This is just a quick'un.
I love, love, LOVE these guys. This is an older video, and their newest album "Sidewalks" is well worth checking out. But I love how genuine and fun they are as performers.
A local band here does a cover of this, and with their permission, I'll try and get their version. And then I'll tell you the story behind it.
This to me, is celery sticks with pepercorn ranch dressing. Maybe blue cheese. Lots of chewing, but also some boldness with it.
More to come <3
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Friday, December 10, 2010
Post-Show Pancakes
For theatre students, closing parties tend to be like a huge sigh: everything gets to fly. The parties can sometimes be, unsurprisingly, dramatic. With Rent singalongs.
The last party was in November, but I've only now been able to make this post now because other school stuff has been eating up my time. Now, I'm totally unoccupied. Roommate isn't even here. So, we blog.
This last party was very close to our house, so we played host to four other cast members. In total, our little apartment was full of six people. In my - er - state, I somehow managed to put down the futon, get PJs for one person, make tea, throw Roommate into bed and go down to storage for another blanket. Why? Or more importantly, how? Who knows.
Anyway, the night was followed by a brunch at a nearby, delicious breakfast place. On other occasions, I've managed to wrangle up a batch of pancakes. They are delicious and easy. The recipe is on the side of the fridge.
I had to take it with my cellphone, so the quality of the picture leaves much to be desired. But you get the idea.
Here is the recipe
Bestest Pancakes EVAAAR
1 1/3 cups flour
3 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons sugar
1 egg
1 1/4 cups milk
3 tablespoons melted butter or oil
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
(generous) pinch ground cinnamon
Combine all dry ingredients.
In a separate bowl, beat egg; add milk. Add vanilla.
Make a well in dry ingredients, and add the liquid.
Stir just until combined. Lumpy is good.
Cook in a greased or nonstick skillet.
Serve with syrup, fresh fruit, applesauce, whatever.
No-nonsense, hangover-friendly morning noms.
The last party was in November, but I've only now been able to make this post now because other school stuff has been eating up my time. Now, I'm totally unoccupied. Roommate isn't even here. So, we blog.
This last party was very close to our house, so we played host to four other cast members. In total, our little apartment was full of six people. In my - er - state, I somehow managed to put down the futon, get PJs for one person, make tea, throw Roommate into bed and go down to storage for another blanket. Why? Or more importantly, how? Who knows.
Anyway, the night was followed by a brunch at a nearby, delicious breakfast place. On other occasions, I've managed to wrangle up a batch of pancakes. They are delicious and easy. The recipe is on the side of the fridge.
Here is the recipe
Bestest Pancakes EVAAAR
1 1/3 cups flour
3 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons sugar
1 egg
1 1/4 cups milk
3 tablespoons melted butter or oil
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
(generous) pinch ground cinnamon
Combine all dry ingredients.
In a separate bowl, beat egg; add milk. Add vanilla.
Make a well in dry ingredients, and add the liquid.
Stir just until combined. Lumpy is good.
Cook in a greased or nonstick skillet.
Serve with syrup, fresh fruit, applesauce, whatever.
No-nonsense, hangover-friendly morning noms.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Turn it to Y'all
Hello tasty little Internet noms,
I've been taking a look at where you're browsing from, and some of you have even e-mailed me about my recipes, which is wonderful!
I was wondering if you would at all like to tell me some things that YOU have been making/eating/feeling lately.
I will come on very soon with some more food and an update as to how the last show wrapped up, so stay tuned for that. In the meantime, I'd like to hear from you!
♥G
I've been taking a look at where you're browsing from, and some of you have even e-mailed me about my recipes, which is wonderful!
I was wondering if you would at all like to tell me some things that YOU have been making/eating/feeling lately.
I will come on very soon with some more food and an update as to how the last show wrapped up, so stay tuned for that. In the meantime, I'd like to hear from you!
♥G
Monday, November 22, 2010
In Breaking News . . .
It snowed! And here, that means a lot of people react pretty strongly. Mostly complaints about how things shut down, and then how this city can't react properly, and then irritation from born-and-raised toward that remark . . .
The only real problem I have with it all is that local news can pretty much hang up their journalism hats for the day.
"It snowed, Bob."
"What?"
"Yes, it did. All we have to do now is dig up some historical snowfall data, get some footage of people sledding, and talk about how the old people want to help the birds survive"
"God, I love snow."
Seriously. That was the 'news'.
Anyhoo, cold days are so good for home-made bread. I really wanted that smell in the house, so I took to the lazy student way out. Roommate had some people over who left some crappy American beer (sorry, I'm not your best critic, but this stuff tasted like bad apple juice) in our fridge, so I used that to make beer bread. Which is vegan as well!
I used a recipe from a book, so I wouldn't feel right posting it on here. But here is a link to one that is similar from Farmgirl Fare (and kudos on the great blog!).
Clicky-wicky here for the noms
She adds cheddar and dill, but mine was plain. And I used baking soda and it turned out fine. Dense, but fine.
The best part is: this bread can be made with flat beer, shitty grocery store home brand beer ... it's not picky.
That's all for now. See ya soon!
The only real problem I have with it all is that local news can pretty much hang up their journalism hats for the day.
"It snowed, Bob."
"What?"
"Yes, it did. All we have to do now is dig up some historical snowfall data, get some footage of people sledding, and talk about how the old people want to help the birds survive"
"God, I love snow."
Seriously. That was the 'news'.
Anyhoo, cold days are so good for home-made bread. I really wanted that smell in the house, so I took to the lazy student way out. Roommate had some people over who left some crappy American beer (sorry, I'm not your best critic, but this stuff tasted like bad apple juice) in our fridge, so I used that to make beer bread. Which is vegan as well!
I used a recipe from a book, so I wouldn't feel right posting it on here. But here is a link to one that is similar from Farmgirl Fare (and kudos on the great blog!).
Clicky-wicky here for the noms
She adds cheddar and dill, but mine was plain. And I used baking soda and it turned out fine. Dense, but fine.
The best part is: this bread can be made with flat beer, shitty grocery store home brand beer ... it's not picky.
That's all for now. See ya soon!
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Wanna Go Out With Me?
I know the title of this post seems a direct contradiction to the last one. Not so, oh sweet morsels of the Interwebs. Not so.
There is a difference between consentual and mutually pleasurable interaction between people and just all-out objectification. But I feel like I should explain that post seperately. And I will. So, keep looking.
But in an attempt to avoid doing homework for just a little longer, I will post here a few ideas I have for fun, inexpensive and often satirical date ideas. These work between friends, or if you have a sweetheart. They're just fun ways for a dynamic twosome of any kind to spend an evening.
1. The Archie Comics Date
Wardrobe: Poodle skirts, letterman jackets, white t-shirts, penny loafers, horn-rimmed glasses.
