Alphabet soup in a virtual mason jar

stella's gettin her groove back but the song keeps changing by the hour

2008-04-27T09:37:00.002-06:00

holy cow, it's been awhile! just saw the date of my last entry and can't believe that over a month has passed. i suppose that's a good sign and that i've been doing more living than documenting.

i'm in a very strange place at the moment where i find myself on the verge of a life change where new options for the direction of my life are bubbling up to the surface and i feel like i need to listen to the voices of influence and do something to make a change. the difference this time is that the change in question is not necessarily about a job or a new fitness regime, it's about creative energy.

have seen some incredible films lately and a part of me really feels the urge to pick up a camera and start playing around or to put pen to paper and get a screenplay going. feel like i could be part of that world. understand it on some level. don't get me wrong, i don't fancy myself the next big thing in terms of directing it's just that i am so enamoured by people's life choices and how they deal with the bends in the road that i somehow want to add some of the stories i've heard over the course of my life to the mix. i guess part of it is that i love being in the company of people who have devoted themselve to the telling of the small stories. the unglamourous. the messy and complicated. love that the plight of a single individual who is not really "important" in terms of power or prowess is seen to be worthy of listening to and getting to know.

have also been feeling pulled to leave the classroom and explore another avenue of education. am suddenly more aware of the possibility to help shape ideology and practice within the field by participating in research and planning on a greater scale. have been encouraged and acknowledged by others as having the potential to be successful here but, until now, have felt unprepared to do so. now, after having heard about others around me dip their toes in these proverbial waters i am wondering if i haven't missed the boat for next year by accepting a classroom position.

am also feeling the need to develop my participation in the creation of ideas outside of work. am craving a yin to it's yang. have started reaching out to like minded friends and have found willing participants there. am starting to take this desire more seriously and feel like now's the time to really turn a whim into a regular practice.

incredible what a little sunshine can do. all of these things have only come to the surface since blue skies have returned. am convinced that there's a connection despite my lack of buy in to all things granola. whatever it is, i'm grateful for it. i needed to feel moved to do something more than i think i realized.

strength in numbers

2008-03-14T20:47:00.003-06:00

have you ever noticed that when you focus on something that it suddenly pops up everywhere in your life? you know, like you read a book, decide you'll travel to a locale it mentions and suddenly every news story you see, every random conversation you have somehow comes back to that locale?

well, i've been thinking a lot about the life of those who live according to their ideals, who strive to make their life's work about something that means something to them. i've been comforted to find that i'm not alone in my struggles to find another way of carving a path for myself that feels right.

i've been incredibly inspired by the work of a crazy bulgarian (christo somebody, starts with a j and has f's in it..) and his socialite crazy parisienne wife who have mounted large scale art exhibitions across major cities like paris and new york. masterworks, a program on tvo has been airing documentaries about their struggles to stage an interactive art experience with no other goal than to bring pleasure to the people who interact with the space. they spend all of their own money, only have the work up for two weeks and hire local people to do all of the prep and take down work.

it's been amazing watching these kooky free spirits stand up against people like jacques chirac and go to town hall meetings with people who state that central park is a piece of art itself and to stage something there would be like painting over a renoir with a degas. so interesting to see the incredible resistance to pleasure for the sake of it. the suspicion toward these people who "must" have an alterior motive of some sort.

the first project was to wrap pont neuf (bridge in paris) in white silk. this one took several years to make happen. the second involved putting up hundreds of orange gates in central park which had orange fabric billowing out from under them. this project, proposed in 1979 was not approved until 2005! talk about perserverence! was incredible to see them get up each time they were shoved down by bad press, angry artists, unsympathetic mayors. the best part was watching all of the footage of people stopping to stare at the fabric as it moved in the breeze. the smiles, the serenity, the magical way it transformed the space in the dreary winter. it was so moving to see so many visibly moved by the experience. i wondered how christo and his wife kept their faith, marveled at how they could even have conceived of such a project in the first place.

then i went to a book club meeting focusing on the novel eat, pray, love where a woman quits her job to get her internal house in order, starting with a mission to teach herself how to allow herself to experience pleasure for the sake of it. again, this theme of stepping of the beaten path to listen to the part of you that can't fake it anymore.

a couple of friends also shared their reactions to into the wild. film about a young man who wants to face life on his own terms and literally goes into the wild alone to test his limits. while many who see the film feel that his is a story of misguided youth i saw it as a story told about a point of view that is seldom discussed, written about or mentioned in film. we don't really celebrate our dreamers and visionaries, those whose struggle is an intellectual/emotional one that doesn't always yield the kind of results we feel are to be examined.

personally, i also found myself itching to do something to satiate my own need for doing something that would 'fill me up' so i got together with a friend and painted for a few hours one evening. we were all calmed and rejuvinated by the experience, grateful for the process moreso than the product. all found ourselves eager to make opportunities to tap into that kind of experience more often.

to round out this recent flurry of experiences surrounding the celebration of ideas and idealists, i watched a friend's film that he'd prepared for his thesis. it spoke to the dangers of idealizing a past and how it can limit a future. he spoke openly about the burden of glorified ideals as well as their beauty. he documented his struggles to make things make sense, to find an authentic way to be in the world that wasn't marked by other people's fingerprints.

in all of these things i saw equal amounts of pleasure and pain. saw heartache, felt confusion and the messiness that comes with writing your own script. still, i am feeling a little more encouraged, a little more comfortable with the discomfort.

"my kid could paint that" -see it!

2008-02-27T21:45:00.004-06:00

ohmigod!

not since capturing the friedman's have i walked out of a theatre and been so abuzz with ideas, emotions and reactions to a film.

once again, the documentary has proven to kick scripted film's ass in terms of drama and emotional investment.

as i was watching i was literally thinking on four different levels, constantly seeing things in a new light as the film progressed and another point of view was introduced. was so stirred and provoked that i wanted to talk to the screen, turn to my seatmate and break into discussion about a point that was made.

but i digress..here's the premise: a four year old girl whose dad's a low level manager at a freeto lay factory by night, amateur painter by day gives her a canvas to keep her occupied while he paints. She takes a liking to it and creates something a family friend thinks is great and wants to hang it up in his bar. people express interest in it, the family thinks it is hilarious and agree to sell it. a gallery owner (read shifty, insecure frustrated artist) sees the painting at the home of the person who bought it and wants to exhibit her work.

don't want to ruin it for you, but basically, people pick up on the story and a fascinating chain of events ensues.

among the concepts i found most interesting were: a) point of view of mom and dad. their fundamental differences in approaches to the hype become almost iconic by the end of the film. they are so pointedly representative of two social constructs that they start to seem constructed. i mean, you couldn't write it better if you tried. watching the documentarian ask the same question to the two separately effectively establishes these points of view and then, at a critical juncture of the film we finally see them together, asked a probing question at the same time. watching them react to each other on film, in the moment, was so intimate and telling that it felt painful. as an audience member you watched the penny drop in the subject's minds as it drops in yours. so powerful.

b)film as a comment on voice of women-(this one didnt even come across my radar until a scene where an older woman with poorly dyed orange hair and a pink gingham dress spent 12000 on a painting she didn't want.) as i watched, i started to notice that the women in the film all had strong instincts that drove the way that they made decisions and defined themselves. in all four cases -local journalist, mom, marla-the young painter, and the woman who reluctantly bought "ocean", the women had a clear sense of what it was that drew them to the art/story. as things became more complicated there was a moment where each overtly struggled with the course things were taking. each voiced her concerns and dis-ease in her own way. it was incredible to watch these people go from a place of assured contentment to a point where they denied their 'gut' instincts to appease the men in the film-dad, slimy art dealer, documentarian, husband of gingham dress woman...again, incredible to see it play out-materialism and pseudointellectualism on one side and integrity on the other.

c) proof of talent-this was a biggie. after having been immersed in the world of this family for a certain ( and i'm sure very thoughtfully plotted) amount of time, it was incredible as a viewer to find myself suddenly rethinking everything i'd seen based on one piece of 'evidence'. it took me by surprise and i actively fought the impulse to suddenly jump camps, shift loyalties. still, once revealed, the 'evidence' made a neutral movie going experience from that point on, impossible. it brought to mind bigger questions, of our fickle relationship with faith. of our competing desire to want to celebrate human achievement and unique self expression and our distrust of the unusual.

d)what is art? the biggest thing i took away from this aspect of the film was that it was the amateur artists themselves that made the most effective argument against the validity of the very art they make! watching these guys sell their souls for some artistic street cred was sad. no moral compass whatsoever. they were lost. made to seem all the more so in contrast to the women and their certitude.

most interesting was they way that one statement by a psychologist (not an art critic) turned the tide of public opinion in one fell swoop. to hear the opinion parroted across contexts was like watching a flu virus spread. people are so unsettled by abstract art that in order not to say the wrong thing in response to it, they cling to what an 'expert' says and claim their comment as their own, secure that, even if not popular, their stance is at least legitimate in some way.

was also great to see ridiculous way that people interviewing the four year old as a means to gage the authenticity of the true greatness of her work totally missed the point. at one point, the documentarian asked her how she knew when a painting was finished. ridiculous! she's four! when she can't give an answer she's not revealing the fact that she's not a true artist, she's being four! she's reacting the way most people do when they create something with no end goal in mind other than enjoyment. it blew my mind that her developmental age never seemed to factor into an explanation for a less than desired response to a "probing' question. we are seriously regressing on the critical thinking scale...find myself longing for real journalism, for the days of donahue...

e) documentarian as voice in film-while i am used to this technique with political pieces like sicko and supersize me,or when the subject of the film is family or is autobiographical in some sense, but hearing the reflections of the filmmaker during the film , breaking the fourth wall so to speak really added a new dimension. there's a moment where the lens that has been a source of comfort to the family being filmed becomes tainted. once the mom realizes she's been had the betrayal she feels is palpable and the guilt expressed by the documenatarian became my own, felt equally culpable for having gone along for the ride on his heels.

so, as you can see, it's pretty provocative stuff. hope haven't ruined it for you. do see it though, would love to hear what you think!

there are still some musicians in the music industry...who knew?

2008-02-11T20:53:00.000-06:00

now, while i do love awards shows, i'm not usually motivated to write about them afterward. usually sharing the moment live with my favourite actor or some random underdog in the foreign film category, does the trick. but today, watching the tacky e! rundown of the best and worst dressed of the evening (i swear there was nothing else on!!) i was remided of how drama free the whole event was and how, for the first time in a long time, i was really entertained by the music.

as a musician of sorts myself, i was blown away by alicia keyes. the girl can sing! she's flawless. great intonation, phrasing...she's got an incredible musicality that's informed by a bunch of different genres, so intelligent. her delivery is incredible too. just mindblowing.

must say that i found myself a big fan of the foo. have always loved dave grohl. true rock and roll guy. gives'er every time. really takes me back to my hair thrashing high school days. nice to see him keeping the torch of rock alive.

while i love feist's musicianship and the way that she really plays with her voice like an instrument, i was a little disappointed that there's not more depth to it live. saw her on snl awhile ago and felt the same thing. was great to see her among the throng of performers though, as she really is doing something special.

loved the grobin and boccelli duet. made me long to sing italian again. something about singing that stuff that gives you a chance to channel sound in a way that no other genre can.

kanye's a great performer and is one of those guys who would have been a charming but annoying kid to teach. incredible that the same creative mind that can create great hooks and visual looks can write such crap as "you can be my black kate moss tonight"...love how he slammed fifty cent instead of thanking his mom in his speech. the guy has cajones the size of saturn.

also love the cirque beatles tribute. stunning. even if it did go on a bit long.

all in all was great to see music celebrated and performed by bona fide musicians.

good on ya!

walk down memory lane

2008-01-22T21:36:00.000-06:00

whenever i've read anything about the structure of early native societies, i've always been interested in that person whose job it was to be the guardian of the tribes' lineage. that guy who could trace families for generations and could recount the causes for change and upset in the structure of the village.

i'm always impressed by people who have the unique ability to remember names, first and last. am stunned when someone tells a story and is able to include not only the year something happened (skill i lost when i was no longer able to mark years by the grade i was in...) but the season as well!! incredible!

i recently had occasion to spend some time with a "time tracker" in the form of my aunt. she's visiting from ireland. swapping stories one evening she proved to have an encyclopedic knowledge of not only our family's history in each of the regions in which it's taken root, but the histories of our neighbours and relatives thrice removed.

as she spoke, effortlessly weaving names and dates into anecdotes, i began to wonder what her secret was.

a bit of a backseat thriver myself i immediately speculated that, like me, she's always just had her feelers out wherever she's been, taking it all in, unnoticed. i wondered, did she collect these names and connections like i did images? did she write them down or make a mental map when she'd meet someone new, pencilling in a connective line from one to another already embedded in the web?

and how do these lines become etched? are they rehearsed over tea in a neighbour's kitchen when there's nothing on tv? is the information swapped like trading cards on a schoolyard?

women's work it seems. as the idea emerges, i take stock of my previous encounters of these "social web savants" and note that there's not a man in the bunch.

i think of my own trunkful of memories that serves as my coffee table. constant reminder of things past. ever present in my present.

when i question her about her abilities, she shrugs, confused. simply survival. would've been chastised and shut out by the local women if she weren't able to keep the connections straight. wouldn't be able to participate in the conversation if she couldn't keep up. when you're in a small irish town there are rules, scripts to follow.

guess it's like an organizing pattern, a tool , a schema you can use across situations to get yourself sorted, to put things in their place, to determine your place...

as she spoke i kept thinking that someone should write it all down, should film it. felt like hers was a knowledge that couldn't be constructed from paper at a later date by a less skilled hand. listening to her was like watching a skilled craftsman of a trade that few apprentice anymore.

i've lived in my building for five years and don't know a single neighbour by name. ours isn't a shared story anymore. my history isn't stored by those whose walls border mine, it's in cyberspace and digital cameras, happening in parallel with the person at the other end of the telephone line, or email or camera.

who will tell the street's story? where will the new lines be drawn?

don't know that i have answers for that one, don't know that it's necessarily something to be upset about (would be the first to bitch about being stifled by a community that had decided who i was before i opened my mouth..).

just know that i have a sense that i was in the presence of something more than just a storyteller.

these boots are made for more than walkin!

2008-01-10T21:23:00.000-06:00

so it's thursday and thanks to some nasty salt damage and some fallen hems i ran out of pants for the week and had to wear a skirt to work. for those womanly women out there who wear tailored suits daily with cute fitted jackets and gorgeous heels this may seem an odd conundrum, but let me explain. as an elementary teacher my outfit on any given day has to take me from sitting in a rocking chair-where kids have a prime view up said skirt if not the proper length, to teaching a gym or dance class where i am required to cavort with the rest of them demonstrating a grand jetee or lying down and doing crunches, to supervising students at recess on yard duty. given these conditions i have to choose my outfits carefully and skirts usually only come out on non yard duty, non gym days, which is why this was a bit of an occasion for me.

but i digress...

so i am wearing a skirt. a black skirt. a black skirt and i only have comfy brown boots. which means that if i don't want to be shamed on the subway i have to wear my black boots. which is fine except that they're my "make my legs look long and my feet womanly" boots with high heels and pointed toes which are only meant to be worn for a couple of hours, tops. i decide to bite the bullet and pray that i can prolong the hobbling phase of the anticipated pain until noon where i can walk around in my socks for awhile until my students get back from lunch.

as i walk toward the subway my feet make that click clack sound and my girly shoes beget a girly walk and before i know it i feel fantastic. like i actually am one of those polished women i see and marvel at from time to time.

when the kids arrive they're full of compliments, "miss, i like your boots, yeah your skirt is nice too,"...so sweet. it's one of the things they don't tell you about in teacher's college, they notice every detail of your being. i cant work a new ring into rotation without it being noticed. i remember the first time i wore open toed shoes with painted nails i had to publicly address it and have everyone have a look because they were so distracted by looking at my toes that my lesson was going nowhere. so today i caught them staring at my feet while they were at the carpet, some of them reaching out to touch them at one point.

so i'm feelin good, havin a good day, knocked eight items off my to do list and decide that i am going to reopen my lavalife profile and see what's out there.

not two minutes in, while checking a message i received from a guy in atlanta addressed "hello dear"..(groan) i get an instant message "hello" from a guy in mississauga. now instant messaging kind of freaks me out. i don't mind the chat it's just that ending the chat is very awkward and sometimes i'm not ready for the sudden diversions in direction they sometimes take.

so i tell myself i'll just make conversation. period. just breezy and non committal, what the chill crowd calls fun! so i dive in and after asking me what i am doing mr. romantico (his name, not mine) replies that he's just chillin followed by the letters "oic" for about four of my other responses in the conversation.

while the text messaging lingo is making my language loving soul cringe, i overlook it and try to focus on the message...except that the message "oh, i see" is not giving me much to hang my hat on.

just as i am composing something sweet yet definitive to free myself of the awkward situation he types "so do you want to get together for a coffee or dinner?"

wha?!!!

so now i have to backspace my exit clause and think fast on my feet. i thank him for the offer but say that it may be a little too soon just yet....

he then asks a couple of questions about where i live in mississauga. clearly didn't read my profile.

i'm confused and stalling and then he asks if i have instant messenger and offers his address.

i'm clicking on his backstage pass to try to glean some more information about this kamakaze dater and before i know it, he's giving me his phone number!

i keep turning him down as gently as i can and am running out of diversionary tactics.

such a strange situation. most times i am waiting for a guy to make a move after drawn out get to know you random but safe questions and "lol"s and now i've got one who's ready to go, out of the gate. so complicated.

not sure what's worse, feeling a connection with someone who doesn't ask you out, or chatting with someone that isn't into knowing you, that does.

ah well, at least i tried.

damn boots are more powerful than i imagined!

reconnecting

2008-01-03T22:26:00.000-06:00

one of the things i love best about my job is the fact that it affords me regular opportunities to take a break every few months in the form of holidays.

the first few days are always about running errands and slowly winding down. then, once i've had some me time where i'm not accountable to anyone but my couch i get to make dates with friends who i keep in touch with but rarely see in person.

so important to invest time in friendships, create new memories rather than rehash old ones. luckily, at this stage of my life i have the kind of friendships that allow me to step in and pick up where i left off. good people are good people and are who they are despite what the years or circumstance have thrown their way.

remembered this year through visits with friends that there's a depth of strength and fun and inspiration in these people that i've not really turned to enough. too busy, too tired to drag my ass out of my hood and my routine sometimes to take advantage of it.

it's been great seeing how we're all trying to make our way in the world the best that we can and that everyone's just as unsure about it all as i am. there's comfort in our collective struggle to live our lives meaningfully.

hard to believe another year's upon us. i'll be 35 in march. scary. so foreign. still get it wrong when i'm asked how old i am, don't identify with the number that represents me and my journey so far. feel about 26. feel like there's still so much to learn and do and be and experience. thought i'd be further along that mental list than i am but don't know what i would've had to give up in exchange for a different path.

that said my resolution for the year is to try to get my feet a little bit dirtier by getting out into the world beyond my cozy world even when i'm tired. going to try to build upon what i have instead of what i feel i lack. going to try to face the age that scares me to death with a brave face instead of a defeated one. going to try.

more raves about some recent faves

2007-12-20T21:11:00.000-06:00

don't know if it's my catholic upbringing but i find that the whole ritual of threes creeps up in my life from time to time. most recently i've being going through a bit of a sad spell and have sought solace in three sources of entertainment, all of which have hit that emotional sweet spot i was looking for.

the first was my last entry about lars and the real girl (the part where he takes his new girl to his favourite spots and reveals his hidden talents...loved!). the second was re-watching eternal sunshine of a spotless mind. again, lost souls colliding with awkward and poignantly lovely results. the third is a novel given to me by a friend that she'd heard good things about-three day road.

the novel is about a couple of native men from Moose Factory and their experiences in world war one. apparently it's loosely based on a true story. the protagonist is a quiet guy who translates his hunting skills into being an incredible sniper. his counterfoil is a childhood friend with a flair for storytelling and killing the enemy. while both are side by side during decisive victories, only the louder of the two gets the credit. the pairing of the evils of war and the character's personal journeys are beautifully crafted and intimate. as an extrovert, i appreciate any opportunity i get to get into the mind of someone who feels deeply but says little. was also surprised by how much i loved all of the war related aspects of the story. have never really gravitated to war stories before.

so there you have it. three recommendations for those who like to dwell a little in their funks before they move on to the brighter side of life. also recommended for anyone who just enjoys good writing, be it on the screen or on the page.

lars is so real, you forget the girl

2007-12-18T19:41:00.000-06:00

every year around this time i do a little research and start seeing all of the films that are receiving oscar and golden globe buzz. i figure if my entertainment chat shows are going to be referencing them all of the time, i need to know where i stand.

first on my list was lars and the real girl. i loved ryan gosling in half nelson and tried to get tickets for it at the film festival this year but was unsuccessful.

was pleased that the film lived up to my expectations that it would be muted and introspective. looks like it was filmed in southern ontario. immediately recognized the landscape and many of the extras. one of them lived in my residence at university!

ryan's character is incredibly complex. he's chosen to play him in a quiet way with quirks that aren't distracting. he doesn't speak much in the film but his eyes speak volumes. you can read the backstory he's developed in them, fill in the blanks of his silences on your own, so clear are his gestures.

the film speaks to loneliness and emotional neglect beautifully and honestly. it's absolutely heartbreaking to watch.

hope he's recognized this time around. can't imagine how draining it must have been to film. really seemed to embody the character fully.

go and see it if you can, just be prepared to sit with it emotionally a little while afterward!

art imitates life

2007-12-13T21:56:00.000-06:00

don't you love it when there's nothing on tv and you flip throught the channels and land on something on a whim and it turns out to be the most riveting thing you've seen in months?

just got home and the office was a repeat so i turned to tvo thinking there might be a decent documentary on. i was rewarded in spades.

to my sheer delight, they were showing a film called forever which documented random people visiting pere lachaise cemetary in paris. having spent innumerable hours in cemetaries myself in my visits to paris i was instantly intrigued that mine was a common obsession.

the director would focus on a tombstone that someone was maintaining or stopping to visit and we would learn about their personal connection to the person whose tomb it was. it was fantastic! most were artists' tombs. it was incredible to see how a piece of art (song or painting or film or poem) touched people so deeply that they felt a need to come and honour the creator. amazing how a shared idea can bring people close, connect us in such a powerful way.

i loved hearing the stories, witnessing the reverence and value of ideas and of beauty. loved, too, the way that local women with no connection to the deceased made it their personal responsibility to maintain the graves. thank god there's a little bit of old school reverance still humming in our communities. such an important role to play.

am always struck by this when i go to paris. the historic coincides with the present. it has an equal place in the esthetic of the place. it's all around you, breathing still. am also perplexed by the two faces of the coin this inevitably reveals, the bloody past and the beautiful exteriors. how can a society that was merciless and murderous also produce exquisite objects of art? are the two intertwined by necessity?

as always, was mesmerized by the people in the film and their stories, equally as compelling as those of the people they held in such high esteem. so great to see the graves of the common man acknowledged and explored. found myself drawn to these tombs as well. the little ones hidden in the corners, names almost indiscernable. like the people in the film, my experience in the cemetaries of paris was peaceful and positive. rejuvinating even. felt more spiritually fulfilled there than i did sitting in either sacre coeur or notre dame. feel as though you are dwelling in the paris of your romantic imagination in a visceral way.

funny how something i thought was unique to me and my sensibility was directed back at me through another's lens. incredible to see such a private experience the subject of a film. can't help but feel like i've been winked at by a secret society of sorts.

variations on a far too popular theme...

2007-12-04T22:46:00.000-06:00

and for a moment,

the breath went deep

and stirred

something

alive,

instantly animated and tinged with tingles

here was hope

a crazy cousin, sweeping through town on a bender.

she hummed and sang and unpacked a few things

ruffling a few feathers along the way.

