I’ve sitting in front of a blank screen for over a half hour trying to figure out what I should blog about today. I don’t feel inspired and I don’t feel creative. I have no great insights to share. I could of course post another music video. Or a clever quote. Or some silly photo of mine. Goodness knows I don’t yearn for bad days, but at least when I feel awful, I know how I feel. But then I don’t dare ask for great days either, because sometimes I feel those are numbered, and God forbid I should use them all up and have none left next time I need them.
Great, now I want to cry. Well at least I can put a word to how I feel right now: sad. And also there’s this horrible feeling of DREAD. Just waiting for the other shoe to drop and find myself in ever BIGGER trouble. Thinking that somehow, that’s what I deserve. Would be nice to believe in myself. You know, to feel like I AM worthy, and I AM entitled to want good things to happen to me. For some reason, I often feel like it’s people like me who are responsible for all the fucked-upness in this world. Which is of course completely absurd. If everybody spent all their time sleeping the way I do, there would be no crime and corruption and hatred and greed. Of course, there wouldn’t be much of anything period. Besides, turns out you really can’t have it all, after all. Good thing I have a therapy session coming up in a couple of days.
Some music, in case you hated the post: Mandalay’s* been playing in the background—perfect music for when I’m feeling angst-ridden. Or heartbroken (not the case right now but has been too many times to count in the past).
*They unfortunately split up some years ago, but their song Beautiful was a huge success. I like to play it to myself when I need a loving-kind reminder.
April 30, 2009
Blank.
April 29, 2009
Temporary Malfunction
Yesterday, by the time I realized I hadn’t posted anything, I was already in bed with the computer shut down. I have been known to get back up again to make my daily contribution to the blog, but lately that’s completely out of the question. I’m so fatigued it’s almost impossible to get anything done at all—I feel like a machine gone out of order. I did manage to get myself out of bed yesterday morning to go to my yoga session, but then once got back home ended up sleeping most of the day away. It was a beautiful and very warm day and I was feeling terribly guilty about sleeping so much, so I finally managed to talk myself into taking a walk. Can’t say I enjoyed it much since all I could think about was how tired I was and also that I should have worn shorts because I was too hot in my jeans. I really do hope all this is because of my thyroid, because then there is hope for me to get better now that we’ve started treating it. Thing is I’ve been dealing with these bouts of extreme fatigue for decades now so I’m not sure what the deal is. Gosh, look at that: I’ve been up and around for almost eight whole hours today. Time for me to get to bed for sure. So here, I’m throwing in this video of the Ross sisters* to make your visit worthwhile. The image quality sucks but my jaw dropped to the floor when I saw their “dance” routine.
*with thanks to my uncle Pini.
April 26, 2009
Just a Friendly Reminder:
Creative Sparks by Jim Krause
This little book is packed full of ideas, insights and suggestions geared towards designers who want to re-ignite their creativity. Much of the content reminded me of the kind of advice given to students or junior designers (“Just a friendly reminder: burnout is bad.” -p. 225) but there was plenty of content that would benefit any creative person at any stage, such as art project ideas and this reminder to “Invest in Yourself” artistically speaking “How far would your skills evolve if you made it a firm goal to shoot six dozen photographs per week? Dare you imagine?”.
The presentation is quite appealing; each spread features a different design with changes in fonts and plenty of illustrative material. Of course, as a designer myself, I couldn’t help but notice that some of it seemed dated, but then the book came out in 2002—ancient history by design standards. For this reason I’ll be passing the book along to a fellow designer, though I did take some notes for future reference. For instance, I got ideas for topics of conversation with my therapist, and also kept a record of little gems like “Other careers suck too, but at least you get to use crayons” and this bit of advice: “Consider making overachievement your routine” which reminds me all too clearly that having adopted that very attitude from the get-go was definitely a factor leading to my own burnout, which as we know, is a very bad thing.
I gave it ★★★½ (some useful tips, though many of the suggestions and insights were far from new or original)
A Lazy Jazzy Kind of Day
(To activate the soundtrack, scroll down and press “play” now)
Today was a full-on spring-to-summer day with temperatures around 26-28ºC. To celebrate, I spent the better part of the afternoon on my balcony which faces the alleyway and all the other neighbours doing the very same. Unlike my next door neighbour, whom I decided to hate many years ago because she’s perpetually tan and skinny, I was NOT wearing a swimsuit—but it was nice to be able to go out in just shorts and a t-shirt. I made some headway on my Paul Auster Novel, then gave myself a manicure/pedicure while watching over Mimi who was dying to escape beyond the boundaries I set for her. Here we refer to this kind of activity as “balconville” which literally means “balcony city” but actually refers to a whole city block or neighborhood of people who more or less live on their balconies on warm sunny days; sunning themselves, yapping loudly with the neighbours, screaming at barking dogs and kids, painting their toe-nails while wearing curlers-type-thing and of course making good use of the BBQ so they hardly need to go inside, other than the occasional trip to the toilet and to fill up on cold Pepsi family-sized bottles—the lifestyle of the poor and anonymous as seen right here in St-Henri*.
If there’d been a soundrack for the day, it definitely would have featured plenty of great jazz standards. As it happens, I’ve been growing my Jazz collection thanks to iTunes lately and (re)discovering some of the great Jazz masters who made their mark in the 50’s. I’ve been a fan of Miles Davis and John Coltrane for quite some time now, though I can’t say I like all their work; the young cats-chasing-balls-of-yarn sound... not so much to my liking. I like my jazz with a melody—so tonight Clifford Brown with Strings should do nicely. Would have been nice to post Joy Spring in keeping with the seasonal theme, but this double programme with Yesterdays and Memories of You should do nicely too.