Procedure:
Person one picks up person two in their car. If possible, shake hands with parents.
Go to drive in. Share one milkshake with two straws.
Catch a cute romantic comedy in the theatres. Both enjoy it without irony.
Person one takes person two home before curfew is up. Kiss optional.
2. The Worst Date Ever
Wardrobe: jeans, hoodies. Underwear not required.
Procedure:
Meet at corner store. Get slushies. Sit down on the curb outside the store until you finish them.
Go to the video rental place and take out the worst movie for a date ever. Suggestions are: Hot Tub Time Machine, Superman IV, It, and Harold and Kumar go to White Castle.
Swing by McDonalds, grab some nasty food.
Go home and watch the movie while eating nasty food. Coitus is proposed by asking, "Wanna doink?"
NOTE: This date should only happen between people who actually really like each other and are doing it for funsies.
3. The Closet Classy Date
Wardrobe: That old grad dress or suit you haven't worn since, well, grad. One or both parties gets all made up as well.
Set up a picnic blanket and some candles in the bedroom, on the floor.
Cook (or order in if you're kitchenphobic) a really schmanzy dinner. Get pretentious and ingredient-snobby about it.
Serve and eat it in your bedroom picnicing spot. Gaze at each other lovingly in the candlelight.
There is a difference between consentual and mutually pleasurable interaction between people and just all-out objectification. But I feel like I should explain that post seperately. And I will. So, keep looking.
But in an attempt to avoid doing homework for just a little longer, I will post here a few ideas I have for fun, inexpensive and often satirical date ideas. These work between friends, or if you have a sweetheart. They're just fun ways for a dynamic twosome of any kind to spend an evening.
1. The Archie Comics Date
Wardrobe: Poodle skirts, letterman jackets, white t-shirts, penny loafers, horn-rimmed glasses.
Procedure:
Person one picks up person two in their car. If possible, shake hands with parents.
Go to drive in. Share one milkshake with two straws.
Catch a cute romantic comedy in the theatres. Both enjoy it without irony.
Person one takes person two home before curfew is up. Kiss optional.
2. The Worst Date Ever
Wardrobe: jeans, hoodies. Underwear not required.
Procedure:
Meet at corner store. Get slushies. Sit down on the curb outside the store until you finish them.
Go to the video rental place and take out the worst movie for a date ever. Suggestions are: Hot Tub Time Machine, Superman IV, It, and Harold and Kumar go to White Castle.
Swing by McDonalds, grab some nasty food.
Go home and watch the movie while eating nasty food. Coitus is proposed by asking, "Wanna doink?"
NOTE: This date should only happen between people who actually really like each other and are doing it for funsies.
3. The Closet Classy Date
Wardrobe: That old grad dress or suit you haven't worn since, well, grad. One or both parties gets all made up as well.
Set up a picnic blanket and some candles in the bedroom, on the floor.
Cook (or order in if you're kitchenphobic) a really schmanzy dinner. Get pretentious and ingredient-snobby about it.
Serve and eat it in your bedroom picnicing spot. Gaze at each other lovingly in the candlelight.
I am not yours
I am not your pretty place to be, to see, even to understand,
Because seriously, I am nowhere to be.
Look at me!
The ears, the nose, eyes, lips ripped from bites and cheekbones displaying a past that isn't mine
What was outside of the suitcase on the way from Ukraine, Poland
England, France.
This face is constructed. I see you cut and paste, put my head on someone else's body,
put my face on your pillow.
Put my clothes on the seat of your car.
I see you!
I am not your little thing to hold,
Not precious, don't polish me.
I bite.
I wear the skirt, the hat, the stockings and the lace because I want to know how I'll feel in them.
And let's be honest, because at some point, it looked great in Vogue.
I am not your doll to poke at,
so, don't brush my hair, change my clothes, twist my head away from my body.
Don't tell me what you want me to be. Because I'll only make you unhappy.
Don't tell me I'm too short, too pale, too fat, too muscle, too bone, too woman, too smart, too funny, too quiet, too much or not enough.
Who are you?
I am not your piece of art.
I wear the warpaint of my own tribe, my mother's and grandmother's,
of my little sister and my girlfriends, of my own sense.
If I put too much eyeliner on, I'm not telling you to touch me.
I am not telling you to buy me something, to call me a new name, to guess what colour underwear I'm wearing, and I'm not asking you to parcel me up and take me home.
I'm just saying I like to wear eyeliner.
I am not yours.
I am who I give to.
I am who I take from.
You're just like me: cut and paste, pan up, pan down,
close up on the one in the middle who happens to be staring.
You're the heaviness I get every day, you're the world that is so real it hurts, and the world I hurt myself with.
You're not one man.
You're not one woman, not just one person.
What I know is that I am not yours.
Because seriously, I am nowhere to be.
Look at me!
The ears, the nose, eyes, lips ripped from bites and cheekbones displaying a past that isn't mine
What was outside of the suitcase on the way from Ukraine, Poland
England, France.
This face is constructed. I see you cut and paste, put my head on someone else's body,
put my face on your pillow.
Put my clothes on the seat of your car.
I see you!
I am not your little thing to hold,
Not precious, don't polish me.
I bite.
I wear the skirt, the hat, the stockings and the lace because I want to know how I'll feel in them.
And let's be honest, because at some point, it looked great in Vogue.
I am not your doll to poke at,
so, don't brush my hair, change my clothes, twist my head away from my body.
Don't tell me what you want me to be. Because I'll only make you unhappy.
Don't tell me I'm too short, too pale, too fat, too muscle, too bone, too woman, too smart, too funny, too quiet, too much or not enough.
Who are you?
I am not your piece of art.
I wear the warpaint of my own tribe, my mother's and grandmother's,
of my little sister and my girlfriends, of my own sense.
If I put too much eyeliner on, I'm not telling you to touch me.
I am not telling you to buy me something, to call me a new name, to guess what colour underwear I'm wearing, and I'm not asking you to parcel me up and take me home.
I'm just saying I like to wear eyeliner.
I am not yours.
I am who I give to.
I am who I take from.
You're just like me: cut and paste, pan up, pan down,
close up on the one in the middle who happens to be staring.
You're the heaviness I get every day, you're the world that is so real it hurts, and the world I hurt myself with.
You're not one man.
You're not one woman, not just one person.
What I know is that I am not yours.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
From a Relic
If we had been an ancient thing,
I expect we could have looked back,
been beautiful in our retrospective way of thinking.
Antiquated, made into sepia.
Appreciated from a long way off,
something so uncomplicated,
a place to be yearned for,
when you learn to miss what you never had.
Good old days.
Our age would have been struck in bronze,
hammered out in the way we knew.
A love letter to anthropology.
"We were here, and we were just like you."
