Just when you're feeling like you want to leave an open can of tuna fish in the desk of everyone who works at the RBC Student Loan Centre (most decidedly NOT vegetarian), or when you're stressed out because you're worried about money and working two jobs. Just when you're feeling blue because you may never accomplish anything else creative in your life. Just when you think you're having kind of a shitty day, someone tells you this:
"I had to get a new credit card because one day VISA called me and asked if I'd just bought some drugs at a pharmacy in Houston and 2 one-way tickets to Libya. So I thought I'd better get a new card."
Sort of awesome, right? I mean, definitely better than the time I got rejected for a card because I had an outstanding Bay charge card because I used to eat at their restaurant and buy groceries in their pharmacy when I was a poor, starving student. Not really a story to dine out on, that one.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Friday, August 27, 2010
Let's Get Real...
Yes, fellow travelers, it's time to get real. Realer than real. Time to keep it real. Real it out. For realz.
OK, I don't really know what I'm talking about here. I've been trying to be honest with myself lately. Still working on making changes. Which reminds me that I don't want to be one of those people who's always "working on" changes as an excuse for never really changing anything. You know those people? Those people who are continually ambitious, who always have big plans, but never seem to actually implement them? Those folks who are always saying "next year will be my year." And they say that every year.
Yeah, I really don't want to be one of those people.
For example, I like to make lists. Lists of things I want to do, one day. Today that list might include:
1) Finish that knitted gift and mail it already!
2) Finish sewing that blouse.
3) Learn to play the ukulele.
4) Wear a size 8.
5) Do a solo show.
6) Do a cabaret.
7) Get back to yoga practice.
8) Get my website up and running.
And so on. Not that those all have to be accomplished by the end of the day, or even the end of the year. It's usually a mix of things that can be done immediately and longer-term things. But I am feeling like I get no closer to the long-term things.
And yes, of course, change is gradual. I hate gradual! I like instant gratification, I admit it. Who doesn't? But I need to quit feeling anxious and start doing stuff.
You know, how Dr. Phil is always telling people to put verbs in their sentences or chicken up the deep fryer or something.
Moping doesn't work. Scheming only works if followed by action. I need to take action!
Also, I realized the other day that I seem to hold on to a lot of negative feelings. Petty jealousies about people and their accomplishments, feelings of inadequacy, all that good stuff. I keep it all pent-up, because, well, frankly, I could spend all my time bitching and moaning, and that's certainly not healthy. But I also don't let fly with more than the regular cattiness, because I'm afraid people will think I'm a bitch. Or that they'll say "Hey, I just realized-- you are completely inadequate! FRAUD!" Or because I keep telling myself that I shouldn't feel that way. Or whatever.
I shan't vent that stuff here, either, because that's not really interesting or entertaining. But I'm thinking of doing the dreaded/revered morning pages for a while. Just clear out the crap at the beginning of the day and see what it makes room for.
For real!
OK, I don't really know what I'm talking about here. I've been trying to be honest with myself lately. Still working on making changes. Which reminds me that I don't want to be one of those people who's always "working on" changes as an excuse for never really changing anything. You know those people? Those people who are continually ambitious, who always have big plans, but never seem to actually implement them? Those folks who are always saying "next year will be my year." And they say that every year.
Yeah, I really don't want to be one of those people.
For example, I like to make lists. Lists of things I want to do, one day. Today that list might include:
1) Finish that knitted gift and mail it already!
2) Finish sewing that blouse.
3) Learn to play the ukulele.
4) Wear a size 8.
5) Do a solo show.
6) Do a cabaret.
7) Get back to yoga practice.
8) Get my website up and running.
And so on. Not that those all have to be accomplished by the end of the day, or even the end of the year. It's usually a mix of things that can be done immediately and longer-term things. But I am feeling like I get no closer to the long-term things.
And yes, of course, change is gradual. I hate gradual! I like instant gratification, I admit it. Who doesn't? But I need to quit feeling anxious and start doing stuff.
You know, how Dr. Phil is always telling people to put verbs in their sentences or chicken up the deep fryer or something.
Moping doesn't work. Scheming only works if followed by action. I need to take action!
Also, I realized the other day that I seem to hold on to a lot of negative feelings. Petty jealousies about people and their accomplishments, feelings of inadequacy, all that good stuff. I keep it all pent-up, because, well, frankly, I could spend all my time bitching and moaning, and that's certainly not healthy. But I also don't let fly with more than the regular cattiness, because I'm afraid people will think I'm a bitch. Or that they'll say "Hey, I just realized-- you are completely inadequate! FRAUD!" Or because I keep telling myself that I shouldn't feel that way. Or whatever.
I shan't vent that stuff here, either, because that's not really interesting or entertaining. But I'm thinking of doing the dreaded/revered morning pages for a while. Just clear out the crap at the beginning of the day and see what it makes room for.
For real!
Sunday, August 22, 2010
The End of Summer...
I know, I know, there are still a good couple of weeks' worth of August to go, but where I live, this is when it starts getting crisp in the mornings and evenings, when the leaves start to turn. I miss my hometown most in the autumn (my favourite season), with it's longer, sweater-weather fall, its many colours. Here, things just suddenly get cold one day. We have a week or so of golden leaves, which all seem to drop at once.
It's the end of the Fringe Festival here, the big news being a local artistic director getting himself into a bit of trouble as he responds to a patron's blog more personally than professionally. Other than that, I saw some great shows, some disappointing shows, and started thinking about my next project.
I've been waiting to hear back on so many things-- my stupid health issues, this playwriting thing-y (I'm assuming a no at this point, but it would be nice to hear from the horse's mouth), even my wedding album (yes, over 10 months later, I still haven't received the wedding album that we didn't even get to proof. On my to-do list: finding the best site to make a photobook online for our parents, because you'd best believe we won't be ordering any more product from this photographer. He's my one vendor regret for the whole thing-- the pics we have are lovely, but he didn't get some of the things I asked for, and seemed a little more interested in partying at the reception than taking pictures. The sole consolation is we got a really good deal, pricewise; I suppose this may be a lesson in getting what you pay for). But I get that fleeting thought that perhaps I woke up one day set to "invisible", and never reset the switch. 2nd job boss hasn't responded about my end date, voice teacher hasn't responded about times for this year. And so on.
And that's very overdramatic of me, I know. Any one of these things I would just assume the person in question was busy, that I should be patient. But as they start to accumulate--well, they begin to gnaw away at the fragile parts of my brain.
Sitting in a show today, I was reading a friend's bio, and started my same old, same old of feeling inadequate, because she's far more accomplished than I am. Which isn't true, on paper, I'll bet we come out about even. Not that anyone's counting, so I shouldn't even be considering who comes out ahead, but you know what I mean. And I thought Why am I trying to make myself feel bad about her being "better" than me? Why can't I just appreciate what she's doing and keep going ahead with what I'm doing, because I'm obviously where I'm supposed to be?
I know. Can't you imagine several of my former shrinks suddenly sitting up in bed at that exact moment? Did I finally "get it"?
Is this what Oprah feels like when she has her "A-ha" moments? Or whatever it is her magazines are always shouting about?