* I’ve taken artistic license here. Many of my neighbours are actually young yuppie families and various professionals, so there’s not so much yapping and screeching going on across the alleyway, but I’m sure that a little further West from here, where all the really poor people-on-welfare are, you’ll find the exact same scene I’ve describe here, sweaty, burned, overexposed bodies and all.
April 25, 2009
April 24, 2009
A Visit to Westcott Books
So cool, and still fully functional
Emma being her charming self
But won’t consumers buy more used as opposed to new books?
New book people don’t usually mix with used book people.”
Westcott Books is one of those places I’ve walked by literally thousands of times in the past decade. In spring and summer there are often one or two cats sitting on the sidewalk by the front door. In the winter, a sleeping cat on a pile of books is a frequent window display. Walking past this week on a beautiful sunny day, I finally turned around and went inside . The owner Terry and his cats Emma and Eliot were all most welcoming , with Eliot accompanying me to the fiction section, where he sat himself down and looked up at me with his big yellow eyes, patiently waiting for a petting. Terry didn’t seem to mind me interrupting his reading every once in a while with questions about this or that book or author (unlike some grumpy used book vendors I’ve encountered). Emma was just as sociable as her brother, as evidenced by the pic above. As cat lovers, we talked about our feline friends for a while. Yes, both Emma and Eliot are named after authors, though Terry isn’t necessarily a fan of their work. A few books in near-new condition, just the way I like them, ended up coming home with me; Sabine’s Notebook by Nick Bantock, The Last Samurai by Helen Dewitt, and The Photographer’s Wife by Robert Sole, the latter taking place in Cairo during the same period as the Cairo Trilogy (by Naguib Mahfouz) which I read last year was set, so of course it instantly became a must-read. I shall be back...
Eliot on break
Westcott Books
Quality Used Books Bought & Sold
2065 Ste-Catherine W.
Montreal, QC, H3H 1M6
Tel: (514) 846-4037
Pics taken by Smiler on an iPhone camera
April 23, 2009
AGLRD Part 2 aka Change is a Good Thing
Change is a good thing, I keep telling myself today. Day 2 (Wednesday) was a good day because it felt like my outlook had shifted to a positive mode. Most of it isn’t worth describing in great detail; a rainy day turning into a sunny one, allowing me to walk around downtown even though I’d forgotten to take my umbrella; feeling good about myself as opposed to anxious, angst-ridden, trapped in the concrete jungle; having pleasant exchanges with complete strangers; letting myself be infected by Spring Fever leading to happy feelings for no reason; starting the day doing yoga with J certainly set things on the right course; getting a beautiful postcard* with a very pretty stamp from my mum was a very nice touch too.
The big event of the day was my appointment with my shrink. She’d booked a whole hour for us (practically unheard of!) so we could discuss a new course of therapy. She compared this week’s blood test results with other recent ones, and said we have a clear indication that my thyroid has been affected by the lithium, apparently a common effect from the lithium. In any case, Dr. Z didn’t seem overly worried about my hypothyroidism, though she said I need to start taking hormone pills to correct the situation. This led her to say that we shouldn’t try changing all my medication at the moment but instead wait and see the improvements that the hormones should bring (i.e. less fatigue, less depression, some weight loss... all good things).
I surprised myself when I accepted to try a day program which involves showing up at the hospital three days a week from 9-4 and participating in group therapy, various workshop and orientation sessions, even arts & crafts as far as I understand. Dr. Z had mentioned this a couple of times before but hadn’t insisted when I showed myself less than enthusiastic, as they only take patients who are willing and able to have some structure and interact with others in this program. This time, I decided it might be a good idea after all, as long as I could try it for a week or two before committing to the full 12 weeks, which she found to be an entirely reasonable request. There’s a waiting list and then a preliminary interview, so we’ll see what comes of it.
I have to stop here. I’m starting to feel nauseous at the thought of it all now. Yesterday I was in some sort of altered state which made me feel optimistic and disregard my fears. Today is a different story. Today I learned from my pharmacist that my thyroid condition may be permanent, which means I may have to continue the hormonal treatment indefinitely. Today I’m filled with doubts and fears. Today my body is sore all over, I’m exhausted and not so very optimistic. But at least I have proof that good days do happen, and that the positive feelings can even carry over to more days. Which is why I had to blog about it, that way I can look back on these posts whenever I’m needing encouragement.
* taking artistic license here because this actually occurred on Tuesday, but I’d forgotten to mention it in the first post.
Coming up: a visit to Westcott Books.
A Good, Long, Rainy Day Part 1
One good day is something to write home about these days, so two days in a row... is practically in the order of miracles. And really, yesterday and today felt just like one long day with a long nap in the middle. It’s late right now, as it always is when I’m blogging, AND I’m running on less sleep in two days than I usually get when I grab a long nap, so I will try to keep this as short and quick as possible for me, which means I’ve got a couple of hours of work ahead of me at least...
Day 1 was yesterday (i.e. Tuesday). I was going to blog about it last night but the rant about the latest author who pissed me off became more pressing as a topic. So in an attempt at brevity, here’s a list of what made yesterday a good day.
1. Good spirits of the day buoyed by the promise of the next day’s appointment with shrink, where changes in course of therapy are to be discussed.