"too loud", "too soon", cried the neighbours.

hadn't she received an invitation?

wrong again, apparently...

in the zone

2007-12-02T20:56:00.000-06:00

i am many things but an enthusiastic housekeeper is not one of them. in my mind, weekends are for sleeping, not sweeping. after a crazily paced week where i am picking up after 29 ten year olds all day, the idea of coming home and rolling up my sleeves to give the floors a good scrub is just not one that lingers too long on the radar.

of course i do laundry bi-weekly (though i have stretched that time frame by buying some extra socks and undies on occasion...) and keep on top of dishes but the big stuff, the hands and knees, get into the corners and dust the knick knacks happens when i've created a situation where it would be socially unseemly not to have floors that you could eat off of. i call it, the christmas party.

it's the one time where people will literally be hanging out in every square inch of my apartment, where they may sit on the floor, where they will likely use the bathroom, where new found friends are getting their first glimpse of what my nest looks like.

aside from the cleaning factor, the party allows me to look forward to picking up a new piece or two for the apartment. gives me an excuse to change my bedding, to buy that curtain or serving bowl that i've had my eye on but couldn't possibly rationalize spending money on at any other time of the year.

having given myself carte blanche to indulge today rubbed off on all of my errands as i galivanted about town. in one store i found four christmas gifts that were perfectly suited to their recipients! everything i found was in my price range and matched my vision. very rewarding. hard to explain to someone who dreads shopping.it's like a zone that you can only tap into once in a blue moon. typically, the moment you get a sense of what you want or need it somehow magically disappears from the shelves.

all told i got six christmas presents, two curtains, two serving plates, fantastic decorations for my fireplace and half of the food for my party this weekend!

so thrilled was i by my retail successes that i rushed home and hung the curtains and three pictures i've been meaning to get around to, wrapped some gifts and put away the groceries.

and on a sunday no less!!

it's been a good day, this. a good day.

baby boom

2007-12-01T21:40:00.000-06:00

ironic, my last entry was about death and this, about life...

don't know if it's me but there seems to be a baby boom going on. everyone around me seems to be sporting a baby on the hip. incredible to see my friends become mothers. to watch them find their way. amazing that despite the sleep deprivation not a one is snarky or crusty. not one has cloistered herself up in her bedroom.

once again i am awed by how amazing women are. how strong, how hard working. am so inspired by the open, let's just take it as it comes kind of attitude. amazing, too to see in the most concrete of concrete ways, that a living human being sprang from their loins. biology is truly incredible. so crazy that a piece of them will literally be walking the earth after they have passed on. pieces of their personalities and mannerisms will spring forth in another.

am encouraged by the role the men in their lives are also playing in this crazy ride. very hands on and openly affectionate. informed and involved they too have bonded with these micro versions of themselves.

am so not there yet. am tired for them. feel the weight of the responsibility whenever i am around them. see the way that time and energy almost dissolves in their presence. hope that i will be as strong, as brave some day.

lessons in loss

2007-11-21T20:25:00.000-06:00

one of my student's parents died yesterday.

she's one of my best and brightest and is probably one of the most well adjusted people i have ever met. i look at her all the time and marvel at her abilities and the ease with which she navigates through her life, balancing it all incredibly well.

i was dumbstruck upon hearing the news. felt personal, felt the weight of it deep in my chest. understand why they call it shock. it is shocking to see someone one day and within a matter of hours know that their entire life has just drastically shifted direction.

literally felt the hand of some higher order being tear through the heavens and rip up the pathway by its foundations.

felt like i was suddenly living in a novel. this was the kind of thing that you read about. i was in the middle of witnessing a seminal moment in someone's life. one that would come up later in therapy, in her choice of mate, in that quiet part of herself that is herself.

it was insane. it was surreal. felt the intensity of the impact as though it were happening to me.

felt myself mourning the life i had imagined for her. found myself worrying that this might somehow thwart her confidence, her balance that has so inspired me.

of course these are my projections and fears. being the person she is i'm sure she'll do and be all of the things that she was meant to.

find myself gobsmacked by the randomness of it all. talk about a rug being slipped out from underneath you...how do you cope, how do you just keep on keeping on, as they say...

found myself welling up with tears throughout the day, thinking about how she'll likely take it in stride and soldier on, worrying that she won't allow herself the luxury of grieving, of unravelling for a little while ...again, projections...still, hope that i say the right thing, that i will be able to support her in a way that is somehow helpful.

so want to protect her somehow.

kids were great, let me cry my tears, shed a few of their own out of compassion. wrote some incredibly sensitive things in their cards. we shared our experiences of death with one another, our fears, regrets and sadness. felt comfortable and natural. hope i was able to help.

know that it's said you can't predict the future with any certainty but never truly believed it. this is my first real brush with some cold, cruel evidence.

grrr...

2007-11-11T17:08:00.000-06:00

ever been so pissed at someone that you literally feel sick about it? kind of like acid reflux but more queasy than prickly?

had a confrontation with someone friday that had my blood boiling. he's got a bunch of his own crap going on that has spilled over into my life and threatens to jeopordize something that is, at the moment, the only thing keeping me going.

hate it when other people's agendas blindside you. hate it when something that was your safe place gets tainted. there are so few stress free things in my life that when drama rears its ugly head, i feel defeated in its presence.

to top it all off, the drama included this person's critique of my abilities. he didn't know who he was messing with. i haven't worked for twenty years to be told by someone having their own crisis that my sense of my own skills is somehow naively misinformed.

hate being condescended to more than anything else. hate not being taken seriously by guys with the same/less experience that think they know better.

hate that i saw through his passive aggressive bullshit and lecturing, and posturing and attempts to preserve his image as the good guy and let him have it straight up. hate that it was me that looked the bad guy for calling him out on his calmly presented crap.

what's with that anyway? not the first time i have met the 'want everyone to think i am good so i do my manipulating in a more muted, highly crafted way to disguise it' guy. i have so much more respect for someone who is who they are all the time.

anyhoo, blood's boiling again and know for a fact that i am the only one twisting here in the wind...

oh to be able to be pissed off and release it to the source without getting it splashed all over myself....one day...

kids say the darndest things

2007-11-07T20:49:00.000-06:00

dont let the title fool you. what follows is not an account of a corny kiddy quote, the likes of which used to appear in reader's digest.

no, this is more of the where the hell did that come from variety.

i was teaching a grade four class music and was doing a preamble to a remembrance day song i had prepared.

since it's also holocaust awareness week, we're going to touch on it at our assembly on friday so i wanted to give them a bit of background so that it wouldn't catch them unawares.

so when i announce that in friday's assembly we will be addressing the holocaust a young girl smiles broadly and says yes!while making the arm pump movement that humble pro atheletes make after scoring a goal. i look at her, perplexed, and continue. so i go into a spiel about how a powerful, persuasive politician named hitler only wanted people that looked like him and believed what he believed to be part of his country and how he segregated those who he didn't like...blah, blah, blah, and as i am mentioning the groups that he persecuted the same girl pipes up, proudly "and black people too, right?" (her mom is black and dad is white and mom has her go around to classrooms to do black history month psa's all february long) when i told her no, she looked confused and deflated, suddenly losing interest.

oh multiculturalism, where have we gone? what a strange thread we have woven...

anyway so after that little detour i mention that we're also going to focus on the contributions of women during the first two world wars . i explain that while the men were away at war women had to keep the economy going and entered the workforce in large numbers for the first time, marking a significant change in the options that were available to them. from out of nowhere another girl puts up her hand and says that she saw a movie called edward scissorhands where all the women stayed at home to look after the kids and they all had the same houses and dressed the same.

it's precisely these tangents that keep things fresh for me. never know where an introduction to a song will lead you. i went in planning to teach a sombre verse about uniting for peace and ended up talking about how screenwriters and set designers will exaggerate aspects of the truth to make a point.

good times. good times.

hooray for halloween!

2007-10-30T17:48:00.000-06:00

don't know about you but the older i get the more i grow to love halloween.

for the past six years or so i've looked forward to dressing up and shopping for a costume. my friends have started throwing parties and for the most part people have responded to the opportunity wholeheartedly.

so much fun to play! i've never been into makeup much but look to halloween as a chance to experiment with false eyelashes and outrageous colour. bought a hair extension to try out this year. love it! one of the benefits of being a girl.

i think it's the chance to glam it up (or ham it up) that i love. as a performer there's something i inherently connect to in playing dress up. love to allow myself to feel more confident in a pseudo self. to push that envelope to a place that my everyday self is just inches away from actually trying to pull off.

noticed that i'm not the only adult that's into the whole dress up phenomenon. was walking down bloor last week and found myself shoulder to shoulder with a sea of zombies. there was a scary film fest at the bloor cinema and the moviegoers were all decked out in their finest bloody trenchcoats. the get ups were really fantastic. the makeup was incredibly realistic and obviously well thought out. definitely not the result of a last minute glance at the closet to see what you could throw together.

there was a real pride in their gothed out faces as they marched down the street in droves. they really owned these alter egos and wore them comfortably. as geeky as i think it is, there's also a part of me that kind of respects the creativity they put into their gear.

guess suits are a sort of costume too when you think about it. just don't seem to notice it as much as such.

hope you give yourself permission to stretch your limits, even just a little, tomorrow. enjoy!

oliver love

2007-10-29T19:51:00.000-06:00

how much do you love jamie oliver?

fantastic grin, cute little lisp and dishevelled little kid like locks.

since his first show as a young pup whipping together recipes for his mates before riding off on his moped i've been hooked. have followed him on his journey from school dinners to creating his own restaurant, to giving down on their luck kids their own restaurant.

he's a visionary fuelled by passion, committed to change, and undefeated by obstacles. am constantly amazed at the way that he repeatedly makes time for those who have let him down. rolls up his sleeves when things run off the rails.

love the patience, the reverence for those he admires, his thirst for knowledge and respect for those who he feels he has something to learn from.

as an idealist myself it's comforting to see someone finding a way to make it work. it can be done.

girl interrupting

2007-10-20T19:10:00.000-06:00

played my regular friday night gig last night and had an odd visitor.

we're in the west, queen west neighbourhood which is a true mix of the uberhip and those living on the proverbial edge. as a result we sometimes find ourselves in some rather bizarre situations where the clientele does a little more than smile and nod when showing their appreciation for the music.

we were about two hours into our set and the table of rocker chick lesbians directly next to us seemed to be having a wonderful time. couples on first dates and a huge party at the back that were celebrating a birthday were enjoying one another's company and clapping intermittently when one of our tunes really hit the sweet spot.

then a woman in her early thirites came in. she entered the restaurant determinedly and chose a spot one table away from where we were. she put down her back pack and looked in the mirror on the wall beside her, fluffing her weave, on its last legs from what i could see quite vigorously. all seemed fine at first. then, when she got her glass of wine, we saw that she was having words with one of the waiters who then sent for his mom, the owner. her actions became more animated and she started searching through items in her bag. she then got up and started wandering around, randomly striking up conversations with people as though she were at a cocktail party. people looked at her strangely but she was undeterred. she wobbled a bit as she wove through the tables and eventually made her way to my chair, just next to us.

she was directly in my line of sight as i sang a slow and sad number called "i'm a fool to want you". it's a moody piece that usually gets people's attention and quiets the chatter. at first, this woman closed her eyes and swayed a bit as i sang. a smile spread across her lips and she threw her head back bursting into a fit of laughter that came straight from her belly. her shoulders were shaking and she covered her mouth as she laughed, having the time of her life.

we stared at one another with one of those "what the hell is this one on" kind of expressions. since i've been with the band we've had more than one brush with craziness. a couple of months ago a guy walked in off the street from the patio doors and plunked himself down at the piano while we were in the middle of a tune and started to play, only to get up and leave a couple of bars later mumbling that he wasn't as good as we were. a while before that a woman, drunk and ornery and convinced she was a diva got up and pushed me out of the way while i was singing,she was endearing at first but i really had to strongarm my way back in once her efforts had simply become embarassing.

shortly after her laugh attack, our hair flicking social butterfly started swatting in the air at insects that weren't there. so it was drugs, then we said to ourselves. after trying to high five me with her pinky at one point, she then tried to get out the side door where our trumpet player stood to get to the waiter she'd been following around the restaurant. she almost knocked over a chair and practically fell into the door. so sad.

after a trip to the washroom she abruptly left the restaurant and the owner put her belongings outside.

tragic.

was a really attractive woman too.

strange how her presence made the atmosphere prickly. how her energy was like a glow that buzzed around making everything else in its wake seem eerily still. no one knew where to look. we were sharing a space physically but were living parallel rather than intertwined moments together.

uncomfortable to see someone's pain and unravelling so up close and personal. was like a collective holding of the breath.

when she was gone the energy redistributed itself again and before long it felt as though she had never been there. as though the incident had already woven itself into a memory, into the compendium of crazy nights we've accumulated along the way.

wonder which parts of the evening she will remember. wonder what brought her to us of all places.

must have been the music. so powerful. immediately connects the disconnected.

a snub, a quest and a step into a parallel universe

2007-10-14T12:08:00.000-06:00

my hair was at that still looks ok but is kind of scraggly near the ends phase so i decided to take the afternoon and stumble upon a salon i'd never been to before and get it cut.

normally a haircut wouldn't be fodder for an aimless adventure but a recent negative experience at my ol' faithful, house of lords, caused me to taste what was out there before i'd line their wallets with my hard earned cash again.

essentially, i walked in for a cut, which usually takes about twenty miutes tops because they have so many staff there, and waited for an hour and ten minutes. why wait so long you ask? well, the place was busy and there were about five people there when i arrived. i really wanted the cut so i was willing to wait forty minutes if necessary. in between magazine articles, i'd glance up to see how things were progressing and for the first little while things went as i had predicted. familiar faces of those who arrived before me were served in sequence.

then, walk ins from the street started getting served.

i caught the eye of the apathetic, gum chewing, magazine page turning receptionist and made a "what the fuck?" kind of gesture at her. she blew me off. i let it go because one walk in was a family of young boys. i figured they got in cause they'd be a nuisance if they waited too long and that boy hair was faster to cut than girl hair and better to use up one stylist for a family than a whole row...

when the third walk in (and 8th person in the room by the way)was served and seen by the stylist i normally go to, i approached the desk. am i even on your list? i asked. that guy was just served cause he had a request for someone specific, she replied. so you mean you let me sit here for an hour because i didn't ask for someone specific? how many more people were you going to let past? i demanded. she rolled her eyes, shrugged her shoulders and stared down at her appointment book, sipping a slurpee. i was furious. nice, i said staring at her, my words venemous, nice. i then walked out vowing never to return.

now, while boycotting the place feels like the just thing to do, it also put me in a situation where i'd have to pay a bit more as a consequence. it's tough to find a place where a long haired gal such as myself can get her locked shampooed, cut and lovingly blown dry for thirty two bucks.

i decided i would look at it in a positive light and take it as an opportunity to treat myself. i've been working really hard and could use some pampering. i told myself i would be willing to spend sixty bucks, tip included. so i went to queen street and started walking. went to civello thinking it'd be perfect. i hear they even massage your hands while your hair is being cut. loved the smell of the place, too. sorry, said the chic looking greeter, we're all booked up today. undaunted i turned back about a block to a small place my sister had been to before and said she'd liked. all three stylisits were busy but one, gorgeous young asian girl with peroxided hair that looked gray with black roots told me that if i was willing to wait a little while her top stylist would be available. his fee,one hundred dollars. yeah, not so much.

so i continued down the street toward john. a couple of years ago i had an up do done for a friend's wedding at a salon on the second floor of the starbucks building. before i crossed the street i looked upward and discovered the salon had been taken over by an internet cafe. foiled again! seems to be happening a lot on queen. its character has completely transformed and new businesses that aren't chains really seem to be struggling to stay afloat.

out of luck or leads, i made my way to a streetcar stop near spadina. thought i would go to a place i remember seeing just before trinity bellwoods park that has a mork from ork kind of chair in the window. one of those tres chic places with no name on the front and a white shag rug in the interior.

as i was standing on the platform i looked at a sign directly across the street for cooney hair design. was a cool looking cut on the sign and from the street the second floor salon area looked chic so i thought i would check it out. better to try this than go further west and be told it'd be a million dollars again.

as i mounted the stairs i wondered if it was open, could barely hear a sound. as i entered the salon, a sea of asian faces greeted me. this is remarkable not only because i am a white woman and am not used to being in a minority, but because toronto is so diverse that it is unusual to be in a room with only one kind of ethnicity represented. they seemed as shocked to see me as i was them but after the initial hang in the air moment passed, i was told that i could get a wash,cut and dry for forty five dollars. sold.

a young, hip guy approached and indicated that i sit down. i told him what i wanted and he just nodded. then he held up a chunk and motioned that he wanted to do something to it. realized he didn't speak english but loved his style so just gave him the go ahead and hoped for the best. was strange. so much of the hairdresser experience is about the small talk that i felt a little awkward without it. the other clients, also asian, were silent as well. thankfully there was a beatles album piping through the speakers to distract me. the room itself was open and clean feeling with black and white photos of asian models in large frames cast against bright yellow walls.

was a great people watching opportunity. loved the personal stamp everyone seemed to have put into their outfits. there were cowboy boots, sequined shirts, layered looks and luis vuitton bags. marveled at the level of artistry involved and wondered if it was a cultural thing. arts are hugely supported and practised in many asian countries. wondered if this was the link. then wondered if was being ridiculous. wondered if most people just walked around in what was comfy and available like the average canadian. these are probably a sampling of cool elite that exists in any culture. they did leave their home country after all, doesn't that already suggest a certain kind of personality and income level...

was so happy to be finally getting my hair tended to and to be surrounded by so much style, i let him cut off more than my usual two inches. felt liberated, carefree (it's all relative :) ) . amazing how the world opens up and new possibilities emerge when you are relaxed and comfortable and being pampered.

long story short, i like my hair and am glad that fate prolonged the experience enough to let me land in an interesting spot to have a transformation made.

it's lonely at the proverbial top

2007-10-02T21:30:00.000-06:00

so, i have taken on a new position of responsibility at work. am really passionate about the currciculum development, mentoring, create workshopy part of it but want no part of the part that has me doing anything administrivi-ish. got my first taste of it today and left feeling empty inside.

while my vp and principal were out at a workshop i was left to hold down the fort per se. this required being in the office and away from my students. it was bizarre. i was looking forward to my reading lesson and had hoped to really finally sink my teeth into my focus for the term.

felt guilty as i handed over my plans to the supply. felt like i was copping out of something. since it was a pretty quiet day, i had little to do save try to keep the traffic out of the secretaries' hair so they could get their work done. brought some busy work that had been piling up on my desk but felt wrong to be somehow granted extra prep time that nobody else was getting. (of course i also put in a whole whack of extra hours other people don't to prepare for the duties the role requires but my brain isn't quite wired to actually give myself credit for this just yet...)

as my students walked by the office on their way to french i found myself missing them. i wanted to be where they were. knew instantly that i didn't belong in an office with a big desk and a jar of lollipops. didn't want to have to make decisions about indoor recess or where the ed assistant should go. didn't want to sit with a screen and a hundred emails. wanted to be in the room where the magic happens.

so strange to experience a separation anxiety of sorts where my students were patting me on the back for what they thought was an accomplishment of some kind and i was looking at them like i wanted them to take me away.

wasn't that i was scared or intimidated by the responsibility, just wasn't where i wanted to be spending my time. hope that it doesn't signal a trend of where this role i thought i signed up for is going to go...

chicks that kicked ass

2007-09-30T19:47:00.000-06:00

volunteered at a muay thai kick boxing match today. it's a form of fighting that's as popular as hockey in thailand but is new to north america. a friend of mine started learning how to box in this tradition a couple of years ago and, when she noticed that there were a number of women in the city who shared her passion for the sport, decided to create an opportunity for the women to fight competitively.

was a fantastic day where i was inspired by the way that all of the women involved kicked ass. the organizers rolled up their sleeves, put their heads down and had the place ready to go about 3 hours ahead of schedule. they were organized, resourceful and efficient. bumps in the road were met head on and resolved.

the place itself, was gorgeous, the postering in the neighbourhood effective and the presence of media wonderful. couldn't believe what they had accomplished on their own schedules, on top of their day jobs. so inspired by the way that they saw a need that needed to be met and made it happen.

the guys i worked with, security, soft drink promoters, tattooists, sat around alot, chatted in corners and were for the most part biding their time until their shift was over. to be fair, it was likely just one event among many to them but still...

was given some time to see a couple of fights near the end of my shift. this is where i was completely blown away. the fighters, all whom i had met earlier in the day, sweet, down to earth, friendly transformed into real champions. they entered to their own theme music and met their opponent with confidence and grit. they threw punches, kicked, kneed, elbowed, like nobody's business.

at the end of the fight, when the winner was announced, it was incredible to see the women smiling from ear to ear, hugging their opponent, winners embracing losers and whispering words of encouragement to them. interesting to see all of the aggression just left in their corners when the headgear came off. so admirable.

though my role was a small one, was still glad to have been a part of it, holding my own in a crowd of kick ass chicks.

cult of personality

2007-09-26T19:05:00.000-06:00

don't really think about the power of personality much except when i'm faced with a negative one. am finding myself pleasantly surprised by the positive power of personality in the form of a barely four foot kid with a big grin and an even bigger heart.

he's an odd little guy who can read people and situations like nobody's business and has a way of relating that is so honest and unfiltered it's a little unsettling. when i called out a student for misbehaving he commented "you tell 'im miss". Later, when he was stuck on a question that i had already reviewed and he was still stuck on, he refused to let me go on without him, saying "wait a sec! i'm not ready. you're the teacher,right? you have to teach me first" it was priceless. he was well within his rights but few ever advocate for themselves so directly.

he's one of the ones who always remembers to say hello and good morning. seems a small detail but it's truly a dying art. so civilized and, well, friendly. it's a personal acknowledgement that helps to constantly remind me that obsessed as i am with curriculum, these are three dimensional people i am dealing with. love how it keeps me on my "remember the big picture" toes.

what's even more incredible about this particular character, is that his spirit is such that struggle as he may, he's always the first one with his hand up to give things a try. so inspiring to me, this ability to risk, repeatedly. the ability to take things in stride, not to take oneself too seriously. pretty impressive thing to already have under control at such a tender age.

like a great documentary or a story about a friend who has done something incredible with their time here on earth, it's moments like the ones i had today with this little life force that help to refocus the proverbial lens.

surrounding myself with who i want to be: putting a philosophy i read on a classroom poster into practice

2007-09-21T15:41:00.000-06:00

like most women on the planet, i find myself watching oprah from time to time. last year on one of her shows she featured a panel of people who co wrote a book called the secret. while i found myself cringing at the mystic corniness of it all, i stayed tuned long enough to hear something i had instinctually understood for a long time, that when you focus on the good and surround yourself with positive people, good things will start to happen.

sounds straight forward enough but it's actually harder to achieve than it sounds. especially as a woman. in almost every staff i've been a part of, every workshop i have attended, every gathering of women who've just met, i have noticed that one of the ways that bonds are formed is through the act of complaining. we put the misery in comiserate. in trying to support one another through rough times by listening to one another vent, we almost don't know what to do with ourselves when times are good.

trying to find happiness, then, means that we have to separate and go against the grain in our peer group. i paid for this in my teens when i wouldnt befriend the bitch and sought out friendships outside of my immediate circle. paid for it when i would side with administration because i shared their desire to invest my energy in finding solutions to problems by trying something new instead of shrugging my shoulders bemoaning the things i couldn't change. paid for it when my enthusiastic approach to take on a new initiative threatened the naysayers who don't like change.

all last year i was frustrated by the fact that the reading i was doing and the workshops i was attending which inspired me to blaze a new path in my work was met with disdain and animated opposition by my peers. feared that the vision that was within my grasp would fizzle before it had a chance to spark.

when i took the time to listen more carefully however, i found that there were some others who were frustrated by the negative, defeatist attitude in the room. found that, to my surprise, i wasn't as alone as i thought i had been. found that it just so happened that the same people who were on board intellectually were the same people who i admired on a personal level. liked the way they lived their lives.

after having struggled with trying to come up with a strategy for change that would appeal to all, we decided to go it alone and devote our energy to engaging the minds of those who were open to change.

had our first meeting today and was thrilled to hear suggestions, ideas and solutions being bandied about rather than quips and complaints. such a simple solution. surround yourself with people who want to be there and things will happen. we already have a clear cut agenda for the next two meetings!

am realizing that finding happiness is not so much about rejecting what is bringing you down as it is seeking out what will bring you up.

ironically, just as i was leaving work today, a skip in my step, inspired by the potential that lies ahead, i was faced with the two key naysayers who've actively tried to sabotage my efforts, they made a dig about what i was trying to accomplish and disappeared into their room, glaring oh so subtly.

wonderfully, it didn't phase me at all.

where is richard krause when you need him?

