Humanist Public Restroom Architecture – How to design a toilet for ‘actual human beings’

Humanist novelty toilet designAfter the glacier floored, architectural dreamscape of Blank Canvas Living’s Antarctic inspired public restroom, I have no idea what to expect from the offices’ West corner facilities.

“You’re certainly dressed for it,” says Dr. C, as she leads me through the maze of corridors on the 10th floor.

I know this detour is making me late for my own job rolling paper on the 6th, but the anticipation of adventure is too strong to resist. We stop in front of a solid metal door, painted army green and accented with row upon row of rounded rivets.

“There’s only one toilet in this one,” Dr. C explains, “and no windows. In the midst of the collaborative madness of war and industrialization, we can forget who we are – one human, one moment in time. Our processes are not mechanized, nor should they be. Our bodies are sacred and should be celebrated. Take your time, I’ll be waiting right here.”

The door takes all my strength to open, then slams shut behind me with a BANG that jolts my nerves into combat readiness. The room is small and closed, a tight box of ridged green metal with artificial light coming from bare humming tubes wired (crudely) into the ceiling. To my left, near the back wall, is a strange industrial object – all gearing and quietly rotating circular components – which spins slowly to reveal a hidden sink, like the prize in a Chinese puzzle box.

And to my right… is the most human toilet I’ve ever seen! It’s curves are unexpected, fleshy, and warm, despite the smooth, cool porcelain. I can’t stop myself. My hand involuntarily reaches out to touch the molded torso that extends seamlessly from the tank back. The seat swings open, invitingly, and I take my place beside the lovely bum. Drawn by an urge even more primal than my body’s function here, I draw my fingers down the shallow dip of her spine and follow her curves with the caress of one human exploring another for the first time. Nobody’s watching; I smack her lightly on the cheek.

This is intimacy. This is indulgence. Heck, this is fun! My mind begins to churn. If this is really possible, really happening, what other processes can be transformed? Suddenly, for the very first time, pants down and mind spinning, I know exactly who I want to be.

I heave open the heavy door and relish its BANG behind me. “Dr. C! I want to do it. I want to be part of this! You don’t even know it, but I was born to work here.”

“Of course you were.” She doesn’t seem at all surprised to see me so red cheeked and excited. “I knew it the moment I met you. Well, my dear, welcome to Blank Canvas Living.”

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Secret to how to REALLY start doing things differently

I once witnessed a car accident while driving with my sister-in-law. At impact, the red minivan two cars ahead of us lifted up and spiraled like a football into the ditch. Mercifully, there were only minor injuries. After attending with water (and chocolate) until the paramedics arrived, we were asked to write witness statements. Upon reading each other’s, my sister-in-law and I were surprised to find that what we’d paid attention to was wildly different. Our attentions can be inherent to our coded personalities, cultural, or based on personal experience. But here’s the secret: retraining your attentions will give you incredible freedom of action.

Now let’s go to the grocery store. If you noted and evaluated every single one of the tens of thousands of products sold at your average grocery store… well, quite simply, your brain would shut down. In reality, we each walk into a markedly different store, depending on our tastes and habits. Like those big green signs on the highway, our attentions allow the rest of the landscape to blur into the background. A few weeks ago, I was standing in the salad dressing aisle with a bottle of Miracle Whip in my hand – not only Easy Squeeze, but on sale too! See that fellow on my shoulder in the illustration above? That’s Mitch – my insatiable human itch. When you give something an identity (Mitch’s origins will be explained in an upcoming post), you give yourself the freedom to open a dialogue. NOTE: This isn’t any sort of talking-to-yourself or actually seeing the little guy weirdness, just a fun philosophical allegory, like Nietzsche’s Zarathustra or Virgil’s guides in Dante’s Inferno (although I don’t suppose either of those two examples could be called particularly ‘fun’).

When you can dialogue with your primal human drives, habits, and interpretations (dare I say subconscious), you can begin to challenge your reflexive attentions, thoughts, and actions. In this case, choice of salad dressing. Don’t let a touch of natural, biological anxiety hold you back from trying something new. Our neurotransmitters are calibrated to keep our patterns stable in this so often unstable world… just push through (practice makes it easier). I’ve always thought about trying to make my own dressing, so told Mitch to shove off, and through the subsequent catecholamine haze, went hunting for apple cider vinegar, canola oil, and a good novelty mustard.