Anyway. Things here are largely the same. I'll probably spend some time following up with all these people about all these subjects so I can go ahead and plan my life for the fall. Thankfully, my second job should be ending soon-- I'll miss the extra cash, but I'll love having my free time back.
Happy Sunday, friends!
It's the end of the Fringe Festival here, the big news being a local artistic director getting himself into a bit of trouble as he responds to a patron's blog more personally than professionally. Other than that, I saw some great shows, some disappointing shows, and started thinking about my next project.
I've been waiting to hear back on so many things-- my stupid health issues, this playwriting thing-y (I'm assuming a no at this point, but it would be nice to hear from the horse's mouth), even my wedding album (yes, over 10 months later, I still haven't received the wedding album that we didn't even get to proof. On my to-do list: finding the best site to make a photobook online for our parents, because you'd best believe we won't be ordering any more product from this photographer. He's my one vendor regret for the whole thing-- the pics we have are lovely, but he didn't get some of the things I asked for, and seemed a little more interested in partying at the reception than taking pictures. The sole consolation is we got a really good deal, pricewise; I suppose this may be a lesson in getting what you pay for). But I get that fleeting thought that perhaps I woke up one day set to "invisible", and never reset the switch. 2nd job boss hasn't responded about my end date, voice teacher hasn't responded about times for this year. And so on.
And that's very overdramatic of me, I know. Any one of these things I would just assume the person in question was busy, that I should be patient. But as they start to accumulate--well, they begin to gnaw away at the fragile parts of my brain.
Sitting in a show today, I was reading a friend's bio, and started my same old, same old of feeling inadequate, because she's far more accomplished than I am. Which isn't true, on paper, I'll bet we come out about even. Not that anyone's counting, so I shouldn't even be considering who comes out ahead, but you know what I mean. And I thought Why am I trying to make myself feel bad about her being "better" than me? Why can't I just appreciate what she's doing and keep going ahead with what I'm doing, because I'm obviously where I'm supposed to be?
I know. Can't you imagine several of my former shrinks suddenly sitting up in bed at that exact moment? Did I finally "get it"?
Is this what Oprah feels like when she has her "A-ha" moments? Or whatever it is her magazines are always shouting about?
Anyway. Things here are largely the same. I'll probably spend some time following up with all these people about all these subjects so I can go ahead and plan my life for the fall. Thankfully, my second job should be ending soon-- I'll miss the extra cash, but I'll love having my free time back.
Happy Sunday, friends!
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
No news is... bad news?
Still no word re: Vancouver. Realistically, I'm expecting a polite thanks-but-no-thanks letter in the mail, but still obsessively checking my email. Poop! However, this will free me up to take that acting for the camera class, so doors closed, windows open, and so forth.
My meeting yesterday was an invitation to apply to a very interesting playwrights unit, with possible money and even production down the line. Which is very cool. But it does mean I have to pitch a brand new idea. Something that strikes fear into my heart of hearts.
Because I have ideas, vague ideas of things I am interested in, but nothing that I'm ready to jump into, nothing I could hook you in with a story about. "I'm interested in writing a play somehow inspired by human anatomy."
ummm... okay? See, it doesn't have a story, or characters, or anything. I tend to sit on ideas for a long time before I'm ready to start writing. And I was already getting antsy about getting a new idea. Which begs the question no writer wants to ask:
Where do the ideas come from?
Always best never to examine that too closely. In case you never get another idea again, and serves you right for being snoopy.
Interestingly, the overriding themes in my work include: communion with the dead/the supernatural, and a character who is insurmountably The Other. I'm talking no one's going to teach you how to dress right and you'll fit in. I write about never fitting in and accepting that or fighting that. And, apparently, talking to dead people.
Maybe I should start there?
My meeting yesterday was an invitation to apply to a very interesting playwrights unit, with possible money and even production down the line. Which is very cool. But it does mean I have to pitch a brand new idea. Something that strikes fear into my heart of hearts.
Because I have ideas, vague ideas of things I am interested in, but nothing that I'm ready to jump into, nothing I could hook you in with a story about. "I'm interested in writing a play somehow inspired by human anatomy."
ummm... okay? See, it doesn't have a story, or characters, or anything. I tend to sit on ideas for a long time before I'm ready to start writing. And I was already getting antsy about getting a new idea. Which begs the question no writer wants to ask:
Where do the ideas come from?
Always best never to examine that too closely. In case you never get another idea again, and serves you right for being snoopy.
Interestingly, the overriding themes in my work include: communion with the dead/the supernatural, and a character who is insurmountably The Other. I'm talking no one's going to teach you how to dress right and you'll fit in. I write about never fitting in and accepting that or fighting that. And, apparently, talking to dead people.
Maybe I should start there?
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Excuses, Excuses...
Here is a list of excuses I am using to explain to myself why the playwriting people haven't called to invite me to Vancouver:
1) Time Zone
Vancouver is an entire hour behind us! They still have plenty of time to call!
2) Alphabetical Order
My last name is very close to the end of the alphabet. Perhaps they are working their way through applicants alphabetically!
3) They misprinted the date.
August 15 is Sunday. Perhaps what they meant was that they'd get in touch with people on Monday the 16th.
4) Like me, they have several jobs, and have forgotten what day of the week it is.
5) They're flying out to tell me in person, and got delayed at the airport.
6) They're calling everyone who didn't get in first, so they can end their phone calls on a high note.
7) They're working up the courage to call because, of course, they're afraid I'll say no.
8) They are simply not interested in my play at this time, but wish me luck in my future endeavors.
ETA on Monday:
OK, that last one isn't really an excuse, but will likely be the harsh reality. Hoping to hear one way or the other today, since it's a business day (ugh), and will let you know.
1) Time Zone
Vancouver is an entire hour behind us! They still have plenty of time to call!
2) Alphabetical Order
My last name is very close to the end of the alphabet. Perhaps they are working their way through applicants alphabetically!
3) They misprinted the date.
August 15 is Sunday. Perhaps what they meant was that they'd get in touch with people on Monday the 16th.
4) Like me, they have several jobs, and have forgotten what day of the week it is.
5) They're flying out to tell me in person, and got delayed at the airport.
6) They're calling everyone who didn't get in first, so they can end their phone calls on a high note.
7) They're working up the courage to call because, of course, they're afraid I'll say no.
8) They are simply not interested in my play at this time, but wish me luck in my future endeavors.
ETA on Monday:
OK, that last one isn't really an excuse, but will likely be the harsh reality. Hoping to hear one way or the other today, since it's a business day (ugh), and will let you know.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Waiting/Action
Still waiting. My least favourite thing. Tomorrow I supposedly find out whether or not I'm going to Vancouver in November. Though I'm not getting my hopes up too high for that one, I have already gotten a fair amount of funded support this year already, so I can see them wanting to spread the wealth around.
I also have a meeting on Monday, one that I was thinking nothing of until I heard through the grapevine that this person (and possibly the attached theatre company) "has big plans for me" and "has their eye on me". Whatever that means. I'm trying to to get too excited about it, since (a)suddenly being picked up for production is highly unlikely, and (b) I've been screwed over before. Instead I'm just remembering to be happy that others find my work cool and interesting, and that I'm ever-so-gradually forging ahead on the path.
