I'd rather be burlesquing.

shameless self-promotion

2009-05-29T21:49:00.003+01:00

I don't know if anyone still comes here. It feels kind of like a boarded-up diner in here, but I still can't rid myself of it entirely. Oh, the times that were had at The Burlesque. They'll write songs about us one day...

In any case, for the few (if any?) who come here, I now post more regularly (and by "regularly" I mean "once a month") at coucousalut(dot)blogspot(dot)com. I have a twitter account too, but I haven't quite worked that into my repetoire yet.

Oh yeah, and I have an etsy site now...coucousalut(dot)etsy(dot)com. Those are my little stuffed guys, grinning at your from bottom row center, above. I finally managed to do what I've been talking about since the start of this whole thing - open an online shop.

To those who are reading this - hi - I've missed you. We should talk soon.

coucou, salut!

2008-11-27T01:38:00.001Z

Pssst...

www.coucousalut.blogspot.com

I heart Michael Cera

2007-11-09T15:19:00.001Z

Last night, I saw Michael Cera!

Live! In person! On the street!

Seriously, need I say more?

He was with Kat Dennings, filming a scene from the upcoming film, "Nick and Norah".

But that's not the point.

The point is that I saw Michael Cera!

oh, Miranda

2007-11-08T23:00:00.000Z

Ok, I totally just cheated. If you miss a day, can you post twice in one day? Is that acceptable? And can you post an image if you have nothing to say?

Oh whatever, it's not like anyone is actually watching, right?

Right?

the sick menu

2007-11-07T17:00:00.000Z

When I'm sick, I instantly revert to being 7 years old.

I crave nothing more than to stay in my pajamas all day, put on some knee socks, wrap myself up in a blanket, and settle in for a long day of terrible (yet educational) daytime tv. The only thing lacking from this pathetic little tableau is my wonderful Mother, who can't always be here when I'm sick. Not to mention the fact that I'm 29 years old, not 7, and I'm sure she has better things to do with her time than rent me movies.

So, without my Mom to supply me with chicken soup on demand, I've been forced to fend for myself, food-wise. Thus - in order to keep my energy levels high - I require good old, nostalgic comfort food.

Whenever my Mom gets a stomach ache, she needs a McDonald's strawberry milkshake - no other milkshake will do. Most people consume copious amounts of orange juice. I know a few people who go down the hot lemon and honey road. And yet others who need toast.

For me, the comfort food list is as follows (in no particular order):

hominy corn with butter
soft-boiled eggs, or eggs on toast
Campbell's canned chicken soup
toast with jam
orange juice mixed with ginger-ale
cinnamon toast (toast with butter, cinnamon and sugar)
cantaloupe and/or honeydew melon

And now that I've exhausted my mental capacity for one day, I'm off to pour myself a big ol' glass of orange juice and ginger-ale.

NaBloPoMo

2007-11-06T02:38:00.000Z

I'm a few days late, but thought I would give the whole blog-a-day thing a go.

I'm currently under the weather with a nasty cold, so I thought I would start out with the not-really-cheating-but-sort-of "hey, I'm participating in NaBloPoMo!" blog.

Here goes nothing.

Ed is the new Nathan

2007-10-17T21:37:00.000+01:00

While I was living in London, I would get my hair cut at a place called Stamp, on Bethnal Green Road. My stylist was Nathan, a very quiet man with a bad-ass anchor tattoo, who regularly sported very tight acid-wash jeans.

I loved him.

In going to Stamp, it was not unusual for me to have to endure a two-hour sitting, because if Nathan was one thing, he was METICULOUS. He would literally trim individual hairs while cutting my bangs, and wouldn't stop until they were PERFECT.

Nathan was a bit of an odd duck. I remember one time when he accidentally cut his finger while trimming my hair, and proceeded to bleed into a kleenex for the duration of my cut. It sounds gross, I know, but there was something so sweet and slightly awkward about him that I actually felt kinda sorry for the guy.

I can report that although Nathan was injured in the process, the haircut turned out beautifully. And I probably gave him a good tip.

In the end, leaving London meant breaking up with Nathan, and enduring a year of mediocre haircuts. It wasn't until today, when I ventured out to Hair Metal salon, that everything changed. Not only was Ed completely adorable, he managed to give me a variation on my favorite Nigel haircut, without me even needing to ask for it.

And as you can see from the below picture, I'm totally going to fuzz Ed's handiwork all up because I'm a mad fidget. But, it still looks great, and I'm pleased as punch.

the show must go on

2007-10-17T18:39:00.000+01:00

I think it's time to bring the burlesque back.

I'm not sure what happened when I moved to New York, but the excitement and chaos of it all just gripped me, and I just haven't been able to put anything meaningful into words.

I've debated taking it down all together, toyed with starting up again elsewhere. But there's something about that first little corner of the internet that you occupy that just feels so comfortable. So, in a manner not unlike me - the girl who personifies everything - I just couldn't abandon the burlesque. The internet would eat her alive.

And now that I've been a resident of NY for a year (Happy Anniversary to me!), and it looks like I'll be hanging around for at least a little while longer, I'm really starting to miss writing. And creativity in general.

Things have been kind of crazy, but I think they're going to start settling down a bit (as much as life in New York will allow), and I want to get back to writing regular posts. I need (on so many levels) to start responding to all of the daily inspiration that surrounds me.

So, that said.

I'm back.

green

2007-04-13T04:25:00.000+01:00

helllooooo blogger

2007-04-11T23:30:00.000+01:00

You know it's been waaaaay too long between posts when you have officially forgotten your blogger username. Not just the password, but the USERNAME.

This is bad.

I honestly think that it's just New York getting under my skin - making me feel like I don't have a spare moment to do anything other than scramble aimlessly from one place to the next. I don't take pictures anymore. I barely ever draw (something I'm working on). And I most definitely don't write in this space.

And that has to change.

I've been feeling like I've been floundering all over the map for the past 6 months. Worrying about my 'career'. Worrying about the job that is turning into a 'career' when I don't want it to be one. Worrying about relationships. And life. And what to do next. And everything.

Just thinking too much about all sorts of stuff other than the fact that I'm living in New York. New York. This place is fantastic, and I've been letting myself forget that.

So tonight, inspired by the many hours of Sex in the City that I've been watching lately (I'm poor and my roommate owns the entire series on DVD), I took myself on a date.

I wandered down to a new part of Brooklyn (Clinton Hill), ate a falafel, and took in a crazy puppet band. And damn, it was weird. But also good.

I'm going to make a more dedicated effort to track my progress around New York in this space. Because anything can happen in this city, and everything does.

I just haven't been writing about it.

I'm posting this to prove that even though I've turned 29, I'm still totally rock and roll

2007-02-07T03:58:00.000Z

2006-12-25T18:48:00.000Z

Well, I'm back in Canada for Christmas, and ever since spending Christmas away from home last year, I have come to realize just how much this means to me.

And as an added bonus: there is snow. Boatloads of it.

I hope that everyone out there has a wonderful holiday season, spent with everyone that means the world to you.

Happy Holidays.

serve me the sky with a big slice of lemon

2006-12-06T03:03:00.000Z

I've been noticing a lot of signs lately...little coincidences that keep appearing out of nowhere. The title of a book matching the title of a song. Words from my head coming out of someone's mouth. Expecting the unexpected.

I've always liked watching for these markers - signals that I'm on the right path.

At least that's what I like to think of them as.

I'm at the beginning of the free-fall that always happens when you embark on an unknown adventure... It's great, but it's scary. And it kind of takes your breath away.

And sometimes, it's also really fucking lonely.

So whatever these little moments are - even if they are just pure coincidence - I could use a signal right now telling me that I'm headed in the right direction.

Because in New York, it's impossible to guide your way by the stars.

Thanksgiving Breakfast, Compliments of Terrace Bagel

2006-11-27T00:12:00.000Z

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

I hope y'all had plenty of green bean casserole and yams.

Oh yeah, and turkey.

new york, new york

2006-10-31T03:25:00.000Z

I should probably write something about NYC...

...and kind of can't believe that I haven't done so yet.

I don't know if it's that my head is in a better place this time around, or that I've already done the big new scary city thing once before, or what, but I adore this city.

From the second I arrived, without my luggage, I adored it. Sitting in the Sunflower Cafe, in downtown Manhattan, with the rain pouring down and two guys who spoke like George Costanza sitting behind me,

I loved it.

And I still do.

I love that there are coffee stands on every corner, and it's a ritual to buy your morning coffee from your regular 'coffee guy' (mine calls me sweetie).

I love that everyone has a favorite Deli.

I love that everyone here is SO nice. I've had random conversations with so many people. And I love that I can do that.

I love that if you are lost on the subway, people will help you. Groups of people, shouting across the train, organizing the best route for you.

I love that every day I interchange trains at a subway station that has a Roy Lichtenstein commission in it.

I love that every day I feel like I'm walking through a movie set (and half the time I am).

I love that there is a fantastic bookshop on (practically) every corner, and an equally awesome bar or cafe across from it.

I love it.

I know that the subway will eventually get to me, that I'll get sick of the sound of sirens, and winter will be cold and feel like it's never going to end. I know it's only been three weeks...

