I'd rather be burlesquing.

Friday, July 29, 2005


Before I started work at my current post here in the UK, I had spent about 6 months working for a temp agency.

I attempted to contact them today to see if I am owed any tax money back for my time with them. Apparently, they are to fill out some P-form and send it in for me, if I am eligible for a tax credit.

Amongst other things, this was the response:

What is it exactly what you need?!?!!?

I know that the grammar punctuation king, Greg, has razzed me in the past for my excessive use of elipsis (...), and has warned me that "there is no space for an ellipsis in business", but why - oh why - has no one told me that ?!?!!? has been approved for all business-related correspondence?

There is so much that I don't know...

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

anywhere but here

Damp and dreary again today.
I'm soaking it in.
Hearts feel heavy.
My mind is anywhere but here.

I'd rather be burlesquing.

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

What would Johnny Depp do?

The other night, I asked Jason the following question:
What job would you want, if you could do anything you wanted?

He contemplated this briefly - very briefly, replying:
"Johnny Depp. I would want to be Johnny Depp."

While not exactly the reply I had anticipated, fair enough. It would be great to be both paid AND respected to dress like a pirate, while living in Paris, surrounded by good cheese and beautiful people.

But maybe it would all get to be a bit boring.

Maybe there's something to be said for the little struggles that we all endure to get where we finally end up. Maybe not having makes us appreciate what we do have. Or have had.

Living in the current situation that I do, in which I never seem to have enough money, and cannot afford to buy new underpants - nor the trip to the laundromat for the old ones, so choose to go without - has made me appreciate the things that I have regularly taken for granted.

And not just because of the complete lack of decent wine in this country for under six quid.

It's not just the little things, like being able to open a bank account at ANY BANK I WANT. Or being able to get a job based soley on the fact that I have a university degree. It's not about having the option to purchase a massive, 64 oz. jar of peanut butter, even if it does take me three years to get through it.

I admit that I am extremely fortunate. I have had access to good education, good food, clean water, and have been able to travel fairly extensively. I grew up in a happy household, and have parents and friends who have respected and supported all of my lame decisions (including the time that I was determined to run away to California with ten cents...didn't make it, in case you were wondering).

While it would be nice to have enough money to purchase an iPod for me and everyone else who wants one so that we can stop talking and communicate solely through the language of music, there's definitely a hidden, beautiful simplicity in not having.

And I'm sure even Johnny could agree with that.

Monday, July 25, 2005

if it weren't for the rain, the trees outside my window would not be green

It's absolutely pouring in London this morning...definitely a good day for my red cashmere knee socks.

Also a good day for Aqua Net, but what's a girl to do?

PS Hey J, it's 11:11...

Thursday, July 21, 2005

Harvie Krumpet

I'm fairly sure that this isn't new to anyone but me (although I see that the UK release date was just April 2005), but I watched the most beautiful little film last night, Harvie Krumpet.

This animated short is a film that makes me want to put aside everything else in my life and learn how to animate things. For the 22 minutes that this movie captivated me, I sat staring at the tv screen in awe, a dumb grin on my face. It is such a sweet, painful, amazing little film.

AND, on top of the genius that is this film, the DVD includes all of Adam Elliot's previous films. These films are even more poignant, showing us the wonder and pain in the everyday. The ridiculousness of the normal.

I am inspired and amazed at the wonderful perspective that Adam Elliot has on life, love and loss. Ice cream and lemonade.

I would go on, but I think it's just best to see it for yourself.
It stole my heart, it did.

I owe Greg a big thank you for pestering me to watch it, Jason a big thanks for hunting it down, and to Adam Elliot: a huge thanks for making it.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

The post in which I rant about asses

While living in the nation's capital, there are a plethora of wonderful things to see and do. The galleries and museums alone are enough to keep you busy for several days. Top off your culture buffet with a good dose of lager and fish and chips, and you have yourself a decent vacation.

However, I must say, aside from all of the wonderful things to partake of in the city that I currently call home, there are several things that I have definitely had my fill of:

1. White Peasant Skirts.
While I have no specific issue with wanting to look like you belong on the cover of a Harlequin Romance Novel, I do have issues with the careless neglect that women tend to be putting in to their accompanying knicker selection. Maybe it's all part of the theme - I'm not sure - but I've had my fill of threadbare white peasant skirts, discreetly unearthing a healthy portion of white granny knicker ass with every step.

I don't know how this happens. Maybe it's because I was raised in a generation where the word slip went hand-in-hand with bra. Or pantyhose. But without sounding too much like I eat my corn creamed and smell of rose-scented lotion and perm solution; seriously ladies, take a look at your rear when you buy these things. If you can see the knickers, maybe it's time to look beyond H&M. I know £9.99 is hard to pass up, but seriously.

2. Thong-th-thong-thong-thong.
Jeans appear to keep getting lower, and there doesn't seem to be any stopping them. While I understand that this is a direct product of the less-is-more society that we seem to be living in, there is a limit. I have seen underpant disasters where it is all I can do to keep myself from asking the guilty party to remove her pants, because quite simply, we are at the point of no return.