I'm thinking of taking some acting classes in the fall, acting for the camera to be specific. Definitely a skill I could use some regular practice in. I'm hoping to hear one way or the other about Vancouver tomorrow so I can register (Vancouver might make me miss a couple of classes, so I'd have to check and see how they feel about that). If I do go to Vancouver, I'm definitely getting some new headshots done, so I'm shopping around for that.
And I think I have the germ of an idea for a solo show. It's still pretty hazy, but I saw the opening minute in my head and got that excited-chill feeling about it. That feeling I get when I have the grain of a good idea. Which is exciting. But not something to be rushed, and I can't really talk about it any more than that.
After my contract (second job) is done, I really need to get better about making time for myself and taking it. I have this huge list of projects I want to do, but I never get past the idea stage. It's a bad habit of mine. If I let things sit too long, it's almost like they get "spoiled" by the idea of actually doing them. Like the real thing could never live up to the idea of it that I've built up in my head or something. I think I just have to be braver. Just do things when I have the impulse instead of stewing about them.
How about another 5 in 7?
1)Log food and exercise on sparkpeople. This is a pretty awesome (and FREE) resource, and I've been faithfully tracking for the last 2 weeks.
2)Keep singing every day.
3)Finish knitting that baby blanket and send it sometime before the baby graduates high school.
4)Go see a bunch of stuff at the Fringe by people I've never heard of. Discover some new inspiration.
5)Drink enough water every day. (I'm terrible, terrible, terrible at hydration.)
Have a lovely weekend, fellow travellers.
I also have a meeting on Monday, one that I was thinking nothing of until I heard through the grapevine that this person (and possibly the attached theatre company) "has big plans for me" and "has their eye on me". Whatever that means. I'm trying to to get too excited about it, since (a)suddenly being picked up for production is highly unlikely, and (b) I've been screwed over before. Instead I'm just remembering to be happy that others find my work cool and interesting, and that I'm ever-so-gradually forging ahead on the path.
I'm thinking of taking some acting classes in the fall, acting for the camera to be specific. Definitely a skill I could use some regular practice in. I'm hoping to hear one way or the other about Vancouver tomorrow so I can register (Vancouver might make me miss a couple of classes, so I'd have to check and see how they feel about that). If I do go to Vancouver, I'm definitely getting some new headshots done, so I'm shopping around for that.
And I think I have the germ of an idea for a solo show. It's still pretty hazy, but I saw the opening minute in my head and got that excited-chill feeling about it. That feeling I get when I have the grain of a good idea. Which is exciting. But not something to be rushed, and I can't really talk about it any more than that.
After my contract (second job) is done, I really need to get better about making time for myself and taking it. I have this huge list of projects I want to do, but I never get past the idea stage. It's a bad habit of mine. If I let things sit too long, it's almost like they get "spoiled" by the idea of actually doing them. Like the real thing could never live up to the idea of it that I've built up in my head or something. I think I just have to be braver. Just do things when I have the impulse instead of stewing about them.
How about another 5 in 7?
1)Log food and exercise on sparkpeople. This is a pretty awesome (and FREE) resource, and I've been faithfully tracking for the last 2 weeks.
2)Keep singing every day.
3)Finish knitting that baby blanket and send it sometime before the baby graduates high school.
4)Go see a bunch of stuff at the Fringe by people I've never heard of. Discover some new inspiration.
5)Drink enough water every day. (I'm terrible, terrible, terrible at hydration.)
Have a lovely weekend, fellow travellers.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Steven Slater, My Hero
OK, so by now I'm sure everyone's read about Steven Slater, the JetBlue flight attendant who lost it, cussed out a passenger over the intercom, grabbed some beers from the galley, activated the emergency slide, jumped out of the plane, and drove home, where he was subsequently arrested.
So maybe that's not the best way to quit a job. But as someone who has worked (and continues to work) in customer service, there's something about this story that makes me go Hells Yeah. Because haven't we all fantasized about that? Just quitting our shitty jobs in a blaze of glory, finally getting to tell our boss or our coworkers or our customers what we really think, instead of having to hold it all in for the sake of a paycheck?
Because sometimes, just sometimes, the customer is just not always right. In fact, sometimes, the customer is an entitled, unreasonable jerk. Sometimes the customer is downright nasty to you, just because they can be. That's right, as understanding as I try to be about people having a bad day, or going through something difficult emotionally and taking it out on me, I also have to recognize that some people are just, in plain terms, assholes. It held true on the playground, it held true in high school, and it still stands in the land of grownups.
Would I ever quit my job that way? Unlikely. I'm usually all polite and diplomatic, and giving my two weeks' notice. Except for my very first job-- I was fifteen and working at Suzy Shier. The glamour of having a job had quickly worn thin, and I was pissed that I couldn't get the time off to attend an INXS concert. Michael Hutchence was still alive, my friends, and I was determined to see him in all his sexiness. (Actually, I think I was in love with the drummer even more than with Michael, but I digress.) I tried to call in sick for that shift, when my boss (she of multiple-colored eyeliners, and big hair-sprayed bangs) quite rightly accused me of faking my illness to go to the concert.
And, completely offended, I quit. Which was ridiculous, because I was totally faking. I thought it was all very romantic, that I was somehow sticking it to the man for my love of the music, and I went to the concert. I think I still have the t-shirt, actually.
Saturday, August 07, 2010
On Having Patience
Right now, I am trying to be patient. Not one of my strengths. I can endure things, I can look forward to things, but I like to know what's going to happen. I try to be a catalyst, to take charge and make things happen. I'm not so great at the "wait and see" approach to life.
And, of course, that's what a lot of life is like. Go figure.
So, I'm waiting to hear back about another playwrights' colony, this time in Vancouver. Decisions are supposed to be announced next weekend, leaving you to wonder: do they let successful applicants know a little earlier and just send out the Fuck You letters on the date? Does knowing that matter? Not really. But, like analyzing a bad date with your girlfriends, it's sometimes nice to turn over the minutiae in your mind.
I'm waiting to see if I can get my chub a little bit under control. I've been fabulously healthy in my eating, all the fruits and veg, tracking everything, no sweets, no treats. Exercising a lot more. And, of course, the thrilling pee test I mentioned in my last post. Cross your fingers for me tomorrow, guys! I know you'll be itching for updates. Waiting to see if the scale moves down. Or at least stops moving up.
I think I'm going to spend my pee day sewing, since J has been called in to work that day. Now that the studio is actually clean (and has room for my new ironing board), I'm hoping to get some work done more often.
I'm actually thinking of starting a separate blog-- I just haven't thought of a good title yet. Basically it would focus on vintage sewing, a little vintage style, and making vintage recipes, vegetarian style.
This blog will remain where it is for the purposes of talking about me, my career, and my angst.
And, of course, that's what a lot of life is like. Go figure.