2007-09-12T17:44:00.000-06:00

it's film festival season in toronto and i am up to my eyeballs in work so i haven't made it out to see anything yet.

undaunted, i found solace in the fact that i could still get my star sighting fix by watching the rushes on reel to reel. it's an annual tradition i have where i settle in on my couch and lose a few hours watching the stars and directors speak to the creative process behind the work and recount the behind the scenes comaraderie they experienced. i'd even have a pen nearby to write down titles of a movie i wouldn't have otherwise given a second thought.

so you can imagine my frustration when, day after day, i have searched, in vain, to get my cable sponsored festival fix and come up empty. i've scanned hundreds of channels at different times of the day, tried to look for info about where my precious friends have gone in festival literature and NOW magazine.

it wasn't until today when i was watching et canada (something i never do) that i heard a host say that i could catch the rushes on bell express vu on some crazy, have to pay extra for it channel!

it's just so wrong on so many levels! this is supposed to be the people's festival! the easy access to it on rogers cable with our cheesy but reliable reel to real hosts and the cheap chairs and cardboard backdrop was charming and inclusive. made it all seem somehow more artistic and earthy, an opportunity to get a sense of what is was about the story that inspired a group of people to come together to tell it. hate that this has been lost to a pay per viewish environment.

come to think of it the schmooze was weird too. not the same now that the ctv crowd usurped the city tv crew. didn't even try to collaborate, the old faithfuls were nowhere to be seen, and on their own turf!

guess this is one of those instances where bigger isn't translating into better.

hope you've had better luck this fest. and please, if you've found a way to see the rushes on normal person television, for the love of god, let me know!

justified

2007-09-08T16:32:00.000-06:00

sitting here watching an episode of mtv's the hills and am loving every minute of it.

in fact, i love it so much that it's provoked some cause for concern. what could a thirty four year old woman such as myself possibly find entertaining about watching a gaggle of blonde socialites bitch about each other while squinting through oversized glasses, poolside?

after a lot of searching (felt compelled to rationalize it somehow so that i could look at myself in the mirror in the morning) i've discovered that, at its heart, it's one of the only true representations of female relationships ever put on film. all of the nuances are there. the loss of a friend to another clique, the loss of a friend to a boyfriend, the support of a friend when said clique and boyfriend dump your ass. the pep talks, getting together to get ready before going out, the shopping trips,the awkward conversations with the acquaintance your close friend has brought into the group and you just have to tolerate,the deconstruction of a date the night before.

refreshing to see more of the whole story told. that teenage girls stress as much about their friendships as they do about guys. that there is a constant jostling of power and that insecure girls travel in packs, giving power to mean girl leaders. that standing up against a wall of followers at a party or in the nail salon requires courage and nerves of steel.

from a distance, it's fascintating to see the power of gossip. how it's another character in the story of how it is diseminated, how it destroys. really is the thread that runs through all of the drama for both the girls and the guys. it's the last taboo that's been untouched by the pc gods. the one sin it's ok to indulge in.

interesting to see the girls be charmed by the bad guys just as you yourself were at some point in your life. find myself cringing as characters go down the path that as an older, wiser viewer, i know will only end in disaster. kind of like the sick experience of being drawn to watching an accident and its messy fallout.

guess part of the interest comes from the fact that i am a teacher and see these machinations daily at recess and during group work. seems that cat fights are as old as the hills themselves (pardon the pun).

so that's it. my rationalization for a developmentally inappropriate addiction. not sure how i did. am sure that it won't stop me from tuning out any time soon.

to the creators of "to sir...", with love

2007-09-06T16:38:00.000-06:00

how crazy is this. i had just finished posting yesterday's entry where i mentioned the film to sir with love was a perfect thematic accompaniment to the day when i noticed that it was playing on tv!

it's one of the first films of the "bleeding heart teacher turns around a group of iner city youth" genre. typically, i shy away from these films as i find them hokey and derivative but this one has real meat.

sidney poitier is the star and it takes place in london's east end during the 60's(?) . the cast is ethnically diverse,echoing the true face of london at the time no doubt, but refreshingly, race is not treated with an after school specialish brush. any references made, though kinda cornily acted, seem fitting to the situation and aren't overemphasized.

poitier plays an engineer who took a teaching job as a means to make cash until he can find something in his field. he's seen some life so he's not intimidated by the unruly bunch and gets them listening to him in no time. what i found most interesting, and shocking, was the nature of the things that bothered him about the students, namely the girls. when chastising them for their behaviour, almost all of his comments about the girls centre around them looking like sluts. sluts! aside from documentaries on the women's network or episodes of degrassi, i can't think of a time when i've heard the word spoken aloud.

it was jarring. so personal. such an insult. mentioned things like, your sluttish ways will only keep a man's interest for so long. was so entirely inappropriate that i can't imagine how it must have played to an audience of teachers at the time. at one point he even asked a female colleague to come in and teach the girls how to apply makeup.

love the films from the late sixties and seventies. such great writing, such unique characters. you never knew where the story was going to go. was genuinely surprised by what came out of the character's mouth from moment to moment. a rare treat in the age of the formula film.

love the way they come to respect themselves, to expect more for themselves as a result of his influence. love the theme song too, as well as the video montage of the class trip to the museum. all the ingredients of a feel good flick that's not to sweet to swallow.

back to life, back to reality...

2007-09-05T17:21:00.001-06:00

so i am a couple of days into the new school year and my desk is already piled with papers, four bins of work and sheets and forms are piled upon a table near my rocking chair. incredible. kind of like getting sucked into a vortex.

seems like they will be a good group. there's a great buzz when they work in groups and i've heard a couple of really thoughtful responses to my questions over the past couple of days. love to see the brows furrow when i push them to dig deep, love to see the hands fly up in the air when the penny does drop.

a couple of them have tried to carve out an identity for themselves by talking a bit louder than they should (when doing an art activity of symbols of things that are important to them one yelled, i like rap, can i draw a gun?) or by bringing in random toys from home to adorn their desks (one was a bobbing hula girl!). can already see who the pleasers are, who the gossips will be, who the task avoiders are,the lateral thinkers are, the ones who've not heard the word no very often...

my real challenge will come from a quartet of really challenging boys, two autistic, one esl and one add. have had to keep my finger on them and redirect them a million times already. requests for the washroom, destroyed and misplaced worksheets and trips to the pencil sharpener are coming at me constantly.

had a great lesson today introducing government. got into wonderful tangental conversations that piqued their interest (why do only citizens get to vote? if we evolved from animals, then when were the first kings and queens, did the cavemen just decide to become a king one day? is a governor kind of the same as a lord?...).i introduced it the way that all the good books tell you to and it worked. knew so much more than i had anticipated. could tell that they liked playing around with the vocabulary they hear peripherally, they like being able to talk about important things like politics.

my mind is spinning with all of the deadlines that loom, modifying plans for special needs, long range plans, launching my action research project, launching my professional learning communities, working with a student teacher, finding resources for the music program i'm teaching for the first time...also trying to take in all of the survey data i had them fill out and actually use it...

but i digress...all this to say, i am back in work mode and hope that i'll find my footing in terms of giving myself a life in between, sooner rather than later.

how a poster reduced me to tears: confession of a hopelessly romantic educator

2007-08-27T15:33:00.000-06:00

one of the great things about being a teacher is that every year you get to reinvent yourself again. you have a blank slate on which to create a new self, assume a new attitude and have another, more informed go at imparting those crucial nuggets of learning that form the backbone of your programme.

geek that i am, i love attending summer workshops that fill my head with new ways to push the limits of learning. love reading professional literature that will help focus my ideas. love getting to select the colour of the walls and the arrangement of the furniture. love creating centres and establishing a vibe for the room.

among the gems i found at a teacher store today, (159 bucks later!) were some motivational posters. so great. kind of helped to get me in mode for remembering that it's more than just academics i impart in that room. here are the ones that made their way to my walls:

watch what you think, thoughts become words

watch what you say, words become actions

watch what you do, actions become habits

watch your habits, they become your character

watch your character, it becomes your destiny

another, accompanied by a visual of a dull pencil among sharp ones, reads

surround yourself with who you want to be

another, with a football player looking tired holding a helmet

never, never give up

my favourite, which i posted in a place of prominence on the bulletin board above the chalk board reads: enthusiasm creates greatness

was floored by this one. love it. love it as it pertains to my life and my sense of defeat at the naysayers who bring me down throughout the year. hope it will serve as a mantra of sorts for me, too, when i feel my positivity wane.

feeling lucky today. grateful that shaping an environment for personal growth is one of the things i get paid to do. love the sense of possibility that septmber brings. can't imagine the mental gymnastics i'd have to do to keep myself motivated if i were working at any other job.

am off to do some reading for my literacy program! hope you are finding a way to bring something of yourself to your work.

an affair to remember

2007-08-20T15:29:00.000-06:00

much has been said of rage in our culture in recent years. films and investigative reports have focused on episodes of citizens gone mad in traffic, at hockey games and in line at the grocery store.

last night i bore witness to one such episode at the bloor cinema.

upon entering the theatre, my friends and i were still catching up with one another, animatedly sharing a story as we walked through the doors of the almost empty theatre,when a voice bellowed "gotta keep it down ladies, talkin too loud. gotta be quiet in here"

an older man with indiscernable features stood in one of the back rows, his belongings spread out across a number of seats, arms splayed across a couple of seats as he issued his warning.

we turned to one another,grinning,somewhat amused by the unexpected etiquette lesson and took our seats. this got us talking about previous experiences with noise nazis at the theatre. between us, we'd been on both sides of the fence at some time or another. nothing drives me crazier than a talker during a movie. i remember the first (and last!) time that i went to see a film at the rainbow cinema(chain of divey discount theatres). it was a screening of the passion of the christ and among my fellow moviegoers were children on booster seats in the back row, teenage kids on dates and a row of saggy-ass pant wearin' youth. while i knew i was in for a less than peaceful viewing i was not prepared for the pimplefaced savant to my right who read all of the subtitles to his girlfriend as they were posted to which she responded, "oh it's just like in the bible,..."

i remember thinking to myself...who were these people? did they really think no one could hear them?

anyway, back to last night...we were watching paris je t'aime, a series of short films by a myriad of directors who were each given a different neighbourhood of paris to serve as an inspiration for their film. not long into the film, our own personal mr. manners started to laugh inappropriately during the quiet bits of a moodier piece. then he started responding to the dialogue in french. his voice was a bit slurred sounding but it resonated loudly.

now the rep theatre is a different beast than a multiplex. patrons of these hallowed halls dig their flicks and have a collective understanding of the old school approach to moviegoing. you don't show up late, you get your snacks before you settle in and once the lights go down, you don't say a word.

true to form, mr. commentaire's contributions to the experience were not appreciated and a couple of voices replied "shut up" and "be quiet". this seemed to be effective and for awhile, his verbalization was simply comprised of louder than normal laughter to the funny parts.

now, the shorts were not all great. they weren't conventional in terms of narrative and some went in odd directions, had unresolved ideas. but, considering the number of shorts in the film, most of us were willing to endure the bad in anticipation of more good.

not so for mr. noisy pants. during a short featuring maggie gylenhaal he shouted "this movie sucks". some laughed but one guy boomed in a voice that screeched somewhat "shut up!". my friends and i were a bit taken aback. mr. noise repeated his displeasure again and the same guy yelled "shut up or get out". it was a guy on a lawn in a cops episode kind of yell that you don't hear in public often. it was full on rage. it hung in the air like a cloud, more dramatic than anything on the screen in front of us could have been. was odd to have this drama within a drama going on, very surreal, like edgy performance art.

anyway, the defender of the sanctity of the movie theatre's girlfriend seemed to sense that he wasn't going to let things go and she got up and left the theatre, we assumed to get management involved. in the meantime, a dialogue between the two where noisy pants started saying he wasn't going anywhere along with other slurred phrases with hints of french intermixed. we all sat there, tense, waiting for someone to intervene.

sure enough, moments later we heard mumbling and shuffling. he was being escorted out.

couldn't help but think about how stressed we all are and how scarily close to the surface the resultant quick to be pissed offed-ness it creates. know something of it myself, have almost taken out a couple of grannies on the left side of the escalator during rush hour in the subway. am always shocked by how visceral the anger is and how hard pressed i am to find a reason as to why it should bother me so much.

took about two shorts to get back into the film. odd to just continue watching as though nothing had happened when he had gone.

never wanted to talk during a movie so much in my life!

crossing off all of my bullets instead of dodging them!

2007-08-14T17:30:00.000-06:00

woke up this morning and knew that i was going to have a productive day. had an energy that has been stored in my reserves and made good use of it.

love these kinds of days. love making lists and crossing them off. love making decisions and seeing them through. love being mobilized and busy. (see ryan gosling doing crunches after weeks of lethargy in the film half nelson for best encapsulation of what i am talking about) in one day i: did my dishes and cleaned the bathroom, met a friend for lunch, bought a new bed, arranged for its delivery, got a duvet and pillows for it and purchased storage bins to clear out my pine chest that serves as my coffee table, bought binders and plastic report covers for my upcoming research project, caught up with correspondence, arranged my finances on telephone banking and made myself dinner instead of ordering out!

since arriving home from my trip i have felt a real urge to purge. as a highly aesthetic person, my visual surroundings have a huge impact on my mental health. really want to clear house, literally and reinvent my space so that it matches where i am mentally. am craving colour and space and more tangible traces of my recent experiences. i move every three to five years and am starting to feel the itch. love sitting with a drawer and sorting through its contents, filling garbage bags and boxes for donation. clean sweep is one of my favourite shows for a reason!

i have always been a collector of sorts. like to revisit memories through objects and surround myself with my own life artifacts. funny thing is, the artifacts have a shelf life that is determined by my place in the world. when i have big life decisions to make a makeover of my space usually follows. i remember taking great pains to bring all my posters and memorabilia from all of the shows i did i highschool with me to university. after a couple of months my personal landscape had shifted so much that i was almost physically ill at the sight of it whenever i came into my room. it simply wasn't me anymore and i felt fraudulent and weighed down by it.

life really is cyclical. really do need to slough off the dead skin every once and awhile to let the healthy stuff shine through. comforting to be propelled by it, to know from repeated experience that an upward spiral is paired with a downward one. thank god.

a date with dylan

2007-08-11T12:57:00.000-06:00

just finished watching don't look back, a documentary like film made in 1965 and released in 67 which follows Dylan on tour in england. am watching it because i want to give the guy a chance. once again am trying to round out my musical education and to see what the hype is all about. i have been able to appreciate his influence and his gifts as a writer but i just never really liked his voice or his persona. found him full of himself and off putting. couldn't warm to him.

the film is insane, in a good way. apparently the seminal film in the realm of cinema verite. camera to be able to pull it off brand new and style of being fly on wall also innovative. feel so close to all who are alive in the black and white and gray. get a very intimate sense of knowing them, love the small moments, the silences, the hanging out in between the snapshots of the scene they were in musically and historically.

bob himself if a bit of an enigma, both to us as viewers and apparently, to himself. speaks out of both sides of his mouth often, as twenty somethings do. is in one moment intense, waxing philosophic about nothing meaning anything, about him not being a folk singer, his lyrics, candid, astute, well observed and biting. in the next moment, he is reading and basking in, his own press, joking with friends, checking himself out in the mirror, toying with the power that comes with celebrity.

i loved the scenes with the interviewers. poor souls. bob absolutely eviscerates the poor sods. gave them absolutely nothing that they were looking for. turned all questions as opportunities to launch into lectures about their futility as a means through which they could ever hope to come to truly know anything about him. makes a great case for the ridiculousness of celebrity and the whacked way that people deify musicians, looking to them for answers to life's questions.

while i was impressed by his incredibly articulate arguments i was equally pissed at the little upstart. was being a real dick for the sake of being a dick at one point. showed no feeling for them and dismissed them as misguided idiots. again the two sides of the coin. the man that devotes himself to highlighting the social ills of the world is an asshole to his fellow man in his daily life. funny how want the words to do more than provoke. want them to be tied to behaviour and action so can fully fall under his spell.

of course that's the point i guess. that we are, human. that these are ideas after all. that if you want true change can't expect a prophet to make change for you. that idealists can't help but also be cynics. hard to look in the face of truth and not be daunted and defeated by it. keep coming back to this idea that we want to put a different face on things to make them more palatable. like the way that i struggled with france's historically bloody streets being so gorgeously maintained and beautifed, beatified.

was impressed by dylan's musicality. one scene where he was playing the piano. very bluesy and deeply rich. so musical that i feel like i got an answer to the question, why sing? why not be a poet? why choose to be a musician where you esentially do little more than just strum and strain as a singer. his ear was great, his taste, true, many scenes of him playing country tunes and bluegrass ditties he loved with joan baez. this feeling, this sound, full and rich, was driving him internally as he spewed through his own shaky instrument. now that i knew what he was hearing in his own mind as he played i found myself forgiving him his foibles as he performed throughout the film and started really hearing him.

find myself wanting to go and read lyrics to his tunes. am a fan of poetry and this is the real deal. images and phrasing so great. it's a kind of stream of consciousness that provides you with more of a paddle than most.

am rewatching it with the commentary as i write. so great. love the extra layer to the tale.

all in all i still wouldn't want to have him over for dinner but the guy had a whole lotta somethin goin' on.

blast from the past

2007-08-07T08:43:00.000-06:00

feeling lazy. have slipped into crazy sleeping habits and the weather, shifting between thick and humid and overcast is triggering my instincts to cocoon rather than to explore.

have been spending a lot of time on facebook lately. randomly plugging in names of old friends. so odd that in a few strokes of a keyboard that 3D human being who shares communal memories of a snapshot of your past, is suddenly present. by nature i tend toward the habit of closing doors once i have passed through them, so it feels a bit strange to be backward focused. am discovering, however, that, for the most part, i am re-energized by the contact.

had a pretty rough university experience emotionally, so my memories of the experience are pretty hazy. now that i have made contact with some people from that phase i find that new, more positive memories are emerging that got lost in my own biased translation. scary how powerful perspective is on shaping your sensed reality.

anyhoo, am loving seeing the different paths that people have taken. i have never been one of those people who draws inspiration from celebrity. my role models have often been people in my social or professional sphere. am so jazzed to see my friends take great risks in their choice of place to call home or in their pursuit of translating what turns them on into something that can also come with a paycheck.

the sobering aspect of taking part in the facebook phenomenon is that it brings the census statistics home in a very real way. bad enough that i am only one of three single women in my immediate circle of friends, with every new friend request i discover i am the only single (and childless) person in an extended circle of friends ranging from people who lived on my street to people who have ever taken a seat in a place of higher learning with me!

hard not to feel that you have missed the boat somewhere along the way. at the same time, have led a really full life. guess my trajectory has been more laterally focused than forward focused. ah, who cares. it is what it is. we all got where we are cause it was where we were ready to be at the time, right?

am also loving the way that chatting with the true friends after many years is simple and immediately intimate. tend to surround myself with people who know who they are and who live honestly. don't really see something like that as clearly as you can when there's been some distance. am grateful for it.

gotta run, am off to see a friend who's been on mat leave!

home sweet home

2007-07-31T08:08:00.000-06:00

it's just after ten in the morning according to my computer but it still feels like two in the afternoon. have been up since seven, a sure sign that my system is screwed. i am many things, but a morning person is not one of them.

am completely a stranger in my own home. it has only been a month but the objects in my home seem foreign and dulled somehow. i am tempted to get a garbage bag and completely sack the lot of it. it's the colours. my apartment is an art deco place with wood floors and dark wood cabinets, doors and trim. after the airy, luminous colours that were my visual palette for so long i want to let the light in somehow but the overcast sky and the resultant darkness which surrounds me now seems wrong.

i suppose the fact that i left the day after the last day of school didn't help. all of my loot from my students is still sitting in bags and boxes everywhere, still waiting for a home.

felt like a bit of a tourist coming back into toronto yesterday. only a month but the aesthetic of both france and italy were so different that my eyes are still adjusting. crazy. imagine what a year away would do...

now that i am back i have already had niggling feelings of a need to roll up my sleeves and turn my attention back to work. feel the inner pragmatist reaching for the phone to sort out my finances and work out a plan to get myself back in the black before christmas. feel that this next month should be focused on paying for my indulgences with projects that will require my all of my attention. incredible, this guilt. incredible how a place can be so attached to a state of mind. had no idea how much tension was holed up in these walls. it's infected with a years worth of work and worry. have to open up the windows and buy a couple of plants. need to be as kind to my space as i have been to myself of late.

so clear to me now. so much easier to get perspective from a distance. when you are given the opportunity to witness and participate in another way of living life, it makes the life you were living before you stepped out of it for awhile seem so narrowly focused. fine to be inspired about changing your life when reading a novel on a beach without a watch on your arm but the real challenge is to bring those lessons into your alter ego's domain. am hoping that a clear out of all that i do not emotionally connect to in my home anymore will help to sustain this fresh perspective on the sense of self i have cultivated in warmer climes and among scintillating sea/city scapes.

didn't write for the last few days of the trip because i was just too engrossed in the living of it. just wanted to be there. it's funny. looking at my pictures (all 600+ of them!) some of the most treasured moments of my trip are not captured in them. am pleased by this. it means i remembered to be in the moment when it counted. did some participating to balance out the observing. historically i have always been more of an observer than a participant so anytime i see the balance shift a little more toward the centre, i am encouraged...there's hope for me yet!

actually lost weight while i was away if you can believe it! i guess a month without processed food, snacking and walking everywhere works. having no agenda or stress helped too i suppose...

am so grateful. was so consistently blessed with gorgeousness, opportunity, great food and company that i didn't feel worthy of it at a certain point. felt gluttonous and greedy. was ever aware of my good fortune. hope to accept it as a gift rather than fear it as a before to some darker after...old habits die hard...

thanks for listening. hope that if you've been in a place where you feel bound that you were able to escape for awhile with me. am excited to see my city, and my life for that matter, with fresh eyes. hope to continue to regale you with more discoveries of both the strange and the familiar.

redder shade of pale

2007-07-25T09:26:00.000-06:00

you will have to forgive me if i dont make much sense. my eyes are red from the saltwater and my skin is tight,am burnt no doubt after a seven hour day at the beach. so odd to describe it that way when said beach is on the mediterranean sea and cliffs like the ones in from here to eternity frame the landscape behind you. have to keep looking up from my chaise (with handy dandy built in visor for the face) to remind myself that this is not ipperwash. i am in another country. not just any country, italy! i am basking on the shores of land that was hard won from the greeks and other invaders over time. opulent summer homes wink at me from above, a little bit worn from the sea air but still proud of their beauty.

since this trip to positano was inspired by my sisters love for it as witnessed in the movie "under the tuscan sun" we had been keeping our eyes open for places that appeared in the film. found marcellos house and the pottery place. small world this.

the beauty here is completely different than that which i witnessed in paris. in paris you are surrounded by beauty, pristinely preserved and maintained. here i am responding to the natural beauty. the opposite face of the beauty coin. can wear this beauty on my skin, can taste it in the tomatoes, the lemons the cheese. something more organic here. guess if the seine were swimmable might be able to get a similar sensation there. the quiet here continues to astound. so calm. couldnt have timed my reading better. eat pray love was perfect for me. connected to idea of living in the moment, being grateful. am trying not to feel guilty about all that i have been able to see and do over the last month. am going to try to enjoy instead of file it somewhere in a "to be paid in kind with ridiculous amount of work and sacrifice in coming months" column of my internal ledger...

went to pompei yesterday. absolutely incredible. i have seen a few ruins in my day but nothing could prepare me for this experience. 2000 year old village life sprang to life in incredibly vivid detail. so genius. my sister and i both marvelled at how such sophistication could precede pioneer times back home. hard to get your head around how you can go from indoor plumbing engineering in ancient times to making a house of interlacing logs.

went to top of mt vesuvius too. very welcoming and lush considering it is a volcano. area around it quite tatty, a lot of garbage, lotsa laundry hanging from worn down buildings...good to get away from glitzy bit to get a broader picture of things.

food so great. am noticing not much garlic or use of parsley here, not too much oil either, is a regional thing i guess. off to rome tomorrow. if heat is anything like pompei well need gallons of water again.

a domani!

viva italia!