And despite my clever throwback to everyone's favorite pop song, it ain't just thongs. I've seen every kind of pant imaginable waving out the top of trousers. Do me a favour, reach round to your rear every now and then, and stuff those honeys back down to where the sun don't shine.

And last but not least...

I have to admit to occassionally falling for this one. I have definite car-wreck syndrome when it comes to the butt crack. Try as I might, I am fixated and cannot look away. Maybe it's the disbelief, the pure shock, that these people cannot feel the cool breeze on their nether regions. I have born witness to butt crack that amazes me. Some seem to reach clear up to mid-back. It's spectacular. I am always very aware of where my bits - all of my bits - are, and the thought of unknowingly doing a strip tease with each reach towards my pint glass, is too much to bare.(ha!)

So, call me a prude, if you will. Maybe this is all a part of one big fashion statement that exceeds my 27-year old fashionista vocabulary. Maybe the time has finally come, and I have officially fallen out of the fashion loop.

But if so, I'm not really sad about it.

If you visit London, do take in Tate Modern, ride the Millenium Wheel, take a gander at Picadilly Circus. Just be forwarned; you may see more than you bargained for.

Monday, July 18, 2005


I spent much of last weekend being a Sigur Rós groupie.

Admittedly, I do not deserve the status of groupie; I do not own a t-shirt nor have I spent any amount of time discussing song lyrics in a chatroom. I am only in ownership of one of their albums, which has it's distinct time and place in my music vocabulary - somewhere delicately placed between rainy day and impending relationship break-up.

The main reason that I found myself driving 8 hours to Manchester and back in a car with three boys and a fully-loaded iPod, was because of Greg. His attendance at these two concerts was imperative, and drunk with a passion-infused panic, he had purchased 8 tickets for two back-to-back gigs. Not being one to turn down the chance to get the hell out of dodge - and always up for a gig - I went with.

Sigur Rós delivered, as to be expected, but rather than walk out of either show with a beautifully hand-printed Sigur Rós t-shirt (which are spectacular, I must say), I walked out with a cd - and surprisingly enough, not a Sigur Rós cd. What I took home was a copy of AnimaminA. There is so much more to this band then a just a cleverly delivered palindrome.

And everyone loves a palindrome.

This group, comprised of four very cute Icelandic girls, amazed me in spite of myself. When they first took to the stage, I have to admit to being slightly dissapointed by their classical mixes. Most of what they were playing sounded like a strange mash of incomprehensible sounds; a bit overwhelming at best. I was unimpressed, and slightly bored.

And then they broke out those heavenly enchanted wine glasses.

These girls spent the remainder of their short set on stage looping lovely string arrangments with the howl of a wet fingertip on a wine glass rim, the warble of a saw, the crackle of a fireplace. It was like watching a foursome of bewitched creatures, scurrying about on stage, weaving a spell. At times they seemed to be completely oblvious to the audience at all, laughing amongst themselves between songs. The performance was reminiscent of a time when my pal Rena and I performed a piano duet of Music Box Dancer for our grade 12 graduation. Our performance was so painful that we actually cut the song short after one chorus, laughing our way through each sour chord.

Unlike us, Amina could probably perform Music Box Dancer flawlessly, leaving you with the deep desire to have Frank Mills' babies, but they did have that same intimate feeling to their performance. They could have been playing their music in their grandmother's living room, surrounded by close friends and shag carpet.

I think we all have moments where we are able hear a pattern in the hum of life. The whistle of a kettle, the rattle of train tracks. A lid banging on it's pot while something bubbles away beneath it on the stove. Who has not been fascinated by the crackle of a fire? The beauty of Amina's music is that they are able to harness these sounds, to make them into actual music. Their music makes you notice things you hadn't noticed before, listen a bit more intently to the world around you. They make beautiful music out of otherwise complacent objects. And they appear to have a lot of fun doing it.

If you haven't yet heard their music, give it a go. You just might never look at a saw the same way again.

PS Check out Greg's Amina-tastic fansite for updates on the girls: aminamusic.com. He has a new passion, or so it would seem.

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

how I save money

We won.


In other news, during my current self-inflicted spending ban, I'm going to post the below highly-coveted items here, in oder to keep me from buying them. I figure that if I post them here, I can come and look at them every day, and won't actually need to purchase them after all.

Either that or use this as a handy shopping list in the near future.

I wannit:

AEIOU or An Easy Intimacy by Jeffrey Brown
Messy Thrilling Life: The Art of Figuring Out How to Live by Sabrina Ward Harrison
Sleepwalk and Other Stories by Adrian Tomine
Summer Blonde by Adrian Tomine
This issue of The Believer
Chemical Friends by n.Lannon (thanks be to Ryan for introducing us)
The Pixie and FLoves knitting kit from Brit Knit Kits

Friday, July 01, 2005

Oh, Canada

I'd like to send out a very Happy Birthday to my girl CANADA.
She's 138 years young today, and continues to make me proud to call her home.

In honor of the old girl, we will journey to the Maple Leaf, don ridiculous paper hockey helmets and consume copious amounts of Honey Brown Lager.