2. I had a blood test to go to in the morning and for once I remembered to take my medication EXACTLY 12 hours before, as instructed, so the reading would be accurate as opposed to... say forgetting to take my meds altogether for two nights in a row. A MAJOR achievement for scatterbrains over here.
3. I got to put on some nice clothes and bootwear, some of which had been very tight or too small even just days ago and found they were fitting quite nicely and in some cases, even loosely (amen, the non-diet diet is paying off).
4. It being a rainy day, I ducked into a cab so I wouldn’t get to the clinic too late, though I remembered to take an umbrella with me and managed not to lose it anywhere.
5. After the blood test, I walked over several blocks in the rain to one of my favourite used book stores called The Word. On my way there I took pictures on my ever-handy iPod camera of budding greenery and random shots with a “rainy day” theme (see pics).
6. I left The Word having picked up several great titles and all in mint condition too. I brought home: A Passage to India by by E.M. Forster, Death in Venice and Other Stories by Thomas Mann (for a second reading), Portrait of a Lady by Henry James, Atonement by Ian McEwan (that specific book wasn’t on any of my lists but he writes so beautifully that I decided I’ll surely enjoy it in some way), Mansfield Park by Jane Austen (surprised myself by buying this one because I had more or less vowed not to read any of her books) and finally, a bonus since his books always get whipped off the shelves: The Wind Up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami, one of my favourite authors, and just about everyone else’s too these days it seems. This is the first book I read by him at least eight years ago, and definitely worth a second reading).
7. Still armed with my umbrella, decided to take the 40 minute walk in the rain to get home instead of bus or taxi.
8. Once reached downtown, decided to set aside my fears and drop by to say hello to my hairdresser, which I had been too embarrassed to call for over a year now. I was mostly worrying about her seeing me with all my extra weight on and also didn’t know what I would tell her when she inevitably asks me what I’ve been up to all this time.
9. Rearranged my plan a little bit and went close by to Holt Renfrew’s first, one of our two upscale department stores here in Montreal, where I bought a very expensive exfoliater from Chanel which I was thinking of getting anyway, but mainly just so I could get a “free” makeover. The makeup artist actually did exactly what I wanted and I walked out of there looking much less tired, more radiant and slightly more put together, though not obviously MADE UP. This gave me a nice confidence boost. I also picked up a couple of new makeup tricks which will come in handy as I think I’m almost ready to start taking care of my appearance again. Almost.
10. Conquered my stupid little fears and overblown, beaten up ego, and walked into the hair salon to say hi and book an appointment for next week, so I’ll have something to look forward to.
11. Almost next door to the salon is a divine shoe store called Mona Moore. It’s more like a studio space with a well edited selection of shoes very simply displayed on the white hardwood floor. They only carry exclusivities by some of the most talented and hippest designers and their collections are usually right off the runways. Walking into that store is like being in a Contemporary Shoe Museum where the staff obviously love well crafted shoes and are all too happy to comment on the confection details and special highlights of each model. Can’t afford any of the footwear there unless I’m willing to go into dept for a pair when they’re on sale, but sure is nice to look at. Sigh.
12. Though... wouldn’t you know it they had fabulous sunglasses at the little desk by the entrance. I tried them all on and even though I really really REALLY shouldn’t, decided to splurge and get myself yet another pair of sunglasses, to replace my savagely mutilated Stella McCartney’s R.I.P.* In any case, it seems that buying a high quality, well designed accessory or item of clothing really cinches it for me as far a “having a great day”. Which wouldn’t be a problem if money weren’t an issue, of course. But really, I didn’t spend all that much considering, because I was at some point contemplating on getting TWO pairs of aviator shades (one dark, one light—for indoors of course). But my good sense prevailed. I will only buy the second and last remaining pair if they are still available next week. :-)
13. On my way home. Feeling happy. The sun was shining too so I got to wear my gorgeous new handmade in Italy +BERYLL worn by good people aviator sunglasses.
14. Dropped into Ogilvy’s (the second upscale department store here in Montreal) to get Khiel’s lip balm. Just that. No big deal. Then decided to nab a body lotion too since I constantly need to replenish my stock for my scaly skin. Chose the one with Argan oil in it, which happens to be one of the rarest oils in the world and very much in demand these days. The smell was so divine and delicate I couldn’t resist. At the price I paid for it, I may as well spread Beluga caviar all over my body, though the lotion really does smell much better.
15. How could I forget? I WON AT THE LOTTERY!!! A whole, huge sum of $5. My first win! It’s better than a slap in the face, but I don’t think I’ll be indulging my every whim, buying a house, opening my animal rescue farm, supporting my family, jet setting around and donate time and loads of money to developing countries and worthy causes anytime soon. I should have been a socialite, but I think the question of lineage would have come into question. Also, I don’t plan on being blonde anytime soon.
16. Home sweet home where two lovely kitties (one naughty one nice) were waiting for me by the door.
17. Chilled evening at home watching tv & surfing net (as usual) + one kickass nasty rant to release any residual angst. Late to bed as usual, but for once looking forward to the next coming day.
I was thinking of you when I took this shot Mum. Sheinart’s everlasting mannequins.
Part 2 will have to wait till tomorrow because it always ends up taking me far too long to put these posts together and some shut-eye is needed ASAP.
* I never did write the post I was planning to write about how I was attacked at GoGo Lounge two years ago... will have to remedy to that as am still traumatized by it.
All pics by Smiler. Taken with my iPhone camera.