2007-07-23T07:16:00.000-06:00

could it be more beautiful? i feel as though i am in a film and that the director is going to come by at any moment and tell me to get off the set so that he can film the scene properly.

my sister and i arrived in positano on saturday, spent an entire day at the beach yesterday, floating effortlessly in the crystal clear water, sun on our skin and colourful villa peppering the rocky landscape in front of us. this whole experience has been like inhabiting a postcard. my finger is constantly poised to snap a pic of nearly everything i see in all directions.

despite the initial frenzied car ride from naples airport to positano,( a white knuckled affair where a burly local named gaitano, moustache, red face, muscular squat frame had us careening into one another in the back seat as he hugged corners, cut in between cars and vespas alike, claiming the road and his rightful spot on it) the vibe here is incredibly relaxed. it is clean and quiet. dont know if it is the water on the horizon, the sun the lush flowers and vegetation, dont care really. all i know is that i am breathing deeply and havent looked at my watch in days.

we are staying in a massive apartment (strange story, when we were booking thought was in euro but was in pounds so paid a hefty sum) that has two bathrooms, both with showers and toilets, a kitchen, sink, oven, fridge, table, dishes included! and a living room with a pull out bed. we also have a balcony. this place could sleep two families. love it! so our view is of the bay and of the homes and hotels on the face of a mountainside to our right. at night is is gorgeous, we have even had fire works a couple of times.

food is incredible. best pizza i have ever tasted, the tomatoes so fresh, the basil so sweet...have gone to a different resto each night. are going to pompeii and mt vesuvius tomorrow and then rome on thursday (if the tour fills up, fingers crossed) and capri on sat. beach for the remaining days.

am reading eat, pray , love. perfect companion for this leg of my trip. all about a 34 yr old woman trying to carve out her own place in the world without guilt or shame. trying to learn how to enjoy pleasure guilt free. couldnt be more up my alley. feel so lucky to be here. so overwhelmed by the beauty that i am daily soaking in.

nice to have company again, am smiling more already. italian men (arent many young ones in this resort town) have not been brutish or pushy at all, so nice to have a smile rather than a rude gesture, makes the walking more pleasant. am so happy to be wearing all the summer gear i packed.

thats all for now, back to the internet cafe routine where time is 3 euro a half hour!

a domani!

and now, the end is near...

2007-07-20T14:26:00.000-06:00

this is my fourth time in paris and i have been here three weeks now. even still, on this last day paris keeps unveiling more of herself to me and every inch is just as incredible as what came before. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX went on a canal tour today. friends of mine had mentioned that it was one of their favourtie parts of paris and i always looked at them quizically. i thought i had a pretty good handle on most key features but had yet to see them. the scene in amelie where she is skipping stones in the canals and a scene in the movie 2 days in paris also inspired my trip to the waterways. was purely enchanting. classic french songs played sweetly in the background as we went through locks and inside tunnels filled with rainbows (a japanese artists contribution to milennium celebrations that still runs), modern apartment buildings and public spaces dotting the sides of the canals. trees, like palms but with shiny broad leaves stood proudly on the banks. place de la villette was fantastic. huge reservoir with cool modern theatres and dance clubs either side with opportunities to rent kayaks and further along modern stylized bridges, fun parks outside the science centre...a completely different face of paris that i was sure had to be here but had as yet, to witness. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX was a three hour trip. sound of the water and sunshine coupled with the slow pace were just what i wanted. had a great meal, steak in a wine and challot sauce with potatoes cooked with cream and grilled...and then have been packing and cleaning. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx am off to read for a little while and then try to sleep so i will hear my alarm at 5:45 for tomorrows flight. has been incredible. more than i had ever imagined. will be nice to have some company though. paris is a hard place to be sometimes when you are single and are constantly being moved by your surroundings...

short and sweet

2007-07-19T16:54:00.000-06:00

just a couple of lines. didnt do a lot today. started with doing two loads of laundry at the local laundromat. took awhile to suss it all out. two loads of washing and drying cost me a whopping 16 euros, thats 24 dollars! how the hell to people live here...guess i could have crammed more into the washers to get my moneys worth but as it was my clothes came out pretty battered...ah well, so much for eating in a restaurant today! XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX reading a great book called the rotters club by jonathan ebe. simply fantastic. its english and has a wonderful blend of humour and introspection. characters are really unique and likeable. seek it out if you can. dropped off a novel and 3 guidebooks about paris at shakespeare and company today and got 8 euros of store credit. bought irene narimovskys most famous novel. what a coup! it is exactly what i was looking for. she is the author of suite francaise who lived and wrote about the german occupation of paris and who died in auschwitz. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX while near shakespeare and company, on the left bank just across from notre dame near the seine, i went to a favourite little park with a great statue that is encircled by gorgeous, unpretentious flowers. discovered it two trips ago while travelling with my sister. read for a good couple of hours being visited by various birds and listening to the bells of notre dame signal the passing of the time. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX went to a singalong at the swan tonight. great bar where i had my embarassing lullaby of birdland fiasco. people there all remembered me by name. was shocked and touched at the same time. nice to know that the feeling of kinship was mutual. i realize that that is a very anne of green gables word but what can i say, i am tired. chanteuse who led the evening was very spirited and had props to inform and colour her interpretations. was great. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX just one more day. will try to see the canals tomorrow and pay a visit to the luxembourg gardens and read some more. might have a nice meal somewhere. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX a demain.

the view from here

2007-07-18T14:58:00.001-06:00

i can recall on one hand the number of times my breath has literally been taken away, watching my first film about the holocaust, seeing the gardens in versailles for the first time, the opera house in prague, watching natalie wood as maria in west side story, and now i can add emerging from the abbey at the top level of mont st michel in france. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX mt st michel is a mountain in the middle of a lake in the northwest of france near avranche, whose tallest point stands 400m high. the idea for its creation came to a priest in a dream. he was visited by saint michael as an angel who told him to build him an abbey. the priest obeyed and after years of work a masterpiece emerged from the rockface. hundreds of bricks placed by hand, winding pathways and small cottages lining the way up. it was originally inhabited by some benedictine monks who cloistered themselves there, translating scripture. it soon became a sight of pilgrimage for catholics from around the world, eager to have their souls cleansed by st michel before judgement day in heaven. apparently people would wait weeks outside, some drowning on their way from shore when the tides came in unexpectedly. even today we saw a group of pilgrims marching across the bottom of the barren lake at low tide. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX from a distance it appears to be a disney like concoction of a castle, mysterious and monolithic sitting proudly in the middle of an otherwise entirely flat landscape in all directions. you can see how in the middle ages it would have seemed like an oasis of sorts, a truly mystical place. the architecture was completed over a long period so both roman and gothic styles can be found. they actually invented the vaulted ceilings and technique of using buttresses that the gothic style is famous for. apparently they were boat builders and just borrowed the structure they would have used for the bottom of a boat as a guide. because it is a unesco protected site it is incredibly well maintained, the granite gleaming and airy. the result is that you feel opened by the space rather than dwarfed or oppressed by it as you do in other castles from the same era. it was untouched during the hundred years war and was used as a prison in the eighteenth century by napoleon. these two factors saw fortification walls and watchtowers erected, changing the aesthetic once again. now, some monks and nuns help maintain the grounds and worship there. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX the abbey itself is unadorned, sparse, the colour from the once stained glass, faded. its freeing to be rid of the copious ornamentation i have seen in most other churches in the centre of paris. so much of what i have studied is more tangible now. can see how wealth invested in churches to glorify the patron would have outraged the poor whose stomachs rumbled from hunger as they attended mass. can see how the churches were also meeting places for business, cultural events, that the more ornate are clear signs of a time when church and state were intimately intertwined.XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX the view from the terrace just outside of the abbey is what took my breath away, immediately the universe opens up to you, there is nothing but sky in all directions, the wind, moist, is scented with sea water that awakens your senses, in every direction a new landscape reveals itself to you. to the north a sea bed with a small island, to the east marshy ground a million shades of green and farmland and fields dotted with trees, to the south and east sand, and more sand blendly seemlessly with the water just beyond. its so pure, so untainted by mans clumsy fingerprints that you immediately understand what it means to be at peace. so incredible, really, its immediately comforting, relaxing, pleasing.XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX was four and a half hour drive both ways so am very sleepy but very satisfied. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX went to musee de carnavalat yesterday. was free for all citizens and tourists. great exhibition of history of france from gauls to modern day. artifacts from french revolution and reign of terror were amazing. saw paintings of marie antoinette and louis the sixteenth being beheaded to cheering crowds, saw uniforms of soldiers, saw medals soldiers, jacobins, wore, saw the famous red touques , read a hand painted version of the declaration of the rights of man, the constitution drawn up in the badminton court at versailles during the revolution. so much blood spilled for years. was interesting to see paintings of the construction of the louvre, new bridges, the tuileries etc. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX cant believe its almost over, just two more days before i am off to italy (and less computer access). bonne nuit.

the view from here

2007-07-18T13:58:00.000-06:00

la peinture est plus forte que moi. elle me fait faire ce qu elle veut

2007-07-17T02:32:00.000-06:00

in english this means: the drive to paint is stronger than i am, it makes me do what it wants. this fantastic little inspirational quote was taken from a postcard written in picassos handwriting which is underneath a photo of him wearing a woven, enlarged bulls head and smoking a cigarette, shirtless. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX i bought it yesterday while at the picasso museum which contains literally hundreds of his paintings, sketches, sculptures and photos. they were all acquired by the government who got them in exchange for back taxes he owed. the sheer volume of the collection is almost as striking as the pieces themselves. leaving the museum the take home message is that a true artisit is creating all of the time. by including studies and doodles drawn on scrap, pieces painted on broken earthenware, you see that for picasso, the act of making art was not a religious, ceremonial pursuit conducted solely in a studio. this led to a true integration of a human touch that allows the viewer to participate more fully in the experience somehow. as i wandered through the rooms and saw the humour and playfullness in his experimental work i found myself adding him to a list of the people, living or dead, whom id like to have dinner with. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX another quote i read was : if you already know what you are going to do then what is the point of doing it...instinctively my structured self started coming up with valid justifications and then i looked into the playful eyes of the man pictured above the phrase and let myself soak up what this mischevious man with 3 floors worth of work surrounding him had to say. this has forever been my struggle creatively. i edit as i go. before the thought has even finished formulating i am redirecting and reshaping it. art has to be process over product most of the time. yes, product is eventually the thing that you will share with the world but the quality of the product is limited to your willingness to break it apart and see what you can do with the component parts, to see if you can breathe live into them and give them their own voice. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX the willingness to create so much that it can easily be thrown away is freeing too. readjusting your eyes so that you can see something in everything, everywhere is liberating too. its a sensibility that i indulge in in my own time, but given the amount of mental energy and multitasking i do in my day job, its not something i can devote myself to entirely. look at that an excuse. interesting... XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX finding the museum itself is incredibly challenging. i swear it is the bermuda triangle of paris! literally spent 40 minutes in a 200m radius trying to find the bloody thing. can imagine picasso having a good laugh about it from his resting place. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX afterward i went to a free concert for strings at the madeleine. its a church that napoleon had built in a greco-roman style, numerous large columns, gold piping and marble everywhere. quite stunning, altarpiece is incredibly dramatic. was me and a group of the greyhaired with a tired tourist thrown in every once and awhile for good measure. as they were setting up i realized it was going to be a group of school kids ranging in age from about ten to 17 id say. i was a bit disappointed thinking it would be a dumbed down version of the classics. once again i was wrong. these kids, from wheaton outside of chicago were phenomenal. each one of them a virtuoso in their own right. there was no conductor and each child would take a turn being the lead player that would count them in and signal the beginning of a new form. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX one of the most stunning pieces was a (going to spell it phonetically because i have never seen in written) shastakovich piece. very tim burton, entirely creepy and otherworldly. was incredibly complex. again, i found myself and my work being trumped by people half my age. knew that only got there because of the discipline and commitment that i simply do not have. i love too many things and become restless with too much repetition of any creative or intellectual endeavour. wasnt defeated this time. was instead taking in the reality that the only way that i am going to become truly great is to become truly committed. that it is within my grasp if i choose to make it so. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX finished my book suite francaise. balled my head off. the transcripts of the personal correspondence between her and her husband and their friends as they find themselves losing their liberties as jews is heartwrenching. you have to read this! XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX am off to the musee carnavalat to learn more about the history of france and to look at some memorabilia from the french revolution. then maybe to cimetaire montparnasse to visit sartre and simone de beauvoirs graves. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX only three days left until italy!

if i were aboard the starship enterprise this would be one of my hollowdecks

2007-07-15T12:39:00.000-06:00

went to bruges today. north american idiot i am i thought it was a translation for brussels. turns out it is a town in its own right at the northern tip of belgium near calais of tale of two cities fame. also near flanders of the famous in flanders fields fame. was wonderful to see poppies growing in the wild in wheat fields, much like the renoir painting. there is much more space between the petals and they are much more flimsy than the replicas we wear on remembrance day in canada. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX alarm went off at 6 am so had an early night last night, caught the sound of fireworks but didnt see them, went to an air show earlier in the day though, flew right over the avenue des armées. tanks, jeeps and soldiers lined all of the avenues around the arc de triomphe, was too far away to see the parade waited an hour for, ah well, i tried. but i digress, XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX so bruges. bruges used to be a port city with an active harbour that rivalled venice in its day. wool there used to make tapestries that hung in castles throughout the kingdom (is still a monarchy today, one of the few in the european union) , make lace, grow flax, hops, potoatoes, oil from flaxseed used in development oil paints used in famous flemish painting. very pastoral drive on the way up. a lot of orange roofs and stone wall everywhere. one of the only medieval cities to remain entact, has never been bombed. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX entered across a bridge that had a medieval tower at one end and a view of a canal that opened up to a riverbank with swans and an abbey from the 1600s. picture postcard perfect. the water was still, the willow trees letting down their branches like rapunzel did her golden locks. the abbey was whitewashed as a symbol of purity and the grounds were dead silent, the church on the grounds, where women would pray every four hours even through the night, was spartan and the main colour being white even in the glass windows. interesting to see the stations of the cross depicted in a cartoon like, bright style rather than the harrowing, shadowy realism i am used to. much more mythical and storylike in this interpretation. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX tour guide, obnoxious, couldnt be bothered frenchman who ran ahead of the group at breakneck speed and spoke barely above a whisper gesturing mock helplessly at a jauntily tied scarf round his neck,indicating a cold, was useless. found great company for the day in two young girls one from a small town in australia, and another from london. i say young cause i felt really old, was nine years older than the oldest! anyhoo, crossed another bridge into the hub of town where restaurants had tables that spilled onto the cobblestone streets. in the winding streets, littered with chocolatiers, lace makers and nik nak shops,each with its own fingerprint and unique charm, the sound of horses hooves could be heard, each confidently leading a carriage. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX we wove our way to the old church, finished in 1107, which took 200 years to complete, all made of brick, and then boarded a boat for a canal cruise. had a fantastic boatman as our guide.wonderful sense of humour and a great passion for his work. quoted literature, pointed out unique points of interest and gave us informative details the whole way through. was so romantic. water was calm and the sides of the waterways were lined with delicate flowers, lush trees and homes with stepped facades reminiscent of those in amsterdam, shutters over the windows, iron detailing and statues of the madonna and child craftily placed (very catholic town). couldnt get over the quiet. no street sounds, no advertisements, no unecessary signs, the visual landscape was stripped bare of words and neon, very rustic. had the effect of being immediately calming. having been in paris, teeming with people at all hours of the day and night in all arrondisments, its scaled back, quiet offerings were the equivalent of being in a sensory deprivation chamber which only excluded the sense of noxious sound. incredible. would be perfect place to make peace with yourself, write a novel... XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX people were very warm and friendly, all spoke english and french well even though it is a flemish area. went to an open air market. some junk, some nice handiwork. then went to lunch at a modern restaurant with clean lines, airy layout and great food. was called loretto i believe... XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX next went to buy chocolate as gifts for those at home, though some have started to melt already...bought some chocolate dipped waffles, so saccharin! then went to a lace shop and got a great black lace fan, very anna karenina.love it. next wandered to look at a gallery and down some sidestreets we had not yet explored. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX was fantastic gem of a place that i would highly recommend. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX saw 2 days in paris yesterday at a theatre on the champs elysee. nine euro ! was interesting to see it with a parisien audience. able to laugh at themselves easily. was great to see it from the other point of view. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX planning on a simple day tomorrow then to a vivaldi string concert tomorrow night!

le soleil, le soleil que j adore le soleil!

2007-07-13T14:52:00.000-06:00

not only can i write titles again, it was sunny today! i wanted to make like a british child star a la chitty chitty bang bang and sream Hooray! XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX the moment that i saw the sky turn to blue i got dressed, grabbed my journal and headed for the tuileries (a park right in between la place du concorde-former sight of the guillotine and the area that the cyclists pass during la tour de france, and the palais du louvre, famous art gallery). i chose this locale particularly because in university i read simone de beauvoirs biography and she often used to go there as a child. she was one of the early existentialist writers and lived in paris for awhile during the occupation. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX have been writing on and off, notes and thoughts really and today started to rewrite passages and shape them. went well, was pleased that my thoughts came readily. while i had applied sunscreen liberally to my face, i had neglected to do so for my arms and legs. as a result i now have bright pink arms and legs (pink on one side, that is, the other is a nice milky white). despite the glares i got on the metro, i am glad to have felt the sun on my skin (and continue to in its absence, my legs are literally emanating heat as i type). XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX after my cliché auteur moment in the public park, i went to buy a ticket for the ballet this evening. i wanted to go for two reasons. the first was that the ballet was created fourteen days before the revolution and is rarely performed in reperatory companies. its called la fille mal gardée and follows a young woman, cinderella like in her duties on the farm, her solitude and her existence under the watchful eye of an overprotective mother. she falls in love with a village boy but is arranged to be married to a wealthy boy she does not love. it was highly comedic and simple, no real obstacles presented. a lot of folk dance forms and bit of choreography intertwined as was set in the countryside. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx the second reason that i wanted to go was because it was taking place at the opera house in the centre of the city. its so prominent that it sits at the centre of about 6 or so streets that emanate outward from it. it has marble columns, gold statues, a grand staircase (think the one from titanic, make it wider and add more statues and gold) and to get to my seat i had to go through a private door to a box i shared with five others lined with burgandy floral velvet wallpaper, a chaise, a mirror, a coat rack and wonderful velvet seats. it was on the first balcony and only one other person showed up (a really sweet french professor visiting from russia)so we got to sit at the front of the box. the interior was over the top. columns midway through the semicircle created special boxes with velvet curtains and statues, the gold was musted and stately and the ceiling was adorned with a mural by marc chagall. he did it in 1964, looked otherworldly and almost garish compared to the old world décor elsewhere. bright blues, yellows and pink-reds which depicted scenes from famous ballets or portraits of composers.XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx loved the opportunity to dress up and to be among other art enthusiasts. really are an educated and appreciative crowd, les parisiens. loved imagining the people who had shared my seat at one time or another. i believe it was originally constructed in 1669. blows my mind. once again the idea that these gorgeous interiors clung to life as wars of all stripes raged on outside its walls is mindboggling.XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX its bastille day tomorrow. am going to try to jostle for a spot on the champs elysées to see the parade from the arc de triomphe to place de la concorde. should be celebrations well into the evening. cant wait!

2007-07-11T16:20:00.000-06:00

and so, just as the wafer thin morsel drove the gluttonous mans stomach to explode in monty pythons meaning of life, so too did my desire to have just one more song prove to be my undoing.XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX went to another jazz jam tonight. was truly on the fence all day. my hair looked like crap and i was having shoe dilemmas, all signs that i should have left well enough alone, but alas...went out to a place called the swan in the montparnasse area. have never really ventured out that way before. huge boulevards and great restaurants, very lived in kind of feel. when i arrived i was the only person there besides the bartender, the owner a singer and a pianist. thought that she was going to be the animatrice for the evening but it turns out that it was her gig and i had misread the time of the jam by 2 hours. i was a half an hour late as it was so that made an hour and a half of time to kill. all signs were telling me to just pack it up and go home but something in me stayed. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX i chatted with the bartender a bit. her accent was a bit anglosized but i couldnt quite catch the origin. she had a pixie punk hairdo and a silver starburst painted on her right cheek near her eye, late twenties, early thirties. the owner, a pushy jewish american expat with a mel lastman like hair piece and an old suit was ordering the bartender to make him a new drink he had read about whose main ingredient was a bubblegum flavoured liquer. she rolled her eyes at him but obliged in a way that said she had been there awhile. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX the singer had a great tone, didnt take a lot of risks vocally but chose tunes that sat nicely in her range. after having listened to my exchanges with the bartender the owner turned to me and asked if i spoke english (little bit of a crush to my french abilities but my accent and phraseology really does suck when i am tired, its plodding and flat) he said that everyone there was english so why not just switch and be comfortable. turns out the bartender was from scotland but had been in paris for thirteen years. she is a painter and a drummer and has aspirations to sing but hasnt worked up the courage. i heard her singing along with the vocalist and she had a great voice. i encouraged her to take the plunge. little did i know that i was going to end up epitomizing all of the things she feared would happen to her on stage... XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx lyon, the owner said that he taught at the university for years. political science and american history. just bought the bar a couple of years ago. was very dynamic, shook hands with everyone who came in the door, a more polished version of ben stillers dad. he said he was concerned about the direction that politics in the states are leaning. we chatted about michael moore and afghanistan a bit. so interesting when you peel back the layers... XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX when the jam session musicians arrived they introduced themselves and made me feel very welcome. i was practically one of the family at this point, no other patrons yet...the pianist was a more latin, hefty looking robert de niro, prominent mole on the cheek and all. was a sparse, classical player that was pretty structured in his approach. bass player had a ponytail, an electric stand up bass that he had tailor made. as more people arrived i was the first to sing. sang im a fool to want you. no diversions this time so went over very well. felt comfortable and got some good feedback. the other people there were pretty inexperienced with a couple of exceptions. so great that people take risks in such unfamiliar territory. it would be like me stepping up to pitch a game of baseball! XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX was impressed by the way everyone sang in english. songs sounded so cute with the french accent at times. was a young girl with a great spirit and good ear. couple of other girls there travelling together that were in some kind of vocal jazz collective, had pretty solid stuff. because there were so few of us, we got to do another tune. again, i was first on the roster, did lullaby of birdland. piano player was a bit anxious about playing it in my key so i offered to do it in another that would be more simple for him. yes, for him. for me...not so much. i had a rough start but found my groove and although i was singing in my boots i got through the first run alright. because the others were finding their way as well, they were reluctant to solo, feeling the tune sag i came back in , a little to early for the chorus to pick things up again, scatted my way in atrociously and ended in the most random, bizarre, god awful way possible, i was dying. it was like watching a train wreck and i because of the odd key i had no vocal ideas to get myself out of it. blech. the thought of it makes me cringe. still, people clapped politely. my prior reputation tarnished significantly. even the inexperienced ones had to be kind with their applause. did i not say that fate would intervene and kick me in the ass if i got greedy...XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXso funny, was the second time today that i was humbled. went to the virgin superstore on the champs elysées and bought the new amy winehouse cd and the madelaine peyroux. when i put on the winehouse i literally lost my breath. this chick kicks butt. just when i was thinking that i could make a go of it myself and that i was making real strides as a performer...am loving the feist cd as well. listen to it at least twice daily. the songwriting is sublime. feel pretty cut down. reality checks, though useful and grounding make you incur a few scrapes along the way. am going to try not to abandon my own efforts to create and to carve my own space but will likely not sing here as a soloist again before i go. (i was invited to a sing along at the swan next thursday where everyone gets lyrics to common arias and folk tunes and sings the night away, love it!)XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX cant get over the warm reception i have been getting from the musical community here. dont feel awkard or out of place at all. wonder if i would be as open if the shoe was on the other foot...XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX read a good chunk of the novel suite francaises today. its incredible. was written by a well known parisien writer in the early 1940s during the war. existed in the form of two different stories in unedited manuscript form. the author was jewish and captured and sent to auschwitz and died there before it could be published. a woman found the manuscript, edited it and translated it and kept her observations alive. so incredible...the urgency to write about our experience seems intrinsic.XXXXXXXXXX a demain.