If we had been an ancient thing,
a grainy image burned on paper
by light that has long since died,
pressed like leaves between the pages of a book,
we would be relics, permanent.
Gracing the walls of our generation,
first laid into soft graves,
now made hard by the treads of the younger.
Good old days.
Our faces would have made people look twice,
a postcard to our greatest grandchildren.
"We were here, and we were just like you."
If we had been an ancient thing,
I know we would be so curious
of the child and their childhood,
the first steps into the world, kicked over
by the inevitability of ageing.
Appreciated from a long way off,
something so uncomplicated,
a place untouched by knowing.
Good old days.
When we knew the world worked one way,
but never the other.
Our games and rhymes are told by you now.
"We were here, and we were just like you."
If we had been some ancient thing,
I think we would have thought longer,
much longer about how it would all fall away.
Antiquated, made into sepia.
Our statues tarnished by the filth we could not know,
our buildings broken by wars we did not see.
We became a place to be yearned for,
a gentle past without these complications.
Good old days.
Leaving our world, our spaces,
and falling into our own plots of earth,
then falling further,
into the real innocence, the place of no connection,
leaving to you, only our remains,
to do with what you will;
our present lives
to become your impermanent past.
"We were here, and we were just like you."
I expect we could have looked back,
been beautiful in our retrospective way of thinking.
Antiquated, made into sepia.
Appreciated from a long way off,
something so uncomplicated,
a place to be yearned for,
when you learn to miss what you never had.
Good old days.
Our age would have been struck in bronze,
hammered out in the way we knew.
A love letter to anthropology.
"We were here, and we were just like you."
If we had been an ancient thing,
a grainy image burned on paper
by light that has long since died,
pressed like leaves between the pages of a book,
we would be relics, permanent.
Gracing the walls of our generation,
first laid into soft graves,
now made hard by the treads of the younger.
Good old days.
Our faces would have made people look twice,
a postcard to our greatest grandchildren.
"We were here, and we were just like you."
If we had been an ancient thing,
I know we would be so curious
of the child and their childhood,
the first steps into the world, kicked over
by the inevitability of ageing.
Appreciated from a long way off,
something so uncomplicated,
a place untouched by knowing.
Good old days.
When we knew the world worked one way,
but never the other.
Our games and rhymes are told by you now.
"We were here, and we were just like you."
If we had been some ancient thing,
I think we would have thought longer,
much longer about how it would all fall away.
Antiquated, made into sepia.
Our statues tarnished by the filth we could not know,
our buildings broken by wars we did not see.
We became a place to be yearned for,
a gentle past without these complications.
Good old days.
Leaving our world, our spaces,
and falling into our own plots of earth,
then falling further,
into the real innocence, the place of no connection,
leaving to you, only our remains,
to do with what you will;
our present lives
to become your impermanent past.
"We were here, and we were just like you."
Sunday, October 3, 2010
FML Hot Chocolate
So, if life is getting ya down,
and you don't want to leave the house ...
make this and feel better.
2 tablespoons cocoa
1/3 cup milk or light cream, heated
2/3 cup hot water
1 tablespoon sugar
pinch of chili powder (optional)
In a mug, mix up the sugar, cocoa and a just a little water to make a paste. Pour in the milk and mix until combined. Add the rest of the water, and you are done. Life's a little sweeter now.
And yes, chili powder thing TOTALLY stolen from Chocolat.
and you don't want to leave the house ...
make this and feel better.
2 tablespoons cocoa
1/3 cup milk or light cream, heated
2/3 cup hot water
1 tablespoon sugar
pinch of chili powder (optional)
In a mug, mix up the sugar, cocoa and a just a little water to make a paste. Pour in the milk and mix until combined. Add the rest of the water, and you are done. Life's a little sweeter now.
And yes, chili powder thing TOTALLY stolen from Chocolat.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Love
I walk down the red and white and brick halls, and see the places where she was.
I never met Eva, but she is everywhere. She's a part of this building, and these people, and she is therefore a part of me, in some way.
Our department recently had a memorial for her, where we saw a screening of her documentary, 65_redroses, which was - for a lack of better words - amazing.
Her blog can be found by clicking here. The last few entries are from her family, and everything previous makes it very clear what a brilliantly creative person Eva was. And the impact she will continue to have on the world.
Here is a link for more information on her documentary, which is now available on DVD.
And finally, much of Eva's legacy is in the increase of those who have signed up to be organ donors. Here is the link to the BC Transplant website.
From the memorial, I remembered and resonated with the fact that she was here to love. She has inspired so much love in this world, and I remember hearing her talk about how she survived because she had so much love in her life. And if she can touch so many people, without even having known them, she's done much, much more than she ever set out to do.
Just. Love.
I never met Eva, but she is everywhere. She's a part of this building, and these people, and she is therefore a part of me, in some way.
Our department recently had a memorial for her, where we saw a screening of her documentary, 65_redroses, which was - for a lack of better words - amazing.
Her blog can be found by clicking here. The last few entries are from her family, and everything previous makes it very clear what a brilliantly creative person Eva was. And the impact she will continue to have on the world.
Here is a link for more information on her documentary, which is now available on DVD.
And finally, much of Eva's legacy is in the increase of those who have signed up to be organ donors. Here is the link to the BC Transplant website.
From the memorial, I remembered and resonated with the fact that she was here to love. She has inspired so much love in this world, and I remember hearing her talk about how she survived because she had so much love in her life. And if she can touch so many people, without even having known them, she's done much, much more than she ever set out to do.
Just. Love.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Grr.
Oh, yes, my tasty little friends across the web. It is another bit of ranting about frustration.
I promise it will be at least a little entertaining, and I'll give you video carrots-on-sticks to make sure you stay with me.
PLUS, if you're interested in some thoughts from someone who should call herself an artist-in-the-making, read on.
And I'll be back to my old tricks soon.
Why is it that we feel such a big rush of pressure to get going on our lives? I feel, right now, that for all of the "take it easy" type advice I'm getting, I am also getting about three times as many "tick tock, cookie. You're not living forever. Life has balls to grab, so gloves off!"
And I mean, that's all well and good. I don't want to loll around uselessly until something happens to me. Passivity isn't something I'm going for here.
But I just get the feeling that, in the eyes of a lot of people, if I don't get going on making myself something PRONTO, I'll wind up being no one.
God forbid I want to travel, or work and pay off my debts (which are piling up) so I can get into a career in the art world without having to pay them off AND work to live. God forbid I want to take a day or two to just be, and not write, not think about agents, resumés, photos, blarg.
And yet, at the same time, it almost seems ingrained in my being that I think about these things. When I'm not actually working, studying or sleeping, I'm thinking. That's a lie, I think when I sleep, too.