So, I'm waiting to hear back about another playwrights' colony, this time in Vancouver. Decisions are supposed to be announced next weekend, leaving you to wonder: do they let successful applicants know a little earlier and just send out the Fuck You letters on the date? Does knowing that matter? Not really. But, like analyzing a bad date with your girlfriends, it's sometimes nice to turn over the minutiae in your mind.
I'm waiting to see if I can get my chub a little bit under control. I've been fabulously healthy in my eating, all the fruits and veg, tracking everything, no sweets, no treats. Exercising a lot more. And, of course, the thrilling pee test I mentioned in my last post. Cross your fingers for me tomorrow, guys! I know you'll be itching for updates. Waiting to see if the scale moves down. Or at least stops moving up.
I think I'm going to spend my pee day sewing, since J has been called in to work that day. Now that the studio is actually clean (and has room for my new ironing board), I'm hoping to get some work done more often.
I'm actually thinking of starting a separate blog-- I just haven't thought of a good title yet. Basically it would focus on vintage sewing, a little vintage style, and making vintage recipes, vegetarian style.
This blog will remain where it is for the purposes of talking about me, my career, and my angst.
Wednesday, August 04, 2010
Just Like Howard Hughes
For the record, I often get the names "Howard Hughes" and "Hugh Hefner" mixed up. Not the people behind the name, but I tend to imagine them as one person. An old guy who spends a lot of time in a bathrobe, collecting his urine and publishing naughty calendars.
(I still haven't seen The Aviator, if you can believe it. One of those movies I keep meaning to watch, but am never in the mood to see. I feel somehow, that like Dead Man Walking,it's some sort of huge time commitment.)
But speaking of saving your urine, guess what I get to do this weekend? That's right! Due to some truly lame health problems I've been experiencing lately, my doctor has requested that I save my pee. All my pee. For 24 hours. Meaning I basically have to take a day off to stay home and pee. Apparently they give you some kind of container and collection system, then you cart all your bottles of pee (the requisition slip doesn't say if they give you an anonymous brown paper bag to carry your pee-jugs in) back to the lab for analysis.
Fun times on the bus,let me tell you! I've chosen Sunday as my official pee day, because it's the only day for the next couple of weeks that I'm not working. J has volunteered to stay home with me and have a karao-pee party.
Related to lame health problems, I've gained a rather impressive amount of weight over the last couple of months, despite exercising more and eating less. So I'm feeling a little depressed about it, trying to stay positive. I don't have a lot of wardrobe options, and I'm just generally feeling rather dumpy and chub these days. Trying to continue working out, track my food. I haven't re-joined Weight Watchers yet, but I'm eating what used to work for me-- ye olde Core Plan. Hopefully I can at least maintain until my doctor figures out what is going on.
Can't wait to start peeing!
(I still haven't seen The Aviator, if you can believe it. One of those movies I keep meaning to watch, but am never in the mood to see. I feel somehow, that like Dead Man Walking,it's some sort of huge time commitment.)
But speaking of saving your urine, guess what I get to do this weekend? That's right! Due to some truly lame health problems I've been experiencing lately, my doctor has requested that I save my pee. All my pee. For 24 hours. Meaning I basically have to take a day off to stay home and pee. Apparently they give you some kind of container and collection system, then you cart all your bottles of pee (the requisition slip doesn't say if they give you an anonymous brown paper bag to carry your pee-jugs in) back to the lab for analysis.
Fun times on the bus,let me tell you! I've chosen Sunday as my official pee day, because it's the only day for the next couple of weeks that I'm not working. J has volunteered to stay home with me and have a karao-pee party.
Related to lame health problems, I've gained a rather impressive amount of weight over the last couple of months, despite exercising more and eating less. So I'm feeling a little depressed about it, trying to stay positive. I don't have a lot of wardrobe options, and I'm just generally feeling rather dumpy and chub these days. Trying to continue working out, track my food. I haven't re-joined Weight Watchers yet, but I'm eating what used to work for me-- ye olde Core Plan. Hopefully I can at least maintain until my doctor figures out what is going on.
Can't wait to start peeing!
Tuesday, August 03, 2010
Fridge Blues
Well, my fridge has decided to recognize only two possible settings: Emergency Defrost Freezer Leakage, and Preserve All Food As Ice Cubes (Including Salad You Were Bringing For Lunch). This results either in a steady spring thaw-like dripping from the freezer into the fridge, or all fridge food, from strawberries to Tofurky, encrusted in ice crystals, much like what happens when you finally lose that game of Frozen Bubble.
I think it may be time for a new fridge. We also need a new television, new bed and a new couch. After which I will either need a new credit card or a new identity, hardy-har-har.
I'm feeling rather uninspired as of late, friends. Feeling uninspired by myself, which is the worst kind of uninspired to feel, as far as I'm concerned. I realize the world really doesn't treat me as badly as all that, and that things can't be thrilling/exciting/constant new developments-ing all the time. But I'm feeling a little dull and down and a wee bit sorry for myself.
It'll pass, I'm positive of it. This week I plan to clean out some closets and clean out a workspace for myself to get back to sewing and non-theatre-related stuff.
How do you get yourself out of a blue patch?
Sunday, August 01, 2010
Update
Just a quick note-- I have blog guilt (or is that non-blogging guilt?). Anyhoo, apologies for my lack of updates: life seems to be in a bit of a holding pattern at the moment. Just working 6 days a week, which is putting a kink in my plans to relax, but I'm hard pressed to say no to extra money at the moment.
I'm waiting somewhat impatiently to be inspired-- I'd like to start a new project, but am a little bit low on ideas. Working on singing, doing some other music stuff. Thinking about giving myself a makeover.
You know, the usual.
More and better updates in the coming week! Seriously, ya'll!
I'm waiting somewhat impatiently to be inspired-- I'd like to start a new project, but am a little bit low on ideas. Working on singing, doing some other music stuff. Thinking about giving myself a makeover.
You know, the usual.
More and better updates in the coming week! Seriously, ya'll!
Friday, July 23, 2010
Green-Eyed Monster
Yes, I confess it: I'm a jealous person. Not in the romantic way, I'm not one of those ladies whose boyfriend/husband/sweet baboo has to call her every hour on the hour when he's out, or who puts her foot down over watching television shows featuring beautiful women. No, I'm definitely a career jealous person.
Not that I've made jealousy my career. I mean, I get jealous about the careers of others. Why must my friends be so accomplished? Why do I feel like I'm being left behind?
I love my friends, I'm proud of them. Heck, I'm even happy for my less-than-friends when something good career-wise happens to them.
Except...
Except for the blinding flashes of jealousy I also get. And of course, that's my issue, obvs. It's time for deep breaths, and reassuring myself that This is not a race, and using it to spur me to move ahead. And meditating on crystals, or reading The Secret or something.
OK, just kidding about those last two.
Last week, I did awesome on my goals, with the exception of the piano. The studio is a bit of a disaster at the moment (I'm sure a shrink, or the person who wrote The Secret might say that the exterior clutter is a material representation of me blocking my pathways to success, but really, it's just mess and I'm lazy.)
So, piano will get added to this week's list.
This week's Five in Seven:
1) Practice piano
2) Drink water every day. I don't know why I have such a huge problem doing this. Maybe I need to make an inspiration board about water. Anyway, 8-10 glasses a day.