April 22, 2009
Groan. To Say it F%$&!#g Lightly.
Sometimes I just try too darn hard. Even for the stupidest things really. Take the latest book I picked up from my tbr pile: “Sept jours pour une éternité” (Seven Days for an Eternity) by Marc Levy. I’ve been hearing about this French author for years now. His first book, “Et si c'était vrai...” (If Only It Were True), which he wrote in 1998 was such a huge success that he was able to leave his very lucrative work to become a full-time writer after Dreamworks purchased the film rights for it and produced a movie called Just Like Heaven starring Reese Witherspoon. Every one of his books has been an instant best-seller, they’ve been translated in more languages than I knew existed and sold by the many millions. The truth is, I hadn’t picked up one of his books till now because I decided a few years back that I didn’t like this guy. Call me envious, call me whatever you want, but his Midas touch just rubbed me the wrong way. But THEN, came my famous book list. And I decided that Marc Levy must be featured on the list so that I too could see what makes his books so special. So I had one of my fellow BookMooch members send me a copy directly from France. Incidentally, there’s another Moocher, also in France, waiting for me to send HER the book as soon as I’m done with it. This book travels more than I have lately, that’s for sure. And all for what??
Groan. That’s what. I’d almost rather skip having to explain the premise of the damn thing because I find it so unbearably stupid I feel like it’s an insult to my intelligence just even thinking about it for more than a minute—the one time I don’t read a book review and it comes and bites me in the ass. So here we go: The Almighty, known to many as God, and referred to as “Monsieur” (Sir) in “Sept jours pour une éternité” (no joke) accepts a challenge from his main competitor, commonly knows as the Devil, the big prize being that the winner gets to rule humanity for the rest of eternity (My, isn’t that just too clever? How original!). The idea is they will both send their best “agents” out on a mission to do the most good on the one hand, and the most damage on the other, for a period of one week, and whichever prevails, wins. I got to page...(checking)... 94. When I got to 50 I told myself I’d push on to 100 before deciding if I prefer spending my time reading it or playing video games on my iPhone (obviously should have chosen the latter). What I read in those first few pages was just so moronic I couldn’t stop rolling my eyes and thinking Crayon Ball (my latest video game craze) was probably more mentally stimulating than this piece of old dog turd. Does this guy take his readers for complete morons?? Zophia, the main character in the story gets to meet God in person within the first 50 pages. God, aka Sir, runs a organization called the CIA (brace yourself: Central Intelligence for Angels) out of the Transamerica Pyramid in San Francisco (the CIA is accessible through a specific secret stone you have to tap on. Of course). And of course, the place is referred to as The Agency and run like, well probably like the CIA would be (because God is with the times, right?)
SIGH.
I don’t have the energy to go on. Oh yeah. One thing. The two agents meet—God’s Angel and the Devil’s... Spawn, I guess, for lack of a better word. And get this... THEY FALL FOR EACH OTHER!!!!!!!
Excuse me while I go and puke my guts out for a few hours.
So yeah. Considering all the incredibly amazing, brilliant, inspired, soul-nourishing, trailblazing and incredibly kick-ass quality literature I have laying in neat little piles all over my living room right now, I see no reason why I should waste another breath, another thought, another molecule of my being, reading that piece of pure, unadulterated trash. I can’t even believe I hesitated for a moment, wondering if dropping this book was the “right” thing to do or not. Burning it would be a greater service to humanity, but they’ll just keep killing trees to print more so I won’t bother. And by the way, I’ve seen Levy’s photo on Wikipedia and the guy looks like a major sleazebag, Frenchie style. Probably thinks he’s all that too. Groan. I feel like I need to go wash myself now to get rid of all that bad writing swimming around in my head.
I gave this book: 1 Star. Which according to my system means “I hated this book”. But now that I think about it, I was being far too generous. I think this book merits the distinction of getting a half star instead, meaning: “This book will melt your fucking brain”.
April 21, 2009
It’s All Robbie’s Fault (aka On Drama)
periodically as is frequently damaged from all the handling by fans.
There is something I left out of the picture in my post yesterday. When I said there was no drama in my present life, I was conveniently airbrushing out an element which is a constant source of drama. I guess I’m getting so used to it being there that I forget it’s there to begin with. The “it” I’m referring to is actually a “he”, as in, a real person, and more specifically, my most recent ex-boyfriend. I may have mentioned him here and there but I don’t blog about him often since one of my concerns is he’ll read something I’ve written about him here and get hurt and then make... a big drama out of it. We’ve been broken up for close to 18 months now (!) so you’d think we’d have both moved on with our lives, right? If only.
Ugh. Just even writing about it now is draining me. Maybe because as I’m writing, I’m getting a series of text messages from him, one after another and another and another. Usually, I get texts from him about every other day or so. Asking me how I’m doing. Telling me how much he misses me. That he’ll love me forever and ever. That we were made for each other. Saying I’m the most beautiful woman in the world. The most sexy woman in the world. The best thing that’s ever happened to him and to mankind (ok, I’m reaching a little now, but you get the idea). It’s all meant to make me feel good I guess. And maybe it does make me feel better on some days when I’m feeling really miserable about myself, or when I decide, for the 25th thousand one hundred seventy third time that I’m better off alone and alone I will stay for the rest of my life. Somehow then, knowing that someone out there still wants to be with me, even when I’ve been the biggest bitch in the world to him, well that makes me feel sort of better. SORT OF. Though not in an entirely healthy way. But days like today, when he pushes the envelope and asks “Do you love me too?” I just lose it. You wouldn’t think the simple question “do you love me” could provoke such wrath, but somehow it drives me to start cussing and swearing like a truck driver, and still he comes back for more. “Thank you Master, on more please” which only makes me angrier still.