Thinking about everything from my ideal film role (that I won't write about - it'll be too good if it happens, and I don't want to jinx it), about the headshots I'll need to take, if I work for awhile, how to keep my muscles - physical and otherwise - ready to go ... and if I'll "make it". And there we go. What does "make it" mean?
First video reward. You've been so good. You will hopefully have seen this.
Okay. Where were we? RIGHT, "making it" and how subjective that is.
I'd just like to be able to do well for myself and for whoever is in my life. Partner, Futurebrats, the Parents in Hometown ... these people (hypothetical and real) mean a lot to me, so being able to take care of them is important.
I also want to do things that challenge me, and make me happy. That's what it is.
To be continued. Isn't it ever.
I promise it will be at least a little entertaining, and I'll give you video carrots-on-sticks to make sure you stay with me.
PLUS, if you're interested in some thoughts from someone who should call herself an artist-in-the-making, read on.
And I'll be back to my old tricks soon.
Why is it that we feel such a big rush of pressure to get going on our lives? I feel, right now, that for all of the "take it easy" type advice I'm getting, I am also getting about three times as many "tick tock, cookie. You're not living forever. Life has balls to grab, so gloves off!"
And I mean, that's all well and good. I don't want to loll around uselessly until something happens to me. Passivity isn't something I'm going for here.
But I just get the feeling that, in the eyes of a lot of people, if I don't get going on making myself something PRONTO, I'll wind up being no one.
God forbid I want to travel, or work and pay off my debts (which are piling up) so I can get into a career in the art world without having to pay them off AND work to live. God forbid I want to take a day or two to just be, and not write, not think about agents, resumés, photos, blarg.
And yet, at the same time, it almost seems ingrained in my being that I think about these things. When I'm not actually working, studying or sleeping, I'm thinking. That's a lie, I think when I sleep, too.
Thinking about everything from my ideal film role (that I won't write about - it'll be too good if it happens, and I don't want to jinx it), about the headshots I'll need to take, if I work for awhile, how to keep my muscles - physical and otherwise - ready to go ... and if I'll "make it". And there we go. What does "make it" mean?
First video reward. You've been so good. You will hopefully have seen this.
Okay. Where were we? RIGHT, "making it" and how subjective that is.
I'd just like to be able to do well for myself and for whoever is in my life. Partner, Futurebrats, the Parents in Hometown ... these people (hypothetical and real) mean a lot to me, so being able to take care of them is important.
I also want to do things that challenge me, and make me happy. That's what it is.
To be continued. Isn't it ever.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Welcome to the Waiting
Welcome to the waiting
time,
in-between and around action.
Welcome to what if, I don't know
can't answer that right now.
Welcome to the fork in the road
choose.
Welcome to the make-your-own-story
where it burns up if you don't
flip to page 73
Welcome to grabbing,
going forward and not running
saying goodbye when you know that it is right.
Welcome to frost,
after waiting, more waiting.
Waiting is the event.
Fill up the time.
Bring a book
(or write one) -
spend it thinking
laughing
meeting
falling, falling in love (maybe)
falling out, too.
to buying dresses
and holding hands
and vigils
and going home.
And then it comes!
Action, movement, propulsion,
which makes you crave the waiting
which makes you want to be idly busy
and not wringing out
over one thing
going one toe at a time
or headfirst
into the next part of your life
the next job
family
friend
love
whatever it is
and seeing where it will go
(if, actually, if it will go)
and keep on the same way
eventually forgetting the frustration
- now and then -
of waiting, wringing, deciding
and just living.
time,
in-between and around action.
Welcome to what if, I don't know
can't answer that right now.
Welcome to the fork in the road
choose.
Welcome to the make-your-own-story
where it burns up if you don't
flip to page 73
Welcome to grabbing,
going forward and not running
saying goodbye when you know that it is right.
Welcome to frost,
after waiting, more waiting.
Waiting is the event.
Fill up the time.
Bring a book
(or write one) -
spend it thinking
laughing
meeting
falling, falling in love (maybe)
falling out, too.
to buying dresses
and holding hands
and vigils
and going home.
And then it comes!
Action, movement, propulsion,
which makes you crave the waiting
which makes you want to be idly busy
and not wringing out
over one thing
going one toe at a time
or headfirst
into the next part of your life
the next job
family
friend
love
whatever it is
and seeing where it will go
(if, actually, if it will go)
and keep on the same way
eventually forgetting the frustration
- now and then -
of waiting, wringing, deciding
and just living.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Tasty, Tasty Melodies pt. 2
I used to live alone, in my own little apartment before moving in with Roommate.
Living on your own makes for a lot of culinary experimentation - at least in my case, which means a lot of failures. I laugh now, but I was almost in tears when I scraped away bits of burned caserole that I had spent hours preparing.
But that's what you do: you make, you fail. You try again. You do better.
My mother is an amazing cook, and either through genetics or osmosis, I've picked up her innate sense of seasoning, and the ability to turn a few sad little ingredients into something good. I owe her a lot for every time someone takes a bite of something I've made and goes "wow". And for remembering that preparing food is not only about picking fresh ingredients and not adding too much salt, but the intention with which you make it. Food tastes better when prepared with - prepare yourself - love. Cheesy? Of course. But it's true.
One thing I neglected to do when I cooked for myself sometimes was the love. I'd toss a few things together, and hope they'd keep me full. Or, I'd get on the phone for some takeout.
One time, though, I came home exhausted, sad and needing to take care of myself. There had been rough times with a boyfriend, and I had walked home, anticipating calling the Chinese place down the street.
And then, I remembered. I am alone. I need to eat. And I need to eat well.
So, I cranked Mother Mother, and made this pasta sauce. O My Heart is a very punchy album, and tastes like red sauce to me. With kamut spaghetti.
Note that this is for one person, so make it for yourself, and spend some me time. Or, multiply it if you must for others.
I'm using sauce out of a jar for a base, but I love making it 100% from scratch. It takes time, so if you're really hungry, swallow the pride and just go for the jar stuff.
The "O My Heart" Pasta for the Lone Diner
Basic Sauce
- 1 cup pasta sauce (I love the Paul Newman Bombolina sauce. It's a tomato basil, so it's basic.)
- 1/8 cup red wine
-2 cloves garlic, minced
- 1/2 red onion, chopped
- 1 teaspoon black pepper
- pinch of cayenne pepper
- salt to taste
- 1/2 teaspoon chili flakes (go for a quarter if you're not a spicy type)
- 1/2 tablespoon olive oil
- 1 teaspoon rosemary (1 1/2 if fresh)
Suggestions for Add-ins (pick a few, and then adjust spices accordingly)
- Veggie ground round (original - less salty), ground chicken, etc. (pick one, and then use between 1/8 and 1/4 pounds, depending on how much meat you want. Cook it alone and add it in)
- Diced mushrooms (add after the onions)
- Red bell pepper (ditto)
Pasta
My favourite type of pasta is kamut. It's a whole grain alternative to wheat, and it is delicious. This sauce is strong, and white pasta probably won't cut it, and I strongly suggest a whole grain of some kind. Follow the package directions for your choice.