This shift in attentions began to change my experience of the store. New products came into focus, new flavour combinations, textures, and possibilities for combination. I was essentially shopping a different store, not literally, but a new menu for selection had opened up on familiar shelves. In lieu of an allegory brush off, you can also try this…

Practical Exercise For Retraining Attentions: Next time you’re in the grocery store, arbitrarily pick a 2′ by 2′ area of shelving. For every product within that square, imagine being served a sample at a dinner party. How does it taste? Smell? Look? What is it being served with? What are people talking about while eating? Build a story around it. Then pick one of these products (one you’ve never picked before) and have the balls, yes I said it, balls, to put it in your cart. You can stop here, or if you’ve really got kahoonas, build a dish around this product and see how your story plays out when you serve it to your family.

Dear Friday, how could have I let you see me like this?

Startled? Shocked? Horrified? All of the above. How could this have happened? Oh, I could give you a perfectly reasonable explanation for why I’m wearing slacks today – not pants or trousers, but honest to goodness slacks. And I swear I’m only surfing celebrity gossip to calm my beta-brain into a blissful alpha interim before boosting back up to finish my intellectual tome-of-the-moment (and it’s a really thick one too). But on the surface, I have completely submitted to the stereotype: the hair, a bun; my shoes, practical; my cardigan (yes, cardigan), thigh grazing and demure. I’m even drinking from our office kitchen’s “make every day a Friday!” mug. The horror.

Now, before I confess what I’m about to, I’m trusting you to understand something, that this moment does not define me. Just as I’ll trust that wherever you might find yourself today – in whatever footwear – that you, at least, have hope that someday you will find your own expression of whatever marvelous uniqueness your soul is coded to contain. That said…

My full surrender to the stereotype came as I reached into my desk drawer and dug out a cherry filled chocolate from my secret stash… and then another. Yes, dear readers, I’m typing this with still-sticky fingers. I’m living the very paradigm I’ve spent a lifetime trying desperately to escape. And I ask myself… What effect does environment really have, on our identities, our actions, our morale? Maybe we are not so independent of circumstance? Maybe my day job is more than a time ticker? Maybe you and I are risking more of ourselves than we realize? So let’s do something radical this weekend. You and me. Pinky swear…

Multi-tasking mushroom soup + casserole recipe = A threeway even monogamists can enjoy!


Why let one man, one woman, or one flavour profile hold you back in your quest for sensory bliss. We monogamists have the secret… adding a dash of this, a dash of that, changing it up to make every night a new recipe for…

Night One – Comforting Soup
3 cans condensed mushroom soup
3-4 cups sliced mushrooms (or one large package)
1 bunch celery (chopped)
1 bunch parsley (chopped)
8 green onions (chopped with whites separated)
2 tbsp butter/oil
1 tps dried thyme (or to taste)
salt/pepper to taste
grated cheddar (to garnish)

In your largest soup pot, sauté mushrooms, onion whites, and celery in butter until just softened. Add canned soup and water (+ extra 1/2 can water). Add thyme/salt/pepper to taste. Add 1/3 parsley and 1/3 onion greens. Simmer 5 min+ to combine flavours… serve with garnishes.

Night Two – Surprising Stir-Up
leftover mushroom soup
1 large can corn niblets
3 cups fusilli pasta
retained garnishes

Prepare pasta according to package (al dente). Add drained + rinsed corn to reheated soup. Stir in pasta… serve with garnishes. Note: you may have to alter the pasta proportion depending on how much soup is left over.

Night Three – Personal Casserole
leftover mushroom stir-up
lots-o-cheese
retained garnishes

Heat leftover stir-up on stovetop (pasta will have expanded to absorb soup liquid). Divide into oven safe bowls and top with hefty amount of cheese. Broil until cheese is bubbling. Garnish and serve.

Risking everything to get from Here to There

Once, on stage, I blanked out. I stood there stupidly, holding a silent, quivering flute, cantilevered out into nothingness.

Once, before a deadline, I blanked out. I sat there stupidly, hating my hands for shaking, this time over a keyboard, poised over an article that would never be written.

Now I sit here risking everything promised by our current paradigm, but my hands are steady. These words are my own. There is no fear beyond the slow, mild panic of a human engaging her humanity. There is no composer’s melody to forget, and no interviews to transcribe. There can be no ‘blanking’ out because this is Blank Canvas Living. This is a living dialogue. This is a brain exploring, within and without. This is freedom.

Who are you? Who do you want to be? Risk asking.