3) Sing every day. Because it seems to be working. Go figure.
4) Back to work on sewing that blouse. (This, along with piano playing, necessitates cleaning out my studio. Take that, imaginary shrinks and Secret author!)
5) Research some theatre companies, Canadian and outside the Great White North, who might like to read my skit-shows.
Have a great weekend, y'all!
Not that I've made jealousy my career. I mean, I get jealous about the careers of others. Why must my friends be so accomplished? Why do I feel like I'm being left behind?
I love my friends, I'm proud of them. Heck, I'm even happy for my less-than-friends when something good career-wise happens to them.
Except...
Except for the blinding flashes of jealousy I also get. And of course, that's my issue, obvs. It's time for deep breaths, and reassuring myself that This is not a race, and using it to spur me to move ahead. And meditating on crystals, or reading The Secret or something.
OK, just kidding about those last two.
Last week, I did awesome on my goals, with the exception of the piano. The studio is a bit of a disaster at the moment (I'm sure a shrink, or the person who wrote The Secret might say that the exterior clutter is a material representation of me blocking my pathways to success, but really, it's just mess and I'm lazy.)
So, piano will get added to this week's list.
This week's Five in Seven:
1) Practice piano
2) Drink water every day. I don't know why I have such a huge problem doing this. Maybe I need to make an inspiration board about water. Anyway, 8-10 glasses a day.
3) Sing every day. Because it seems to be working. Go figure.
4) Back to work on sewing that blouse. (This, along with piano playing, necessitates cleaning out my studio. Take that, imaginary shrinks and Secret author!)
5) Research some theatre companies, Canadian and outside the Great White North, who might like to read my skit-shows.
Have a great weekend, y'all!
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Five In Seven
Sounds like some kind of infomercial weight loss plan, right? Like Deal A Meal (remember Deal A Meal?)
I was talking to an amazing, inspiring friend of mine about my frustrations about my vocal progress. I feel blocked. My reaction to feeling blocked is to take some kind of action, but I have no idea of what to do. And we had a long talk, and she gave me some homework. She said "if you really want to be a singer and you love singing, there is always something you can do to advance yourself musically." And she told me to think of 5 things I could do in one week that would move me along towards my goals.
I think that's great advice. I'm trying to get more positive and active, rather than dwelling in the negativity with the bitter people. If that means going out on a limb and trying new things, so be it.
So here's my list of things to do this week:
1) discover some new music/singers
2) review and re-remember key signatures
3) sing every day
4) get the italian translation for my aria
5) practice piano
Hopefully I'll be back with a completed list and another 5 things to by this time next week. They may or may not be singing related, though.
She also told me: "Remember, no one is ever going to come along and give you a license to be a singer. Don't wait until you think you're 'good enough'." Pretty nice advice, which can probably translate to some of my other plans and schemes.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Looks Like Dog Food, Tastes Like Vinegar.
My friends, as much as it pains me to confess it, I have very, very unpredictable cooking skills. Sometimes I'm great, sometimes I'm... well, when it's bad, it's horrible. Really, really horrible.
I take some comfort in being consistently good at baking, but a massive failure at cooking is always a crushing blow to my self-esteem. It's not that I can't follow a recipe. It's not that I don't measure. It's not that I make crazy substitutions for things. It's just something in the alchemy-- every so often, I cook something that's an unmitigated disaster for no apparent reason.
Take the Stewpie (STEW-pee) incident, for instance. When I was first living with my husband, I was trying out all kinds of new recipes. He's got a stomach thing that won't let him eat dairy or red meat, and before he met me, he was living on minute rice and cooked carrots. It never occurred to him to order a pizza without cheese, or to check out soy and rice cheeses, or just find recipes that didn't contain dairy, or whatever. So I was having mucho fun trying out a bunch of vegan recipes (I was just beginning to seriously explore vegetarianism), many of which turned out amazingly. My cooking reputation in our relationship was solid. Until, that is, I decided to try and make Stewpie.
I have no recollection of where I found the original recipe. It wasn't called Stewpie (a combo of stew and pie, for reasons that will become obvious). It was just some kind of vegetable pot pie. Which I was envisioning as a kind of yummy comfort food: flaky crust, warm thick gravy, nummy vegetables. And I think that's what it was supposed to be. And although it's hazy in my memory, I seem to recall that I even made my own pie crust. Things seemed promising. And then...
I won't try to embellish it, it was disgusting. Not disgusting in a way that would immediately induce projectile vomiting or anything. But it was horrible. Mushy, pasty, awful glop. Depressing. And J, bless him, ate TWO helpings before admitting he hated it and could barely stand to look at it. He thought that he'd hurt my feelings if he didn't eat it. But instead I find myself wondering if he *really* likes my food, or if he's just humoring me. To which he immediately responds "It's not a Stewpie!"
Anyway. Fast forward to last night. One of my friends at work had made this butternut squash dish that smelled amazing. Like, I wanted to chew off my own fingers and pretend they were butternut squash amazing. So I asked for the recipe and set out to make it last night.
Things all fell apart with the balsamic reduction. I don't know what I did, but it ended up looking like dog food and tasting like vinegar. I was laughing so hard, I was crying, because it was so disgusting and ridiculous. I tried to force myself to eat some, as a kind of penance, but I just couldn't do it.
I did get right back on the horse and make the filling for some potstickers for tonight. Hopefully those turn out a little bit better.
I take some comfort in being consistently good at baking, but a massive failure at cooking is always a crushing blow to my self-esteem. It's not that I can't follow a recipe. It's not that I don't measure. It's not that I make crazy substitutions for things. It's just something in the alchemy-- every so often, I cook something that's an unmitigated disaster for no apparent reason.
Take the Stewpie (STEW-pee) incident, for instance. When I was first living with my husband, I was trying out all kinds of new recipes. He's got a stomach thing that won't let him eat dairy or red meat, and before he met me, he was living on minute rice and cooked carrots. It never occurred to him to order a pizza without cheese, or to check out soy and rice cheeses, or just find recipes that didn't contain dairy, or whatever. So I was having mucho fun trying out a bunch of vegan recipes (I was just beginning to seriously explore vegetarianism), many of which turned out amazingly. My cooking reputation in our relationship was solid. Until, that is, I decided to try and make Stewpie.
I have no recollection of where I found the original recipe. It wasn't called Stewpie (a combo of stew and pie, for reasons that will become obvious). It was just some kind of vegetable pot pie. Which I was envisioning as a kind of yummy comfort food: flaky crust, warm thick gravy, nummy vegetables. And I think that's what it was supposed to be. And although it's hazy in my memory, I seem to recall that I even made my own pie crust. Things seemed promising. And then...
I won't try to embellish it, it was disgusting. Not disgusting in a way that would immediately induce projectile vomiting or anything. But it was horrible. Mushy, pasty, awful glop. Depressing. And J, bless him, ate TWO helpings before admitting he hated it and could barely stand to look at it. He thought that he'd hurt my feelings if he didn't eat it. But instead I find myself wondering if he *really* likes my food, or if he's just humoring me. To which he immediately responds "It's not a Stewpie!"