1. Over a medium heat, with the olive oil, fry up them onions. The red onion lends a sweetness to the sauce that is otherwise very robust. Keep them on their own until they're fairly tender. Add garlic. Turn the heat down just a bit to prevent it from burning. Stir for a few minutes.
2. Add the sauce, and stir. Start adding the spices, gradually. Because this is your sauce, make it just the way you want. A really good way to do the spices is to mix them all together in a small bowl and add pinches, tasting until you like what's going on. Pre-prepared sauces will also have a certain amount of salt, so make sure you know what you're dealing with before you add any.
3. This is my favourite part: add the wine, take the burner down to a low heat, and let that bad boy simmer. Take a sec here to check on your pasta, and to make a nice place setting for yourself.
4. After five minutes, it should be ready to go. Pour it over the pasta, add some parm, and eat. And, for Pete's sake, enjoy it. Don't do anything except eat.
Here's a cool version of of "Burning Pile" from OMH.
Living on your own makes for a lot of culinary experimentation - at least in my case, which means a lot of failures. I laugh now, but I was almost in tears when I scraped away bits of burned caserole that I had spent hours preparing.
But that's what you do: you make, you fail. You try again. You do better.
My mother is an amazing cook, and either through genetics or osmosis, I've picked up her innate sense of seasoning, and the ability to turn a few sad little ingredients into something good. I owe her a lot for every time someone takes a bite of something I've made and goes "wow". And for remembering that preparing food is not only about picking fresh ingredients and not adding too much salt, but the intention with which you make it. Food tastes better when prepared with - prepare yourself - love. Cheesy? Of course. But it's true.
One thing I neglected to do when I cooked for myself sometimes was the love. I'd toss a few things together, and hope they'd keep me full. Or, I'd get on the phone for some takeout.
One time, though, I came home exhausted, sad and needing to take care of myself. There had been rough times with a boyfriend, and I had walked home, anticipating calling the Chinese place down the street.
And then, I remembered. I am alone. I need to eat. And I need to eat well.
So, I cranked Mother Mother, and made this pasta sauce. O My Heart is a very punchy album, and tastes like red sauce to me. With kamut spaghetti.
--
Note that this is for one person, so make it for yourself, and spend some me time. Or, multiply it if you must for others.
I'm using sauce out of a jar for a base, but I love making it 100% from scratch. It takes time, so if you're really hungry, swallow the pride and just go for the jar stuff.
The "O My Heart" Pasta for the Lone Diner
Basic Sauce
- 1 cup pasta sauce (I love the Paul Newman Bombolina sauce. It's a tomato basil, so it's basic.)
- 1/8 cup red wine
-2 cloves garlic, minced
- 1/2 red onion, chopped
- 1 teaspoon black pepper
- pinch of cayenne pepper
- salt to taste
- 1/2 teaspoon chili flakes (go for a quarter if you're not a spicy type)
- 1/2 tablespoon olive oil
- 1 teaspoon rosemary (1 1/2 if fresh)
Suggestions for Add-ins (pick a few, and then adjust spices accordingly)
- Veggie ground round (original - less salty), ground chicken, etc. (pick one, and then use between 1/8 and 1/4 pounds, depending on how much meat you want. Cook it alone and add it in)
- Diced mushrooms (add after the onions)
- Red bell pepper (ditto)
Pasta
My favourite type of pasta is kamut. It's a whole grain alternative to wheat, and it is delicious. This sauce is strong, and white pasta probably won't cut it, and I strongly suggest a whole grain of some kind. Follow the package directions for your choice.
1. Over a medium heat, with the olive oil, fry up them onions. The red onion lends a sweetness to the sauce that is otherwise very robust. Keep them on their own until they're fairly tender. Add garlic. Turn the heat down just a bit to prevent it from burning. Stir for a few minutes.
2. Add the sauce, and stir. Start adding the spices, gradually. Because this is your sauce, make it just the way you want. A really good way to do the spices is to mix them all together in a small bowl and add pinches, tasting until you like what's going on. Pre-prepared sauces will also have a certain amount of salt, so make sure you know what you're dealing with before you add any.
3. This is my favourite part: add the wine, take the burner down to a low heat, and let that bad boy simmer. Take a sec here to check on your pasta, and to make a nice place setting for yourself.
4. After five minutes, it should be ready to go. Pour it over the pasta, add some parm, and eat. And, for Pete's sake, enjoy it. Don't do anything except eat.
Here's a cool version of of "Burning Pile" from OMH.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Old Hearts
So,
These puppies are very polarizing. I know most people love or hate the Arcade Fire.
I'm leaning towards friends-with-benefits.
You can't tell me that if this performance was a person, that you wouldn't be tempted.
Enjoy.
These puppies are very polarizing. I know most people love or hate the Arcade Fire.
I'm leaning towards friends-with-benefits.
You can't tell me that if this performance was a person, that you wouldn't be tempted.
Enjoy.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Mmmm. Awesome.
Everyone has heard of this blog/book/phenomenon by now.
I like the idea of making lists, and I like things that are awesome. Done.
I decided to put together a short list of things that I like. Things that I think are awesome, just in their own way. Let me know what you think!
1. Finishing a great book
This can be very sad in a way, too. It's a goodbye. When you finish a great book for the first time, there's a feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction, and knowing that you've shared something with someone you may very well never meet. But there is the knowledge that it was ephemeral, something that you'll never have again. Not on a second reading. Not with an equally great book. It's done, but you did it!
2. Hot water bottles
Oh, the relief! If you've ever had to deal with menstrual cramps and put one of these puppies on, it makes life so much more liveable. And they're great for when you're cold.
3. New music
This one is a huge "duh" because really, who doesn't like to find out about what the world of music has to offer? But when something is new to you, that's when it is magical. I was once walking home, and good ol' shuffle put on "Day in the Life" by the Beatles. Nothing revolutionary, everyone grew up with this. But I had to stop dead in my tracks, because it was the first time that I had ever actually listened to it. I was incredibly affected.New music for me now? Well, that's a post unto itself.
4. Other people in my bed
Not even if it is romantic, but that is nice, of course. I love having someone there, feeling warm. And safe. We're better against marauders with two in a bed.
5. Re-runs
My goodness. These have saved my butt in so many ways. I'm not used to having cable TV (I'd been without it from age twelve to last year) but it's been nice for when I've been sad, or couldn't sleep. Plus, it's getting me caught up on the Simpsons, which I was never allowed to watch. And because of re runs, I am now familiar with things like this.