...but right now, I think that this city is amazing. And I'm trying to force myself to remember this. To remember what it feels like to be completely infatuated with something.

My life here, thus far, has been amazing.

And you should probably get on a plane and come to visit me soon.

bye bye big smoke, hello big apple

2006-10-12T05:18:00.000+01:00

I swear that I did desperately try to write something here several times. But then it just got to the point where too much had happened and it was impossible to start in the middle. The ending just wouldn't make any sense.

So, to quickly recap:

I've been to Croatia, Hungary and Poland.

I had a really great time and was (as always) charmed in the least likely places.

I had a fantastic last day in London, complete with a Hans Bellmar exhibition and ending with a final curry at the 'Diana Cafe' on Brick Lane with Jacey.

I arrived safely back in Calgary, without getting charged a cent for my massively overweight luggage.

I saw all of my great Calgary pals, and got to meet the adorable baby of my friends Justan and Lindsay for the first time (hi Neko!).

I had a great week, full of beautiful blue skied days, visiting with my friends and family back home on the prairies.

I left for New York on Wednesday, October 11th, not knowing whether or not I would actually be allowed into the country to work.

But I was.

My luggage is still in Canada somewhere. Or in the sky. Or in NY - It's a mystery at this point, but I'm here. In New York City.

And all I know is that I had better get my luggage soon, because if I have to wear my baggy, saggy plane-softened clothes to The Slipper Room tomorrow night, there's going to be hell to pay.

over-caffeinated

2006-08-25T09:46:00.000+01:00

The best thing about dying ones hair dark brown is that it allows you to totally get away with not washing your hair for four days. Instead of looking stringy and greasy, it just looks glossy. GLOSSSY.

None of that 'it's not grease because I'm too lazy to wash my hair - my hair is just naturally three shades darker at the roots' crap.

...

Today is officially my last Friday at work (I still have a Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday to get through), and in honour of the occasion, I've accidentally ordered an extra shot in my soya latté. I'm totally jittery, and just typed this whole blog without looking at the screen.

MMMMMMMMCafffieennnnne.

future cat lady

2006-08-23T11:59:00.000+01:00

I've realised lately that I'm starting to become one of those people who always has a spot of some form of dried-on food or cocktail or toothpaste stuck to me at all times.

It may be because much of my beloved polyester came with built-in stains, which are so very hard to see in the dank, moldy atomsphere that vintage shops tend to adhere to.

Or it may be because I just can't be arsed* to do laundry lately, and would prefer to spend the extra ten minutes that it would take to comb my wardrobe for offending spots doing something useful, like reading the back of a box of Raisin Bran cereal.

In any case, I'm quickly becoming crazy polyester-clad stain lady with natty hair who talks to herself and makes up words like 'hingent' and 'politefully'.

Perhaps I should get a cat.

*I'm patiently waiting for the Australian vernacular that I picked up from Greg to weed itself from my system...

Europe's always been real good to me.

2006-08-18T19:41:00.000+01:00

I have a terrible habit of writing something here, and then just forgetting about my blog for a few days...weeks...months. When I come back to it, I'm always surprised with what I've left behind.

It's kind of like taking a shower and leaving your underpants hanging on the towel rack. You come back to the bathroom at the end of the day to realise that the entire house has seen your underpants. But you've since moved on...

Not that my visa issues are sorted out or anything, but it feels like a lot has happened since I last wrote.

Most importantly, I've booked my trip to Eastern Europe. I'm overjoyed at the thought of travelling again. None of this crappy weekend city-break stuff - a proper three week backpacking trip through three countries. I've been wanting to go to Croatia since I arrived in London 2 years ago, and I'm so excited to finally be heading there...it felt like it would never actually happen. It's the first stop on a trip that will take me through Croatia, across Hungary and into Poland. So. Excited.

And, while on the topic of booking trips, I've officially booked my flight home to Canada.

And it's a one-way ticket.

On September 28, I will officially leave London. I will drag my laden suitcase to Gatwick airport, board a budget charter airline, and watch the city dissolve from view.

But goodbye is never forever.

Wherever I end up in the upcomimg months, be it New York, Toronto, Montreal or some place I've not even dreamed of yet, I know I will be back here someday.

London won't change too much, but at the same time, I know I will.

I already have.

first we take Manhattan (or at least try to)

2006-08-09T19:46:00.000+01:00

I've been offered a job, working for an influential art gallery in New York City.

Sounds like a simple choice, right?

Not so much, if you are:

a) A Canadian citizen not covered under the NAFTA Professional Job Series List
b) Not "one of that small percentage who have risen to the very top of the field of endeavor"
c) Not someone who "who because of their exceptional ability in the sciences, arts, or business will substantially benefit the national economy, cultural, or educational interests or welfare of the United States"
or
d) Not a sheepherder

Despite the fact that said gallery wants to hire me, and also despite the fact that I am highly qualified for the position, getting a visa to work in the USA is proving to be a major hassle. I realise that it's probably no joy attempting to work in Canada either, but it's just so discouraging to be trying to get into a country that seems to be trying so hard not to let me in.

AND, after spending over an hour staring at convoluted immigration documents, seeing your reflection on the side of a bus - which makes your hips look like they could span the Isle of Manhattan - is a bit much.

Does anyone out there have any *insider tips* on getting into the U S of A?

2006-08-08T15:48:00.000+01:00

In an attempt to alleviate annoying comment spam, I've enabled word verification for all comments.

Take that, stupid anonymous and your links that I'm most definitely not interested in.

a bunch of things that I keep forgetting to write about

2006-08-07T19:32:00.000+01:00

A few weeks ago, I went to check out Fuerzabruta at the Roundhouse. The show was completely amazing, and completely unlike anything I've ever seen. AND, as an added bonus for being the closet exhibitionist that I am, I was pulled on stage to experience the joy of dancing on a platform in front of hundreds of people while dry wall was repeatedly cracked over my head.

I wasn't brave enough to take my camera, but there are some amazing photos on Flickr.

It's only in London until the end of August, so if the opportunity to go should find you, take it.

...

Last week saw me at the Mean Fiddler with the Weakerthans.

I admit that I have a soft spot for the Weakerthans. I went through a period about 2 or 3 years ago when reading Weakerthans lyrics was like reading poetry that had been composed soley for me.

The audience sang along to nearly every song, which was amazing. I may be biased because I'm Canadian, but they were fantastic.

...

The burlesque might *finally* be going burlesque next Friday. I will make a dedicated effort to post several words about the debauchery and delight of it all.

edit

2006-07-28T10:24:00.000+01:00

It's not that there's nothing to talk about.

I could talk about how Greg has officially left the country.
I could talk about how I have less than 5 weeks left as a resident of London.
I could talk about how my life is on pause at the moment while I wait to hear about a job that might take me to New York City.
I could talk about how instant is the only coffee that I can drink black.

I have many things to say, but can't find the words right now. So I'll borrow the words of someone else:

"The way I write is who I am, or have become, yet this is a case in which I wish I had instead of words and their rythyms a cutting room, equipped with an Avid, a digital editing system on which I could touch a key and collapse the sequence of time, show you simultaneously all the frames of memory that come to me now, let you pick the takes, the marginally different expressions, the variant readings of the same lines. This is a case in which I need more than words to find the meaning. This is a case in which I need whatever it is I think or believe to be penetratable, if only for myself."

From The Year of Magical Thinking, by Joan Didion

feeling lucky

2006-07-21T11:55:00.000+01:00

Yogurt containers can be extremely volatile if provoked.

Based on past experience of having yogurt containers explode when dropped, I know to only peel off the foil on the top of a yogurt pot while it's pointed AWAY from me.

So why TODAY I decided to open my Muller while it was aimed directly at my chest, allowing it to burp cranberry and raspberry all over black shirt, is a bit of a mystery.

the price to be paid for vanity

2006-07-21T09:32:00.000+01:00

As a direct result of the current heatwave that has hit England, I've been sweating a lot.

And with sweat comes pimples.

So, taking a cue from my beloved acne-days, I decided to blast the hell out of said pimple-on-my-cheek with Benzagel 5% (scroll down to see how it MAY BLEACH FABRIC). Strong stuff, I know, but I was sure that my translucent Scottish skin could hack it.

Admittedly, I may have been a tad profligate with said acne-blasting cream, but what a surprise when I awoke to find a stripe of rash in Pantone 178 down the left side of my face.

The question remains: what is worse? A fairly innocuous pimple the size of a pen tip, or an acute allergic reaction masquerading as a hideous birthmark/skin disease/sunburn that lasts 2 days?

You pick.

pic-a-pop

2006-07-11T13:45:00.000+01:00

As ljcfyi has discovered, they've started making pic-a-pop again!

Yay!

I'm a bit slow on the uptake, because as pointed out in the above post, they started up the company again in 2004 - but still.

Yay!

I used to love pic-a-pop when I was a kid, and the concept has come up several times during nostalgic conversations.

It was tradition that we would stock up on pic-a-pop before heading to the cabin for the summer. I remember my parents driving my brother and I to the strip mall (not kidding) in our burnt-orange van that smelled of old carpet, where we would run amok through the stacks of day-glo bottles.

I was most likely wearing terry-cloth shorts.