2007-07-10T16:56:00.000-06:00

its beginning to feel alot like christmas...i sang at another club tonight! this is fantastic! am having the experience, performance wise, that i had hoped for. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX despite another cold and rainy day where i meandered, confidently at first, and then in complete bewilderment, for two and a half hours today, i decided to take another crack at singing here. i had made a commitment to myself to check out a vocal jazz jam that i had read about it my handy dandy Pariscope. my impulse was to snuggle my soggy self into the couch and start my new novel. after having sung already, i didnt want to be greedy and tempt fate. thought for sure that if i kept going back for more time at the mic that tragedy and missteps would ensue.XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX thankfully i got over myself and just started walking toward the metro. the club in question was in the sorbonne area in the latin quarter. it was a good fifteen minute walk from the metro stop and i walked past my familiar haunts going into unknown, unpopulated, but safe, monied and clean territory. when i arrived i was half an hour into the scheduled start time. as a musician myself i know to tack on half an hour to an hour to so called start times in clubs. the place was called café universal. had black and white tiles, dark lighting and jazz paraphenalia all around. very lived-in and homey.XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX bartender was friendly and were barely any people there. took a seat in the first row and tried to get myself sorted. read the posters, many of which were in english, verified fact that would be opportunity to go up and sing. there was a tall woman with a stylish afro already seated. there was a woman singing tunes on the tv somebody russell, totally cheesy choices. the barman loved it. i worried that i would be in for a night of heartfelt karaoke. she asked me if i knew the woman and we started to chat. she heard my english accent and told me she used to live in connecticut and she recently moved back to paris, grew up here. was very warm and open. soon another woman came by and heard us speaking english (one of the rare times i gave myself permission to go-anglo) and introduced herself. she was a fashion writer for a gossip mag in australia. very open and friendly, she soon joined us and we chatted until the show started. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX before the show i checked my wallet to pay for my drink and i realized that in changing purses to match my outfit i forgot to transfer the ten euro i had planned to cover the nights expenses. stepped out to find a bank machine (coverd a three block radius) and for about the millionth time since i have been here, found myself at a loss. its positively bizarre that a city bursting at the seems with opportunity to consume goods has so few opportunities to withdraw money! en tout cas...decided to just charge it instead and returned to the club. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX so we are about to begin and a woman comes by and tells me that i am in her spot. i protest and indicate that my wine is there and she says she left some things to mark her place. there was a hat there when i first arrived but...she started to explain that she had to be there and her boyfriend, situated beside me wasnt going anywhere either. pissed, i moved but communicated body language wise that i was not happy about it. my auzzie friend,glynis, had also been transplanted during my quest for a bank machine so i joined her. moments later i would discover that she was co-hosting the evening...zut alors! pretty quick karma i would sayXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX the other host for the evening was a man formerly from martinique named marc. had the funky shades, a jazzy vibe and a velvet voice that when scatting sounded trumpet like. sublimely talented and adept at making us all feel the vibe he was the perfect host. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX after he did a tune and my seat taker co-host pixie woman did her own little ditty i was first to be called up. i didnt have charts with me but i did have the piano and vocals on sheet music. the piano player, young guy, curly hair, glasses and beard, no drama, pretty straightforward kind of chap took a quick look and then gave it to the bass player. i did the song im a fool to want you. they started super crazy slow allowing me to really savour every note. had never done it that way before and gave me more time to play with phrases. was in good voice for most of the tune and tried to innovate when came back in for the b section but faltered a little before rescuing myself but got a great response from the crowd.could have heard a pin drop. saw lots of smiles as i looked out and had a number of people come up to me afterward to congratulate me. so incredible to have a tool that translates across an ocean. feel lucky that was able to connect with the other musicians and with the crowd so effortlessly. the universality of the musical language seems like a kitschy (sp) t-shirt slogan till you find yourself jamming with total strangers and understanding one another as though you had rehearsed for weeks. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX host asked me where i was from and if music was my day job. was flattered, especially given his talent. when tried to pay for my drinks at bar later, the machine wouldnt read my credit card! a man with a group of friends from madrid told me his card wasnt accepted either and not to worry about it. offered to pay for me saying that he really enjoyed my performance, that my voice touched him. so sweet! XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX next, glynis got up and did a fantastic rendition of black coffee. deep, smooth as velvet voice and a very intelligent delivery. singing is not her day job either and in between bars when she had a break you could see her humour slip through as she was enjoying, in an out of body way, the fact that she was even up there. then sonya got up, the amero-parisien woman and did a stunning version of jimmy hendrixs hey joe. without guitar and drums she really had to work herself into quite a state to bring it alive but she reached deep and gave an incredibly dramatic performance, beating herself in the chest, rocking a little bit, not in a crazy no-talent and deluding herself kind of way, but in a truly inspired way. this chick had cajones the size of watermelons. i want to be just like her when i grow up. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX then a local guy with a file of charts a russian novel deep, got up and did a tune. he had on a check shirt with a wool pullover, a neat hairstyle and practical glasses. not the most soulful performance but he could scat like nobodys business. later in the evening the host and another local had a scat-off in the middle of a tune, very call and answer in structure and playful. chatted to another couple beside us who were from holland but spoke perfect english then glynis (hate that i cant use apostrophes, is killing me!!) fedora wearing friend tyler, came by. guilty as it was not to be trying to speak french, it was very relaxing...XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX had to leave at quarter to twelve because the last train left at twelve thirty. just made it. girl from holland told me about another jazz jam tomorrow at the swan...do i dare... XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX another coup i want to write about. broke down after my two and a half hours of being lost and decided to actually eat in a restaurant. one i wanted to go to was full so went to a creperie next door. havent had one yet and,well, when in rome right...so i was one of only two people there. the crepe was six euro and i asked for some juice and some water. crepe was good, new wheat kind, are getting health conscious about all the white flour they use i guess... anyway, so i ask for the bill and he tells me its fourteen euros! i was stunned. how could water and a juice be eight euro (twelve dollars!) he came and showed me the menu again, he had charged me for the water when i just wanted tap, i even clarified and said naturale, non gaz. anyhoo, i told him that was crazy, that it was insane to charge me that, orange juice was less than the size of an everfresh bottle, i held my ground, i had been speaking french the whole time, he started to speak english, i continued in french to show him i was no foolish tourist and he knocked off the price of the water saying, fine, do what you want, i dont care, dont pay for the water then...so i didnt! yeah me. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxx bon soir, a demain.

2007-07-09T14:25:00.000-06:00

left at 6:30 this morning for a day trip to see the d day beaches of normandy. was great to get out of the city and see some greenery. learned a tonne about the history of the area, including the fact that is was settled by norsemen in the third century who also held power in england. william the conqueror was actually a norseman and stayed in france, claiming it as english territory for years, was actually buried here. french king for many years only held title to the isle de france , esentially paris. seems our canadian battles for territory have similar patterns. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX stone cottages on the hillsides were breathtaking. incredibly still standing, moss between the cracks of oddly sized stones. so well maintained. that they have been here for hundreds of years is incredible, canada is such a young country and we have such a history of demolishing to recreate that you simply dont have anything like it as a visual frame of reference. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX as though it were some act of pathetic fallacy, it rained once again all day and the temperature did not go above fifteen degrees. guess fate wanted to give us the virtual experience the soldiers faced descending on the beaches from cold ocean waters.XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxx as a proud canadian, i was somewhat disappointed by the fact that juno beach didnt warrant a stop on the tour.we drove by the beach and saw it from the bus (though barely, i got enlarged shots of raindrops and passengers reflections!) and i clicked just in time to get a pic of the monument erected to the canadian soldiers. not quite the grandaughter calling to her grandad moment whilst standing at the face of a cliff i had imagined but alas i paid my own respects in my own way as we went along. strange to see the beaches now. they are positively gorgeous. golden sand, lush shorelines dotted with modern cottages and opportunities to rent bikes, play tennis or have a meal. this is where the wealthy have their summer homes,and rightly so...but... XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX stopped in a town called arromanches. was the sight of one of the impromptu ports that churchill planned and designed. they literally assembled pathways and transport strips from sections that were brought by separate barges. this enabled them to drive tanks, jeeps and supplies from sea to shore more efficiently. there are remnants of the structure still standing in the harbour. huge, moss covered carcasses that speak to what must have been an overwhelming physical presence at the time. the photos of the port in action are unbelievable, an incredible feat of engineering and logistics. their monstrous presence really counterbalanced the tone of the quaint seaside town, unlike omaha beach, once referred to as bloody beach because of the 9000 americans that lost their lives there, that now has no physical reminder of all that happened there. it is sumptuous uncluttered and literally velvet to the touch. had to really work hard to imagine the scene from saving private ryan where they were all climbing over corpses to make it through. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX really hoping to connect emotionally, i hit the sweet spot, so to speak, when we went to the tops of the cliffs between omaha and utah beaches, a place called pointe du hoc. here, the remnants of pillboxes and batteries (name for place where canons overlooking sea were), blasted apart by bombs from above and grenades from footsoldiers, were open for inspection. you could see the stairs leading to the holding cells, could climb into foxholes and any number of massive bunkers that litter the area. it was a major german stronghold thought to be impenetrable. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX looking into these bunkers and recalling the photos of the throngs of men who squatted there, your heart sinks. they are sitting ducks if approached from above and easy pickings for a sniper who crawled over the edge on his belly. they were so deep i could not get my head around how they could be anything but a death trap.XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX seeing the dense stone and metal blown to bits made things visceral. imagine the impact on flesh...the irony that a place with such a gorgeous panoramic view should be the sight of so much death...there were stories everywhere. i can understand how filmmakers and novelists could make their lifes work on the subject. the incredible bravery and determination required to pull off such a bold attack, in stormy weather, surrounded by hordes of fallen camarades within minutes of arrival... XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX i was particularly moved by the stories of those who parachuted or flew gliders in to capture two key bridges in the area (pegasus bridge was one of them) and by the group of soldiers who scaled the cliffs at pointe du hoc. apparently they miscalculated, landed 3km down the beach from their target area and arrived 40min late, taking away the element of surprise in their attack. as they climbed up the cliff face, they were shot at and their rope ladders cut down. with each soldier down a new one took his place and the effort continued, ropes replaced with metal ladders until they finally reached the top. once there they saw movement in the bushes from a canon that was going to fire on the beach below. the men threw grenades and killed the men, preventing the attack, unprepared, a group of 100 germans were captured over the next few weeks. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX pretty incredible. am sure have got parts of it wrong and am sure its losing something in the translation but it makes you marvel at one persons ability to put an ideal and another mans freedom ahead of his own. humans are incredible creatures. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX american cemetary of 9000 or so crosses was stunning. all marble. about 6000 i believe have names. the sheer number is staggering. tried to read as many names as i could as a means of acknowleding them. many unknown soldiers there...it had to have been someones job to drag, tag and lay them to rest. so much blood on so many quiet hands. always wonder about the ones who do the cleaning up. the ones who must have had to travel to the shoreline at low tide every day to collect the debris. these too are brave acts, ones that stain the mind as deeply. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX glad i did it. a glutton for all things melancholy i was at first somewhat disappointed that the artifacts were behind glass and not always visible. the more i learned about the area itself i realized that over the centuries, blood has tainted soil and shores of most areas at one time or another and life continued over and around it. needed to remember that they died to give the life that thrives around their fallen bodies. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX am anxious to read the book suite francaise that i bought before coming about living in paris during the occupation. heard a little bit about it today on the tour. nazi flag hanging in the arc de triomphe, nazi army marcing along the champs elysee every morning...the idea! XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX am tired, now go, run, read and explore more now that i have piqued your interest!share your own comments if you have more to add.

2007-07-08T12:48:00.000-06:00

i am so comfortable i could cry. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX i have been on vacation for a week but feel like this is the first day that i have truly relaxed. left the hotel this morning. only when faced with a queen sized bed, a kitchen and a place that is already a home, did i realize that until now i still had my workaday game face on. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX as much as i told myself that,given my three week stint, i would treat this as a regular holiday with the sole difference being that it was situated in paris,it has not really worked out that way. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX when you wake up, open the curtains and are faced with sacre coeur in all its mighty grace and are chidingly greeted by a cleaning woman at your door when you wake for your morning pee at 10 am, you haul your ass out of bed and put in a good days worth of sightseeing goddammit. no lounging around watching daytime tv until oprah as you would on holidays at home. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX and so, i found myself structuring my days, assigning myself a different area of paris to explore every day. i would leave at around 10:30 and would not return to the hotel until around 5. then i would try to find something to do in the evenings every other night. you can take a girl out of a structured environment... XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX now that i am here, in a real home, cloistered by other apartments, facing the interior of a tiny courtyard i do not have the pressure of paris breathing down my neck, allowing me to breathe and to sleep, read and write privately, rather than in a parisian journal in a park somewhere. i know, you hate me. oh the pressure of paris, yes, how cruel, poor thing, to carry your burden...but i am being truthful. at times i felt like a punished child sent to play outside to get some forced fresh air while the housework was being done. i just wanted to be lazy and sleep in until noon, is that so wrong XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (brief interruption, the computer i am using wonèt let me use an apostrophe or a question mark, quotation marks or the brackets i need to insert spaces in text so i apologize if itès really dense to read) XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX i have time now to digest and compose rather than spew. will try to leave travel highlights in the first couple of paragraphs for those of you interested in all things paris primarily. the rest will be the unloading of my brain after a year of insane work. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX oh yes, THE CONCERT! went to see the paris symphony last night at the théatre de chatelet (a theatre that specializes in the presentation of musicals if you can imagine!). it is a gorgeous space next to the seine with five levels of red velvet seating and gold metalwork and lamps festooning the first row of seating throughout. gold leaf adorns the wooden frame of the stage and there is a beautiful mural and chandelier on the ceiling. was a free concert which focused on film themes. the place was packed with music lovers and there was literally not an empty seat to be found. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX among the themes featured were:star wars, legends of the fall, out of africa, harry potter, indiana jones, lawrence of arabia, stargate, cyrano de bergerac and e.t. was absolutely breathtaking. was moved to tears a couple of times. was so evocative and moving. art guarantees survival, remember... the musicians themselves swayed and moved as a group as they played, impossible at times to play such rousing pieces in an impersonal way. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX french horns, oboe and percussion were particularly good. conductor was great. acknowledged soloists and had great enjoyment of music and his players. when it was over the crowd exploded, clapping as though at a soccer match, cheering for sections of the orchestra as though they were rock stars. the overwhelming applause led to not one but two encores which were played to a still full house ten minutes after the show was to be over. do these people appreciate their art or what! XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX listening to the new feist album that i brought with me. great to have music part of my day again, dont own an ipod, technology like that will take me at least a couple more years to warm up to. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX going to normandy tomorrow. unfortunately the english tour caters mostly to americans so will most likely only see american cemetary, hope driver will be able to point out some canadiana along the way. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX bon soir.

2007-07-07T09:40:00.000-06:00

was a patch of sunlight yesterday so i went to les jardins luxembourg. love them. sat and watched kids float boats, listened to the fountains, read my book wearing my new scarf that officially makes me an honourary frenchwoman! had to buy one. it is freezing-not even reaching 20 most days and is overcast and windy. didn't even bring jeans and only brought a light jacket as an afterthought!

stood outside the park hyatt for about an hour today with hordes of others (including international paparazzi) to see eva longoria and her beau. only ended up seeing her bridal party but was directly next to the window of the van they got into. was able to hear the conversation of the bridesmaids! they are wearing red by the way.

am going to the symphony. they are doing a tribute to film scores. should be great. tried to see some jazz last night but they were going to make me pay for a meal to listen! watched prison break in french instead. they also have y&r and an equivalent of ugly betty. survivor and big brother spin offs also exist! am learning more about the french from their tv than their grand palais!

gotta run, my time is running out!

p.s. worked up the courage to eat alone in a place i have been eyeing all week. yeah me! had a salad with warm chevre, nuts, honey and tomato. was great!

new haunts!

2007-07-05T13:19:00.000-06:00

was another cold and wet day in paris. spent the morning and afternoon exploring le marais. i finally found all of the parisiens! was nice to be away from throngs of tourists and in a winding neighbourhood with galleries, gorgeous hidden 16th century courtyards and great boutiques (bought a lot of gifts today...)

one find in particular was la musee carnavalate. was absolutely breathtaking. gardens with sculptured greenery, gorgeous flowers and a yellow walled courtyard with amazing statues. will have to bring a book next time and spend about an hour there.

also went to one of the first major squares in paris, les vages, again, will be my new hangout if the weather ever permits an afternoon reading on the grass!

also found a fantastic church which was built for the first batch of jesuits to stay in paris. had old world charm, dirtied walls, deeply coloured frescoes, wood and a portrait of christ as a young boy with joseph, was called st paul-st louis

gotta run , my session is ending!

i did it!

2007-07-04T15:20:00.000-06:00

i did it! i sang in a jazz club in paris. in montmartre no less. on rue lepic! (famous hangout of van gogh, picasso etc). was one of those famed caves where the music is played in a basement and the walls are covered in stones to look like a cave.

when i saw the advertisement in pariscope for the event i was a bit suspect. my neighbourhood is the sexed up (and not in an attractive way) part of town where peep shows and x rated theatres abound. knew i would be stumbling home late and heavily endowed as i am, i have been getting a lot of comments while walking in the area in daylight.

anyway, the place was called autour midi...minuit. nice restaurant upstairs and nice, completely non-sketchy basement. was one of the first to arrive and as usual, band was late starting by about 45 minutes. when did get on stage was a trio. pianist was earnest guy, very similar to carrie bradshaw's gay bespectacled friend (stanley?). bass player was very frainche, lanky, long hair, unframed specs, loved him almost instantly. turns out the deal was that they would play a set and then open things up for musicians in the crowd to join in. very much like it is at the Rex in Toronto. my heart skipped a beat. could not believe that an opportunity had presented itself so early in my trip to sing. didn't have my camera or my music with me. probably what made it happen in the first place. no expectations, right?

so when the time comes i approach the pianist and give him my top three suggestions, he leaps at the suggestion of lullaby of birdland. excited, i grab a pen and record the lyrics as i am notorious for forgetting them. the room starts to fill up and a lot of music school kids show up as well as some seasoned musicians who have since left the intense scene for day jobs.

just like in toronto, jazz jams and vocalists don't mix. even though i was the first on the list, i didn't end up going on until about an hour into the jam. the music was great. one group of twenty somethings were great. the pianist was five foot nothing but played like he was carving and shaping the melody from the keys like a sculptor. he almost stood as he played, scatting aloud as he played, his fingers ahead of his ideas. was quite incredible to watch. the chemistry between players throughout the evening was also amazing. one of the only times you see affection and open admiration among men. would look at each other and smile when were grooving collectively and would nod approvingly after a buddy did a wicked solo.

the room was reverent, really knowledgeable, clapped after solos! the only other singer was a skinny, fried haired, granolaesque woman who was tone deaf but did a very personally meaningful rendition of summertime. she was up there when i went to go up and the host suggested she play some harmonica on my tune and i almost died! as it was the bassist didn't know the tune and the key that i told them to play was a bit higher than normal. thank god i played stupid when she asked me what key we were in. she didn't end up playing after all, we were all grooving so well i don't think she had enough experience to know what to do with herself. had a great time. i was in good form and sang well. was confident, looked at the audience, experimented a little bit and had a great, repeat the line three times ending.

when it was over, drummer said 'bravo' and piano player said 'great stuff' the people sitting near the front nodded and smiled, an old guy winked, the people sitting next to me said 'tu as une belle voix'. was extrememly satisfying but once i got started i wanted more!...

it has been overcast every day since i arrived and has rained every day. there was a downpour yesterday so i ended up going to see a movie in le marais. was oceans 13. gratefully was in english with french subtitles. not a great film but it looked great and the non sequitors between clooney and pitt were great.

went to the centre pompidou today. was raining again! is a great space with some great work. i am not a great fan of modern art but i want to like it so i thought i would give it a try. great sculptures outside on the water, great views of the city. was a fantastic exhibit made of wood with glass bottles, a velvet cape and glowing light inside. the upper permieter of the piece read 'art is a guarantee for sanity'. have decided that it is my new mantra and want to have t shirts made in honour of it. will have to write a song about it.

one exhibit by annette messager was fantastic. really pushed the boundaries and said something new. first part was a series of stuffed oversized cut up body parts in sacs on pulleys that randomly would rise and fall. there was a room of stuffed animals whose limbs were mixed up or missing, also on pulleys that were in cirque like orientations and moved in odd ways. was like watching stuffed animals come to life, they had a strange life though...another room was filled with a red satin sheet. under the sheet was a village. the cloth billowed from another room. the fabric would billow from wind artificially produced creating an effect of the fabric seeming to pour and spill over the city.made you want to move away to prevent it from reaching you. when was at its peak, black skeletons of odd creatures came down to the ground on pulleys. fantastic. yet another room had black looking dust bunnies, about 50 of them, suspended on thin thread blowing in the air like frozen birds.

was caught in rain shower on the way out and ruined my shoes, developed a tonne of blisters, walked for miles for a shoe store to buy flipflops to save me. when bought them and got brief reprieve, rained again and plastic toe thong thing generated new set of blisters!

had quiet night with friends.

off to read my edition of 'le monde'

a tout a l'heure!

la vie a paris!

