The Joy of Sex Books

In the 1990s I spent quite a bit of time in Iran, exploring for gold and copper. Fun times. It’s a beautiful country and we saw a lot of it, mainly in the Turkic north which stretches from the capital, Tehran, up to the borders with Azerbaijan and Turkey. We worked with a small team of Iranian geologists. One of the guys, a key member of the team who I’ll call Bob, was newly married. I’d met his wife in Tehran. A very pretty woman, she was quite religious, as was he, hence in true Islamic fashion, their hospitality to visitors such as me was overwhelming.

Something like this…
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I Met A Drug Smuggler

Western Pakistan is a fascinating place. It’s remote, arid, tribal, and these days a Taliban stronghold; not the friendliest of spots for westerners planning on coming home still attached to their heads. It was slightly safer when I was there in 1997, although it still had its moments (see My Project Went Boom).

The Chagai Hills.  Not sure I’d call them hills if I got to name them.
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In Praise of Eggplant

Just kidding.

If you ask me, eggplant has no point. Nada. Zip. Far as I’m concerned, it could vanish from greenhouses and shops around the world and bugger off to the great compost heap in the sky. I wouldn’t miss it. Any vegetable that’s become the unofficial Emoji for a penis really needs to take a long hard look at itself in the mirror.

I’m officially a dick.
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Musical Roots: Miserere

If you’ve taken the time to read any of my blog posts on classical music, you may have spotted a recurring theme to the composers and pieces I write about. I have a deep love for the ancient vocal origins of western choral music, and the more I delve into the family tree, the more I find to love. I’m not alone of course. The respect for our choral roots is obvious in so many works by modern composers and musical scholars, like Arvo Pärt – his Magnificat, for example- or the Fantasia by the slightly-less modern Vaughan Williams.

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The Joy of Birthdays

Today’s my birthday, and I hate birthdays. Ok, I really have to stop writing “I hate” in the first sentence of my blog pieces. Anyway, to quote George Carlin, so far, this is the oldest I’ve ever been.

Yeah, yeah, so what’s your point?

Famous dead people I share my birthday with include Ronald Reagan, Bob Marley, Eva Braun, Babe Ruth and Rick Astley. I’m exaggerating slightly. Technically Rick Astley’s still alive but his music is getting a bit stinky.

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Stock Picking in a 2019 Stylee

I promised myself when I started urbancrows.com that it wouldn’t become a mining and exploration blog. I was determined to keep it broad-ranging, stuffed full of erudite and amusing articles covering everything from wildlife, classical music to ancient sex toys. It would be an intellectual bootcamp for me- and Lord knows, I’m mentally flabby –  where I could build a careful façade as a funny polymath. Yeah, not quite.

Thank you Lord. Sound advice.
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How To Pick A Mining Stock.

“A stock pick is when an analyst or investor uses a systematic form of analysis to conclude that a particular stock will make a good investment and, therefore, should be added to his or her portfolio”  Wikipedia.

It’s here. The night I’ve been waiting for all year. Our stock picking dinner is tonight and the tension is ramping up across the mining industry. Think of it as the Davos Summit of mining. Twenty five seasoned veterans drawn from every facet of the global mining and exploration business –representatives from banking, research, geology, mining, journalism plus a couple of our parole officers- come together in a darkened room to select 25 companies that will set the junior resource market on fire for 2019. Just like we did in 2018.

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The Strangest thing I’ve Ever Seen

What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever seen? Think back. A ghost? Phosphorescence in the sea at night? An honest politician? We’ve all seen something that truly baffles us. Top of my list would have to be Trump’s inauguration – I’d call it black comedy if it wasn’t so serious. One moment the world was relatively normal and the next we’re all eating fresh shit sandwiches. Second on my list is a natural phenomenon, something –unlike Trump- that I can get my head around as a scientist. Kinda.

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Lost Footballs. The Saddest Sight.

The Twitterverse is a wondrous thing. So many creative people out there who work hard to provide totally pointless news feeds for our amusement, compiling all sorts of shit you didn’t know you needed. I’ve stumbled on a few gems since signing up and accumulating my mega-total of 46 followers. But my favourite has to be Lost Footballs (@Lostfootballs).

Balls. And they’re lost.

They post photos of lost footballs (no rugby balls please!) from around the world, sent to them by sad spotters like me. You find them everywhere. Back alleys, parks, roof tops, under cars and we all carry smart phones so taking a picture is easy. The twist is, subscribers are asked to pair their images with song lyrics that might reflect some aspect of the photo: as they say, “the saddest sight in the world – lost or discarded footballs.”

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The Results Are In.

Christmas is over. The New Year crept in through a hangover haze and the presents have been packed off to the Sally Ann. Here in Vancouver, that means it’s nearly time for the annual Hys and Lows stock picking results dinner, or what I like to call The Rites of Poverty and Delusion. The dinner has assumed a prominent place in the hearts and minds of the hallowed members of our little club. And with that in mind, I know that you are excited to see the 2018 results (if you can call them that) so without further ado, I’ll cut to the chase.

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