Pic-a-pop will always remind me of a big orange van without air conditioning, the dry prairie sun, and the simple things that make being a kid so good.

Do you ever wish you could photograph a memory?

fidget

2006-07-10T14:49:00.000+01:00

The photo of me above (taken by a person by the name of Hin who I've just met) was captured on Saturday night.

My immediate response was slight repulsion, because I tend to hate photos of myself laughing. We rarely see ourselves laughing, do we?

While this is most definitely not a photo of myself that I would typically share, we tend to only distribute those photos of ourselves that have been manicured, posed, perfected. This photograph, on the other hand, actually looks like me, for the following resaons: I'm laughing, most likely at something goofy, I'm either a) fidgeting (al.ways.fid.get.ing) or b) clapping with glee, I'm wearing polyester, and my hair is messy.

These things define me in some weird way - which, in some ways - makes this the best photo of me I've ever seen.

This photo just needs a soundtrack of cheesy 80's and 90's pop songs playing in the background and you would feel like you've known me for years.

Happy Canadia Day 2006

2006-07-01T21:28:00.000+01:00

And, in honour of the occasion, a very special sepia-toned photograph of me wearing my "If I had a dollar for every time I had 60 cents, I would be Canada" shirt and eating a piece of the best sourdough rye bread I have ever tasted. Enjoy!

when the keels come to town

2006-06-30T19:23:00.000+01:00

I haven't seen James for over two years, and oh, the antics when our paths finally crossed once again.

Here's to a good gin and tonic, treating Thursday like Friday and waking up the neighbors.

a reminder of how inspired I am, to keep me going once I leave London

2006-06-29T10:29:00.000+01:00

I've been feeling very half-full lately.

Possibly triggered by the recent Free Range Openings in and around Brick Lane, I'm reminded that I am still not very close to where I want to be, job-wise.

Admittedly, I came to London to experience a different way of living for awhile. I wanted a break from the half-assed attempt at a graphic design career that I was currently sleep-walking through. I imagined brushing up on my data-entry or receptionist skills - nothing that involved any speck of ambition in any way whatsoever. And most of all, I wanted to be inspired.

And oh, I have been. Inspired. Every single day.

But what now?

This is the part that I find hard. There are so many things that I want to achieve, so many things that I want to do, but I can feel myself holding back. I want to illustrate. I want to create. I want to print things. And bind things. And sew them. And hopefully sell them (or at the very least trade them for other beautiful things).

Nothing makes me happier than to dream of that. I honestly think that I could have nothing, live in a split-level cardboard box and eat beans on toast for the rest of my life, if I knew that I wasn't spending 8 hours a day, 5 days a week at a job that felt so much like work. Oh yes, I could even give up shopping for polyester. My dream is that big.

I know that my deepest fear is that I won't succeed. It's such a tired song, but it's so true. I've been banking on designing my own shwag for so long, that if it doesn't work out, I really don't know what else to do...

Try again, I suppose.

This much I know: I feel most at home, most like myself, when I'm wandering around markets, living amongst other people who create for a living. When I'm being inspired.

I will be leaving London in a short while, filled with a two-year backlog of daily inspiration, and I really, really don't want to let that go to waste. Here's hoping that I can handle the pressure and live up to my own expectations.

Isn't that always the toughest challenge?

With a futuristic look and feel

2006-06-13T13:16:00.000+01:00

I was recently sent on an IT-related course through my work, and the company that hosted the course keeps sending me spam.

Today's spam was bad enough to actually push me over the edge and remove myself from their mailing list, once and for all. Behold, the wonder of the pen...

"I invite you to ...

Get a Free Cross ion Pen
when you enrol on this valuable related course in London on the following date:

Microsoft Access: A Comprehensive Hands-On Introduction
Monday - Friday, 21 August - 25 August, 2006

That’s right. You and any colleagues you refer will receive a Free Cross ion Pen when you attend this valuable Hands-On IT course on the date specified above.

(This is where it really gets exciting)

The ion is the perfect pen to take anywhere. With a futuristic look and feel, the ion provides you with a soft ergonomic front section for writing comfort. It offers easy, one-hand open/close operation and a choice of six different colors in gel ink refills (black cartridge included with pen).

Plus for your convenience, it provides an easy-on, easy-off "quick clip" that can be attached to your keyring or a lanyard so you can always have a pen at hand when you need it.

Take advantage of this special opportunity to further increase your skills set and get your Free Cross ion Pen.

Now, I understand that there is some weird stigma attached to pens, and admittedly, my favorite pens are blue bics that leak - which hardly makes me an authority on pens, but is it just me or does this sound like EVERY PEN YOU'VE EVER OWNED?

Those crazy IT people. They make me laugh.

Toxic

2006-05-28T18:19:00.000+01:00

My lovely mom has returned safely to the land of rape and honey (ok, admittedly my mother is not from Tisdale, but I saw my opportunity to write that horrible, horrible slogan here and was forced to seize the moment). We had a fantastic visit, but I admit to being slightly exhausted from all of the travel, touring and eating out.

As a result of said exhaustion, I did two silly things: one, I purchased a vintage swimcap and fantastic polyester dress for 40 pounds (I have a serious problem when it comes to polyester and vintage swimcaps) and two, I almost joined the Britney Spears fanclub.

Exhausted. Yes.

I've spent today recovering and taking snapshots of the snails in my garden. Let's hope that my day of rest will assist me in avoiding all future attempts to join fanclubs which are best suited for 12-year old girls.

Sing Me Spanish Techno

2006-05-18T11:12:00.000+01:00

Last night saw me wrap up a three-part concert extravaganza, held at Koko.

Night one saw me chill out to CocoRosie.
Night two found me covered in a light mist of beer at Spoon and The New Pornographers (minus the lovely Miss Neko, who is off doing her own thing).
And the grand finale (sort of) was The Shins, held last night.

By far the best of the series, Spoon and The New Pornographers were fantastic. The Shins were pretty good, but there was something slightly lackluster about their performance. I thought that Dungen, who opened, actually put on a better show. PLUS, Dungen took a photo of the crowd post-set, which I found incredibly charming.

...

My mum is arriving tomorrow to visit for a week, so as of Sunday, I'm off to bask in the sea air and gorge myself on pastys in Cornwall.

There's plenty in the mix right now - so I'm sure that there will be plenty of stories to tell upon my return.

Boredom = Destruction

2006-05-15T10:00:00.000+01:00

I got bored with things for a bit, and decided to take the burlesque down. It's now all back up, but my apologies to all of your RSS feeds, if you get vintage burlesque filtering through (I fully admit that I have no idea how this works).

...

At long last, London was finally blessed with a few beautiful days last weekend.

And although me and my housemate were trapped indoors interviewing candidates for our highly coveted third room, that didn't stop us from breaking out the flip-flops and soaking up the rays in our back garden. Stench of stale cat pee aside, it was lovely.

...

A couple of Sundays ago I was stopped in the street by someone working for Motorola. Apparently, they were doing target-market-ish research, and wanted to take my photo. Although my initial thought was 'crap, I'm a Don't, I obliged. I feel like a bit of a corporate whore for doing it, but I have to say that I'm eagerly awaiting the phone that will match my lime green coat and orange tweed skirt. Perhaps it too will have a flower in it's hair.

I then scored some fantastic thrift finds at the Up Market, and bought a stuffed lavender monster thingy from a sweet girl who complimented my coat (I will hunt down the name of her company later - she makes fantastic skull pins).

All in all, things are looking up.

Happy Birthday, Blog!

2006-04-20T21:06:00.000+01:00

Yup. The Burlesque is officially a year old.

Drinks are on me.

black cab

2006-04-20T13:36:00.000+01:00

I tend to go through these 'little black raincloud' moments where it feels like the best thing to do is probably just stay in bed and tell secrets to my Ugly Doll, Babo.

I think I've noticed that I'm hesitant to be gloomy on this website. I feel the need to pretend that I'm a happy-go-lucky, glass-is-always-half-full kind of girl. But the simple truth is that I am not. I have dark moments. Rainy moments. Why-the-hell-is-spring-taking-so-bloody-long-to-arrive-in-London moments.

And I've been stuck in one them for the past couple of days now.

I know myself well enough to know that I just need to have a few double-wet-soya-lattés, extra hot*, and I will find the energy to keep going, but sometimes when you are in the midst of the storm, it's hard to see a way out.

So, if you could, please hold while I get my shit together.

*I know, I know, I've become one of those people, but if I lived in France, it would be simple (un café crème, s'il vous plait). However, I do not - I live in Britain - and I'm forced to gently garnish my coffee to make it resemble anything worth drinking.

ScreeeeeEEeeeeeeEEch

2006-03-24T11:17:00.000Z

If I say that the sound of the venitian blinds in my office being hiked up sounds like a Ringwraith, does that make me a geek?

I would use the term Velociraptor, but I fear that this dates me.

neglected

2006-03-22T12:49:00.000Z

I don't know what it is with this thing lately, but for some reason, I'm really bored with it.

The first Birthday of the burlesque is fast approaching, and I want to make some changes by then. I hope to re-work, re-vamp, re-write, re-whatever, and make this head in a more interesting direction.

Fingers crossed.

Fishing

2006-03-03T15:15:00.000Z

Scary Fisheye Me
Originally uploaded by shannylea.