2007-07-02T06:57:00.000-06:00

paris, je t'aime!

it just doesn't get any better than this. my hostel is at the foot of montmartre and from my fifth floor room, my french doors open up to a framed view of sacre coeur in all of its glory. it's positively luminous and practically hums with energy. its a fantastic grounding point every morning, reminding me of just where i am.

spent my first day wandering the familiar streets of montmartre and saying hello to fave spots, carousel near les abbesses, cafe fourmi, great accessories shops, fantastic paperie. was so exhausted that after a trip to the local grocery store (the produce is incredible, i am in love with the tomatoes and eat them like fruit!) i settled into bed and devoured my edition of pariscope (the equivalent of now magazine here.)

yesterday i went to the marche puces. it's about six blocks of open air markets where everything from sneakers to vintage night dresses are sold. was a great vibe. got a flair for the ethnic part of paris that has eluded me on other trips. noticed that the further out you go on the subway line the more multicultural the residents that live there are. true of toronto too, i've noticed.

was followed by an armenian guy for about a block. really creepy, i stopped, he stopped, tried to lose him for a good five minutes or so. bought two fantastic purses for 10 euro each! was surprised at how familiar so much of the merchandise was. tacky seems to be a universal language. bob marley paraphenalia featured prominently as did stalls of hoochie mama bar tops made of stretch fabric.

was about to give up when turned onto rue roisiers and came across a woman selling fantastic one of a kind jewellery. magpie that i am i spent about half an hour drooling over her wares. she was the female equivalent of johnny depp in his captain jack role. she had dyed black hair, cleopatra black eyes, silver bangles and smoked a cigarette determinedly throughout my visit. by the end of my encounter, i'd spent my entire splurge budget! ah well, it was worth it!

next, i meandered along windy pathways where beautiful antique furniture from around the world was displayed. at the end of a densely packed corridor i heard cabaret music coming from a restaurant. a more than middle aged woman with a black bouffant and red lips was belting out folk tunes to a packed to the guills tourist crowd. smiled to myself thinking how odd a context it must be for such a song to inhabit now.

after five hours of walking i came back to my room and watched super nanny, france's version on tv and napped. later i met up with a friend who took me to a canadian bar along the seine. was incredible, they even served poutine! the waiters walked around with ottawa senators shirts and hockey jerseys and several patrons had flags or had painted maple leafs on their cheeks. have been speaking french exclusively (and loving every minute of it!) so felt like was cheating in a way to be around so much english. was incredible to be sipping a pint while watching notre dame glow in the background, shadows from the bateau mouche casting wonderful images on the gorgeous homes across the water.

spent the morning at le cimitere montmartre. love going to graveyards here. the monuments are spectacular and act as signposts of the times. love to feel a bit of the person's spirit as reflected in the choice of artwork or an amusing epitaph.

sang the flower duet to myself as i stood in front of delibes' tomb. love that song, one of my all time favourites. then went to the tomb of alexandre dumas. fantastic novelist. is a marble relief of his body lying down. flowers had been placed in his crossed arms. wrote a wonderful passage that sat on the ceiling above his reclined body. really emananted a powerful energy.

on my way to pay my respects to berlioz, who i never did find, i was struck by a simple stone, modern and grey that had a black and white photograph at the centre of two names(annick and pierre fafeur). the photo looked to have been taken in the 30's. the two of them were arm in arm, eating icecream and walking down a boulevard, they were absolutely beaming with happiness. i stopped in my tracks, moved by the story that instantly came to mind. instantly saddened that no matter who i might find in the future, i'll never have a photo of us together during a time like that, where the world was in front of you and you were playfully lost in each other. there's a song in there i'm sure.

on the way back, went to sit in sacre coeur. wanted to be moved by the interior as much as i am by the exterior. found that its expanse and polished glowing splendour left me a bit distant from the soulfullness i like to feel in places of worship. the reds were too red, the purples almost neon, christ himself, tall and imposing was almost too handsome.

am off to the canadian embassy for a fete. going to the centre pompidou tomorrow.

photos will have to wait, forgot the chord that would let me upload them, zut alors!

a tout a l'heure.

inner nerd wins equivalent of miss universe pageant

2007-06-25T17:54:00.000-06:00

found out yesterday that an action research proposal that i developed was accepted!

action research is a form of research conducted by teachers with their own students in their own classrooms. it's a fantastic model that makes the research dynamic and immediately relevant.

since i was a kid i have always loved to conduct research, love coming up with a thesis and the whole process of being immersed in piles of books and sheets with highlighted headings and asterisks.

really developed a taste for it in university where i was a research assistant for one of my professors in the field of experimental psychology for a couple of years. loved reading the abstracts,helping come up with methodology and trying to parse out what was really contributing to the behaviours observed.

i have so many opportunities to develop and test theories in the day to day workings of my job that i almost feel guilty. it's an experimental psychologist's wet dream. there's no greater feeling than when the garbled features of a struggling students written work start to take shape and an underlying pattern reveals itself.

don't know why but a big part of the activities i pursue (music, writing, teaching) are connected to an urgency i have to leave something behind to live beyond me when i go. i want to be part feel like i have contributed something to the culture in which i've lived.

now do you see why i need a vacation? i'm one of those people who thinks all the time, whose analytical half of the brain never shuts off. that's why i was so excited to have the opportunity to bring the formal structure of research that i loved so much in my university life, back into my current classroom situation. always regretted having to close the door on that aspect of my education. gave it up because i felt that i needed to roll up my sleeves and do some field work to balance out my notion of what learning was and how the mind worked. instinctively knew that i needed to inform theory with practice.

given the fact that i am completely burnt out from my travails this year and am already stressed at the composition of the group of kids and parents that i'll have to contend with in september,the timing couldn't be better.

realize that these ramblings won't resonate with most of you but they are the thoughts that are kicking around my noggin in between attempts to prepare for my trip, my trip that seems surreal! more on that tomorrow!

if this post was a trendy t-shirt it would read: team mary jo

2007-06-19T17:01:00.000-06:00

am horizontal on the couch, still feeling a little sorry for myself. did a second "lavage" of the nasal passages with my new new-age tool and am once again not feeling its glorious effects. instant gratification gal that i am, i'm really having to fight my sense of defeat and my desire to reread the box it came in for the k-tel insignia.

anyhoo, so i am watching one of the two channels that i get without cable (it's a long story, cut off my cable to reduce my tv habit and find i still watch just as much,only it's all crap) and a clip about mary jo eustace just came on.

mary jo is the ex-wife of the cretin named dean mc-dermott who left her, with a newborn, for skanky,plastic-ass,dumb as a post, tori spelling.

the mere fact that i have estrogen coursing through my veins is enough to make me cheer for her team but my allegiance to this woman scorned runs deeper.

mary jo is one half of a pair of kooky hosts of a one-step-up-from-cable canadian cooking show called "what's for dinner". i used to watch it in the afternoons in the summer. it's a fantastic show where bazillion foot tall, bossy mary jo bullies her pint sized open-like-elton gay sidekick ken kostick.

their banter is hilarious and the cooking is purely incidental. one of them always manages to miss an ingredient or skip a step and instructions for making their creations are flashed pointlessly on little graphic recipe cards as an afterthought.

i discovered the show years ago and watched it faithfully whenever i could. i never tired of her setting ken up to compliment her and tell her how fabulous she was nor of ken's self-effacing neuroticism. felt like i knew them.

when i first heard that dean had left her and her newly adopted (i think) baby for tori, i was stunned. in part because i liked her and hated to see her humiliated but mostly because he left her for tori spelling. how do you go from a down to earth woman with a wry sense of humour to a bratz barbie doll? they are two completely different types of women. how insulting to have your husband leave you to become a b-list kept husband.

as tragic as it must have felt at the time, it's gotta be sweet to see the fool do his lame-o version of a johnny depp gesture and get her ugly mug tatooed on his arm. when he's doing such a good job of embarassing himself...

i remember watching some festival schmooze thing at much music where tori and mary jo were at the same event. a drunken tori got on stage and started ranting about stupid ex-wives and a camera was simulcasting mary jo in a backstage room somewhere. it was brutal. so clear to see who the real problem was. really felt for her then.

turns out mary jo has written a book called "the other woman" detailing her breakup (which apparently took place in a ten minute conversation in a hotel room!). this ought to drive tori 'round the bend.

just might have to put it on my summer reading list.

whoa, netti!

2007-06-18T19:36:00.000-06:00

two months worth of allergens in the air got together last night and decided to whoop my ass.

i woke up unable to breathe through one nostril and was sweating despite sleeping directly under a fan.

the familiar sore throat and tight sinuses told me that the bullet i had been miraculously dodging finally hit its mark.

sadly familiar with the discomfort i reached for my claritin (somewhat warily, i had a red and a blue box, both opened in my medicine cabinet and one of them gives me heart palpitations, which one? i had to ask myself at 6:34 this morning). tiny little pill dissolved, (i chose the blue, correctly, thank god!) i made a mental note to try and kick this thing's ass with whatever means possible.

enter the netti pot.

a few weeks ago my sister and i were watching an episode of Oprah with her new doctor friend and he recommended it as a tool to help relieve sinus tension related to allergies. it is a ceramic gnome sized watering can of sorts that you fill with warm water and salt and shove up your nostril.

that's right, you shove the spout of this pot into your nostril "creating a seal" according to the yoga inspired instructions, tilt your head "so that your forehead is in line with your chin" and wait for the solution to fill your nasal cavity, circulate and escape through the other nostril.

the idea of pouring a full cup of salted water into my nostril gave me visions of potential complications where a mishap in my specific circumstance would cause the water to remain in the cavity for the rest of my days, rattling and sloshing every time i tilted my head. nevertheless, visions of spending the first two weeks of my vacation in paris with a kleenex permanently daubing my red and bulbous- from overblowing- nose, led me to soldier on and make my way to the health food supplier on the corner.

typically, i try to avoid these places. the smell of bulk curry powder permeates everything and the dried fruit looks sad and pathetic. as an aesthetic creature, i appreciate the efforts of fake food producers whose aim it is to make a tomato look red carpet fabulous and appetizing.

as i made my way through rows of herbal remedies and homemade waxy lip balm, i was approached by a sales clerk who read my disconnect with the natural world like a tabloid at a checkout counter. he handed me my wonder pot and i was on my way.

i practise yoga occasionally as a way to come down from the day. i genuinely enjoy the opportunity to breathe deeply and have done the whole alternate nostril breathing thing in class. it was with reassurance then, that i read about the yogic connection of the use of the netti pot and its role in the purification of the body. "many choose to use the netti pot to flush the nasal cavity as a part of their daily practice" chimed the instructional guide. ok, if people do this every day then surely a trial run won't kill me, i thought.

as i bravely and confidently inserted the spout in my nostril, tilting my head like the smiling woman in the diagram, all went well, for awhile. after about ten seconds and a successful outpouring of fluid from my other nostril i must have tilted the pot too high because the solution was starting to pour into my throat, it was like swallowing ocean water, and i had a moment of feeling as though i were underwater.

still i was determined. i did the other nostril and felt relief of pressure from my sinuses. i've done it! i thought.

fast forward two hours. my nose is completely stuffed, i'm burning up and i can only breathe out of my mouth.

i want to cry. why now? doesn't my nose know that i have to compensate for a less than summer ready body with a sunny facial disposition and a phlegm free voice?

am going to give it another try tomorrow, and every day after that if it kills me.

guess this could be karma for criticizing those sportscasters, haven't seen lance brown in a couple of days...

wish me luck!

visual feeding frenzy

2007-06-16T19:21:00.000-06:00

have had a couple of fantastic movie going experiences in the past couple of days and wanted to share them.

i like a good short film as much as i like a good short story so i went to a screening of celebrity shorts at the worldwide short film festival. this particular showcase featured films that were directed by or starred celebrities.

john malcovich did a quickie which featured a spanish actor who dubs male lead voices in american films being dubbed by john malcovich. it was cute and made its point and ended, just like a film or sketch with a singular idea should!

jennifer aniston did a forgettable piece starring robin wright penn and kris kristofferson. it's not that the direction was bad it was that the story was nothing particularly novel (a nurse re evaluates her own marriage when dealing with a man whose wife is dying). there was a mocumentary which followed a personal assistant (rain *** from the hilarious series "the office") as he did a stint shadowing lance armstrong. it was like a good SNL sketch, great casting, great set design, and got out when gag had run its course.

the standout piece of all of the films featured maggie gyllenhaal and peter sarsgaard. like the moron i am, i've forgotten the exact title (but it had the word hill in it!). it was a weekend in the life of a couple who are drifting apart from one another somewhat and the male lead's best friend. the tension between the characters is incredible,as is their chemistry. the dialogue is at once familiar and fluid. the setting is gorgeous, the interior of the house is modern but inviting and the fire pit scene made me crave a marshmallow! like the dogme films that were popular a little while ago, it was not decorated with slick quickshots or ornamental musical underscoring. the focus was purely on the characters, just like i like it.

also rented an indie film called "puffy chair". it is fantastic! it was made by the duplass brothers. they are a hilarious team that make simple, realistic films with a simple narrative structure and improvisational performances from excellent actors. the premise for the film was hilarious and the fights between the couple are among the most realistic moments i have seen on screen. (be sure to go to the special features on the dvd and watch the short film squabble, a play on the word scrabble, which documents a couple's argument over a scrabble game). the actor who plays rhett is fantastic and despite his nasty beastlike beard i found myself crushing on him something serious.

love it when i come away from a movie going experience and find myself feeling as though i just went to a really good house party. love it when humour comes from tension and circumstance rather than kitsch.

be sure to send me your diamonds in the rough. am always on the lookout for a great new director or interesting point of view.

i'm kinda tired so i'm just going to bitch about b list ex-sports guys on local news stations.

2007-06-12T19:49:00.000-06:00

it should be illegal for ex-b list athletes to read the sports news on local television stations.

the worst is the anchorman on ctv news (his name escapes be, must have blocked it out mentally because the experience of listening to him is so scarring). from the moment he opens his mouth until he ends, it's nothing but a series of inside jokes and one liners (which he personally seems to find uproariously clever) strung together with his biased opinions and random clips, only some of which have anything to do with sports. it's completely incoherent and i find myself so distracted in my attempts to follow his line of thinking that the true focus, the athletes and the scores, are completely lost in translation. you know things are particularly sad when even his coanchors don't know how to respond. unsure of what to say when he pauses and grins in their direction they all smile awkwardly secretly wishing he would just have his mid life crisis in private.

the abysmal writing aside, no one seems to have taught these guys the who-knew-it-was-a-skill of reading and breathing at the same time. when mark kinney(? i'm guessing again, old guy, ex-leaf) from city tv goes through his spiel, i get anxious, my chest hurts as i hold my breath along with him in sympathy. half of the time i continue to watch until the end of the segment just to be sure that someone's around to witness a potential collapse!

don't get me wrong, some ex-pros are real class acts that have insightful things to say but please, for the love of god, let's just give air time to the ones who weren't out playing golf when they gave the seminar on how to talk like you've been doing it all your life.

round and round we go

2007-06-10T18:59:00.000-06:00

broke up with my ex a year ago today at a close friend's wedding.

364 days later i found myself at another wedding. single, wearing black instead of white and seafoam green, drunk and dancing up a storm instead of drunk and delaying the conversation that was inevitable.

i know that life is cyclical but this was weird.

it was like a time delayed, warped version of groundhog day where i got to symbolically overwrite my "this man at my side doesn't love me and we'll never make it to the next level" experience with a new one where i came out feeling that it was a turning point of sorts.

it's odd but even when i was trying on my dress in the store, i felt like i was stepping into a more invigorated self, one that was reconnecting with a spirit that has been on the shelf for longer than i'd like to admit.

sounds flaky and hokey but i have a weird spidey sense like ability to be aware of key "moments" as they are occuring rather than days or weeks later like most normal functioning people on the planet.

decked out in my finery i gave myself permission to drink like dionysis and allowed myself to enjoy the "love vibe" that was flowing in the room rather than be threatened by it.

god love a ritual. nothing like 'em to help you take stock of where you are in the world. needed to take part again instead of bearing witness.

the puck stops here

2007-06-06T20:23:00.000-06:00

it's game five of the stanley cup playoffs. the game has been on since 8 and i've only stopped to breathe between periods.

i love this game

hockey has got to be one of the most passionate pursuits a human can partake in (aside from singing, writing and sex). it requires an intense level of vigilance, flexibility, speed, instinct, tolerance for pain, singularity of vision.

think the fact that it's all on skates is the kicker. so much to be in control of as an athlete as it is and then to do it all while running across a sleek surface on blades of one inch steel!

being a bit of a girly girl i must admit that the manliness of the men who play the sport is a big part of the attraction to it. love a metrosexual when i want to unwind from my day and have my feet rubbed and my life's work validated, but there's something about seeing a pack of six foot, broadshouldered, able to grow a beard in a day, scarred from skating with a broken hand for two periods, men, that just does it for me.

love the way that, when interviewed, most can talk about three generations worth of players that inspired them both on the ice and off. love the history, the legacy, the admiration for their peers and their willingness to push themselves to their physical limits.

can barely type now. the ducks have just won and my heart is in my throat. teemu selanne has been playing for fifteen years and has won his first cup. the guys are all hugging one another, leaping for joy, grinning, teary-eyed. the ottawa players seem stricken. exhausted, defeated. aware that a trip to the playoffs sometimes comes only once in a career.

one of the only times where we see men publicly embrace, cry, show affection for one another, show vulnerability, when openly weep with disappointment. have watched every round of the playoffs so feel like i've taken the journey with them.

here i go again, scott neidermeyer just awarded the con smythe trophy. sporting a full beard and camera going to mom in the audience. am balling like a fool.

love the tradition. love that there are still things that mean something to us. love that hard work and endurance (unlike on survivor!) are rewarded.

has been an incredible series. could tell the players have enjoyed being well matched with true competition. love the way that every moment counted and that even when sticks were broken in the middle of a pass the play was completed.

pretty incredible,eh?

humble pie

2007-06-04T20:53:00.000-06:00

i love the olympics. love to watch people push themselves to their limits. love to share in human triumph, watch the underdog have his day.

what i hate about the olympics is having some 17 year old prodigy demonstrate just how small my own victories seem in comparison.

had a humbling moment of olympic proportions tonight.

went to a ceremony to watch some of my students read some poetry that they had published as part of a citywide contest of sorts. as i made my way into the auditorium and caught a glimpse of the completed anthology and the way the room had been prepared to create a sense of ceremony, i got that sentimental lump in my throat, aware that this was going to be one of those evenings that will be a standout memory for them, one they'll define themselves by in some small way. i've been lucky enough to have a few such moments myself so i guess that was what i was connecting to. i was as excited for them as i would have been for myself.

because i was now emotionally invested in the whole affair (much like i am when watching a canadian team play in any international event) i was unprepared for the whopping piece of humble pie that the pint sized poets had been concocting under my nose.

about half way through the ceremony, i was totally enjoying the earnest verse with nuggets of inspired images when a young woman in jeans, a relaxed demeanour and a braid that was barely holding on to the bulk of its strands began to ramble off some of the most beautifully crafted phrases i have heard in years.

she had distilled each of the images until they resonated, connected them effortlessly in a fluid, unified form that pretty much blew away even my best work.

in a moment i was back in 1984, lying on my couch in the sticky heat watching a 14 year old get a gold medal in gymnastics. i was fully aware that i would never have talent like that. that my chance to be that girl had come and gone. not yet 16 and i understood, in a very real sense, that any gifts i may have willed myself to believe i possessed were destined to be charming and on a small scale impressive, but not awe-inspiring.

so this evening, when i was in the presence of true literary greatness i felt a bit defeated. i've really enjoyed my return to writing in the form of this blog, have found myself composing ideas in my quiet moments, playing with ways to capture the images that have accumulated throughout my day. love the process of writing so much and am so wrapped up in the content that i've confused it all feeling good with it actually being good to an impartial reader.

how hilarious is it that i went in thinking myself an experienced writer of sorts and came out dumb; silenced by the presence of true talent.

that fantasy novel i'm so confident i'll write has never seemed like more of a delusion.

rude awakening

2007-05-31T19:08:00.000-06:00

it's just after nine and my eyes are burning from having been open too long. would put myself to bed now but know that at about three this morning i'd be wide awake. considering that the sassy red rims that adorned my peepers all day were inspired by just such an occurrence last night, i think i'll try to soldier on through the rest of garden state (great flick, great soundtrack) instead.

now last night's wake up call was not a pee break or a symptom of too much on the brain. no, these would be welcome messengers of morning compared to the insanity that rang my proverbial bell...

picture a row of quaint walk ups on a tree lined street. manicured lawns leading up to rich, wide wooden doors. on the street, a procession of BMW's, SUV's, Lexxi (?) hum happily by.

last night, as the inhabitants of the art deco styled sanctuaries slept, a sudden crash echoed in the space between two of the buildings.

"just shut the fuck up! shut up or i'm gonna come over there. yeah, do it again and i'll call the cops."

i sat bolt upright in bed.

it was 2:43

my heart was instantly racing, my ears attuned to the voice, almost theatrical in tone that broke the deathly still quiet of the night. i was instantly taken back to childhood where you caught strains of an argument between your parents who thought you were asleep. you clung to every word, holding your breath.

another crash and the voice, from my building, rang out toward the other.

"i'm calling now (yells out the address and the apartment number), better shut the fuck up cause they're on the way. calling them now. yeah, big guy"

not at home anymore, i'm in an episode of cops, peeking through my blinds as the wife beater parade swaggers onto the lawn, beer bellied bravado and smudged mascara on the leads.

can hear a woman's voice muffled in the background. have heard it before, from behind a door. guess my neighbour below gets the version with better reception.

am glued to this conversation, hanging on every word. feel less and less like a visitor here, it's close.

"get out and come and meet me outside. just get up and meet me outside. oh what, what now you're gonna put a gun to my head is that it, just meet me outside, that's it, they're comin"

wait, what the fuck? gun? this shit just shifted gears. i hope i have misheard as i can literally feel my brows furrow with worry. i don't live there. i don't live in that place where the guns are. who are these people and how did they get here. aesthetically i should have been protected from this. i have felt protected by my polished wood and birdsong in the morning.

still no sirens. but it's three oclock. maybe they don't use sirens then. it's quiet. no slamming, muttering or bellowing from below.

my mind is filling in the blanks, the silence with scenarios. i don't know who to fear more, the crazed woman who i've heard wailing randomly for a few months now and her bare chested boyfriend who lingers in her hall or the guy below who's clearly lost it.

still quiet. am torn. am washed with rush of urge to call cops myself and get this woman and her freaky ass alcoholic sidekick evicted and then the tide turns and wonder what happens to people who live in this raw nerve like state of being for any length of time. i'm nauseous after a moment's exposure. what does a lifetime do? how do people raise children when surrounded by belly busting blasts of abuse.

so easy to criticize the self centred blue blooded cry "not in my backyard." but here it is. in my backyard, outside my window, at three in the morning; too scared to sympathize.

boulevard of broken dreams

2007-05-30T17:52:00.000-06:00

is anyone else as disappointed as i am that "on the lot", a show that i was really looking forward to making time for in my week, has been infected by the trappings of "idolism"?

at the outset, it seemed that this was going to be the film equivalent of project runway. i had anticipated a behind the scenes look at how directors handle the pressure of new weekly assignments. i wanted to marvel at the editing sensibilities of one and the great visual style of another.

instead, i got a "results show" with inane banter and excruciatingly rude time delays before the losers were booted off.

i don't want to hear half an hour's worth of reminders of the number i should text message to keep my favourite person in. i don't want "america to decide" . i want a panel of people who do the job and aren't personally related to the contestants give them real feedback!

i want to see these people, who all have some talent, inspire me to push myself harder creatively. i have no interest in hearing about their home towns or watching them squirm when placed in the bottom three.

i suppose i should have known better when it was revealed that carrie fisher was to be one of the judges. i like that they wanted a woman on the panel, but why not get a female director? why not an actress who has worked in the past decade?! this ridiculous, "paula factor" where a token untalented woman exists solely to say something kind to the one who bombed, drives me mental. grr!!

gotta run, canada's next top model starts tonight. now that's a formula i can live with!

blast from the past

2007-05-28T19:37:00.000-06:00

sorry haven't written for awhile, in the past eight days i've recorded a few tunes, put on a class production, been involved in a think tank to change the direction of literacy instruction, moderated a session about equity issues with students from four different schools, co-ordinated a thirteen act assembly in which i danced in traditional indian costume, sang a song in korean and choreographed two dances, one to chinese and the other to indonesian music. i topped it all off with the creation of a piece of artwork for a funfair on the weekend which i attended after performing friday night and before attending a barbecue saturday afternoon.

tonight? tonight i got a head start on my report cards and am fighting off fatigue and a spasmy back (my neighbour's alarm went off at 5:00 for an hour and i had already had a bit of a restless night.

on the flip side, ottawa is playing well so far in the first playoff game and i feel like i finally have something interesting enough to write about.

being one of the only people on the planet who still has dial-up, i am in the habit of checking my phone for messages before i turn on my laptop. when i checked recently, i got what i thought was a message from a telemarketer " hello, this is a message for @@@@, this is @@ from ottawa ,my number is #### just wondering if i could drop by at some point tomorrow. just give me a call when you get this message, once again, the number is #####.

the voice was calm and businesslike. had the tone of a returned phonecall that i had at some point initiated. and yet, i was perplexed. @@@ from ottawa? do i know a @@@ from ottawa? it sounded so official, so preplanned, but i have to work in the morning! i was totally thrown off. how is it that the voice on the other end of the phone could speak so assuredly about the likelihood of our meeting when i have never even known this person to have lived in the city he claimed to be calling from!

when my "tune out the prerecorded telemarketer message" sensors switched to attentive mode, i realized that the mysterious caller was a guy that i went on two dates with about three years ago! i have moved since then but my number has stayed the same. felt immediately creeped out that he had "found" me here (was never lost according to my number but you get the idea...) i met him during my, sure, why not, let's go against type and see what happens phase. he's in politics, which explains the "work the conversation to make me think that i had been looking to reconnect" aspect of the call. has been in politics for awhile and like others i have met,the culture has infiltrated to the way he communicates in his personal life, very shake your hand, call you by your name, networky kind of vibe.

