Admittedly Not Very Frequently Asked Questions (ANVFAQ)
Who are you?
I am Dave. Dave I am.
Where are you?
I am sitting at my desk. That desk happened to be in Karachi, Pakistan for a while, which was odd and also the main reason I started this here blog. Now my desk is in Toronto, Ontario… which is depressingly normal.
How old are you?
Old enough to know better.
Where are you from?
I am the proud product of a tiny town called St. George, in the province of New Brunswick, in the fantastic, and ever so polite, country of Canada.
What does Artsaypunk mean anyway?
Well, that’s a good question. I’m glad I pretended you’d ask it. The Artsaypunk is me. I am the Artsaypunk. It’s an old moniker I took on back in my university days. Now that I think about it, I don’t really know what it means, except that it defines me exceptionally well.
By the way, somewhere in the archives is a whole post that provides a long and winding explanation of the complete etymology of The Artsaypunk.
Are you Richard Ford’s son?
Indeed, I am. And proud to be so, just as I hope that he would be proud of me. He was a great man, and one of the best teachers the world has known. Incidentally, I’m also the son of Kathleen Ford, who’s a fantastic lady in her own right.
Why do you sometimes pretend to talk to you blog?
Who’s pretending? Who am I? What is this? Why are these walls padded?
Why do you disappear for long periods of time, promise to update the blog, but never do?
Sigh… On good days (usually Tuesdays), I consider myself as a writer. The written word is a fickle mistress. By times, she provides inspiration in abundance. That’s when I like her. That’s when I say, “You’re not so fickle afterall, mistress.” But other times, she can be a wicked vestal virgin, too busy tending the sacred flame to provide a drop of inspiration, or Muse-sweat, as I like to call it. I don’t post crap, so if I’m not inspired, I don’t write it. There’s your answer.
But Dave, isn’t that a cop-out?
Yes, yes it is. The truth is that I started this blog because I thought my unique perspective on a country that frightens most, could be insightful and entertaining. I never expected to be here this long. As the days go by, there isn’t much that strikes me as strange anymore. It becomes difficult to remember that most of my daily experiences would still seem downright strange to folks back home. Every once in a while, it does strike me. Maybe I’m sitting on my balcony, watching the world go by, and I suddenly think to myself, “Hey look, there’s three camels, two ice-cream carts, a motor-rickshaw and a man squatting on the side of the road.” Then I think, “I wonder if I could squat on the side of the road and pee without dousing my Shalwar-Kameez.” And then I think, “Surreal. I wish someone from home could see this.” But those moments are fewer and farther between. In any situation, the extraordinairy eventually becomes ordinairy, so that’s why I often have long periods of time without updates. And that, my friends, is the real answer.
Come on Dave, isn’t that also a fancy cop-out.
Okay, okay… Although all those things are partially true, the simple truth is that I’m a very busy guy. At any time, I usually have three of four jobs on the go. They usually keep me hopping like a bunny on a Bunsen burner. It’s tough to find the time to write for myself (and thus you). I’m not one of those bloggers that can just rhyme off what happens in my day. I aim to entertain, so each of my posts are crafted carefully, edited, and packed with as much wordplay and humour as I can muster. It’s exhausting to tell the truth. So that’s why. Ok? That’s the answer. Happy now?
Well, not really. It still kinda sounds like a cop-out.
FINE. Since it’s Tuesday, I’ll tell you. I am a writer. If there is one thing a writer understands, it is procrastination. In fact, as soon as I get around to it, I’m going to write a whole treatise on procrastination. Oh fine, I might as well say it. I’m lazy. Dead-dog lazy. I still haven’t finished an essay for my undergrad (and boy is there a story behind that one). I get home from work and I’m tired and lazy. The last thing I want to do is sit down and write. But I’ll try… Ok?
Do you really think you’ll keep it up this time?
Shut it.