I've uploaded photos of my first attempt to harness the power of the Lomo Fisheye Lens.

I'm going to have to get some sort of Lomo tool belt to enable me to carry them all everywhere I go...

2006-03-02T16:57:00.000Z

Actually written on the side of my Evian water bottle:

This bottle is intended for the exclusive use of EVIAN natural mineral water. Do not re-use.

You've got to be kidding me.

Happy Birthday Meme

2006-02-07T13:16:00.000Z

On Friday, February 3, I turned 28.

Happy Birthday to me.

Because I can't be bothered to write anything interesting or reflective about the past year right now, I'm stealing a meme (slightly adapted to suit my needs).

Four jobs I’ve had:
1. Shoe salesperson at Agnew Shoes
2. The summer I spent working in a film can (a film drop-off place)
3. Data-entry clerk
4. Graphic Designer/Illustrator

Four things that I say way too much:
1. Fair enough.
2. No worries.
3. Right?
4. Ridiculous.

Four places I’ve lived:
1. Saskatoon, Saskatchewan
2. Edmonton, Alberta
3. Calgary, Alberta
4. London, UK

Four Artists I Love:
1. Hans Bellmar
2. Loretta Lux
3. Hundertwasser
4. Jeff Wall

Four places I’ve vacationed:
1. Prague, Czech Republic
2. Barcelona, Spain
3. Paris, France
4. Neudorf, Saskatchewan

Four foods that I have discovered the true beauty of while living abroad:
1. Ethiopian Food
2. Greek-style Yoghurt
3. Curry from Brick Lane
4. Good cheese, good bread and good wine.

Four books I love:
1. The Mysteries of Harris Burdick by Chris Van Allsburg
2. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time by Mark Haddon
3. The Griffin and Sabine Series by Nick Bantock
4. Diary of a Wombat by Jackie French with illustrations by Bruce Whatley

Four places I’d rather be right now:
1. The Rocky Mountains
2. Paris
3. On a train to Croatia
4. Drinking beer in my Mom's backyard (if it were summer)

Four people I'm tagging:
1. Bradley
2. Greg
3. Jason
4. Laurena

Things I've Lost (other than my mind)

2006-01-24T13:10:00.000Z

On the bus home.
Originally uploaded by shannylea.

To pay my respect to all of the misplaced objects that have abandoned me throughout London and the UK, I've decided to compile them into an album.

More to come (if I know me, and I think I do).

PS: if anyone can give me advice on how to blog photos from Flickr and not have the photo automatically display on the right-hand side, that would be lovely. I hate that.

Happy 2006

2006-01-23T21:21:00.000Z

I have just realised that I'm halfway through the first month of the new year without even acknowledging it's presence. How dare I not give credit to the night that gave me a reason to wear red tights and rock out to Madonna?

There are a lot of things that I want to accomplish this year, but hell, after dancing in red tights to Madonna, what else do I really need? I know better than to give myself deadlines, so resolve I will not. Sometimes a year just isn't enough.

Happy 2006, internet.

Long Overdue

2006-01-15T21:12:00.000Z

Barcelona Buildings
Originally uploaded by shannylea.

I've finally uploaded some of my photos to flickr from the trip I took to Spain in October.

Such a slacker...

Happy Christmas

2006-01-10T23:06:00.000Z

*ahem*
AND, welcome back.

Well, things around here were abandoned momentarily for the seasonal fun and festivity that can only occur when you are trapped in London over the holidays with four of your dearest pals.

And OH, the fun and festivity.

I have to say, my original hesitation and even slight depression about being without family for Christmas for the first time in 27 years was quickly diminished once I realised that the celebration of Christmas in an entirely different thing when you eliminate the stress of driving 6 hours on icey streets to get to family, and then being trapped and shuffled around from family to family for the next 7 days.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I love my family, and I love Christmas with them, but it was nice to have a change this year. To have a chance to think about what Christmas means to me.

I know why we celebrate Christmas. I did, at one time, belong to a church.

However, my brush with Christianity was just that - a very minor brush. My parents went to a very oatmeal form of United Church, where I would sit in the basement of a community hall and glue cotton balls onto paper cut-outs of sheep while my parents sang hymns upstairs. Religion never really resonated with me - I just never really understood why I was there. When I hit the age of about 11 or 12, my parents wanted me to attend Confirmation classes, and I refused. They accepted my decision after only a minor protest, and shortly thereafter, my family dropped the Sunday morning ceremony altogether.

So for me, Christmas has never really been about religion. I know what this day represents, and I whole-heartedly respect anyone who does hold fast to that - but for me, Christmas has always been about family. I only fully realised that once my family was absent from it.

It is most likely a result of this that made it very important to me that no-one be alone this Christmas, so I rallied all 'orphans' that were known to me and we feasted at my house. We spent the day eating and drinking and generally lazing about. And it was lovely. I was lucky enough to spend Christmas with some of my oldest and loveliest and dearest friends, and that would probably never had happened if we hadn't all taken the leap and left home and family in search of adventure and change.

I think that in general, the concept of Christmas has become more about shopping and shiny things then about what is should be, a day to cherish, to be thankful for, everything and everyone around you.

I may have been without family this year, but my friends were a more than adequate replacement, and in all honesty, are very much my family here.

I hope that you had a lovely holiday, and celebrated it (or didn't) in whatever way that was perfect for you. Maybe for you, it's just an excuse to drink rum & eggnog.

Fair enough.

On the Road to Nowhere

2005-12-01T16:02:00.000Z

regroup

2005-12-01T10:07:00.000Z

So I've gone quiet again.

Things have been a bit crazy lately.

The job has become a bit more of a 'job' than I had intended it to as of late. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it means that it's become a tad all-consuming, and as a result the 'work' dreams have started up again. I've been noticing that I will wake in the dark of the night, caught in the middle of a thought.

I haven't been sleeping very well.

I've been drinking too much tea. And not enough water.
But I somehow manage to get my 5-10 from the fruits and vegetables group every day.

I've been disconnecting with friends, and desperately trying to reconnect.

I've been thinking a lot about the future and probably not enough about the present.

Over the course of the next few months, I think my direction will change. I'm going to be putting more energy into me.

As a result, I think the format of this blog is going to be changing slightly. I've been neglecting my creative side when that's what I should really be pouring myself into right now, and this has to become a part of that change.

I'm not sure what I'm going to do about it, but change will come...

But today, I'm going to start the day with chocolate, end it with a concert, and try not to worry too much about what happens in between.

Lest We Forget

2005-11-11T13:30:00.000Z

My Great Uncle was a WW2 veteran.

He flew with the RCAF, and acted as one of the Gunners of a Lancaster Bomber.

He was a gruff man, with a booming voice and watery blue eyes. He liked his scotch.

One of my earliest memories of him took place when my brother and I were very young, playing in my Grandmother’s backyard. It was summer, and we were running around and playing with water pistols.

My brother had innocently stood in front of my Great Uncle, pointed the pistol in his face, and said

‘bang’.

As children of about 5 and 7, we could not have understood his reaction. We lived and played in a world where the thought of someone actually getting hurt by a gun was impossible. When he reacted instantly; when he took the gun from my brother and yelled at him; when he told him to ‘never point a gun in someone’s face’, we just didn’t understand.

That summer day has never left my mind.

It wasn’t until many years later that my Uncle started to tell stories about his time in the War.

Stories of a final shot of whiskey before being sent on a mission.
Stories of lying for hours on his stomach in a cold steel plane.
Stories about dropping bombs.
Stories about knowing that you might not make it back.

My second-cousins joined the Cadets when they were young, and my Great Uncle was extremely proud. This is a contradiction that I have never fully understood.

If my Uncle had experienced things that were so horrible, and so unthinkable, why would he want to subject anyone – let alone his own family – to the same nightmares? The same silence that haunted him well into his old age?

My Uncle was extremely proud of his service in WW2. What he did was extremely honourable, extremely brave and unimaginable. I will never fully comprehend this part of his life.

My Uncle passed away two years ago, and I was unable to attend the funeral.

Today, above all else, is for him.

My Great Uncle, John Dougall.

yes

2005-11-03T18:00:00.000Z

I went to check out Sufjan Stevens at King's College on Tuesday night.

I'm not going to say anything about Mr. Stevens, however. We all know that he is a god. The only thing that I will mention is that I'm 99% sure that he was in fact making sultry eye contact with me the entire night.

Yes, Sufjan, I will marry you.

Signed, the girl in the black glasses who was standing above the stairwell.

Farewell, Bethnal Green Road

2005-10-25T10:02:00.000+01:00

I will be moving house at the end of this week to a flat occupied by (hopefully) fewer mice.

I have to admit to being a bit naive when moving to London. I expected my flat to be riddled with mice and rats and to just have to learn to deal with it. That's the reality in London, right?

It was not until after a few useful conversations with locals that I found out that this is not the norm here in the big smoke. Apparently, I do really live in a crap flat.

Naiveness aside, over the past few months, I have learned to accept and tolerate my house guests. After all, they were there first. They have become a fixture of the flat, much like a stove or a fridge. Or the deadbolt on the door that doesn't work.