anyway, while we were able to keep conversation going, i wasn't feeling a love connection. i told him so at the end of a second date and it didn't go over well. (did i mention i met his dad before our first date...?)

saw him again months later and was chatting with a guy he knew, political rival of sorts i think. he came up behind me and said bitingly " so this is the guy you dumped me for". once again, a little creeped out and a whole lot perplexed.

it was incredible. it was the first time that i had seen someone else act out one of those excruciating unrequieted have- a- whole- relationship- before- you've -been- on- a -real- date moments that had been such a prevailing theme of my own life. is this how i am coming off, i wondered?

so different to be seeing it from the receiving end. suddenly i was back in a friend's basement in junior high where i had a tortured yet meaningful (to me at least) final dance with a soul mate who could never be mine-he was with the cute petite girl, Keri, like the lotion. i would write letters to him for years, seeking him out over time, convinced that he too, felt fate had cheated us earlier on...

as an adult, on the other end of a phone where a message like one i have no doubt left on someone's machine at some time was still ringing in my ears, i felt not the hand of fate, but the eye of big brother.

where the hell does this guy get off calling me after three years to set up a time for him to drop by? does he think i don't work? and then, to ask me to call him back?! if he wants to reconnect then...but i digress.

not so much of a romantic now, am i?

i didn't call back. neither did he.

guess this is my karma for letters to self-willed partners of days past.

one day we'll all get it right.

goin with the flow

2007-05-20T09:04:00.000-06:00

am off to a another recording session with my band this afternoon. had our first group session on friday and am looking forward to it.

this will be the sixth time i've been in a recording situation. i've run the gamut from the clinical fancy pants studio experience where i was alone in a basement with nothing but a persian rug and a set of expensive headphones and a heavy set guru sitting at a startrek-like console of shiny lights all the way to a DIY closet i couldn't stretch my arms out in lined with cheap mexican blankets hemmed in by a screen door. this time around, we are in the other vocalist and trumpet players' living room. it's a fantastic space with crazy high ceilings, a cozy fire place, plants, great light and comfy couches that weren't picked up from a curb.

as a group, we've all got a respect for music and have discipline from our respective day jobs that's helped us to get things down and perfected. coupled with this focus is an openness to play a little bit. as a result we've taken a couple of tunes in a completely different direction.

this is what keeps me going. when it comes to any creative pursuit it's always the process that drives me. when i am writing i love to let my mind go where it will unedited for pages at length and then go back with fresh eyes and cut and clarify. when choreographing something, it's the trying things out in response to the music that gets me going, it's the emergence of organic transitions that come with dancers just playing around that i love.

in terms of singing, i love to listen to the structure of a song repeatedly,stumbling upon a groove while improvising. once i'm hooked into it, it grounds me within the song and i can meander safely around this safe spot until a melody forms. it's only possible when every one else is willing to be patient, to keep walking along the established borders. thankfully my bandmates are incredibly patient and, like me are able to go on their own "walkabouts" when similarly inspired by something someone else has done.

the experience of writing and editing the songs as we went was incredibly fluid. one idea fuelling another. the challenge comes when you can't hear or feel where the others are going. ran into that situation a couple of times. for me, i have to almost act my way through it. envisioning a character that goes along with the genre or mood we're going for and then playing the role sonically. once i can physically get a sense of what the song is supposed to feel like, i can usually retry it in a more natural voice. really trippy experience. very sensorial and intellectual at the same time. can't think of any other way to describe it.

we played for nine hours that session in a dreamy, flowing way. hope that we can get back there again somehow. hard to replicate the intangible.

special delivery

2007-05-15T18:14:00.000-06:00

i love people watching. if i find myself on the subway without something to read i'll just scan the car for someone interesting and try to parse together a back story for them.

found my wheels spinning tonight when the delivery guy from my neighbourhood's best wing joint dropped off my guilty pleasure.

he's an elderly gentleman-mid sixties at least, who is always winded when he makes it to the fourth floor of my walk up. though winded, he suffers discreetly, shaking his head slightly and raising his eyebrows in a self mocking, smiley kind of way. (don't think me cruel, i've offered to meet him a couple of floors down but he insists he's fine).

there's a gentleness about him that i love. he speaks to me through gestures, a wave of the hand, a tap and a nod in the direction of the receipt. there's no feeling sorry for a man like this. there's history in his hands and a sureness in the way he moves. i trust him.

i find myself strangely confident that we'd get on well together as he taught me to garden or whittle or play bocci or whatever grandfatherly activity he preferred. trust him as if i knew him.

this romanticized notion of my diminuitive man bearing the mouthwatering smelling brown bags was somewhat turned on its head tonight when i saw him with fresh eyes. i have been watching old seasons of the sopranos lately and am totally loving tony's uncle junior. he's funny and warm and straight talking and real. love the way he walks,squints, the way he suffers from being surrounded by fools. anyway, he looks exactly like my delivery guy. same glasses, same pattern of baldness, same habit of gesturing often.

seeing him in this light i wondered if my sweet old guy perception was totally mislaid. maybe he's really crusty by nature, cursing me all the way up the stairs, drawing straws with his middle aged son back at the restaurant when my order comes in to see who would have to climb my everest. maybe the smile is his uniform.

another observation,...he was wearing sandals and socks tonight. never noticed his footwear before. navy plastic sandals and brown socks. footwear you wear around the house cause the heating's acting up or something you'd slip on on your way out to the garden. no editing here for time and place.

complicated man. just like i like 'em.

then again, maybe i am the one who's complicated. maybe i just need to resubscribe to cable and leave the poor guy to his rounds.

dressing in the dark:don't do it!

2007-05-14T21:02:00.000-06:00

i wore two different shoes to work today.

i wouldn't even have noticed had i not called my students to the carpet to read to them. this ritual has often brought with it observations from my students about my person. my first gray hairs were spotted here, as were missed patches of stubble on my knees. one year my painted toenails peeping through my sandals caused such a stir that i had to stop the lesson and address them!

one of my more candid students (there's one in every bunch) asked me why i was wearing different shoes. i scrunched up my face, befuddled by her question in the middle of my paragraph. "i wear different colours for different outfits" i replied. "no," she persisted "why are you wearing different shoes on each foot?"

her persistance took me out of the book and down to my toes. sure enough, when i extended my legs out from under me i was staring at one black sandal and one brown...with a bow no less!! i left the house at 7:30 and didn't bother to turn on the hall light before slipping my toes into my sandals and heading out the door. in my defense, they both had a wedge of the same height and a single panel of leather across the toe so they felt exactly the same.

as i sat there mortified at my inability to dress myself, my mind began to flash backward. it was eleven o'clock. not only had i been walking around work like that all morning but i had taken the subway and a bus as well! where were the nasty glares when you needed them?! You can usually rely on some busybody to throw you a disapproving glance when you've lost your way in your personal grooming regimen.

what must my fellow commuters have thought? unlike most mornings, i was not fast asleep within moments of boarding the train. i was wearing a skirt and feeling confident from a particularly close shave (new razor, foamy shave gel), my hair was doing what it's supposed to and my mascara hadn't even clumped! i wonder, would my sleepy eyed self have awoken to a bevvy of reproachful glances?

back in the classroom , i felt my credibility slip somewhat in their eyes. i had just made a kickass observation that children in fantasy stories are typically orphaned and therefore more free to carve their own understanding of the world rather than accepting their parents' filtered version and it meant nothing when held against the fact that i couldn't match a pair.

think i need to get to bed earlier. got to walk away from the lure of Lenny and his cheesy quips in the intro to the third episode of Law and Order for the evening.

it's moments like these that i fear i've been living alone for too long. i need a witness to shame me into behaving as the rest of the grown ups do.

in praise of augusten burroughs

2007-05-10T17:38:00.000-06:00

going to deviate from describing my travails today and take some time to promote an author i am absolutely loving right now. augusten burroughs.

the name might be familiar because he penned the novel Running With Scissors which was turned into a film last year. it details his crazy upbringing where he spent the better part of his formative years shuffling between the homes of his bipolar mother and her psychiatrist who had his own houseful of misfits.

i am reading a series of short stories that he wrote. i love the short story as a literary form. it's all about moments in time in people's lives. i love the way that the good ones let you dive right into a three dimensional place that's familiar. i love the singular focus, sometimes humourous, sometimes desperate, sometimes quietly mundane.

being a fan of the form, i've devoured carol shield's work, anne hebert's, ernest hemingway's (which kick his novels' proverbial asses!) and dave eggers', so i was pleased to discover a new voice to track when i'm in my favourite bookstore looking for a mental snack for the subway.

the collection of stories entitled Magical Thinking, is based on true events. each of them are both hilarious and endearing. i've found myself smirking shamelessly and even laughing out loud at one point. i love a good laugh when i am reading. love to be able to identify in a seinfeld kind of way to the quirks of an openly flawed protagonist.

my favourite story so far centres around his discovery of a mouse in his bathtub and his efforts to rid himself of the cretin. it details the way its mere presence has tainted his tub forever, rendering a soothing soak forever out of the question.

that's all for now. run out and read this! it won't disappoint.

the birds and the bees

2007-05-09T17:10:00.000-06:00

i said the word penis yesterday at work.

when launching into a recap of a science test, i had no idea that i'd end up having "the talk" with my students. i knew that it was coming and i'd even started to browse for the requisite videos about "your changing body" but nothing prepared me for having to respond on the fly to the query "what's sperm?"

as i was thrust head first (pardon the pun!) into the discussion it took awhile to get my head around just how little they knew. i was fascinated by the gaps in their understanding and their willingness to be candid about something that mortified me when i was their age.

it all began with the question "how can two women have a baby without a man?" the question was tinged with a sense of confusion about how the parts would connect. i described in vitro, voluntary sex with a man, artificial insemination and adoption as potential answers. this in turn led to "women have eggs in them?", followed by , "but then how does the baby come out?"

as i spoke they started to gather around me, a question from one spurned a question form another and the vibe in the room became family like and comfortable. they handled everything i gave them openly and maturely. i was amazed with their comfort, marvelling at their well-adjustedness. the only time when their embarassment got the better of them was when one boy asked me what sperm was and i had to say the word penis. as i spoke the word they lost it covered their ears and rolled on the carpet. i even giggled a little myself-not exactly a word that feels natural to use in your day job.

before responding to the sperm dilemma, i had to check myself. do i talk about the texture, the variety of smells, volume? i wanted to honour their risk taking with truth and enough description to demistify any misconceptions they had but i didn't want to reveal too much about my personal familiarity with the subject matter either!

before long, the girls were prodding me to give it to them straight about their periods. questions about amount of blood, colour, pain, the use of tampons came barrelling at me, one after another. in no time i was heading for my stash and opening the packaging of a pad and a tampon. i can't even describe how incredibly taboo the whole thing felt. to have something so personal become so public was strange. holding them in my hands they seemed tinged with something otherworldly. so rarely do they see the light of day. i've never had to demonstrate how to use an applicator to an audience. i'm glad i did it though. both girls and boys had all sorts of questions revealing their readiness to hear it all.

while i was dreading the whole experience, it turned out to be something quite special. the litany of questions told me that it's been something on the forefront of their minds, keeping them up at night. their eagerness to share told me that the information would be a salve of sorts where they could feel somewhat normal again in the grand scheme of things. i felt honoured to be able to help them out and allay their fears.

listening to them, a part of me wished i had had their openess at their age. hope that they'll be able to carry this confidence with them for a few more years of change.

sunday morning mass inspires

2007-05-07T19:12:00.000-06:00

went to see a friend run a 10km race on sunday. i love being in the presence of people who are taking risks, realizing goals and pushing themselves to places they only half believed they could go.

though i run only when chased, i can appreciate the simple satisfaction a runner must feel. that feeling of being carried on by momentum, limbs moving independently of will. a true split of the mind body connection. because it was a 10k race, there was a real range of people participating. dads running with their sons, girlfriends on teams from work, marathon types who figured they might as well get a warm up in before their real training began...

each face was a story. some were flushed, some strained, some relaxed. as i scanned the crowd for my friend, i came upon a young woman wearing a ball cap and an ipod. she was one of the weary, visibly worn from her efforts. she too was searching, and soon found her mother. weakly, she called out to her: "mom", her voice faltered. having silently pushed herself through the race each step of the way, this was the moment where her accomplishment, now made real by the witness of someone who knew what it meant for her to be there, took shape. her mother, well dressed in a red cape and shades faltered somewhat, trying to place the source of her daughter's call. she called again, overcome now, shaking and covering her face with her hand, fatigue and pure emotion overwhelming her. calmly, her mom stood a foot away from her and opened up a hand made sign which read "congratulations, you did it!" the two embraced and didn't say a word for the next few moments.

i frickin lost it! there was a lump in my throat so large that i couldn't swallow and i found myself welling up. i was completely moved.

the air was literally charged with endorphins. i felt buoyed by the accomplishments of those who stood before me, walking side by side through the gates. so rare to come to celebrate the small victories. we were all beaming.

so glad i went. we so rarely get a chance to celebrate our friends in a public way. to share in those moments where we become more than we were an hour before.

proud of you jen. may just even run on purpose sometime soon!

power play

2007-05-05T11:24:00.000-06:00

you can take the boy out of the frat, but you can't take the frat out of the boy.

performed last night at my regular friday night gig. sets went well, crowd clapped regularly, were visibly groovin to the tunes for most of the evening.

after about an hour and a half of playing, i informed the crowd i'd be going around with tip jar to collect contributions for the band. i was about 7 tables into my rounds where people were happy to give what they could when i came upon a table of men in their mid forties.

when i approached them i was met with smiles and a compliment. as they reached into their pockets a buddy of theirs returned from smoking outside and took out his wallet to reveal a five dollar bill (a standard minimum as far as tips go). he held it out flat between his fingers and paused. he stared at me , face serious, "can i have some change for this". his buddies smirked and laughed behind me. "for a five?" i questioned. "yeah, can i have three dollars change please." his buddies behind me were laughing muttering, he's joking, he's just joking. but he wasn't. i tilted the jar toward him and told him he could take it out of the jar if he'd like. "i'm not putting my hand in there". he wouldn't budge and was staring me down, enjoying his little game, fuckin prick. my blood was boiling and it was all i could do not tear a strip off of him. instead i stared right back and said " you know what, that's fine, i'll just move on". i turned and left him there and went to the next table. his buddies roared with laughter.

as i was talking to the next table i felt a tap on my shoulder. "i'm not being rude you know. i'm not being rude" i didn't even look him in the eye. he reached around and shoved the five dollar bill in the jar.

as i continued to make my rounds i was running through a series of scenarios where i alternately threw the jar at him or went on a tear where i eviscerated his masculinity and shamed his compadres for taking part in the shaming of a woman.

it was really difficult to be in a public dining space where i had to react professionally rather than personally. probably for the best though, screaming at the guy would have gotten me nowhere. someone who belittles others for amusement is not going to phased by an emotional rant.

this is why i have a day job. don't know if i could stomach being at someone else's mercy for paying the rent.

warning to walkers: less likely to wed

2007-05-03T16:45:00.000-06:00

my fingers are literally leaping from key to key. couldn't wait to sign in and share this.

was just checking in on my lava account to see if i tickled anyone's fancy today and found that someone wanted to chat on instant messenger. feeling open and friendly, i replied.

the end of the conversation left me so bewildered that i thought i'd share it to see what you thought. here it is, copied and pasted, swear to god, couldn't make this stuff up. (know it's a bit unethical but it's for demonstration purposes only and his identity is protected...)

him: hey

me: hey there

him: Hello..........look at my pic

me: saw it, great smile

him: I go right for the jugular, is toronto where you see youself for the long run

me: for awhile at least. i am a pedestrian and love sidewalks and neighbourhoods rather than box stores and car life

him: what do you do professionally

me: i teach, you?

him: MOE

me: i'm going to need abit more than that

him: walkerton

me: ministry of the environment?

him: anyways............you are a pretty lady but get the gut feeling -- you probably are a metro woman --unlikely to leave -- yes - thats correct, right ministry

me: you looking to go suburban?

him: Hamilton is as big as I go, I still would like a family and more rural the better different tastes thats all

me: guess so. wow, you really do cut to the chase, way to filter!

whats the purpose of all the fluff I am not 26 anymore anyhow...........I gotta go............take care Miss Pedestrian there is a life beyond the gta

me: see ya mr. minivan

Can you believe it! All of this took place in literally 30 seconds!! Incredible. 2 questions and i am discarded, at first politely and then with a little barb as a parting gift. "there's more to life..." where the hell does he get off....i lived in sudbury for 5 years for cryin out loud...

his stealthy mode of becoming acquainted totally took me aback. while i also like to get a quick sense of who someone is, i have never dared to be so brazen as to defy social norms and catch and release with such reckless abandon.

his little "MOE" IQ test was hilarious! i literally laughed out loud when i found myself reaching for the keys to type the response as a contestant would on a game show. imagine if i had got it wrong? what kind of exit line would he have used then?

love the way that my being a fan of walking the streets of the city made me unfit for family life. where am i supposed to push the stroller? inside the strip mall?

that's the scary thing about using this inhuman tool for humane exchanges. when you spend the majority of your time using this medium to fill out templates in small boxes, it's sometimes hard to remember that a person is at the other end of the interface and needs the equivalent of a friendly handshake before intimate details are highlighted in the drop down menu.

think i'll stick to stealing glances at attractive men from across crowded rooms without approaching them for the next little while.

toxic

2007-05-01T17:25:00.000-06:00

vitriolic whispers

from behind closed doors,

from the vents in the concrete walls.

acid reflux feeling in the sternum

when you wander through their jet streams.

can't find a corner free of the noxious gas

expelled from bloated bellies,

tainted tongues, bruised from blathering

nonsense

filtered by some into soggy strains of truth

tempers, like prairie fires, flare suddenly

in a charged yet eerily quiet kind of way.

too much for me, poor pisces.

want the cool water

in a silver bucket, thrown

on our backs.

cat like consequences

befitting our feline den.

please won't you be my neighbour

2007-04-30T19:21:00.000-06:00

a strange calm descended upon my sister and i as we worked our way through a rigorous schedule of pvr'd shows. typically an exercise of lip reading and a volume bar at full throttle as her upstairs neighbour cranks out tacky dance tunes , it became something entirely more civilized. i am sure that if there were crickets outside her window, they'd be seranading us as i speak.

the sounds of a moving van rattled endlessly outside for about an hour and were accompanied by a change in the frenzied footsteps of said neighbours idiot dog. together, they seemed to signal that the van may well be destined to welcome boxes of his gold rope chains and hair products. gleefully we tracked the sound of boxes being loaded, muffled giggles from the girlfriend.

as excited as we were at the prospect of prolonged peace, our smiles soon turned to incredulous smirks. my sister has just given notice after months of frustration and well placed broom handle jabs to the ceiling. we've had a hell of a time finding something and now...

that's just mean. oh, the irony. cruel, cruel irony.

just when you,..wait, what rumble from yonder ceiling quakes? but soft 'tis the moron! and happy feet, his son.

oh what a tangled web we weave when we, from our neighbours, try to leave.

The price of beauty

2007-04-28T20:27:00.000-06:00

found myself living out a seinfeld epidsode this afternoon. knowledgeable fans may remember an episode where elaine went to get her nails done at a salon and was convinced that the women who worked there (none of whom spoke english while they worked) were gossiping about her.

spurred on by my encounter with a dirty yoga mat and a conversation with my developmentally delayed bus acquaintance about the state of my fingernails, i decided that it was time for a little "maintenance". i decided i'd go girly and treat myself to a manicure and pedicure at a little place at the end of my street.

i was really looking forward to being pampered so it wasn't until i was at the front desk requesting an appointment that i noticed what a sorry state i was truly in. like a woman who cleans the house before the maid arrives, i was suddenly mortified that i hadn't done some preliminary prep before someone whose job it is to tend to my hands and feet, saw my hands and feet.

each of my nails was a different length and despite two showers and a sincere effort with a nail brush, paint from a backdrop i was preparing was still brightly shining between the layers of my nails. aiming for comfort and not knowing i'd have to take them off in public later, i'd worn my comfy,though rank, sneakers that haven't seen the light of day since last summer. i tried to explain apologetically before my esthetician approached but i soon realized that she spoke almost no english so i just tried to avoid eye contact as she rolled her sleeves up for a tough session.

soon after she began, the other women who worked in the salon began chatting to one another in Chinese. the banter went back and forth across the room and laughter soon rang out.

my sister and i glanced at each other from across the room and shared perpelxed looks anxious to know just what was so funny, quietly confident that on some level we were being mocked.

i was incredulous as the next hour and a half passed by and not a word of english was spoken except when the receptionist took a phone call.

as the room became animated with their private conversations, i started to feel as though i had crashed a stranger's party. it was as though i was on vacation in my own city. at least when you are traveling you expect to be socially isolated and left out of the loop.

salons are typically places where female bonding happens, where secrets are shared and you walk away feeling like you know the group of people you shared the afternoon with. incredible how a single element, language, skewed the whole experience. i found myself longing for the little banter that you share with someone when they are cutting your hair or putting lotion on your cuticles. without it , or eye contact or being addressed with words instead of a series of taps and gestures, i was a little lost.

suddenly realized that without the personal pleasantries it's not pampering. it's maintenance.

felt jaded. then felt guilty.

why should these women who have to spend 8 hour days sloughing off dead skin and picking out gunk from underneath other women's nails be obliged to engage in small talk? is it their job to entertain as well as buff and polish? before long i was making connections to john's and prostitutes. bad enough they have to do the job but they have to be sweet too? ridiculous comparison i know but guilt is a powerful emotion! can i really call myself a feminist when i get pissy if my manicurist didn't ask me about my day because she is preoccupied with studying to get her citizenship? (not exaggerating here, she really had the test manual beside her at her station and was reading it-with the help of a computerized translation device- as my nails dried.)

as my sister and i were walking home my concern for the esthetician's endentured servitude began to fade.

"what the hell was that?" she said.

"i know, that was so rude. i hate it when all the people around you are speaking another language. it makes you paranoid," i replied.

so much for a relaxing afternoon. ah, the price of beauty!

bon voyage?