But more than that – risk knowing.

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom – Anais Nin

To blossom in this world takes a sharp act of will, fierce and unwavering. There can be no permission. Blank Canvas Living’s  tips/techniques, personal style guide, creative living exercises, and experiments in engagement are designed to loosen our jumbled neural associations and give us the freedom to learn our brains, love them, and blossom according to our most primal coding. Backed by a five year dedicated study into the evolution of ideas (from prehistory through to today), and ongoing philosophical field testing, Blank Canvas Living is an interactive forum for passionate people who share a high need for cognition and sensory/sensual involvement.

I woke up officially too fat for all my clothes – and I’m loving it!

This post is about as PC as sending back an adopt Namibian baby after the novelty of carrying the little tike round on your hip has worn off. You’ve been warned! I woke up fat today, with a couple tike’s worth of pudge cantilevered out over my own hipbones. Not one single waistband would button or zip. A winter’s worth of last-hurray-before-milestone-birthday denial fueled debauchery, combined with a classic feminine retention, conspired to maximize the bloat factor – and on a Friday no less!

But I have a secret, I kinda like it. Actually, I feel like I’m breaking all the rules because I’m loving my new pounds in a sneaky, indulgent sort of way. I’m deep into a one night stand with a new partner, a strange woman with hedonistic appetites and soft, yielding flesh. I can’t help but wonder… Is this what it’s like to be a man? The lure of a novel body is intoxicating. How do men survive surrounded by so much flesh? Do they feel the same intense, driving curiosity to explore, and by exploring, possess? These curves are fresh and foreign, and I’m drawn into the passionate exoticism of knowing another body for the first time. The temporal (oh please dear gawd let it be temporal!) nature of my current weight allows a sense of detachment; my internal body image has not had time (or my permission!) to adjust. I am free to explore, to indulge – but what to wear?!

The temptation to dress for concealment, rather than display, is strong – and entirely culturally driven. But the logic is all backwards… What joy can there be in hiding? Hiding implies shame, and I feel no shame for maxing out my humanity in preparation for said epic B-Day (maybe a wee smidgen of guilt, but let’s not go there). Blank Canvas Living is, in essence, about honouring our humanity, and what could be more human than breakin’ out the cleavage.

My back-of-the-drawer-fat-day clothes don’t celebrate shit. Neither do yours. Let’s not kid ourselves. We all have go-to uniforms for when we wander too far from our own, uniquely personal, weight baselines. Instead of camouflage, I started searching my closet for something, anything, that would highlight my new curves. After various exercises in claustrophobia, I finally settled on an outfit: an extremely forgiving stretch gray A-line skirt; a serious push-up bra; and a fuchsia faux-pashmina, draped over my shoulders and cinched at the waist with a wide, embroidered belt.

So far the outfit has prompted at least one “is that Scottish…?” coworker complement. But more importantly, I think I look how I feel – powerful – like a medieval knight strapping on my house’s colours (heralding… pink?) before charging into battle. And as an added Friday bonus, I get to enjoy the delightfully fleshy treat that Tia Carerre (see left) was such a dear to sign last time I found myself in a similarly salacious situation.

Note: Ever notice how the holes on your belt form a statistical weight bell curve? The indents on my belt (shown above) reduces my waistline to a mathematical function through time. But any further ‘reducing’ requires a less numerical form of ‘crunching’ … sigh.

In fierce anticipation of meat

Office lunch scheduled for today… at a steakhouse I can’t possibly afford. Except once this past summer, by myself, in full surrender to the experience – each bite a betrayal of my budget. The madness of it pushing the moment as far as my senses could stretch it – a complete indulgence. While others around me were simply, unceremoniously, having dinner.

Meat. There’s something dangerously primal about an animal giving its life, not just for my sustenance, but for my pleasure. I know the resource costs, the methane, the suspicious hormone side-effects, but I don’t care. Nothing about humanity is efficient, no matter what we’d like to believe. There is no underlying nobility. I confess, albeit blushingly, that it gives me a wicked thrill to think that somewhere out there a creature is plodding out its existence solely in service of my most selfish, base desires. An entire life lived for that first blissful bite…

And for the occasion, I’m in full carnivore uniform: knee high Harley Davidson boots, primal cleavage, and you can be darn sure I skipped breakfast… (which I’m sure you can already tell!) Update to follow…

Update: Fully sated, I now feel the prerequisite amount of guilt. I have sacrificed a living being to satisfy a primordial need for fleshy, sacrificial consumption. But darn it, the steak, a New York Strip, was – not to blaspheme – divine. I hang my head as one driven by the baser laws, and I wish I also felt the prerequisite amount of shame. But alas, if I am a fool, I am one of the grand old fools, and I live in the torment of my weakness. I am human. I hunger. And I eat.