Have I tried to put an end to this nonsense? How about just not giving a response, you ask? How about telling him to get lost once and for all, or else? Check, yep! And hey, I tried that ages ago but what should I tell the cops?: “He stalks me via text messaging and tells me he expects nothing in return?”. Ugh. And you know what? The way I see it, it’s all Robbie Williams’ fault. Here I was pining for him while listening to one of his ballads and watching his videos over and over again one day, and then the next day I ran into the ex who just happens to be extremely attractive if you happen to like the Robbie Williams type. One obsessive behaviour led to another person’s obsessive behaviour. Poor S. Doesn’t he understand it was about Robbie Williams the whole time? Well one thing is for sure. If Robbie and him are also similar as far as personality goes, I can pretty well predict Robbie and I wouldn’t have much of a future to look forward to, no matter how much money he may have, aside from his exceptional charm of course. I can’t decide whether that makes me feel better or worse.
One thing that did make me feel good today is all the responses I got to my post yesterday from you lovely readers telling me how much you appreciate my blog the way it is. I won’t respond to each comment individually as there are only so many ways of saying “thank you, I truly appreciate it”, but do know it IS deeply appreciated coming from readers well known to me and anonymous as well. That’s a big relief because unlike you mum, I don’t have much of a gift for making stuff up that’s worthy of being called “fiction”, so that option would have ended up being even more trouble. No, my specialty is telling the truth, and nothing but. Usually gets me in trouble too, but what would life be without a little drama, right?
Photo source: unknown
April 20, 2009
Big News. Sorta.
I think I might have to start making stuff up, like fiction I mean, just so I’ll have something to blog about. There was a time when my life was filled with action and encounters and drama and they could have based several season’s worth of Sex and the City episodes on anecdotes from my life, and my head was always going a million miles an hour and coming up with stuff I couldn’t talk or write about fast enough to get down. Then I got in an argument with my boss (I shouted and banged on my desk and she started screaming bloody murder, thinking I was actually about to throttle her or something. Now that was BIG drama). And then people said I was very sick and I needed to go home. And then I got on lithium* (more or less against my will, but that’s another story). And then I lost my job (apparently it wasn’t anything to do with my argument with the boss, but nobody thought to tell me about it or anything). And then... well there’s been some reading and some video games and a hell of a lot of sleeping. But no more action. No encounters, unless you count the UPS guy and the Jehova’s Witnesses and Greenpeace and the grocery store delivery guys. Which makes for less drama, other than all the doom and gloom scenarios my brain likes to concoct and which I only talk about with my therapist because nobody want to hear about that crap. But generally speaking, my brain is so slow now it’s a miracle it even manages to keep my heart and liver and kidneys and stuff going. So what’s left to blog about? This is not a hypothetical question, I’m really wondering. I mean, I don’t mind introducing you guys to all my favourite books and musical acts and random experimental photos I take but it must get old at some point? No?
*Speaking of lithium, I’m seeing my shrink this week and we’ll very likely get me on a new pill cocktail to replace the Lithium. That’s the kind of big news I have to deliver these days. But who knows? It might actually make a difference. In a good way I mean. Now wouldn’t that be special.
April 19, 2009
April 17, 2009
Lullabies for a Big Girl
I’ve been going through my entire music library this week, rating songs one by one. iTunes tells me that with close to 6,000 songs, this should take me about 50.4 days. In case you’re asking yourself why I’m even bothering with this task, let me tell you it makes a big difference when creating playlists. These two by Anna Nalick are among my favourites.
Wreck of the Day (the album version wasn’t available, but it’s much better).
Breathe
Metric Contd.
Had I gone to the Metric concert this evening, I would have had something worth blogging about right now, but the fact is I didn’t, for all the reasons I’ve listed before and a few others I’ll keep to myself. So this is my post for tonight. The experimental shots were taken on my iPone while I was taking a walk one evening. It was about a month ago while there was still a little bit of snow on the ground.
Pics by Smiler
April 16, 2009
Good Bad Guys vs. Bad Good Guys
True History of the Kelly Gang by Peter Carey
Had I done the slightest bit of research before starting to read this book, I would have known that Ned Kelly and his “gang” were true historical figures and considered by many Australians as folk heroes. As it was I thought that Peter Carey was very clever to invent this fictional character and present him to us through a series documents supposedly written by the infamous Kelly himself. Of course, Carey did in fact write a fictional story since what Kelly’s exact actions and thoughts and intentions were will never be known to us. Ned’s first person account of his life story starting from when he was a young boy living with his mother, six siblings, and occasionally with his father too, who was an outlaw and spent a lot of time in jail. If we are to believe this fictional Ned’s version of the events, he became an outlaw because circumstances forced him to adopt that way of life and he was not in the least the hardened killer he was made out to be by the government and the media and it’s hard not to feel sympathetic toward his cause. In any case, it’s an entertaining story with good guys that are bad and bad guys that are actually good, lots of horses, guns and shooting and a detailed description of what living as a poor farmer in Australia in the late 19th century, or being apprentice to an experienced bushranger (Australian outlaw) must have been like. It’s all made all the more colourful thanks to Ned’s simple “adjectival” prose which although he’s obviously gone through pains to keep clean is riddled with the suggestion of expletives since the raison d’être of these documents is for his daughter to one day have a true account of the events that led up to her father’s death.