2007-04-27T15:40:00.000-06:00

zut alors!

i received an email this morning from a contact in paris who had spoken to me about a job opportunity teaching esl at an international school for three weeks in july. my resume was sent and approved in january and several emails, including one in which i provided lesson plans, assured me that the question was not the availability of a position but whether or not i would be available for full time rather than part time.

based on these transactions i got my passport renewed, bought a plane ticket ($2000) and put a down payment on a hostel in one of my favourite neighbourhoods. i had started to accumulate resources and started imagining how i could use field trips to local landmarks as fodder for lessons.

if you speak french, you know that my opening was portentious and that the email was not good news. yes chers amis, my contact regrets to inform me that inscription into the summer school program was less stellar than anticipated and he will not be able to offer me any work!!!!!!!!!!!!!

as i read it i was at once mortified that i'd now have to find a new way to finance my living expenses and elated that i wouldn't have to be in the classroom for 8 hours a day.

if i seem strangely calm about the outcome it's because a part of me knew that this might happen. i had prepared myself in some subconscious way for it. as i wrote an email at one point in march describing my desire to teach full time rather than half my fingers were leaden and i put off sending it for two or three days. part of me knew that the entire purpose of going to paris was to be in paris and not to work, be drained, have a glass of wine and sleep in paris.

i feel freed in a way. now i can fill my days at will. i can do paris the way i have always wanted to do it. i have been three times before, each time in longer spurts but never for more than a week. each time i've tried to squeeze in as much as i could and pounded the pavement for hours on end not wanting to leave a nook unexplored. i've always enjoyed myself but this time i want to do the things that aren't part of the package tour. i want to spend a day at the sorbonne, reading anais nin's journals, simone de bouvoir's work. i want to bring my music with me and try to coerce my way on stage and sing a song or two. i want to go to the movies with the locals, to bring a sketchbook to the musee d'orsay.

it's a gift, this. a chance to breathe, to be a vacation in the truest sense of the word. just going to have to count my pennies and make those baguettes last!

isn't it odd how places that are half way across the world can feel like home? i remember being stunned at how familiar everything felt and how even the dodgy bits had charm. i felt the same way when stepping of the ferry in Dublin. The air felt familiar and the experience had a deja vu like quality. there might be something to that past life thing after all...

pet peeves a la eats, shoots & leaves

2007-04-26T16:31:00.000-06:00

i've got the tv on in the background and i just caught a clip promoting etalk where guest host hilary duff was blabbing out the "innertainment" industry. like nails on a chalkboard, the ditzified version of the not so hard to pronounce word "entertainment" made me cringe.

not to say that i don't take a few liberties with the queen's english from time to time, but the bastardization of perfectly fine words and the increasingly lax standards in television reporting are frightening. yesterday, gord martineau from city tv (crusty ass- helmet haired-short man with a complex that he is) actually said the word "ass" in his intro to a piece about a farm where old donkeys go to die. apparently the tasteless adolescent attempt at humour gave at least some editor along the way a twinge of intellectual guilt and they had poor old gord spell the word as a way to cushion what they knew would be a low in his career. come on, people! i know it's citytv but still!

my all time fave has to be the invention of the word "orientated" as in "he was very goal orientated". well, he can't be that goal driven cause the schmo doesn't know that he's goal oriented. i've heard the term used so often now that it'll only be a matter of time before i come across it in print! am i alone on this one, or has it made its way to the latest version of webster's? nevermind. i'd rather not know. now that homer's "doh" has made it it's only a matter of time before the old faithfuls go the way of the dinosaur.

at a workshop yesterday, i heard a woman (professional, mid thirties) say the word "fustrated" as she was describing a situation. writing it off as a dialect thing i simply smirked (snobbily, i'll admit it) and forgot about it, until...she pulled out a piece of chartpaper she'd brought with her as part of her presentation which included the word "frustrated" spelled without the "r" ! now i realize that in the grand scheme of things it means nothing and it's kind of shallow but dammit, if you're going to make a presentation have a friend look it over before you leave the office.

aside from word use, inane banter among co-hosts of news shows and flagrantly biased reporting rife with leading quesitons makes anything but sexless tvo an option for real news. (oh how i miss studio two)

don't be shy, send me your bug bears. as lovers of words i'm sure you have stockpiles of the stuff!

i just want to be inspired, is that so wrong?

2007-04-25T17:09:00.000-06:00

if only those who lacked intellectual vision could get a prescription filled at lenscrafters.

spent the morning in a think tank of sorts where a new initiative was being discussed and colleagues who had test piolted the approach were discussing their process. geek that i am, i get off on this kind of thing and set my wheels in motion, ready to listen and plan in parallel as they spoke.

the philosophy behind the approach was practical and focused, the energy in the room, charged. i was so grateful to hear this kind of thing being proposed that i felt inspired again, ready to roll up my sleeves and get dirty.

i turned to my two bosses, hoping for a conspiratorial smile but found instead that one was going through her mail and the other, checking her blackberry. sigh.

when the interactive part of the session came around and representatives from different areas had to post their performance levels on a variety of measures they both scrambled to justify reasons why we should post a titch higher than the results we had compiled before arriving. i nearly laughed. we had spent the morning talking about the importance of being truthful in order to facilitate genuine change and there they were, ready to throw it away for the sake of saving face.

the kicker was when they considered passing out a handout during a staff meeting as fulfilling the professional development component! two hours discussing the importance of mentoring, sharing best practice and using data to bolster growth, two hours of colleague testimonials, two hours of people from across the city gathering to change the direction of the system and a handout is enough to mentally tick the box!!!!!!!

ah the life of the idealist is a tormented one. to come so close....what to do when your superiors don't get it? how do these people get these positions? how is it we could be in the same room, hear the same things and walk away with such different take home messages?

to top it all off, as we were leaving and talking to my bosses' boss, they turned to me and said "it all really needs to come from our staff" , defeated i replied, "no it has to come from above" (a comment supported by their boss but which fell on deaf ears)..deferring again! shifting responsibility again! avoiding direct influence over staff again!

and so i am left with two options. take this on and run with it because i am turned on by it (incurring the wrath of colleagues who'll think i am kissing ass or developing a god complex) or i can watch the whole thing die a quiet death.

it's times like these that i wish i was one of those people who never creep beyond the boundaries of their assigned roles, who are happy to adjust to whatever comes down the pipe rather than refit it altogther for greater flow.

but where's the fun in that?

the diary-primary resource or fodder for fiction?

2007-04-24T16:01:00.000-06:00

have been reading a lot of biographies lately for work. was discussing with a group how primary resources are used as tools to piece together a portrait of the subject who can no longer speak for themselves.

as i spoke about the utility of photographs, letters, emails, artistic creations and interviews with people who knew them i made the natural leap of wondering what my artifacts would say about me.

cyberspace cookies would reveal my browsing habits, my daily compulsions, the varied scope of topics i delve into daily. pictures i have taken would perhaps convey an aesthetic taste but it's my friend's bridal shower pics and halloween party masked debauchery that would skew the profile. my artistic endeavours are similarly untrustworthy to speak for me themselves. recordings i have made out of a desire to concretize a favourite piece don't stand as representatives of how i'd love my voice to sound.

took a course at ryerson a few years ago about the diary. argued for many sessions about its validity as a tool for understanding someone. my prof rolled her eyes at the notion of their usefulness, saying that even in private we invent;here perhaps most of all! was a great experience. loved reading people's attempts to capture their thoughts artfully. i could see the bias, see the plumes of the quill shake with fervour as a literary sensibility took hold and the mundane was transformed into the sublime. i get it because i've done it. i love to go back to a moment, to evoke it sensorially and polish it into something lasting.

this whole notion of editing the artifacts of our lives is interesting. how many of us delete unflattering photos,take people off of our contact lists, write responses to emails or engage in conversation using platitudes or quasi-template form?

haven't decided yet if it's just a filter thing where you can only hold so much so you manage by speaking a script, cutting off excess relationship baggage, don't want to waste space in memory or if we are all secretly manufacturing an ideal self as we go. i waffle depending on mood.

so after all of that i wonder if we can really be trusted to speak for ourselves about ourselves. and if not us then who, or what?

cache

2007-04-23T16:57:00.000-06:00

i am a total coward. i can sing in front of a thousand strangers without batting an eyelash but i just ran away from an instant message on lavalife!

i am venturing back out on the dating scene after a hiatus and reopened a dormant account on lava. say what you will, i'm not exactly tripping over single men in my circles and i find it's a great way to flex the dating muscle.

anyway, so i am compulsively checking my account to see if anyone else has sent me a smile and a little blue light starts to flash in the instant message portion of the window. panicked, i stopped dead in my tracks. i hate instant messaging, it makes me feel like i am being watched! purely psychological but it creeps me out. i hate the idea that other people know when i am on the site, it's like being caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

so this guy writes that he likes my smile and before i have time to click on his name to see what he looks like he's added a new line of text: "do you date guys that are 46?" granted, i'm in my thirties but it still felt like my grandad was asking for a poke and a tickle!

freak show that i am, i closed the window and opened up this one instead. a welcome safe haven from watchful fortysomething eyes. (nothing personal forty somethings, it's a stupid hang up)

can't believe how years of experience still haven't quashed the freak out factor when it comes to handling creepy advances. well advances is a little strong but you get the idea.

so far, the range of men who've responded is really varied. i've got the corny romantics, the faceless computer programmers, some random guy from the states (come on!!) and one who also likes to read Dave Eggers-one of my favourite authors. must admit felt a twinge of hope when i read that one. i returned his smile calmly and confidently. nice to see some potential among the craziness.

rain on my parade

2007-04-20T14:22:00.000-06:00

been reading a lot of charles bukowski's poetry lately. it's conversational and immediately accesible.no ridiculous references to obscure greek gods. thematically it's an honest look at the banal aspects of life and the ridiculous things we do because of loneliness.

i say this because i had a shitty encounter with a colleague today that put a pall on an otherwise really successful workshop i led that i had put a lot of thought and effort into. thought instead of just waxing philosophic about it that i would borrow from mr. bukowski and turn it into a poem. (

it's friday and we're all in jeans we look like people again. a group forms around the food table. the naturally skinny are going for the muffins and the self-conscious and health-conscious pick at slices of melon.

i'm reading over notes, checking to see that packages are in order. i'm keen but wear it as honestly as the slackers openly checking their blackberrys. start the spiel and most eyes are on me feigned interest from some, genuine curiosity from others.

still talking and have only heard a few sidebar comments pretty good considering there's often open disdain. questions come, hit em out of the park we're on our way and working i'm in the clear- or so i think...

am buzzing with the flow of productive, complicit professional activity and run head on into an active resistor whose out to stick it to the man. announces, "i don't need to do this"

i wait

i've seen this before

thirteen fucking people are going along with it but somehow she's immune. "i got what i need out of the information," she says, "do i really have to do all of this?"

i wait

i outline the point of the exercise again

"so what are you saying, i have to do this?"

yes

walks away and grumbles loudly about the futility of the exercise gradstanding now "you know, if you're going to do this, you really need to.."

you fucking bitch ass whore the mantra running continuously in my mind as she spends the next hour trashing my preparartion, mocking the work

one. one freakin squeaky wheel sucking the life blood of all things positive.

want to give it to her ghetto style but turn on my heel to go back to the buzz of the quiet converts.

So it's not great, really need to edit it but you get the idea. wanted to be a bit more straightforward but caught myself going imus on her and thought it a bit melodramatic. just wanted to testify to the teeth clenching moment where you want to bite the head off the smartass that's out to sabotauge for the sake of it. wanted to capture a sense of how much it sucks to have hard work get overshadowed by somebody else's agenda.

rumble in the 9-5 jungle

2007-04-18T18:04:00.000-06:00

bit of drama at work today. there's been a reshuffling of positions, and with it a ruffling of feathers. paranoia abounds and everywhere you look there are clusters of conspirators trying to suss out the master plan and their place within it.

unfortunately, this is an annual occurrence which wreaks havoc during an otherwise enjoyable time of year. it's incredible to watch the dynamic between "the threatened" and the secure, between the admin and the underlings. no gesture goes unanalyzed, no loophole for self-preservation unexplored.

fear's a pretty powerful emotion. given the amount of time you spend at work, any time that the nature of what will be coming across your desk changes, a Darwinian kind of lens starts to filter everything around you. Suddenly, you find yourself on the defensive, quietly composing a list of why the work you've done is much more in keeping with the goals of the organization, how you've gone above and beyond the drivel joe flunky (your colleague who at any other time of the year would be your best friend) produces on his best day.

while i am in the clear this time round, i remember all too well the way that the options being presented to me seemed surreal, completely separate from anything that i would have chosen for myself or from anything that anyone who had bothered to take the time to look at my past work, would suggest for me. it's the impersonalization of something very personal, at least in my field, that threw me. it was impossible not to take the suggestion of making a move that was totally unrelated to my personal goals as anything less than personal. while it all really boiled down to financial purse tightening and factors that were procedural, not personal, i still felt like a stranger in my own home.

i also remember, not too proudly, that the situation brought out a ruthless side to me where i felt like a lioness protecting her cubs. i wanted what i felt was mine and hated not having a say in the course of my own fate.

it's times like these when i wish i was one of those diplomatic types who accepts the situation and gracefully manoeuvres themselves through it, head held high and cattiness curtailed. maybe one day. need a few more role models!

One, two, three, four hold five, six turn seven, eight

2007-04-17T17:38:00.000-06:00

am reclining while typing and have just contorted myself to remove my socks. feet were feeling clammy after having done an hour's worth of dance in the same boots i wore all day.

how's that for a snappy intro? are you hooked yet? too tired to be witty so i'm just gonna tell you like it is tonight.

went to a chinese dance workshop after work today. saw it advertised and thought it would come in handy for a show i am putting together next month. have i mentioned how much i love this city? where else would you have the chance to develop a mean fan technique on a tuesday night on a whim?

So i arrive late. had to take transit and the bus was late then i went to the wrong location and had to ask a group of kids for directions. would've asked a passerby but it was a bit of a dodgy neighbourhood and my bright red jacket wasn't doing much to help me blend in with the locals. When i walk in,the class was in full swing. a sprightly, skinny man with a corny sense of humour is encouraging a roomful of sweaty women that he's going to make them earn their water. it's been awhile since i've had to learn a routine and i'm a bit leary but find a spot in the back and do my best to fake it.

luckily i enter at a point where the move they're doing is a derivative of something i am familiar with. i did musical theatre for a number of years and have attended a number of rehearsals of modern dance companies where i've been able to pick up on some key physical 'vocabulary' , if you will. as pathetic as it is i find myself getting into the challenge of seeing how quickly i can pick it up. i am no dancer and have never been the least bit athletic but i do have a bit of a diva in me when it comes to performing. my back gets straight, i up my sorry excuse for form by moving my head with my hands and pointing my toes to focus a step-details i'm sure are impressing no one but me.

i amuse myself as i can literally feel a "look at me, i'm a performer" jekyll emerging from my day job hyde. i have an odd desire to separate myself from my yoga panted peers and prove that "yes, it's true, i've danced before." Hilarious! now if i was actualy a trained dancer and didn't jiggle as i jumped, a trained professional might be able to find a sensible root source to my delusions but alas there are none. all i know is that i love pretending do be a dancer almost as much as i love to dance.

as we went through the dragon, the butterfly, did some cool turns and ran around in a circle holding our scarves above our heads like kids with kites on a windy afternoon, i found myself content and smiling. all around me others too were grinning, pushing themselves on and working the moves like they meant them.

we were playing and we were loving every minute of it.

it's a good tired, this. hope to feel it again sometime soon.

trying to decide if he's my man

2007-04-15T16:24:00.000-06:00

watching leonard cohen: i'm your man. it's a documentary covering a concert of people covering his songs. my beloved rufus wainwright and his sister martha are featured prominently.

leonard cohen, bob dylan and tom waits are favourites of most male musicians i know. given the lack of vocal abilities in all three i've never really paid them much mind. as a singer i am much more drawn to melody than i am a lyric. never really had a good ear for them either, i'm the type that needs to see the words before i can hear them.

the fact that i don't have all of the key albums from each of these icons makes me an infedel among the aforementioned musically inclined men in my life. every one of them has tried to school me in the merits of this holy trinity of wisdom. i was reluctant at first because i hate to be told to like something simply because people who collect albums like baseball cards say so.

so this film is part of my open minded attempt to see what all the fuss is about. my first exposure to the world of leonard was when i discovered the song suzanne in a compilation of tunes i had in a second hand guitar book. i was mezmerized by the melody-so much more appealing when i plucked it out rather than hearing leonard do it. the lyric, at once ambiguous and beautifully specific (tea and oranges) soon generated a strong feeling that was very similar to the connection i feel to a lot of tori amos' bizarre lyrical jaunts.

my second glimpse of lenny was the tune i'm your man, as sung by an incredible woman named madelaine peyroux. i did a cover of it with my band at the time and loved the feeling of it. the plaintive feel of it then the swelling, desperate b section. it's got a cool ragtime-y feel to it that i also love where you can lean on the phrase a little bit.

anyhoo, back to the film. so i'm at a part where leonard is describing how all of his songs are about trying to translate the beauty that he finds all around him. how he's always doubted his abilities as a writer because the word just isn't enough. s also speaks about the way that sometimes after he's written something he's not sure what its about. sometimes it's just about connecting to a moment.

it's exactly how i feel. all art is trying to translate something natural that has moved you. he's incredibly humble, sharp, charming, self-aware, choosing his words thoughtfully and pointedly. his drawings, interspersed between his narration are similarly sparse, centred on the iconic female form.

he's reading from a preface to a chinese translation of his book beautiful losers. in it, he warns the reader to skip the parts they don't like, to approach it with humour and to realize that what they are reading is more about sunstroke acquired from the hours he spent outside on an island writing it than anything else. i've read the book and found myself smirking as he spoke, like him, i appreciated it in paragraphs and turns of phrase rather than as a complete entity. such a treat to have the author speak in their own voice as a disclaimer of sorts to the experimental voice they borrowed while trapsing around in the lives of the characters who follow.

visions of him as a monk now. cloistered himself up after he lost his way when he separated from the mother of his children. feel a similar inclination to actively surround myself in silence when faced with emotional noise.

now that the words are appearing in drawings on the screen and are being contextualized i'm drawn in. i am most impressed by the intention of the words and his attempt to capture it all plainly.

credits are running now and he's singing. deeply resisting urge to ffwd, got a william shatner stiltedness that is making me nauseous. in sum, have discovered i will never be a fan of his vocals but am more inclined to read the liner notes.

glad i rented it. if for nothiing else than to pay homage to someone who tried to express himself in the most honest way he knew how.

interior designs

2007-04-13T22:39:00.001-06:00

went to a friend of a friend's house tonight for the first time. my friend prepared me to be wowed by the fabulousness of the place. couldn't wait to take it in. one of my favourite things about meeting new people is seeing the way they decorate the place they call home. i love reading book titles,scanning cd and video collections, seeing how people take up their space,what colours and textures they surround themselves with. i find it adds a new dimension to a person you can't determine from a conversation or from who they are at work. i am consistently pleased by the little nuggets of history that fill in the gaps and somehow make that person more whole.

i'm as voracious about consuming images as i am about consuming a can of pringles. when in a new environment, i acquaint myself with every nook and cranny, take the tour and soak everything in from all vantage points. life's all about the details for me. when i first went to paris i was literally intoxicated by the beauty that leapt out of every crevice of the place. it was overwhelming. barcelona's the same.but i digress..

so we park in front of a gorgeous place in quaint neighbourhood. inside, the colour palette was muted, there was a great flow to the space, it felt wide and white. the objects in the cabinets were made of unadorned like materials with accent pieces in large glass jars.white sofas in many of the rooms were accented by tasteful yet comfy cushions. every object was pure in terms of colour, geometry and material. each object simply was what is was-a mirror, a chair, a bowl.

the modern, intellectual feel of the place immediately served to create a rough sketch of the woman i thought i would meet-put together, monied, well schooled in quality. unfairly, the sketch also included an anticipatory sense that the conversation might be less than intimate.

the woman behind the vision greeted us in comfy (yet high quality)clothes and carried herself in a way that instantly communicated she was also comfortable in her own skin.

as i got to know her, i kept trying to reconcile the muted, staged surroundings with the grounded person she was revealing herself to be. being a sentimental decorator where everything in my home has a story (within a tasteful colour scheme of course!) i have a spontaneously negative and judgemental reaction to all things modern and minimalist. i am so attached to my things and how they make my house a home that i simply can't wrap my head around the idea of living among objects that someone else picked out from the latest chic boutique.

as i was openly welcomed by this woman and was able to watch her interact in her home like someone who loved every angle of it (vs. someone who liked to keep things "just so" for company) i was motivated to take a second look. upon closer inspection,the black and white prints on the mantle turned out to be her own shots from a trip abroad. as we toured the place, i was pleased to note a pile of papers on a desk in a corner on the third floor. "i'm home!" i thought to myself, suddenly feeling the kinship i was looking for. from that point on i fully relaxed and took myself off edit mode. frustrate myself sometimes when i can't just let go from the get go.

the whole thing just made me aware of how i seem to need to see something of myself in someone else in order to feel at ease around them. silly me.

The word was the day

2007-04-12T20:25:00.000-06:00

been thinking a lot about themes lately and, like anything you bring forth to your consciousness i am beginning to see them everywhere.

today i was literally smacked over the head repeatedly with experiences across situations which related to the power of language.

1.shared a story with a group this morning that was packed with beautifully adorned images that made the world described real for all of us

2.had a conversation in a car where I completed the phrase phylogeny recapitulates ontogeny, when the first half was supplied by a doctor acquaintance. it has been years since i learned the lovely little nugget and i grinned as i completed the second half successfully. loved being reminded of both the way it rolled off the tongue and the scientific principle underlying it. the connectedness of the species illustrated in the alien like embryos eerily content in their transparent mini-wombs.one phrase and i was back to grade ten science enjoying the nomenclature, the exposure to the lingo that was linked to explaining it all.

3. attended a public speaking competition where young children were strutting their stuff on a makeshift stage, where their first forays into writing in their own voice revealed the inner comic, actress, activist. so incredible to see them experience the power of their own expression, bask in the glow of the effects of their own words on a group of strangers.

4. late afternoon received news that three of my students were having poems published. again words were at the forefront of it all. defining them. standing out as part of a significant moment in their lives.

like i said, hit after hit of this theme of words today. impossible not to see it. pretty powerful to see things filtered like this at the end of the day and all because i've been trying to think about what to write here!

thus spake the soiled yoga mat

2007-04-11T19:18:00.000-06:00

we had to switch locations for yoga today and the lighting was brighter revealing an embarassing swath of dirt stains and heel marks on my cheapass vanilla coloured mat. for the duration of the session i wondered how it was that i'd managed to make a mess of it while everyone else's remained pristine. adults aren't dirty. how was it that crossing the dusty floor barefoot on my 10m jaunt to my place at the back row resulted in an accumulation of filth only my heels seemed to attract?

felt twelve again. subsequently felt less than feminine. was reminded of failed attempts to create perky bangs and perfectly straight hair. There have always been stray strands in my ponytails and runs in my nylons. i wondered secretly, do they wipe the soles of their feet with their sock just before standing on their mats? there must be a trick. a sly, subtle trick that everyone knows that hasn't made its way to me yet. womanhood is filled with these little mysteries.

then again, maybe it's not womanhood. maybe it's just about caring about the details. maybe it's not a high maintenance thing, it's just a maintenance thing. i'm often juggling so many things from so many spheres that details in any one of those spheres are luxury.

the whole thing likely wouldn't have penetrated my thoughts so significantly had this yoga mat mishap not been accompanied by a remark from my developmentally delayed transit companion this morning about the state of my nails.

What happened to your nails?" she asked pointedly her chubby finger motioning toward my crossed hands. Freshly showered not a half an hour before I was perplexed by her comment and simply replied. " Nothing, they always look like this. Some of them get broken throughout the week."

accustomed to her queries about what groceries i am going to buy and why i am not wearing proper boots this little zinger caught me off guard. if they were covered in chipped nailpolish or red raw from being chewed to the bone i'd understand. i had to look hard to see what could have prompted the remark. they looked like they always look. so odd.

considering the source, the whole thing had one of those talking fish dream sequence, the gods are trying to tell you something kind of vibes. i almost laughed at the near sitcomy-ness of the set up.

according to the rules of literature i suppose this main character is about to devote a chapter to putting in motion a series of events to resolve the conflict. don't worry, i'll spare you the details ;)

we are all one

2007-04-10T20:17:00.000-06:00

was translating an ancient Chinese folktale into a script today,as you do, and found myself surprisingly affected by the experience. while converting the author's voice into the narrator's, i was in the forest with the old man in search of the magic herb. i felt his fatigue as he stumbled fruitlessly from trunk to trunk. i was with him as he leaned down to spare a hill of ants from a flood, in a flash of distracted generosity like the way you stop to thoughtfully dust a neglected shelf on your way from the doing the kitchen to the dreaded bathroom in your rubber gloves on a sunday. it's an incedental act of kindness that makes you feel better on your way to solving a real problem; one that will truly test your character.

anyway, so i'm in the forest with this old man who's now a monk in my mind, red robe and all, and i'm buying the way he's communing with the animals, seeing himself in them and lending them a hand cause he happens to be in the neighbourhood. i'm fully there even though there's a cursor flashing in my periphery and the words are flat and colourless on a photocopied page.

so powerful, the voice, the i guess you call it zen-like simplicity of it all reaching me thousands of years after it first found its way to the folklore.

amazing.

mr.munchy

2007-04-09T18:29:00.000-06:00

bought my own easter bunny on sale today. bright pink box with a picture to colour on the back. not quite the prize it once was. didn't glow today with that sense of possessing something once coveted. remember the novelty of the rice crispies, exotic almost to have the cereal appear in foreign terrain. i've dated myself here. sort of like the way that pink jello salad i remember seeing on picnic tables at friends' houses would date a woman a generation before me. i've ruined the ritual by playing a different role in the scenario. now it's just chocolate.