Anyway. Fast forward to last night. One of my friends at work had made this butternut squash dish that smelled amazing. Like, I wanted to chew off my own fingers and pretend they were butternut squash amazing. So I asked for the recipe and set out to make it last night.
Things all fell apart with the balsamic reduction. I don't know what I did, but it ended up looking like dog food and tasting like vinegar. I was laughing so hard, I was crying, because it was so disgusting and ridiculous. I tried to force myself to eat some, as a kind of penance, but I just couldn't do it.
I did get right back on the horse and make the filling for some potstickers for tonight. Hopefully those turn out a little bit better.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Television Guilty Pleasures
Yes, I have finally started watching Mad Men. As a matter of fact, I've got two seasons under my belt, and joy of joys, On Demand has finally put Season 3 up! Of course, they still show commercials for the new season during the episodes, which is maddening and causes us to stick our fingers in our ears and sing "Poker Face" at the top of our lungs while turning our eyes skywards. No spoilers, AMC!
So far, I am dying over the fashions. And all the fabulous mid-century modern decor. And the priceless things like shaking the garbage off your picnic blanket and leaving it in a glorious pile in the park. And the writing has been pretty good-- I wasn't a huge fan of parts of Season 2, particularly Don's bizarre business trip. But the last episode of Season 1, his monologue about the Kodak carousel made me crumble with jealousy a little bit. So yes, Season 3 begins tonight in my living room.
Of course, this will be after I watch the other guilty pleasures that Monday night brings, namely Intervention and Obsessed. Schadenfreude, anyone? Also, I don't really like watching Hoarders because I find it so repetitive, but I do tend to get a lot of house cleaning done. That, or I don't feel quite so bad about my own mess.
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
Fun At Work
I'll admit it: I've always been someone who thrives on responsibility. I was the kid who'd volunteer to take the money down to the office on hot dog day at school, who'd be the dissection class table leader. Yes, Iike being in charge of things, whether it be an envelope of quarters or a stainless steel tray of frog cadavers. Being entrusted with responsibility makes me feel accomplished, and dare I say, validated. And nearly every job I've ever had, I feel the pull of wanting to work towards promotion, to being in charge of projects. To having keys.
And, often, the thrill of validation disappears nearly instantly. Not that it leaves me in some sort of shame spiral, or hollow, esteem-less pit that drives me to drug use. It's usually replaced by at least one of two thoughts: I'd rather be doing something else, or the ever-popular People are intensely irritating.
Let me break it down. Advancing in my chosen field = awesome. The sizzle of being in charge of the odd-pay-period-wage-reports = fleeting at best.
Right now, I have 2 and a half jobs. One is working in the box office at a concert hall. It's mellow (for the most part), and they let me write plays when it's not busy. I also occasionally contract editing scripts for video games. And I do a bunch of freelance writing gigs-- newsletter articles, online publications, and so on. Plus my super-glamorous chosen field of THE THEAT-AH.
The concert hall has recently made me a key holder. Which I'm happy about, I mean, I get a pay raise, some benefits, keys to the place. But let me just put something out there. I don't know a lot about business, and I haven't worked there that long. But my thinking is, that if you have the better part of 4 hours in the afternoon to devote to drawing dragons in MS Paint, I had better not have any problems with your cashout. I mean, your cashout should be pretty much immaculate, because I can't imagine starting on the 4-tone rendering of Galthor's scales unless you'd actually finished your work for the day.
And, often, the thrill of validation disappears nearly instantly. Not that it leaves me in some sort of shame spiral, or hollow, esteem-less pit that drives me to drug use. It's usually replaced by at least one of two thoughts: I'd rather be doing something else, or the ever-popular People are intensely irritating.
Let me break it down. Advancing in my chosen field = awesome. The sizzle of being in charge of the odd-pay-period-wage-reports = fleeting at best.
Right now, I have 2 and a half jobs. One is working in the box office at a concert hall. It's mellow (for the most part), and they let me write plays when it's not busy. I also occasionally contract editing scripts for video games. And I do a bunch of freelance writing gigs-- newsletter articles, online publications, and so on. Plus my super-glamorous chosen field of THE THEAT-AH.
The concert hall has recently made me a key holder. Which I'm happy about, I mean, I get a pay raise, some benefits, keys to the place. But let me just put something out there. I don't know a lot about business, and I haven't worked there that long. But my thinking is, that if you have the better part of 4 hours in the afternoon to devote to drawing dragons in MS Paint, I had better not have any problems with your cashout. I mean, your cashout should be pretty much immaculate, because I can't imagine starting on the 4-tone rendering of Galthor's scales unless you'd actually finished your work for the day.
Saturday, July 03, 2010
Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow.
And no, I won't be ranting like a 12-year-old girl in this one. I'm feeling a little more grown up and secure now. With a grown-up problem! A grown-up relationship problem. And no, it's not like that. I'm talking about being facebook friends with my hairdresser, who I'm thinking of cheating on.
Actually, I'm thinking about leaving her altogether. And in the good old days, you could just kind of disappear off the face of the earth, never to return to your old salon. Perhaps one day you would run into your old stylist in the produce aisle at Safeway, say a polite hello, or perhaps nothing at all. There would be an understanding. I mean, if you didn't have 10 inches of roots, it would just be assumed you'd moved on.
I am the worst at confrontation. Trying out a different stylist at the same salon is one thing, but just out and out leaving? Do I have the balls to drag my stuff into the living room and say "Torvald, I'm leaving." Also, my stylist's name isn't Torvald (I would never even think of leaving if it was!), that was just a bonus A Doll's House reference for the nerds out there.
The pros of my stylist:
I like the salon, and most of the people there are super nice. The rest are just pretty nice.
My stylist knows how to cut my hair really, really well. I have A LOT of coarse, wavy-ish hair, so it's hard to find someone good.
I've been going there for a few years. (Is this even a pro?)
I get a lot of compliments on my colour and cut.
The cons of staying:
They're out of my way. It's a pain in the ass to get there.
Expensive. I mean, I'm a big proponent of spending the money on your hair, but it's a little ridiculous.
I think my stylist takes me for granted.
The last couple of times I've gone, I've left with splotches of colour around my hairline, which I didn't notice till I get home, but which are a pet peeve of mine, because it's sloppy work.
So I don't know what to do. I have some ideas of salons I'd like to try, but it's hard to just make a clean break. Although this is supposing that my hairstylist cares passionately about whether or not I'm a client.
Anyone have tips on breaking up with a stylist? Or stories about cheating on your salon?
Actually, I'm thinking about leaving her altogether. And in the good old days, you could just kind of disappear off the face of the earth, never to return to your old salon. Perhaps one day you would run into your old stylist in the produce aisle at Safeway, say a polite hello, or perhaps nothing at all. There would be an understanding. I mean, if you didn't have 10 inches of roots, it would just be assumed you'd moved on.
I am the worst at confrontation. Trying out a different stylist at the same salon is one thing, but just out and out leaving? Do I have the balls to drag my stuff into the living room and say "Torvald, I'm leaving." Also, my stylist's name isn't Torvald (I would never even think of leaving if it was!), that was just a bonus A Doll's House reference for the nerds out there.