When doing the dishes becomes a not-so-natural disaster

There are moments when everything changes, and in an instant, your world – or at least your kitchen – becomes a very complicated place. Last night, at exactly 9:43pm, something happened that made everything up to that moment seem so manageable, so innocent. It was something I’ve seen coming for years, “only a matter of time,” as ‘they’ say.

Doing the dishes after watching a documentary on the awesome perils of constructing the Panama Canal, my mind was full of hydro engineering, spillways, and human suffering – all of which would soon cross a continent and a century to turn my kitchen into a perfect diorama of disaster. Clearing the drying tray, I leaned over the counter to toss a Tupperware lid up to the top cupboard shelf, but it didn’t quite make the right sound. It was too loud, as if instantly echoed. Then I felt it, a cold, clammy liquid seeping through my long johns and woolen socks. I knew right away what had happened. I looked down, and time stopped.

Sure enough, my shirt had caught the edge of the George Foreman Grill (brim full!) drippings tray and yanked it off the counter. Brown and sludgy, the watery fat had exploded… everywhere. I thought of Panama, of the flooding and yellow fever, and I thought of the men and women who had battled far deeper demons than the greasy mess I was facing. But I couldn’t blame the mosquitoes, or the weather, or even the French, it was my own fault for leaving the stupid thing so close to the edge.

After a very brief (but entirely necessary) mourning period, I stripped down, tossed my socks in the sink and got to scrubbing. There I was, nearly naked, on my hands and knees on the kitchen floor, scouring the linoleum. In a moment my evening had changed from routine to grim nightmare, but compared to Panama, I suppose I really don’t have shit to complain about.

How to incorporate air purifying plants into an office environment

Plants are an excellent way to improve the air quality in your office. Spider plants offer exceptional purification properties. Of course, you can always take things one step farther into the jungle and create a greenery curtain in your office doorway. Anything to bring more of a barrier between your humanity and the industrial hum of the cubicle wasteland beyond.

Although I do have to warn you, explaining to a befuddled coworker why you’re bushwhacking through spider plant foliage to escape for lunch can be a little awkward – as I found out first hand last week! Click Here to learn more about the Blank Canvas Sampler. And if you’re curious about the font in the illustration above, Click Here.

When what to wear to work becomes a military operation – A Che Guevara-ette personal style experiment

“What the hell are you wearing?” asks Doctor C, catching me in an embarrassingly macho pose in the elevator this morning.

“I don’t even know,” I say, blushing. “I was feeling kind of militant this morning so I figured I’d just go with it.”

“Nice cape. Do you think your boss is going to let you wear that hat all day?” She presses the button for her 10th floor Blank Canvas Living offices. My fate holds me on the 6th floor, rolling paper for geophysicists and dreaming about a creative future. My button’s red glow is as mocking as the smirk on Doctor C’s neon-coral lips.

“It’s actually a scarf,” I point out, ignoring her tone. “I knit it myself a few years ago, and I’m going to have to be strategic about the hat. It completes the whole Che Guevara-ette look – and the necklace adds some class.”

I see her trying to hold it in, but she breaks out laughing. “Because you’re the very picture of a classy lady right now!”

“Whatever. Life’s too short to stick to the script. I don’t care if I get in trouble. I just want to feel something when I get dressed. I can’t hide in my head anymore. I need to wear who I am, you know, honour my mood and story of the day. And you know what else? I feel like I could kick some serious ass wearing these pants. I stand differently. I walk differently. All I want to do is to climb a tree in some deep dark Bolivian forest and start scouting for a revolution- ”

“Woah there tiger,” Doctor C interrupts my tirade. “All this from wearer of the infamous ugly pants?”

We burned those bastards! Look what you started!”

She rolls her eyes and swings her long white braid from one shoulder to the other. “If you’re in the mood for war, girl, you really need to come upstairs and do a ‘tour’ in our West corner restroom.”

The 6th floor button winks out and the elevator doors open, but I’m too curious to get off. I leave the script and stay on board for whatever adventure is waiting for me on the 10th.

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