We have an informal agreement - they stay out of my way, and I stay out of theirs. They are mainly content to keep to themselves, and we only occasionally awake to the sound of them running through the ceiling moldings or prancing under the stove.

They have only crossed the line a few times - using the electrical cord from the fridge as a jungle gym, waking me up at 3:00 in the morning, violently fighting over some miniscule scrap of leftover fish and chips. Behaviour such as this is highly discouraged, and usually heralds a firmly uttered 'NO'.

Learning to live with my little Mus musculus friends has been just another one of those experiences that I both did not expect, and would not take back. Life really is all about perspective.

I cannot guarantee that the new occupants in the flat above the sari shop will be as tolerant as we have, but I hope that the mice in my flat will look back at our time together and appreciate it. In a city where the rodent population has been estimated as equal to the human population, there's just not enough room for all of us.

bliss

2005-10-21T10:16:00.000+01:00

You can argue with me if you like, but personally I think happiness is a red skirt, a warm latté and Teenage Fanclub's "It's All in My Mind" on repeat.

Hello out there

2005-10-20T11:20:00.000+01:00

Some days, you just feel small...

a metaphorical moment

2005-10-19T10:44:00.000+01:00

Sometimes, while walking in London, you get so used to carrying your umbrella that it can be several minutes before you realise that it's actually stopped raining.

The Brighton Time Machine

2005-10-18T13:10:00.000+01:00

I've found it increasingly fascinating lately that I seem to be re-living many of the events from the past year. And it's been giving me a very odd sense of deja vu.

This may have something to do with the mind-set of the average Canadian in London. Let's call it 'temporary visa syndrome'. Because we are only granted a minimal amount of time to live in this country (this, of course, is not including all of those lucky ducks who have British lineage in their blood, or who decide that a shotgun wedding is the better alternative to going back home), we are very conscious of time.

This is something that I've noticed more lately - mainly because I have officially rounded the one-year mark. At the end of October, I will be down to ten months. TEN MONTHS. Nothing, in other words.

In these upcoming ten months, I have to find the time and money to take several trips, see all of the tourist crap that I haven't yet seen here in London, move, save money so that I can hop into the next adventure with ease, and figure out what the hell to do next. It's all very overwhelming, if you stop to think about it.

So I try not to.

Lately, I've just been trying to take advantage of all the little opportunities that come about, and to thoroughly enjoy myself. Thus, this past weekend, I found myself once again in the coastal town of Brighton.

Greg and I had taken an impromptu trip to Brighton at about this time last year. We stood on the beach, were hypnotised by the pretty lights of the pier, and ate fish and chips. I had my picture taken with a garbage bin shaped like a porpoise. It was a really great weekend. I have a stone from Brighton beach, which I had kept in my jacket pocket for a long time, to remind me of it.

Although I did stand on the beach again, and breathe that crazy fresh sea air, my motives for going this weekend were to check out the Harvest Festival (idea compliments of Justin and his roomie Collyn). We took in several bands, had a few pints, and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. If you haven't heard of Stars of Aviation, I would recommend checking them out.

Before leaving, Jason and I wandered down to the beach one last time, and I pocketed several more of those sea-polished stones.

Last year, after I had taken one last look at the ocean, I expected that I would never actually be back in Brighton (even though it is only an hour away by train from London). This past weekend was a unexpected surprise, and has proven to me that you really can't predict the future.

But sometimes, you do get to re-visit the past.

Dear Future Me

2005-10-12T11:09:00.000+01:00

I received a message from the past today:
...

(this message was composed on Tue, Oct 12, 2004)

Dear FutureMe,

So...have you become an illustrator yet? If not, get your butt in gear, honey. You have an amazing amount of talent, and the world is waiting to hear from you. If you fail, you can always go and teach in Japan.

I wonder where you are...maybe you're still in London...imagine that. Maybe you're in Saskatoon. Wherever you are, it's where you are supposed to be. Trust me on this one. Whatever you are doing right now, however you feel...you are still about to accomplish everything you set out to do.

You are exactly who you are supposed to be, and you had better still have great fashion sense.

So, go and write an email to the following people:

Greg
Jason
Rena
Ryan

and tell them how much they all shaped the past year. After you finish that, drop and give me ten illustrations.

Lock and load.

Past me.
...

Apparently, I had absolutely no faith that I would actually be able to stick it out in London for a year.

However, in defense of myself, I do remember that at this point last year, I had some very hard decisions that were about to come about. Around this time last year, my Grandfather passed away suddenly and unexpectedly, and I had to decide whether or not to actually stick around in the UK, or to return to Canada. I made my choice, and I don't regret it. I've had a lot of other tough decisions to make over the past year, some of which I am still coming to terms with.

What to say to my dorky past me?('lock and load'? I know why I wrote that, but still...)

No, I am not an illustrator yet, but I'm not afraid of going down that path when the time comes. I think I've changed significantly over the past year, and many of those changes are things that I've only just recently noticed.

I look back at who I was when I wrote that, and can see that I didn't take enough chances. I don't think I was willing to push my limits enough. Throughout the course of the last year, I've caught a brief, fleeting glimpse of what I'm capable of, and it's incredibly encouraging. I don't think that I'm the same insecure individual who I was when I wrote that.

And yes, my friends HAVE shaped me and this past year in so many incredible ways. They've stood by me, put up with me, pushed me and pulled me. I love them all, and can't imagine having accomplished any of what I have done without them.

So, dorky past me - thanks for the encouragement. I honestly have no idea what lies ahead, but I hope it's all completely and utterly unexpected. Next time, enjoy the present more and stop worrying so much about the future. You're right, though - wherever we are, wherever we end up, that's right where we're supposed to be. And we should just try and enjoy it.

Yours truly,
Dorky me.

I go through all this

2005-10-07T14:43:00.000+01:00

So.

I've recently found myself under a huge pile of self-inflicted change. And it all seems very heavy right now.

I don't typically cope with change well, which might sub-consciously be the reason that I have undertaken this current overhaul of my life. Quite frankly, I'm sick of living my life three years in advance, and have started to think that maybe, just maybe, by constantly living in the future, I'm letting some of the little things - the small, unexpected, and beautiful things - pass me by.

People change all the time. The thing about changing is that we don't typically get to see it in ourselves. It is usually a quality that someone points out, observes. I have never noticed how I have changed because I'm constantly living with the idea of myself that someone planted in my head years ago. It hasn't been until recently that I've actually had the opportunity to look at myself from a new angle. And take stock of what I see.

I've been going through the layers that make up me. That make up the real me - not the projection of how other people think I should be. I've been looking at how I act, what I say, what I do, how I react. I have to admit, there's been some scary stuff in there...stuff that I'm not proud of, and that I sometimes wish I could take back. Emotions that have been sitting so far down at the bottom of the pile, that I didn't even know I was capable of feeling them.

I could regret the things that I've done. I could beat myself up for making the choices I've made, or I could move on. Learn from my mistakes. Give myself another try. Don't we all deserve that? To borrow the words of the brilliant Todd Solondz (you either love him or hate him - rather, loathe him): "Maybe you're happy right now, and you just don't know it yet".

When we encounter difficult choices and hard realities, sometimes we just need a day - a day to just not get out of our pajamas and to take stock. Re-prioritise. Move on. Bury the monsters.

I go through all this.

she's a comic strip, but no-one's filled her in yet

2005-10-03T09:50:00.000+01:00

For my 27th Birthday, the lovely miss M bought me a train ticket to Nottingham.

Much frolicking and wearing of dorky hats transpired, and this trip proved to be exactly what I needed right now in so many ways. I won't get all deep and introspective just yet (there's plenty of time for that), but I will tell you five extremely valuable lessons which were learned whilst tracing Robert Hode's roots:

1. Knitting is sexy
2. People get exponentially nicer the further you get away from London
3. I really don't like Nanos
4. My heart will race when I'm excited or in love. It will also race when I've had too much gin
5. People are never what you expect them to be, which is the perfect excuse to get out there and meet as many people as you can...go on...

...

links say what I can't

2005-09-29T13:10:00.000+01:00

A catch-up session is long overdue...let's see - what have we been up to?

I escaped to Prague for the weekend, which was spectacular. I quaffed the finest beer I have ever tasted, at the lively U Fleku (that's the beer there, in the picture). I still crave it. Photos are forthcoming. Just you wait.

There's been much buzz over the London Design Festival, so a quick peek was taken on Saturday. There was much oooohing and awwwing over the wonderful Little Errol Dolls from Lucy Jane Batchelor. And of course, Pigeon Light was in attendance. I have to say that I was overjoyed to finally speak with Ed Carpenter in person, and put to rest any fears about Mr. Pigeon not working so well with North American plugs. Oh, little iPod, I'm afraid you may have to wait just a bit longer...

I'm currently a tad obsessed with Bob Dylan, after watching a two-part documentary on the BBC. Although I'm stil not sure what Martin Scorsese's role as 'director' in this film was, it did introduce me to "Dink's Song", which is now my most favorite Dylan song. Ever.

There's been a tiny whisper at work to the tone of Shanny getting a Powerbook...and I'm trying desperately not to get my hopes up, but truth be told they are already sky-high. Here's hoping. I would name it Lionel, I think. Lionel the Powerbook.