I gave it ★★★★ (packed with all the good stuff you’d expect out of a story about outlaws)
April 15, 2009
Live Metric Concert (Oh Boy!)
Because of the automatic notifications I get via Facebook whenever one of my favourite bands or musicians has a gig in town, I found out that Metric is stopping by in Montreal this week. Lead singer Emily Haines—whom I’ve blogged about here a couple of times—along with her band of course, will be here Thursday evening for a free concert which will take place at the Apple store downtown. I kind of got excited about it and am seriously considering going even if
a) there is very little likelihood that I’ll be able to get inside the store since it’s not a very large venue and because
b) kids have probably started camping out in front of the store entrance as of tonight just to make sure they get in and there’ll probably be a monster lineup which... I don’t do lineups and
c) even if I do get in without too much of a wait, I’m more than a little bit freaked out at the prospect of mingling in the crush of the teenage crowd though
d) if I manage to take myself there, and get inside the store, and not throw up or pass out once I’m in the crush of the crowd (eeeeeeeekkk!), then I will probably be the oldest person there, though of course nobody could tell by looking at me, only I would know so it would bother me, so
f) considering all the above, I may as well wait a day or two 'till iTunes releases the recording of the live performance and just download it to listen to it right here in the comfort of my own home, minus all that hassle.
I’m making myself laugh as I write this because I know how neurotic all this is making me sound and it really shouldn’t be any big deal, should even seem... well, fun, but now of course it’s become this existential crisis thing which I’m now realizing I should have tried to work out during today’s therapy session instead of talking about... whatever crap I managed to talk about which probably involved my cats and reasserting for the 700th time that I really need to exercise more and get to bed at a more reasonable hour, which I bring up at EVERY session. But the fact is I’ve managed to talk myself out of going to a lot of concerts and live events over the years for more or less the same reasons mentioned here only when they’ve been booked in large venues the excuse then was that I’ll probably be sitting too far from the stage to see anything and then might as well... watch the music videos at home or whatever. So yeah. So whatever. Maybe I’ll go, and maybe I won’t. There’s this girl Katie that I met last summer as she was walking her dogs and we somehow more or less kept in touch thanks to Facebook, where I mentioned I might like to go to the concert and she let me know she’d be interested in going too so I should give her a call and I guess if I organize it with her then I’ll have to go, so I’m thinking maybe I’ll call her but somehow talk her out of going because the last thing I want is to have gone through all the trouble and then get there and
a) have to wait in line for an hour only to end up
b) being stuck outside in the cold while the music is playing inside or worst of all
c) get inside but with the emotion and the crush of the crowd end up vomiting all over the crowd and somehow on Emily Haines too. Now, that would definitely not be cool. I’m sure if I explain all this to Katie she’ll probably want to go with someone else.
The first video is a mini-documentary with Emily Haines on songwriting. The second clip is a recording of Help, I’m Alive from Fantasies which was just released April 14th.
April 14, 2009
April 12, 2009
In the Gifted Songbird Category...
I’d heard the name Keren Ann before but hadn’t stopped to listen. Now that I have I can’t seem to get enough of her. She composed the second song, Jardin d’hiver especially for Henri Salvador, which of course became a big hit. My only complaint is that I didn’t discover her sooner.
Role Models
Growing up, I had few role models. Audrey Hepburn was my idol from the moment I first saw her at around 5, then James Dean was a big inspiration during my own “Rebel Without a Cause” years, but it was Audrey who accompanied me into adulthood, and there have been few others since. The reason there are few people I’ve really looked up to in my life is probably because I’ve always been all too aware that at the end of the day we’re all human, we all struggle, that nobody is perfect and that great qualities inevitably come with great imperfections. So lately, my strange little obsession with Robbie Williams, while thrilling in some way, also has me wondering if it isn’t indicative of some kind of regression.
In an article about Beyoncé Knowles in this month’s Vogue there was a mention that she created the persona of Sasha Fierce (also the title of her latest album) so that she could express parts of her personality she normally suppresses to keep up her good girl image, being all too aware of the countless young girls around the world who look up to her as a role model, a responsibility she takes seriously. I hadn’t bought Vogue in a number of years now as it tends to annoy more than inspire me these days, but I made an exception because of Beyoncé. Gorgeous photos of a gorgeous woman of course, and the accompanying article was pretty much as expected, painting the portrait of a young woman who’s energy, ambition, talent, dedication, drive, decency, complexity, reputation, destiny, inner and outer beauty are unparalleled. I was hoping to find out more about the ubiquitous superstar when I bought the magazine—but I should have known what to expect from Vogue—after reading the article I truly wished I hadn’t bothered—it left me mostly feeling inadequate and vaguely (or not so vaguely) envious. She seemed too perfect, and I just couldn’t relate to that. So I looked her up in Wikipedia to see if they’d have interesting tidbits, and along with great detail about all her fabulous accomplishments, there was this:
“During the turmoil of Destiny's Child in 2000, Knowles had admitted in December 2006 that she had experienced depression from an accumulation of struggles [...]. The depression was so severe it had lasted for a couple of years, while she had kept herself in her bedroom for days and refused to eat anything. Knowles stated that she struggled to speak about her depression because Destiny's Child had just won their first Grammy Award and she feared no one would take her seriously. All of these events had made her question herself and who her friends were, describing the situation she said, “Now that I was famous, I was afraid I'd never find somebody again to love me for me. I was afraid of making new friends."”