6. Popcorn
I could eat this for dinner. In fact, I have. Healthy? Only just, but still. Delicious, and an absolutely brainless snack. Pairs well with #5.
7. My cat
I do like most cats in general, but this particular one is wonderful. Sasha is smelly, loud, gorgeous and almost 19 years old. In cat years, she practically pre-dates Jesus. If cats have a Jesus. She's back in Hometown, but mum takes good care of her. She's gone deaf now, but I like to say that she's stopped listening. Which is good, because we swear at her a lot now.
8. Leonard Nimoy
Actor, philosopher, photographer and legend, I consider this man pretty darn important in the formation of my psyche. Mostly as Mr. Spock, and then later, reading his books and seeing his photo exhibits, I started to think about art and acting in a new way. Plus I met him. Oh yes.
9. Hummus and Carrots
Good snack. If it is red pepper hummus, then it is very colourful. Unless you're alergic to chick peas, or something, then you should eat this often. Listening to reagge gives me hummus. Sometimes with carrots, sometimes with corn chips. Totally depends. See a few posts ago if you're unsure about this food-music connection.
10. Gregory Peck
Ever since having seen him in Roman Holiday, I wanted to whiz around Rome on a Vespa with this man, eating gelato and being a princess in disguise. It wasn't ever anything too romantic, actually. I've always had a secret desire for an older brother. Mr. Peck would make an amazing big bro.
I like the idea of making lists, and I like things that are awesome. Done.
I decided to put together a short list of things that I like. Things that I think are awesome, just in their own way. Let me know what you think!
This can be very sad in a way, too. It's a goodbye. When you finish a great book for the first time, there's a feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction, and knowing that you've shared something with someone you may very well never meet. But there is the knowledge that it was ephemeral, something that you'll never have again. Not on a second reading. Not with an equally great book. It's done, but you did it!
2. Hot water bottlesOh, the relief! If you've ever had to deal with menstrual cramps and put one of these puppies on, it makes life so much more liveable. And they're great for when you're cold.
3. New music
This one is a huge "duh" because really, who doesn't like to find out about what the world of music has to offer? But when something is new to you, that's when it is magical. I was once walking home, and good ol' shuffle put on "Day in the Life" by the Beatles. Nothing revolutionary, everyone grew up with this. But I had to stop dead in my tracks, because it was the first time that I had ever actually listened to it. I was incredibly affected.New music for me now? Well, that's a post unto itself.
4. Other people in my bedNot even if it is romantic, but that is nice, of course. I love having someone there, feeling warm. And safe. We're better against marauders with two in a bed.
5. Re-runsMy goodness. These have saved my butt in so many ways. I'm not used to having cable TV (I'd been without it from age twelve to last year) but it's been nice for when I've been sad, or couldn't sleep. Plus, it's getting me caught up on the Simpsons, which I was never allowed to watch. And because of re runs, I am now familiar with things like this.
6. PopcornI could eat this for dinner. In fact, I have. Healthy? Only just, but still. Delicious, and an absolutely brainless snack. Pairs well with #5.
7. My cat
I do like most cats in general, but this particular one is wonderful. Sasha is smelly, loud, gorgeous and almost 19 years old. In cat years, she practically pre-dates Jesus. If cats have a Jesus. She's back in Hometown, but mum takes good care of her. She's gone deaf now, but I like to say that she's stopped listening. Which is good, because we swear at her a lot now.
8. Leonard Nimoy
Actor, philosopher, photographer and legend, I consider this man pretty darn important in the formation of my psyche. Mostly as Mr. Spock, and then later, reading his books and seeing his photo exhibits, I started to think about art and acting in a new way. Plus I met him. Oh yes.
9. Hummus and Carrots
Good snack. If it is red pepper hummus, then it is very colourful. Unless you're alergic to chick peas, or something, then you should eat this often. Listening to reagge gives me hummus. Sometimes with carrots, sometimes with corn chips. Totally depends. See a few posts ago if you're unsure about this food-music connection.
10. Gregory PeckEver since having seen him in Roman Holiday, I wanted to whiz around Rome on a Vespa with this man, eating gelato and being a princess in disguise. It wasn't ever anything too romantic, actually. I've always had a secret desire for an older brother. Mr. Peck would make an amazing big bro.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Impending ... something
My dear girl, this is the beginning of the rest of your life.
I'm getting very reflective in the shadow of the last year of my degree. It is there, it's gonna happen, but ... it's that feeling of being at the starting gate. All at once, I want to bolt and rush through it, and just go balls to the wall - and I also want to just go home and have my mum make me eggs.
That's not atypical, and I'm aware. But the world is constantly expanding, and it is getting rather scary. The last year of Uni is not exactly a Hallmark-worthy milestone, but it feels big. Fourth year in the theatre department is a big deal. You're given a lot more responsibility and individual projects, so the stakes get higher. And there's the shallow part where in that world, you're a bit of a celebrity. Not hugely, but people know who you are and they pay attention to you.
All this from buying a textbook. Seriously.
I'll get into something less "AHHHH LIFE IS SCARY" and something more food-related or perhaps the artsy poetry I'm getting known for.
I think it is now the time to reward you with something just as wow-enducing as life.
Dolly Parton. With Disney Characters.
So, what were the past twenty-odd years, then?
Dress rehearsal.
I'm getting very reflective in the shadow of the last year of my degree. It is there, it's gonna happen, but ... it's that feeling of being at the starting gate. All at once, I want to bolt and rush through it, and just go balls to the wall - and I also want to just go home and have my mum make me eggs.
That's not atypical, and I'm aware. But the world is constantly expanding, and it is getting rather scary. The last year of Uni is not exactly a Hallmark-worthy milestone, but it feels big. Fourth year in the theatre department is a big deal. You're given a lot more responsibility and individual projects, so the stakes get higher. And there's the shallow part where in that world, you're a bit of a celebrity. Not hugely, but people know who you are and they pay attention to you.
In moments like these, I also see the years of my life spread in front of me. I can see the next few. You know, graduating, working ... moving. Perhaps fall in .... love? (Do we still call it that?)
These shapes are all blurred at the edges. I get them in theory. And then, the rest of it all stretches ahead into notions and then all I can see is that little vanishing point on the horizon.
I know it is there, and that's exhilarating. Beautiful, and shit yourself scary.
All this from buying a textbook. Seriously.
I'll get into something less "AHHHH LIFE IS SCARY" and something more food-related or perhaps the artsy poetry I'm getting known for.
I think it is now the time to reward you with something just as wow-enducing as life.
Dolly Parton. With Disney Characters.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Tasty, Tasty Melodies pt.1
I'm a little strange. I'm sure you may have figured this out by now, but I've never really explained to you why.