And so, with all of that said, I'm off to Nottingham this weekend, to dress in tights and frolick in Sherwood Forest. I'm sure there will be many a tale to tell upon my return...

Going Public

2005-09-13T21:51:00.000+01:00

I've actually been spending a fair chunk of the morning thinking about the below quote and of Shauny's post.

So perhaps it deserves a post of my own...

I've not been at this game long enough to have blogger's depression, nor have I encountered any psychos who have nothing better to do then tell me how much I suck, but my issues do lie within the realm of whether or not to share my words.

I've thought long and hard about who I want to read my blog. Some of my friends know about it, others do not. I have a petite, intimate group of readers who stop by here from time to time, and to be quite honest, I kind of like the atomsphere in here.

Sort of like a quiet martini with friends.

I have no interest in attempting to garner praise for what I do in here. It's just for me. If you like it, ta. If not, suck eggs.

I'm just starting to get the hang of this, and to be honest, was even apprehensive about commenting on other's sites. I've been reading some of my favorite blogs for years, and it wasn't until recently that I stopped being one of those annoyingly voyeuristic stalkers, who takes but doesn't leave anything in return.

I'm still a bit weird about it - every comment that I lay down seems like it's only another trail for people to follow me home with. I haven't even made this blog public on the Blogger site. I want people to find it, but I don't want people to find it.

It's strange.

It's a strange thing to consider. How public to make your life. How much should you go out of your way to seek out like-minded people, and how much should you just wait. Wait and let them seek you out...

I have found great inspiration, comfort and laughter from the blogs that I read. In light of this, I think it's time to start giving something back. So, that being said...let's go public, shall we?

i like the chicken dance

2005-09-13T19:27:00.000+01:00

"and always write like we should all dance,
like no one is looking"

Beautiful words found amongst the comments on Shauny's site. By someone who goes by polx. Thanks, polx.

Dorkiness Abounds

2005-09-12T21:00:00.000+01:00

Hey hey hey.

I've finally decided to utilise my Flikr account.

Photos-a-plenty. Enjoy.

Maggie, my alter-ego

2005-09-12T20:54:00.000+01:00

At the end of this month, I will have officially been working at my current job for a year, Which is quickly making this the longest job I have ever kept.

What can I say, I get bored easily.

I returned to work this morning after a two-week hiatus, in which I did nothing but eat Nibs licorice and drink Great Western beer.

To commemorate my return to work, the following happened to me this morning:

I was handed a package by one of my co-workers (who works down the hall, in the same department as me). I took the package, and quickly realised that it was addressed to someone named 'Maggie'. I am not Maggie. I have never been a 'Maggie'. I have worked with this person for a year. Throughout the course of this year, I have been in the same office, sitting at the same desk, staring at the same computer.

I looked at him suspiciously - things happen while you are on vacation - perhaps they have replaced me? Or hired an assistant? I finally gave in and said "I'm not Maggie. I'm Shannon", as I handed back the package.

Nothing.

Blank stare.

Finally, after a few precious moments of awkward silence, he exclaimed "Oh! You're not Maggie!". And we both chuckled heartily at the mistake.

Apparently, I'm not quite as integral to the running of my department as I had once thought.

Ah, the joy of being a temporary employee...

to satiate your voyeuristic side

2005-09-06T08:09:00.000+01:00

Happy Anniversary

2005-09-06T00:09:00.000+01:00

One year ago today, I left Canadia behind and boarded a London-bound plane.

Happy anniversary to me.

Funny, that on my one-year anniversary I should find myself back where I started. Or perhaps, in some way it's completely perfect.

I think there is a common misconception about travel. Some of us dream of far-off places, and of how these distant lands will enrich us - body mind and spirit. We forget that sometimes, things really do look better from far away. That sounds depressing, but the truth is, travel won't change who you are. It only changes your perspective. Spins you around a bit, turns your world upside down, but at some point, you always end up where you started.

And that's the beauty of it.

When I headed off to London in search of beer and Belle & Sebastien concerts, I had a plan in mind. I was going to leave my life behind, start anew, and finally take advantage of whatever the world had waiting for me. In retrospect, my plan did not include the 6 months it took me to get a bank account. It did not include the month spent worrying about whether or not I would find a job. It did not include the harsh reality that wherever you go, it's not the weather, but rather yourself, that you take with you.

I have met many people that hate London. Despise it. People who can talk nothing but of how great they had it back home. These people move on, and never really see the beauty in it all. I admit, she is a tempermental beast, and sometimes you do stand screaming in the middle of traffic because it was just so easy to get a decent coffee back home. But to these people, honestly, I really don't have much to say.

London has given me many gifts, but none of them were anticipated. I have been granted the opportunity to work with one of the world's most respected art collections, I have had the opportunity to stregthen a 22-year old friendship, and I have had the opportunity to meet someone who is incredibly dear & important to me. I have learned the beauty of small gifts. Of having people to count on when you do stupid things like cancel your bank acccount. Because, guess what? Just as you suspected, you're a bit of a freak.

Travel is as much about getting to know the world as it is about getting to know where you fit into it. Sometimes, we just aren't cut out for a jet-setting lifestyle that takes us to the edge of every ocean, tasting the salt in the air along the way. I have come to appreciate the simplicity of my life here in Canada. The fact that we have so much space. So much blue sky. The fact that Canadians truly are just so damn nice. We have a beautiful secret out here. Have you ever danced with the Northern Lights?

I am always charmed in the least likely places.

I head back to London on Thursday morning, and I do look forward to going back. I wouldn't take back the opportunities that lie ahead for any price. London may not be home; I may not dream of settling down and raising a family there (do I dream of that at all?), but being there has changed the way I see here.

And that makes it all so very worthwhile.

Just one of the signs that you may be missing a cog

2005-08-24T21:35:00.000+01:00

So, the reason that I am, as one of Jason's co-workers kindly put it, "thick", has nothing to do with the fact that I somehow managed to get my headphones caught in my hair barrett while waiting for security to open the office door today.

It also has NOTHING to do with the fact that I thought that Mary Shelly was one Jack the Ripper's victims.

Nope, the reason that I'm considered a tad dim has everything to do with my current banking practices.

I can get a bit paranoid about my bank account from time-to-time. I have known of several people here who have suffered the nuisance of identity theft, and it seems to happen quite frequently here. As a result, I quite possibly watch my on-line bank account a tad too closely.

Just imagine my shock and horror when I noticed a £50 charge to Marks and Spencer yesterday. I nearly choked on my instant coffee. £50! I can barely afford their bread, let alone £50 worth of delicious M&S goodies.

In my defense, I am a bit exciteable, so when my co-worker instructed me in a very concerned voice that I should contact the bank immediately, my panic reached fever pitch.

As I dialed my bank, visions of faceless people buying small appliances and George Forman Grills with my money flashed through my mind. They were renovating their kitchens with my money.

The bank staff turned out to be extremely helpful, and after asking me SEVERAL TIMES if I had recently shopped at M&S (I had, infact, but not to the tune of £50), they agreed to block my account. Satisfied, I cut up my card.

At this point, I inquired as to how to get my stolen money back. The woman asked again, "have you shopped at Mark's?" I knew the drill - I had indeed. And then came the crucial, 50-point question:

"DID YOU GET CASH BACK?"

The images of me getting £40 cash back, and having to show my passport so that they would agree to it, all cam flooding back. Like a bad dream.

As a result, I now have no bank card until Thursday, and let's just hope that it actually arrives, or it's going to be no Canadian Maple Syrup for Shanny.

I think it's officially time to hire a little man who can watch over me all day to ensure that I don't do STUPID THINGS.

But first, I'll have to wait for my bank card.

Until my return...

2005-08-23T17:48:00.000+01:00

The leaves are beginning to turn many shades of golden here in London, heralding the end of the summer...and the beginning of the season where Shanny gets to wear scarves. Oh, how I adore autumn.

It's been busy over here at Shannyville, and oh, the secrets to tell. Whispers of lush green sheep-y fields, concert t-shirts, a town built with books...so much to say.

I will be returning to Canadia for two weeks on Friday, and the tales will have to wait until my return. But don't worry - I shall return; there's still an entire year left in this adventure.

...

2005-08-16T12:51:00.000+01:00

The other day, my pal Rena discovered the perfect definition for me - or rather - for what I do.

Conjecture
n.
1. Inference or judgment based on inconclusive or incomplete evidence; guesswork.
2. A statement, opinion, or conclusion based on guesswork: The commentators made various conjectures about the outcome of the next election.

You see, I have this nagging habit of skimming things. Only reading (or vaguely over-hearing) the bits that I find interesting, and then sewing them back together however I see fit.

In my world, Mary Shelly was one of the victims of Jack the Ripper. Cucumber peels are poisonous. The London Bridge fell because they had built too many houses on it.

Personally, I think my version of the world is more interesting.

My dear, sweet, friends have come to accept this as a part of me, and tolerate it. They may question everything I say now, but they still sit and listen intently as I tell grand stories of deceit and debauchery, tying together the main headlines from the Evening Standard, the Weekly World News and the Guardian into one neat bundle.

However, despite their patience, sometimes I require an interpreter.