The thing about depression is that it makes not a bit of difference how beautiful or talented or friendly or successful (or not) you are. Depression has and never will discriminate. We all feel like we don’t have a right to be depressed once we find ourselves there—somebody somewhere is always worse off than we are. That I could relate to. Now the following bit in the Vogue article makes sense to me: the journalist says “When I tell her that I think of her as basically a sunny person and that her ability to express anger on-screen is a real surprise, she shoots right back, “Everyone has it in them. You know what’s so great? I have made the choice—because it does take effort—to be happy. I mean, I am happy. But it’s hard. Sometimes... you don't want to be that way. And holding all of that stuff in, holding the anger in and always being so composed.... it was so great for me to be able to release everything. Imagine! I always have to be so put together, I always have to be pleasant. But sometimes I want to scream and holler, and I’m able to use the characters to release whatever pain or frustration has built up in me.”
That’s how we want our superstars. We want them to be perfect in some ways so we can look up to them, but we love them even more when they show us they’re fallible too. And the great thing about Beyoncé, unlike so many of her contemporaries, is that she’s got class. She has the decency to hide away when she’s got the blues—unlike that tart I won’t name here—our Beyoncé isn’t likely to lose it completely, shave her head and show us her beaver in front of the paparazzi anytime soon. I may yet become a true fan.
All Photos by Mario Testino
April 10, 2009
Black Coffee and Cigarettes
That’ll be my next diet. Just kidding. I just got off the phone with the good people at Nutrisystem. They certainly are very helpful, I’ll give them that. I’ve been on the fence about whether I should stop the program this month or if I should stomach more of their dinner entrées. At this point there are only two of their dishes that I enjoy (tacos... yum!) but I can’t be eating that every single day! The first option would mean that I would have to start planning for and cooking my meals from one day to the next, and considering how uncomfortable I am about doing that, probably risk falling back into bad habits and putting the weight back on again. The second option keeps me more or less “safe” as far as weight control is concerned but I worry my taste buds may decide to stage a revolt. Thankfully, there’s a third option, as I just found out tonight, called à la carte ordering. The perfect compromise. I can decide how many times a week I want to be cooking and order meals accordingly, which eases me back into the cooking thing, which I’ll have to do sooner or later. But most importantly, I get to keep eating their yummy desserts. Sometimes you can eat your cake and lose the weight too.
I’ve been writing this latest blog entry to the sounds of... Julie London. I decided to do a little raid on a bunch of her recordings and now can boast a rather impressive collective of her torch songs. What a beauty she was. I bet she never had to get on Nutrisystem. I wouldn’t either if I could afford my own chef. Cry Me a River is probably her most famous song, but this one’s pretty good too:
On Hobbies
Now that my extensive book wish list is rapidly materializing and overflowing into piles all over the tables and floors and most other available surfaces of my apartment, and now that I’ve promised a whole bunch of books to people who are waiting for me to finish reading them before they can receive them, it stands to reason that I’m suddenly not so much in the mood for reading and in fact prefer playing mind-numbing video games on my iPhone for hours on end. Go figure eh? That being said, the latest book I’m reading is actually very entertaining, when I take a break here and there to read it that is.
Shown above, a few of my favourites: Super Monkey Ball, Rolando, Crayon Ball & De Blob
April 9, 2009
Quiet Jazz Moment Before Bed
... Israeli Jazz to be specific. You can’t see him here but Avishai Cohen is quite attractive too. Discovered... where else? On iTunes.
April 8, 2009
Miss Prim and the Freak
I’ve been spending an obscene amount of time on iTunes lately, which is not a bad way to spend your time if you happen to like sampling music as I do. Of course I can’t resist purchasing my favourite finds to add to my already well-stocked library. But then, who ever heard of someone having too much music? My tastes are just about as eclectic as they come, and just to illustrate that, I’ve selected two songs which are currently in my iTunes shopping cart; Stacey Kent (jazz singer) singing Que feras tu de ta vie and Marilyn Manson (for-profit freakshow) singing Tainted Love by Soft Cell (play it loud). I also have everything in between if neither of those do it for you.
April 7, 2009
Quote of the Day
“It is never too late to become what we could have been.”
~George Eliot
Illustration: Unknown
April 6, 2009
Small Town Drama
The Monsters of Templeton by Lauren Groff
Willhemina Upton, a direct descendant of Marmaduke Temple, the founder of her hometown of Templeton, returns home to lick her wounds following a disastrous affair with her professor. On the day of her arrival, the dead body of the monster of Templeton, known as Glimmey is found in lake Glimmerglass, confirming rumors more than two centuries old as to it’s existence. Willie finds refuge in her ancestral family home with her mother Vi, a born again Baptist after having been a hippie for the better part of her life. Willie, having always accepted her mother’s story about having had sex with three men at the commune she lived in at seventeen, had thought believed that any of those three men could potentially be her father, but is surprised when Vi informs her that her father is actually a resident of Templeton and also a descendant of Marmaduke Temple, though she refuses to tell her Willie who the man is. This prompts Willie to embark on a search through the family tree to find her father. We’re introduced to the cast of characters that are her ancestors, through various written documents and also from their own voices. Little by little, as Willie keeps digging she uncovers one family secret after another along with a few other monsters.