One of the reasons is that I taste music. And not just one flavour, but a whole dish: the temperature, the texture, the colour ... everything.
I'm not sure if this is full-tilt synesthesia or if it's just a good ol' fashioned quirk, but it's how I roll!
I thought I'd give you guys some recipes and the music that inspires them.
I'm starting with a little Erykah Badu. This is "The Healer".
This song is fried rice. Spicy, tangy and really filling.
The Healer Fried Rice
*** No eggs will make this vegan.
- Prepare 1 cup brown basmati rice with 1 1/2 half cups water. Cook until it's just a little tender.
- 2 eggs
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- 2 teaspoons chili flakes
- 2 tablespoons cumin
- pinch of cayenne pepper
- 1 teaspoon salt
- 1 teaspoon black pepper (fresh ground is always, always best)
- 2 green onions, chopped
- 2 cloves of garlic, either minced or smushed in a garlic press
- 1/2 red pepper, cut into thin strips
- 2 tablespoons soy sauce (low sodium!)
- Dash of tabasco
- Once the rice is cooked, remove it from the heat and set it aside for now.
- With just a little water, combine all of the spices (including the sauces) in a small bowl and set aside.
- In a large - very large - wok or frying pan, pour in the olive oil and begin frying your eggs over a happy medium-low heat. This bit's pretty personal. I looove to have really well-cooked eggs, just brown and crispy in places. Some like them almost runny.
- Toss in your red peppers along with the eggs. The best red peppers will give you that tangy, sharp feeling at the back of your nose when you cook them. At this point, add a few teaspoons of your spice goo.
- In go the green onions! These are like the shy little cousin of the big yellow or white guys. They'll just give you the teeniest hint of that great pungent onion flavour without being all "HEY! WE'RE ONIONS! TASTE US!" They get tender pretty quick. Add some more spice goo.
- Knock that heat dial up to a medium-high heat and toss in your rice. You can go all at once or let it happen gradually. At this point, you'll add the rest of your spice goo. Use a spatula to get every last morsel out, and keep that bad boy for stirring the rice from now on.
- At this point, as you toss the rice on a higher heat, you're welcome to take this recipe and run, run like the wind with it. If you've marinated some chicken pieces, toss 'em in. The nice thing about fried rice is that it's pretty accepting of whatever you put in it. I've been know to use chopped up bits of Italian turkey sausage, bacon left over from breakfast (again, turkey in my case), tofu, veggie ground round, mo' veggies ... pretty much anything. And, add more spices! Taste as you go. The spices I've suggested here are approximations of what I'll put in as a base, and riff from there.
- The trick at this stage is to constantly be stirring the rice. If you need to run away from the stove, get a buddy to be your stirring stand-in, or take it off the heat entirely. It's on higher heat, and we don't want burnage.
- You'll know it's done when you've got some crispy-tender business going on in the rice department and the red pepper is still soft and crunchy at the same time.
Suggestions:
Serve with:
This dish is pretty idependent. It's a meal on its own. If you want to add some fresh veggies and dip, that would be good.
Ooh, maybe some vanilla ice cream for dessert!
To drink, try something non-acidic (preferably no juice) to balance the spice and tang, Plain water, mineral water or some iced tea could do well here.
And of course, listen to the Badu as you make this. After all, we have her (and my nutso brain) to thank for the nom noms.
One of the reasons is that I taste music. And not just one flavour, but a whole dish: the temperature, the texture, the colour ... everything.
I'm not sure if this is full-tilt synesthesia or if it's just a good ol' fashioned quirk, but it's how I roll!
I thought I'd give you guys some recipes and the music that inspires them.
I'm starting with a little Erykah Badu. This is "The Healer".
This song is fried rice. Spicy, tangy and really filling.
The Healer Fried Rice
*** No eggs will make this vegan.
- Prepare 1 cup brown basmati rice with 1 1/2 half cups water. Cook until it's just a little tender.
- 2 eggs
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- 2 teaspoons chili flakes
- 2 tablespoons cumin
- pinch of cayenne pepper
- 1 teaspoon salt
- 1 teaspoon black pepper (fresh ground is always, always best)
- 2 green onions, chopped
- 2 cloves of garlic, either minced or smushed in a garlic press
- 1/2 red pepper, cut into thin strips
- 2 tablespoons soy sauce (low sodium!)
- Dash of tabasco
~
- Once the rice is cooked, remove it from the heat and set it aside for now.
- With just a little water, combine all of the spices (including the sauces) in a small bowl and set aside.
- In a large - very large - wok or frying pan, pour in the olive oil and begin frying your eggs over a happy medium-low heat. This bit's pretty personal. I looove to have really well-cooked eggs, just brown and crispy in places. Some like them almost runny.
- Toss in your red peppers along with the eggs. The best red peppers will give you that tangy, sharp feeling at the back of your nose when you cook them. At this point, add a few teaspoons of your spice goo.
- In go the green onions! These are like the shy little cousin of the big yellow or white guys. They'll just give you the teeniest hint of that great pungent onion flavour without being all "HEY! WE'RE ONIONS! TASTE US!" They get tender pretty quick. Add some more spice goo.
- Knock that heat dial up to a medium-high heat and toss in your rice. You can go all at once or let it happen gradually. At this point, you'll add the rest of your spice goo. Use a spatula to get every last morsel out, and keep that bad boy for stirring the rice from now on.
- At this point, as you toss the rice on a higher heat, you're welcome to take this recipe and run, run like the wind with it. If you've marinated some chicken pieces, toss 'em in. The nice thing about fried rice is that it's pretty accepting of whatever you put in it. I've been know to use chopped up bits of Italian turkey sausage, bacon left over from breakfast (again, turkey in my case), tofu, veggie ground round, mo' veggies ... pretty much anything. And, add more spices! Taste as you go. The spices I've suggested here are approximations of what I'll put in as a base, and riff from there.
- The trick at this stage is to constantly be stirring the rice. If you need to run away from the stove, get a buddy to be your stirring stand-in, or take it off the heat entirely. It's on higher heat, and we don't want burnage.
- You'll know it's done when you've got some crispy-tender business going on in the rice department and the red pepper is still soft and crunchy at the same time.
Suggestions:
Serve with:
This dish is pretty idependent. It's a meal on its own. If you want to add some fresh veggies and dip, that would be good.
Ooh, maybe some vanilla ice cream for dessert!
To drink, try something non-acidic (preferably no juice) to balance the spice and tang, Plain water, mineral water or some iced tea could do well here.
And of course, listen to the Badu as you make this. After all, we have her (and my nutso brain) to thank for the nom noms.