The pros of my stylist:
I like the salon, and most of the people there are super nice. The rest are just pretty nice.
My stylist knows how to cut my hair really, really well. I have A LOT of coarse, wavy-ish hair, so it's hard to find someone good.
I've been going there for a few years. (Is this even a pro?)
I get a lot of compliments on my colour and cut.
The cons of staying:
They're out of my way. It's a pain in the ass to get there.
Expensive. I mean, I'm a big proponent of spending the money on your hair, but it's a little ridiculous.
I think my stylist takes me for granted.
The last couple of times I've gone, I've left with splotches of colour around my hairline, which I didn't notice till I get home, but which are a pet peeve of mine, because it's sloppy work.
So I don't know what to do. I have some ideas of salons I'd like to try, but it's hard to just make a clean break. Although this is supposing that my hairstylist cares passionately about whether or not I'm a client.
Anyone have tips on breaking up with a stylist? Or stories about cheating on your salon?
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Ouch, Facebook!
So, yesterday was my birthday. Though I sometimes would like to make a big deal about it and have a party, I never do, because I live with the fat kid's fear of NO ONE SHOWING UP, PROVING EVERYONE HATES YOU ON YOUR BIRTHDAY, THE MOST HUMILIATING OF ALL DAYS TO BE HATED! Maybe that's not a very grown-up sentiment, but the whole being-left-out-of-everything-because-no-one-cares-about-you elementary school thing is, even all these years later, a huge emotional panic trigger for me. I suspect it may be a permanent background anxiety that I can usually ignore.
Speaking of, did anyone ever feel like they fit in? It seems like most people I talked to were always picked last for things, always lived in fear of other children. Do I just hang with a crowd of bully victims? What happened to all the popular kids? Do they go away to some island of beautiful people when they turn 21 (which would be disappointing, because I always imagined they would grow up to serve fries all day and be covered in unsightly boils).
ANYWAY, I must confess that I was looking forward to a little facebook birthday love. Yes, lame, I know, but it's kind of nice to have people wishing you a happy birthday. Of course, if I examined it more closely, I might wonder why none of these people talk to me at any other time, but why add more insecurity to my already-crowded plate? So yesterday, I opened up Facebook, expecting that warm-glowy feeling, and was thrilled that one of my bestest buds had wished me a happy birthday, (and didn't need facebook to tell her it was my birthday), and then...
nada. Nothing! The whole day, not one single person wished me good tidings of great joy. And it's immature and stupid and facebook, for God's sake, but it's hard not to feel a little burnt by that. And I'm trying to be a good girl and not fall into the clutches of fat kid fears. But seriously, out of 400 friends? Not even my sister wished me well! Ouch!
Fortunately, I got some birthday love in real life, which is way better. J set up the Christmas tree in the living room while I was at work Thursday night, which is a bit of an inside joke: I heart Christmas a lot, and when I was a kid, I always used to proclaim I had the best birthday, because it was exactly six months from Christmas. So the year was perfectly symetrical in terms of presents I would receive.
But I confess, I do wish that my birthday was a little closer to winter so I didn't have to wait to use this awesome gift:
Yes, that is a Snuggie. Not just any Snuggie, but a Snuggie Wild Side! I guess they were worried that their regular solid colours just wouldn't appeal to today's youth. So I've got a fab leopard print blanket with arms! With the official Snuggie Brand label on the sleeve!
I'm actually a little too excited about this.
Anyway, you now have a little less than 6 shopping months till Christmas.
Happy Saturday, everyone!
Speaking of, did anyone ever feel like they fit in? It seems like most people I talked to were always picked last for things, always lived in fear of other children. Do I just hang with a crowd of bully victims? What happened to all the popular kids? Do they go away to some island of beautiful people when they turn 21 (which would be disappointing, because I always imagined they would grow up to serve fries all day and be covered in unsightly boils).
ANYWAY, I must confess that I was looking forward to a little facebook birthday love. Yes, lame, I know, but it's kind of nice to have people wishing you a happy birthday. Of course, if I examined it more closely, I might wonder why none of these people talk to me at any other time, but why add more insecurity to my already-crowded plate? So yesterday, I opened up Facebook, expecting that warm-glowy feeling, and was thrilled that one of my bestest buds had wished me a happy birthday, (and didn't need facebook to tell her it was my birthday), and then...
nada. Nothing! The whole day, not one single person wished me good tidings of great joy. And it's immature and stupid and facebook, for God's sake, but it's hard not to feel a little burnt by that. And I'm trying to be a good girl and not fall into the clutches of fat kid fears. But seriously, out of 400 friends? Not even my sister wished me well! Ouch!
Fortunately, I got some birthday love in real life, which is way better. J set up the Christmas tree in the living room while I was at work Thursday night, which is a bit of an inside joke: I heart Christmas a lot, and when I was a kid, I always used to proclaim I had the best birthday, because it was exactly six months from Christmas. So the year was perfectly symetrical in terms of presents I would receive.
But I confess, I do wish that my birthday was a little closer to winter so I didn't have to wait to use this awesome gift:
Yes, that is a Snuggie. Not just any Snuggie, but a Snuggie Wild Side! I guess they were worried that their regular solid colours just wouldn't appeal to today's youth. So I've got a fab leopard print blanket with arms! With the official Snuggie Brand label on the sleeve!
I'm actually a little too excited about this.
Anyway, you now have a little less than 6 shopping months till Christmas.
Happy Saturday, everyone!
Saturday, June 19, 2010
An Open Letter To The Last Three Movies I've Seen, Which, Coincidentally, Were All Pretty Disappointing
Dear Shutter Island, The Book of Eli, and Tim Burton's Alice In Wonderland,
The first thing I want you to know is that I really, really like movies. Really. Anything from film noir, to cheesy 80's capers, to musicals, to disease-of-the-week movies on tv. Psychological thrillers, documentaries, zombie movies, foreign film. I just like movies. Which is why the last couple of weeks have been so distressing to me.
Shutter Island,I confess that I wasn't totally excited to see you. I didn't really understand what you were supposed to be about going in, only that the phrase I associate with you is "THE TWIST YOU'LL NEVER SEE COMING!" And you know what, Shutter Island? I guessed it. I guessed the twist I'd never see coming, literally about 90 seconds in. Leo hadn't even arrived on the stupid island yet. And it's not like you were bad, though I could have done without the overwrought, CGI'd Twin Peaks-style dream sequences. You just weren't terribly exciting. And maybe it's my fault for guessing. But what was I supposed to do? You dared me to.
And you, The Book of Eli, you were J's idea, not mine. He'd been looking forward to seeing you for weeks. And so you show up in our living room the very day you're released with what looks like something visually interesting, something taut and tense, post-apocalyptic exciting, and you turn out to be... well, you turn out to be The Book of Eli? Seriously? I mean, I passed the time speculating on how this could be turned into a sequel to The Preacher's Wife, or wondering aloud why everyone post-apocalypse wear such uncomfortable looking clothes (if there is some kind of solar flare, or nuclear volcano, or sudden evaporation of 90% of the earth's water supply, you had best believe I won't be getting myself a bustier top, a corset, or fur leg warmers. Nor will I be wrapping my limbs in various ribbons/audio tape/whatever they use to do that.). But what pissed me off the most was that you had a great plot twist, something that could have been a lot more effective. But it was so not worth it. So. Not. Worth. It.