I found the story interesting and enjoyed visiting the past of this fictional town. It’s clear Groff had to do extensive research for the novel and it clearly paid off. I’m sure others might find this book very enjoyable but I found I just didn’t care about what happened. But please don’t let that influence you if you are interested in reading this book since it has plenty going for it and the fact is I’m having trouble connecting with just about everything these days.
I gave it: ★★★ (I wanted to like it but couldn’t connect)
April 4, 2009
Feed the Imagination
“Imagination is everything. It is the preview of life’s coming attractions.”
~ Albert Einstein
Today’s yoga lesson was delayed by about three hours which normally would have made no difference, save for the fact that I had a lunch date booked with my lovely friend K. While I was waiting for J to finish up the work that was holding her up from our yoga session, my stress levels all of the sudden started spiking. Then I had to laugh at the fact that a) I’d end up being double-booked considering there never anything on my agenda these days and b) that such a small thing should stress me out at all. It’s a wonder I was ever able to hold down a job at all really, considering. The yoga felt great, plenty of stretching and breathing and relaxing, nice and healthy. And then K and I went to this great place just a stone’s throw away from my place on Notre-Dame street which serves these amazing gourmet sandwiches and wicked desserts and where we happily stuffed our faces* while I pretended I’d never learned the definition of “dieting”. The place is called McKiernan’s and is run by the same people who run Joe Beef right next door (which I have yet to try out since it’s touted as one of Montreal’s best). There. Free advertising. That should kept me fed on free gourmet sandwiches for a while. Or maybe not. It’s now 10 hours after the meal and I’m still stuffed to the gills. In fact I would very much like to not have to feed myself for the next couple of days to give my digestive system time to recoup.
I guess spring does things to our hormones and body chemistry, because this week I’ve been feeling lonely, which is something I hadn’t experienced for so long that it took me a while to recognize just what it was that was troubling me so, making the depression seem worse than ever. I’ve been replying to the ex-bf’s text messages more than I should, even talked to him on the phone once and caught myself actually considering his long-standing offer to get back together and let him take care of me. Even though I know it’s a terrible idea. So it was nice spending time with my friend K today. Not quite the same thing as being idolized by the ex, but it’s always pleasant, effortless and easigoing with K, and usually there’s tasty food in the mix too. After our delicious and (over)indulgent lunch, we took a short walk in the rain in my ugly neighborhood (even K who rarely says something unkind had to admit that the area is pretty dreadful), after which talked books at my place for a while and then she was off to take the train to feed her family.
I don’t know if this is something I read somewhere, or whether I came up with it myself somehow, but tonight I was thinking that one of the worst things about depression (and there are many) is the fact that it just leaves you completely empty and steals away your imagination. I don’t think one can have hope without also having imagination. Watching a bunch of Robbie Williams videos this week somehow reminded me of old yearnings and longings from my youth, of thinking I’d be “somebody” someday and make my mark as an artist somehow. How strange it is to be confronted to childhood dreams at such a time. And now here I am at this crossroads, which could be an opportunity for me to reinvent myself and do whatever the hell it is I think will make me happy, or rich, or famous, or whatever it is I might be secretely yearning for (so secretely though, that I myself haven’t got a clue what it is). So I keep asking myself: If you could do anything, anything at all with your life, sky’s the limit, what would you like that to be?” And I just draw a blank, which makes me feel even more depressed. So tonight I though: “I need to ask myself the question differently” and my dad came to mind, as he still to this day sometimes says to me “think of your life as a movie” and he usually means that as a way of detaching yourself so you can look at your life more objectively, buta I thought “If this was actually a movie about my life, how would I want the story to go from here?” and I was telling myself I could make it into as big a fairytale as I wanted to. And for now, it kind of made my head hurt to even try to wrap myself around that notion. Because of the lack of imagination, you see, which is what fairy tales are made of, as we all know. So for now, I’m going to let myself off the hook. As K would say “You’re always so hard on yourself. Why are you making yourself miserable? If trying to figure out what to do with your make-believe movie life makes your head hurt, just don’t think about it!”. Which sounds like common sense enough. So I guess... one more day of not thinking about it isn’t going to make a difference at this point. And besides, everything will work itself out the day I bump into Robbie Williams**. :-)
*Mum, something tells me you’d want to know what I had. It was a chicken tikka with mango and tamarind chutney, caramelized onions and very thinly sliced fresh pineapple on a pressed ciabatta served with a coriander sauce. With a lovely glass of white wine. Followed by a homemade rice pudding which had more alcohol in it than my wine did. And a café crème. Oh yeah. It was goood.
**Can’t tell you people how pathetic I find myself for having a crush on a Pop Star! Other people do that. Not me. Eek!
Image from imaginaryfoundation.com
April 3, 2009
Springtime Haiku
Spring’s almost here, see?
Gently wafting through the air
Sweet scent of cat pee
(it smells stronger in my living room than it does outside with Fritz using the whole of the apartment as his personal toilet. I think he does it ‘cause he hates me. Anyone looking for a grey tabby??)
April 1, 2009
From Iceland With Love
My latest musical discovery, once again thanks to iTunes (what would I do without them?) is called Emiliana Torrini, an Icelander with Italian heritage (her father is Italian, her mother is Icelandic). She has managed to distract me from my Robbie Williams obsession for a few minutes today which is saying quite a lot. I can’t quite place where I’ve heard her before but her sweet clear voice makes it sound like life is just breezy...
As I was searching through her videos I realized why her voice sounded so familiar—she provides the vocals for one of my favourite Paul Oakenfold songs which I’ve been listening to for years now (this video’s nothing to write home about but at least you get the song).