Enter Jason. He has developed the nack for retelling

Just imagine my surprise when Jason exclaimed in shock this morning that one of the victims of the recent plane crash was found buried alive in a sand trap.

I paused for a moment, and informed him proudly that he had just conjectured.

una cerveza por favor

2005-08-12T17:50:00.000+01:00

I should be in Madrid right now.

Well, technically, I may have been eating peanut-like snacks on a plane somewhere over the North Atlantic, or at the very least drinking overpriced coffee in the departure lounge. In any case, at some point today, I was supposed to be in Madrid.

Unfortunately, shit happens. While I am upset that instead of sipping a margarita in 35 degree heat, I am sipping instant coffee and basking in monitor radiation; it would really suck to get sacked for standing up for your rights. I also admire the bravery of the hundreds of BA employees who walked off the job in a show of solidarity. It takes guts to stand up to 70,000 sun-deprived Britons.

So, in light of recent events, and because as I always tell people, "when you get lemons, make some goddamn lemonade", I'm determined to turn my office into a Cabana for the duration of this lovely Friday.

I have decided to only answer questions in Spanish, which should prove quite interesting, seeing as the only thing I bothered to learn was "querio una cerveza".

The day should go something like this:

Co-worker: "Shanny, can you email Bob?"
Shanny: "I would like a beer"

Co-worker: "Shanny, I can't log in to my computer."
Shanny: "I would like a beer"

Co-worker: "Shanny, my printer won't print."
Shanny: "I would like a beer"

This should prove to be even more entertaining if anyone actually brings me una cerveza.

Welcome to Cabana Shanny. Enjoy your stay.

I have 30 cookies to give away to good homes

2005-08-09T17:00:00.000+01:00

I attempted the cookies again last night.

It happens from time to time; I get an irresitible urge to bake something. I get so consumed with the prospect of sifting flour and cracking eggs that I actually forget that I can't bake. I get easily romanced by the idea of mindlessly drawing, accompanied by Sufjan Stevens and the soft smell of melting cookies wafting from the oven. A warm cookie feels like the perfect punctuation to the end of a lazy day. A warm home-baked cookie seems even better.

High on the prospect of cookies that would change my life, I set out. This time I was going to get it right. None of my past experiments with "close enough" ingredients, or approximate measurements. Dressed appropriately in my apple green 50's wrap skirt and vintage baby blue sweater, I was determined. I looked like June Cleaver, and dammit, I was going to bake like her too.

I returned, handbag brimming with flour and baking soda and butter. And started to bake.

Sadly, I wish I could go on, telling tales of cookies that would put Mrs. Cleaver to shame. Cookies that would encourage world peace and heal the ozone, but it was just not to be. I guesstimated the butter horribly, and once again, was too easily seduced by Galaxy chocolate and sticky cookie dough. By the time my cookies arrived from the oven, the sight of them made me want to retch.

Although not a total loss, the butter-to-cookie ratio is way off, and they just aren't doing it for me.

It's time to succumb to the simple fact that while I have my own talents, baking is not one of them. I will pass the torch to my friends who were born with a spatula in hand, and I will stick to doodling on post-it notes and making leg warmers out of old socks.

Thankfully, all hope is not lost. I will be returning to the homeland in mere weeks, and if I beg really hard, my mom just might bake me some cookies.

?!?!!?

2005-07-29T09:15:00.000+01:00

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...

anywhere but here

2005-07-27T18:43:00.000+01:00

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

I'd rather be burlesquing.

What would Johnny Depp do?

2005-07-26T21:00:00.000+01:00

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.

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

2005-07-25T19:11:00.000+01:00

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...

Harvie Krumpet

2005-07-21T17:40:00.000+01:00

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.

The post in which I rant about asses

2005-07-19T11:20:00.000+01:00

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...

3. BUTT CRACK.
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.

AnimaminA

2005-07-18T07:01:00.000+01:00

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.

how I save money

2005-07-06T22:00:00.000+01:00

We won.

woohoo.

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

Oh, Canada

2005-07-01T20:00:00.000+01:00

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.

Eh.

we can live on misbehavior

2005-06-28T20:00:00.000+01:00

Anyone in the London area: you must visit MAGMA. Last time I popped in, they were playing the Arcade Fire. There is nothing more overwhelming than hearing Rebellion (Lies) while discovering that Loretta Lux has published a book.

NOTHING.

Polish Movie Posters

2005-06-28T19:00:00.000+01:00

I've switched computers so many times that my "favorites" list is constantly in disarray. I continually re-discover sites that have gone missing along the way, which is actually kind of nice, because it's like seeing an old friend again for the first time.

Today's treasure, unearthed from the attic: the Polish Poster Gallery.

I originally discovered a few of these posters in a small shop somewhere in Edinburgh, about six or seven years ago. I was in awe, and got all excited and jumpy like I have been known do when I see something I love.

However, it was not meant to be. Once again, due to the pesky Canadian dollar, if I wanted to eat, I was in no position to purchase a Polish movie poster from Edinburgh. I satiated my appetite with three postcards, which have been a fixture on my walls ever since.

Some people think the imagery is creepy. Some think it's intriguing. I find it breathtaking. Movie posters have turned into bland, clichéd vehicles for advertising the latest Hollywood heartbreakers, typically accompanied with horrible typography.

These posters don't look shiny and new as all things produced by MGM typically do; but you no longer have to be ashamed of having a Spaceballs poster on your wall.

The benefits of jamming the zipper on your jeans so badly that you have to keep them closed with a pin all day

2005-06-24T23:00:00.000+01:00

1. I never have to worry about whether or not my fly is undone.

2. I managed to successfully kill 45 minutes of my work day, attempting to pry the zipper free.

3. It proves that there is actually a reason why we wear underpants.

4. It's 80's chic to hold your fly together with a safety pin.

5. I officially get to go shopping this weekend.

6. Not shaving my armpits this morning is no longer such a big deal.

7. I now have justification for obsessively carting around with me a plethora of safety pin and fastening devices.

8. I have rediscovered the beauty of the button-fly.

9. It's 35 degrees outside. Two words: AIR CONDITIONING.

10. Look at that, it gave me something to write about.

My love affair with the Lily

2005-06-23T21:48:00.000+01:00

I'm due to return to the homeland for a few weeks a the end of August, and I've been compiling a list of things I normally can't afford, to pick up when I'm home.

Life with a crap exchange rate has been fun and all, but don't think for a second that I am not loving every minute of life with the British Pound. For the first time in my life, I can support the lovely crafty folk in the US & Canada without having to sell my hair or mortgage my couch.

The first stop I make, after doing the important stuff, like - you know, seeing my family, will be made at Purr, in Calgary Alberta. Amongst other beautiful things, Purr stocks lovelies by my favorite Canadian designers, Smoking Lily.

I've had an intense crush on Smoking Lily since the day I laid eyes on her in 1997. I was aimlessly wandering around Victoria B.C., towing a boyfriend who would have preferred to be at Madam Tussauds, when I stumbled across a teensy store front packed to the rafters with printed bits. I purchased the first of what would be many on that day; a tank top with black beetles ambling across it. It was love at first sight, and although the passion between my boyfriend and I soon fizzled, my love for Lily will never die.

They've updated their site, so go on, spoil yourself. Just save some for me.

Happy Birthday, Gregory Frank

2005-06-22T18:00:00.000+01:00

Happy Birthday, G.
You can correct my grammar anytime. Anytime.

Big kisses, doll.

I like this song

2005-06-10T22:30:00.000+01:00

Since the last post has been hovering around for a few weeks now, I thought I would keep with the theme and update with another music-related post.

Anyone who knows me is aware of the fact that I am completely useless when it comes to remembering song titles. It's not for lack of trying; many a time I have made a deliberately conscious note to remember the title/artist/album for a particular song that I like, but for whatever reason, I just don't retain this kind of knowledge. Without fail, a few days after initially hearing a song, I will undoubtedly say, "I like this song, who is this?".

I find this insanely frustrating.

I love music, but haven't always loved it. My first tape ever owned was by the California Raisins, and I shudder to think that I was once a NKOTB fan. Not just a NKOTB fan. I wrote them letters. I had t-shirts. It was more than a crush. This pattern repeated itself for the majority of my youth, with purchases of increasingly humiliating albums such as several by Jon Secada.

It wasn't until I met my wonderful friend Jason that I was properly introduced to the world of music beyond the California Raisins. While he did shake his head at my cd collection, the highlights of which were an under-appreciated Peal Jam album, the Joshua Tree and the Forest Gump Soundtrack, he still remained my friend, and so much more.

It was through Jason that I learned the beauty of going beyond the top 10 at 10 to discover that there was an entire universe of music I'd not been exposed to. I discovered the Cure, John Lennon, the Pixies, the Smiths, Miles Davis, Radiohead, Rufus Wainwright, the Velvet Underground. Who new that music created pre-1997 could be so good?

He made cd after cd for me, filled with music that inspired me, made me crave more. Before this, music had always been filler. It was something you put on before having sex alongside lighting candles. It was something to keep you awake on the highway. It was a way to block out the noise of living in a dormitory.

Simply put, Jason gave my life a soundtrack.