And finally, Tim Burton's Alice In Wonderland, I was pretty disappointed in you, as well. A whole lot of style, with very little substance. Frankly, I'd rather see Peter Jackson direct Alice in Wonderland, because I think he'd do a pretty kickass job of it. Maybe Tim Burton could direct Animal Farm, make it a new Watership Down to traumatize the kids of this generation. Either way, I bet Elijah Wood was probably pretty pissed off when he saw Johnny Depp in this movie. Because Elijah could probably have saved them a whole lot of money in animation fees:
And what the hell was wrong with Crispin Glover? All stretched out and weird-looking? Is he supposed to be a playing card, like those other red guys? Because it looks weird, but not so weird that you'd immediately assume it was done on purpose. And not so consistent that you can immediately figure out what exactly it is that's weird.
If anything, the more CGI and animation I see, the more I wonder if it's really been good for movies. I mean, yes, obviously there are some movies that use it amazingly well, and it helps tell the story without becoming the story itself. But I wonder if better and better technology is making people less creative in some way. Not neccessarily with reference to TBAIW, but overall.
Anyway, you guys, you've really left me disappointed. In fact my regret about writing this is that's a public acknowledgement that I actually sat through all three of you. I think the best thing for all of us is that we all try to forget that I arrived on your island, or apoca'd into your lypse, or fell down your rabbit hole.
You get the picture.
Love,
Me
The first thing I want you to know is that I really, really like movies. Really. Anything from film noir, to cheesy 80's capers, to musicals, to disease-of-the-week movies on tv. Psychological thrillers, documentaries, zombie movies, foreign film. I just like movies. Which is why the last couple of weeks have been so distressing to me.
Shutter Island,I confess that I wasn't totally excited to see you. I didn't really understand what you were supposed to be about going in, only that the phrase I associate with you is "THE TWIST YOU'LL NEVER SEE COMING!" And you know what, Shutter Island? I guessed it. I guessed the twist I'd never see coming, literally about 90 seconds in. Leo hadn't even arrived on the stupid island yet. And it's not like you were bad, though I could have done without the overwrought, CGI'd Twin Peaks-style dream sequences. You just weren't terribly exciting. And maybe it's my fault for guessing. But what was I supposed to do? You dared me to.
And you, The Book of Eli, you were J's idea, not mine. He'd been looking forward to seeing you for weeks. And so you show up in our living room the very day you're released with what looks like something visually interesting, something taut and tense, post-apocalyptic exciting, and you turn out to be... well, you turn out to be The Book of Eli? Seriously? I mean, I passed the time speculating on how this could be turned into a sequel to The Preacher's Wife, or wondering aloud why everyone post-apocalypse wear such uncomfortable looking clothes (if there is some kind of solar flare, or nuclear volcano, or sudden evaporation of 90% of the earth's water supply, you had best believe I won't be getting myself a bustier top, a corset, or fur leg warmers. Nor will I be wrapping my limbs in various ribbons/audio tape/whatever they use to do that.). But what pissed me off the most was that you had a great plot twist, something that could have been a lot more effective. But it was so not worth it. So. Not. Worth. It.
And finally, Tim Burton's Alice In Wonderland, I was pretty disappointed in you, as well. A whole lot of style, with very little substance. Frankly, I'd rather see Peter Jackson direct Alice in Wonderland, because I think he'd do a pretty kickass job of it. Maybe Tim Burton could direct Animal Farm, make it a new Watership Down to traumatize the kids of this generation. Either way, I bet Elijah Wood was probably pretty pissed off when he saw Johnny Depp in this movie. Because Elijah could probably have saved them a whole lot of money in animation fees:
And what the hell was wrong with Crispin Glover? All stretched out and weird-looking? Is he supposed to be a playing card, like those other red guys? Because it looks weird, but not so weird that you'd immediately assume it was done on purpose. And not so consistent that you can immediately figure out what exactly it is that's weird.
If anything, the more CGI and animation I see, the more I wonder if it's really been good for movies. I mean, yes, obviously there are some movies that use it amazingly well, and it helps tell the story without becoming the story itself. But I wonder if better and better technology is making people less creative in some way. Not neccessarily with reference to TBAIW, but overall.
Anyway, you guys, you've really left me disappointed. In fact my regret about writing this is that's a public acknowledgement that I actually sat through all three of you. I think the best thing for all of us is that we all try to forget that I arrived on your island, or apoca'd into your lypse, or fell down your rabbit hole.
You get the picture.
Love,
Me
Friday, June 18, 2010
On Shopping and Sizes, or What Is This, A Cathy Cartoon?
So the other day we were out shopping, and my husband wanted to get a pair of pants. He walked into a store, found some pants he liked, checked the tags, picked up the pants and said "Let's go."
"Don't you want to try those on?"
"Nah."
"But how do you know they'll fit?"
"Ummm..." he said, pausing to figure out how not to imply that I was dumb "because they're my size?"
And then he went to pay for his pants. Which, ps, totally fit perfectly.
At the risk of sounding like a certain cartoon, AAAAAAACCCKKKK!
(Confession: my sister has pretty much the entire collection of Cathy comics at my parents' house, which I totally binge on (irony!) when I'm there at Christmas. Oh, Irving!)
I mean, seriously. I can't imagine the day when I would just believe that a marked size would correctly match the proportions of my body. Maybe if I already owned the same exact thing and was buying a second one in a different colour. But having had the experience of being 3 different sizes of jeans in the same store (I'm looking at you, Old Navy!), I'm always prepared for pants shopping to be an epic event.
At the moment, I wear a 14. Which is better than the 20 I've previously worn, but kind of a weird size generally. Even though we're constantly hearing "That's the average American woman's size!", 14 is a strange fit. It's on the cusp of plus size, so you have a good chance of finding it in a "regular" store (I know I'm not alone in my weight goals including being able to shop in regular stores). Plus size stores generally start at a 14, though that 14 will be cut differently than a 14 in a "regular" store. Not that the numbers mean anything, really.
I remember the legend of The Gap, where at one point if you wore, say, an 8 everywhere else, you would fit a 6 in Gap clothes. Which was kind of a nice little ego boost. But then everyone started doing it. So while you wear a size 8 at one store, you might take a 10 at another, or a 6 somewhere else. And so on, until we fast forward to Old Navy and me trying on sizes 12 through 16 in jeans, all variously too big or too small, depending on the style. And my husband picking out his usual size without trying on, waiting by the cash for me.
I mean, I'm sure people of all sizes have these fit/size problems. It's probably more emotionally charged for someone who, say, couldn't find trendy clothes as a kid, and for whom clothes shopping would be marked by comments on my weight and why I couldn't fit into regular sizes. In reality, I know it's the pants that suck, not my body. And yet...
Well, enough complaining and ackkking for one day.
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