friend.

“I think I have a posse!” I exclaimed as we stepped out of JJ’s and went next door to the Black Dice.

Photo found via Certified Bullshit Technician.

It’s got all the earmarks of an award or commendation ceremony. But is it the dog, trainer or both being recognized? Readers of the Japanese language, I want to know!

Sample dialogue:

“Remember when people were content to be unambitious, sleep till eleven, just hang out with their friends? You had no occupation whatsoever, maybe working a couple of hours a week at a coffee shop?”

“Right…I thought that died out a long time ago.”

“Not in Portland! Portland is a city where young people go to retire.”

…

“I gave up clowning years ago.”

“In Portland, you don’t have to.”

I’ve been there, and everything in this video, a promo for a new IFC series called Portlandia, is true. Everything.

Amber Mac and me. Photo by Rannie Turingan.

Last night’s HoHoTO was both a great party and a successful fundraiser, netting just shy of CDN$62,000 for Accordion City’s Daily Bread Food Bank. Held at the Mod Club and attended largely by this city’s tech, social media and Twitter addict scene, it was part charitable event, part holiday party, part night club evening and part industry schmoozefest.

Pre-Event Dinner

Lee Dale of Say Yeah! invited me to a pre-HoHoTO dinner at Bar Italia, where I got to share a table with some friends and high-tech colleagues I haven’t seen in a while, including:

• Michele Perras
• Tom Purves
• Sunir Shah
• Jay Goldman
• Connie Crosby
• Mark Kuznicki
• Gabe Mansour
• Ryan McKegney

Mmm…the fourth night of dessert in a row (three at TechDays-related dinners in Calgary, plus this one). Good thing Michele helped me put away some of this stuff!

I will be atoning at the gym this weekend.

The Party

After dinner, we made the short walk from Bar Italia to the Mod Club, where the party was in full swing. The DJs were cranking out some great tunes, and as I always say, it’s never a Duarte da Silva set until he spins Kids by MGMT.

It was great catching up with the folks from the scene, including Andrew and Melina who were running the photo booth in the bar upstairs:

The End Result

The writing on the giant cheque in the photo above is washed out by the lights, but the end result of the evening was that we raised just shy of CDN$62,000 for the Daily Bread Food Bank. My congratulations to the organizers on a job well done, and my thanks to everyone who attended for supporting a great cause.