I can never go back to the days of copulating to Jon Secada, and I don't think I really want to. Once you get it, once you really get it, you can't give it up. I still have an appreciation for cheesy pop and have been known to bop around my flat to Abba, but my perception of music has changed dramatically. It has changed me dramatically.

There have been others who have entered my life and tweaked my musical tastes, taught me about "lo-fi acoustic" music and how the lyrics of a song are sometimes the best part, but never to the dramatic extent that Jason did. He breathes music.

Music can shape your life.
And that's worth remembering.

Everybody loves the music

2005-05-27T00:30:00.000+01:00

I've been passed a baton.
Not one to back down from a relay race, here goes nuthin.

Total volume of music files on my computer:
I don't actually have a computer right now. My poor little delapitated G4 tower didn't pack well into my backpack, and was left in the homeland. The computer that I utilise while at work appears to have 0.

The last CD I bought was:
I am a Bird now, by Antony and the Johnsons. Heavenly.

Song playing right now:
Nothing. Once again, the work puter isn't helping me out a great deal. I was listening to Iron and Wine on the ol discman earlier, does that count?

Five songs I listen to a lot, or that mean a lot to me:
“The King of Carrot Flowers” by Neutral Milk Hotel. Short and sweet.

“The Littlest Birds” by The Be Good Tanyas. Makes me happy happy happy. She sings in my pitch.

“Brim Full of Asha” by Cornershop. Don't know what it is. Can't get enough of it.

“Jezebel” by Iron and Wine. Beautiful. A glass of wine on the porch in summer.

“Neighbourhood #1(Tunnels)” by The Arcade Fire. Love it. Love it. Love it. If you haven't seen them live, you must do this.

Five people to whom I am passing the baton:
Greg
And none of my other friends have websites. Nevertheless:
Jason
Ryan
Laurena
Bradley

Some of us just weren't born to bake

2005-05-23T22:30:00.000+01:00

Once you have shipped your life across the ocean, you get occasional cravings for the comforts of home. You miss your friends, you miss your family, and in this particular case, I missed my mom's chocolate-chip-oatmeal cookies, circa 1984.

After a quick phone call home to retrieve this heavenly recipe from the sacred recipe box, tucked somewhere between the Fruity Jello-mold and the scandalous Sex-In-a-Pan, I set about my nostalgic little project. The local grocer (bless you, oh local grocer who stays open late on Sundays) proved very fruitful in terms of late-night baking supplies. The only absentee was the chocolate chips, but it was decided after much debate over the quality of the chocolate in a smartie, that a large, bittersweet dark chocolate bar would be an apt substitute.

Everything was going great guns, until I decided to halve the recipe. I'm not sure what happened, I can only chalk it up to using a liquid measuring cup and table spoon for the entire process, alongside my, devil-may-care "I can just approximate all the measurements, you can't screw up chocolate chip cookies!" attitude, but the cookies looked more like fried pancakes then cookies. Plus, I consumed WAY too much chocolate and cookie dough in the process, so that the mere thought of a chocolate chip cookie right now makes me want to gag.

I'm left with a plate of chocolate-chip-oatmeal cookie bits and pieces, bashfully hiding beneath a thin layer of Tesco plastic wrap, like one of those baking experiments you did when you were 10 and decided to mix tabasco, sugar, peanut butter and oregano, just so you could watch your brother gag.

I'm slightly narcissistic enough to attempt another batch tonight, but perhaps I should just leave the fond memory of my mom's cookies intact.

Don't get your knickers in a twist

2005-05-21T22:40:00.000+01:00

I've been concerned about the mood of my blog as of late. It's less burlesque and more one-act play starring Bill Pullman. (And the debate for actor with least range of facial expression rages on...Pullman or Paxton, Paxton or Pullman?)

So, to lighten things up a bit; pictures of Delicious French Knickers.

Yum.

Friday

2005-05-20T17:30:00.000+01:00

A rain so light that the mist sticks to my eyelashes.

The hesitant sound of Damien Rice from another's headphones.
a mouth that says O again and again in wonder and pain*

A stocking with a seam running into it's high-heeled shoe.

A small girl helping a blind man cross the street. The expression on her face, that pure elation; the result of helping. The quiet secret that she needed it more than he.

Foregoing the ban on dairy to sip a latte from my favorite Italian coffee shop.

A stack of worn books about artists who's paintings I have never seen, about places I have never been.

A red brick building.
Dreaming of far-away places.

Dreaming of me dreaming of you dreaming of me.

*from "Variations on the Word Love", by Margaret Atwood

I think my brain is a trigger food

2005-05-18T22:42:00.000+01:00

Much to my delight, my stomach went wonky again this morning.

Over the past 4 years or so, I have endured an extensive list of tests, from the dreaded barium sundae, to the slightly more innocuous blood test. I've kept detailed lists of 'trigger foods' (at one time it seemed that raisins and bananas were the culprits), I've cut out caffeine, I've avoided dairy and wheat. I've taken pills that did little more than simultaneously ease my mind and empty my bank account.

We don't know what's wrong with me, and in cases like this, what's a girl to do but consult her old pal the internet and do some home-diagnoses?

Over the course of one particularly bad month, I was inflicted with hypothyroidism, arthritis, IBS, ovarian cancer, pancreatis and anemia. It's admirable that I even got out of bed. I was clearly on death's door.

My paradoxical self-diagnoses of being a hypochondriac has become a bit of an on-going joke for my family and friends but the reality is thus: the searing pain of 'you've just done 20,000 sit-ups and chased them with a pint of kerosene' is real. Real, unexpected, unpredictable and horrible.

Despite this, I think that there is some part of me that doesn't mind the pain. Not for any of the typical reasons; not because I like to be pitied, or doted on, or sympathised with, or even because I like skipping work, but because I like to heal. I like the feeling that when I loose control of my body, it's because it's telling me something, and that I can re-gain control if I just listen. Perhaps that message runs deeper than just "eat fewer raisins".

I believe very strongly in "mind over matter", and perhaps it's time for me to look beyond what I have been consuming, and more at what has been consuming me.

Adaptation

2005-04-27T19:15:00.000+01:00

Change is never a bad thing. Every door you close opens a window.

I am a hypocrite.

I fear change like I fear spiders and hair in my food. Even when these things are not there, they are always on my mind...always partly in my consciousness.

I am at a stage in my life where things are changing. Growing. Stretching. Part of me fears that I'm not actually changing at all, but that my surroundings are, and I'm just learning to adapt. Maybe this is all change is. Adaptation. Acceptance. Maybe we don't change at all, we just learn to acknowledge and respect changes in others.

I think that sometimes we honestly just have to believe that we will change when we are ready, and when we are meant to change. I have spent many nights, many long days, beating myself up over the choices I have made and will make, and I have finally reached the conclusion that I'm doing everything as I should be. Don't push yourself. Trust that it will be ok.

It's hard. Hard not to interfere, but I think there's some beauty in getting it wrong, and somehow getting it completely right at the same time.

Everything really will be ok.

But I still don't have to like spiders.

a spring cleaning

2005-04-22T18:35:00.000+01:00

Yesterday I broke my own heart.

I realise that over the course of my life, this will be a minor heartbreak, a blip of pain, a tangy memory, but right now it's very real. I have done this before, I will do it again, and it's always different. Sometimes it's a single tear, sometimes it's a panic, sometimes it's a knot in my chest. Sometimes it's just too much.

I am a strong advocate of the therapeutic properties of a good cry. The pain of letting a wall of anger and frustration and grief form around you is far worse than just letting go and having a good, long, cleansing cry. I think that sometimes people are afraid to cry, afraid to see how deep their emotions run. My grief always manifests itself in a spider web of connecting thoughts, connecting lonliness that, on their own, are easy to tolerate, but as a whole are overwhelming. So every once in a while, like a sort of spring cleaning, I like to let it all go.

Free myself of the tangle.
And lighten up a bit.

Dogs and iPods

2005-04-21T21:20:00.000+01:00

This morning on the tube, my discman started behaving in a most unnecessary and unwelcome fashion, squealing at me and drowning out my Neutral Milk Hotel. I realise that this is only the first sign of what is sure to be many more squeals and shocks and skips before my handy Panasonic gets binned.

Perhaps it's time to join the ranks and purchase an iPod.

I don't take this decision lightly. Much with my constant contemplation of purchasing a pair of Chuck Taylors, I am sitting on a very small fence that divides my need to be an individual and battle the conformity of the "hipster" crowd, yet
drooling on the window as I pass by my localMac store. I like to spin the little wheel, what can I say?

While I can't afford to purchase an iGod even if I want to, this did get my mind churning with thoughts of what is really important to me. What do I actually need to be happy? As a reponse to Keri Smith's entry, I have compiled a list of things that I consider to be neccesities:

An oven that works. None of this el cheapo gas range circa 1939 stuff.
A comfortable bed. Possibly with pillows.
A warm shower.
A pen.
A place to doodle. Post-it Notes seem to be my current favourite.
A camera.
Film.
A source of music.
A comfortable pair of shoes.
A place to purchase decent food. Organic if possible. I would love a garden.
Someone to hug me and make me laugh.
Some good books.

And possibly a dog.

Bloggy Goodness

2005-04-20T14:02:00.000+01:00

This is the first.
The first of a few.
Fiction fact fantasy.