Monday, July 12, 2010
corpoREAL
today was the day that my body stopped groaning
and asked, so gently,
move me. touch me. i am thirsty
and I moved and touched and drank
because for all I know, it knows better than me
every cell aches to be itself and everyone at once
who knew.
every drop of sweat, taste of blood, rush of pain
sends a new wisdom
embeds a new memory
it knows better than me
its sweetness and its power
its beauty and its pain
its love and its anger, both deep
and now it wants me to speak.
and asked, so gently,
move me. touch me. i am thirsty
and I moved and touched and drank
because for all I know, it knows better than me
every cell aches to be itself and everyone at once
who knew.
every drop of sweat, taste of blood, rush of pain
sends a new wisdom
embeds a new memory
it knows better than me
its sweetness and its power
its beauty and its pain
its love and its anger, both deep
and now it wants me to speak.
Been
For the summer that was.
and will be.
Let's take a moment.
Just a breath,
and will be.
Let's take a moment.
Just a breath,
Be patient! Sit tight,
one eye open, the ever-cautious
we'll take that sweetness from your ideas
and take it into the world.
Let's see, my dear, how it will take to the wind,
being airborne,
the crush of cold and the blast of heat
Kissing the rush when spring arrives
planting seeds of insanity,
for those to come
Stuffing our faces with the ripeness of NOW
and just getting sticky
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Happy Canada Day
There's HST!
There's semi-legal searches happening on transit routes!
There's an oil spill!
There's still broken windows in Toronto!
There's a lot of bad, but there are also:
PATRIOTIC PASTRIES!!!
I'll post something of much more substance soon, I promise!
There's semi-legal searches happening on transit routes!
There's an oil spill!
There's still broken windows in Toronto!
There's a lot of bad, but there are also:
PATRIOTIC PASTRIES!!!
I'll post something of much more substance soon, I promise!
Monday, May 24, 2010
Photo Credit: William Klein, 1959Here goes.
Summers are always odd times, or at least they have been for me. I get a chance to work and do things I couldn't do in the year. That's always good. But there's also a sense of intertia I get when I don't have a purpose. If I'm not busy trying to do a million things, I get a little antsy and crabby.
This year, however, I am not working retail (yay!) or as a barista (double yay!), so I don't think I'll have to worry about that this year. Hurrah! Stimulation all year round.
Ahem.
Anyhoo, the summer looks bright and cheery and full of music, friends, poems, and of course, les blogues. So, keep on truckin'.
The next few might be about food and music, as they go together ever so well.
Okay fank you.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Female pt. 2
Men, women ... who cares? Oh, Christina! I am a big magazine fan. Huge. So much so that when I gave them up for Lent (I know, right?), I probably ended up saving about fifty dollars. Because of having to brave the swamp of academia in which we might have to read hefty, often dryish texts, the glossy pages of a magazine are the sweetest brain candy.
Plus, I cut all the pretty pictures out and make things from them. Hee hee.
Anyway, I'm pretty familiar with the landscape of women's magazines. My usual reading roster consists of two versions of Glamour, a Vanity Fair, and of course, Bust.
This month, I was compelled to pick up an Esquire. Okay, so this was mostly because of Christina Hendricks. My Mad Men obsession has officially reached the level of addiction. She graces the cover in all her sexy, redheaded glory, and this one issue happens to be the "Women Issue". Interesting, no?
It was kind of refreshing to see the same efforts made in magazines geared toward both genders. There were a lot of "how to make her happy" kind of articles. Even a map for how to give the perfect back rub, how to buy lingerie (my advice: leave it to us. You'll mess it up unless you really, really know what you're doing), how to slow dance, and *sigh* how to act patient.
What I really liked about this magazine was the bits of it that were unrelated to women. For instance, in the letters to the editor section, they ran a tally for a man who wrote far too many letters. There were columns dedicated to answering any and all questions, including one about diving into a pool of jell-o.
Article-wise, there was a piece on Hillary Clinton that I thought was quite interesting. There was one on Paris Hilton which was written so as to let her own words speak for her. I want to smush her face even more now. I was also really impressed with the piece on Lady GaGa by Brendan Sullivan.
Overall, I was impressed. There were moments when I was reading and I noticed some comments that were sexist, but it made me think: in an equivalent magazine for women, there are similar comments. So, the men are talking about our breast size and if our bums are droopy or not, but women are talking about beer bellies and thinning hair.
Esquire, you've impressed me. I'll look through future issues to see if this one was better because of the theme, but I really did like it. Any friend of Christina Hendricks is a friend of mine!
Plus, I cut all the pretty pictures out and make things from them. Hee hee.
Anyway, I'm pretty familiar with the landscape of women's magazines. My usual reading roster consists of two versions of Glamour, a Vanity Fair, and of course, Bust.
This month, I was compelled to pick up an Esquire. Okay, so this was mostly because of Christina Hendricks. My Mad Men obsession has officially reached the level of addiction. She graces the cover in all her sexy, redheaded glory, and this one issue happens to be the "Women Issue". Interesting, no?
It was kind of refreshing to see the same efforts made in magazines geared toward both genders. There were a lot of "how to make her happy" kind of articles. Even a map for how to give the perfect back rub, how to buy lingerie (my advice: leave it to us. You'll mess it up unless you really, really know what you're doing), how to slow dance, and *sigh* how to act patient.
What I really liked about this magazine was the bits of it that were unrelated to women. For instance, in the letters to the editor section, they ran a tally for a man who wrote far too many letters. There were columns dedicated to answering any and all questions, including one about diving into a pool of jell-o.
Article-wise, there was a piece on Hillary Clinton that I thought was quite interesting. There was one on Paris Hilton which was written so as to let her own words speak for her. I want to smush her face even more now. I was also really impressed with the piece on Lady GaGa by Brendan Sullivan.
Overall, I was impressed. There were moments when I was reading and I noticed some comments that were sexist, but it made me think: in an equivalent magazine for women, there are similar comments. So, the men are talking about our breast size and if our bums are droopy or not, but women are talking about beer bellies and thinning hair.
Esquire, you've impressed me. I'll look through future issues to see if this one was better because of the theme, but I really did like it. Any friend of Christina Hendricks is a friend of mine!
Monday, May 3, 2010
Employee Picks
So, this is basically a "what I'm into these days kinda post". I'm giving these the G Wax Seal of Approval. And I thought I'd mix it up with the rest of the stuff I'm going to be posting soon.
MUSIC:
She & Him - Volume Two
Rating: Three pairs of big blue eyes out of Four
This one is kind of a no-brainer. Anything that involves really sweet and catchy lyrics with a sometimes bass-driven darker instrumentation ("In the Sun") makes me very happy indeed. This album sounds like eating dark chocolate in a sundress. Plus, the reference to the Orpheus myth in "Don't Look Back" tickled me. Ms. Deschanel has a really cute country-esque lilt to her voice that I really like. I'd put this on if I was babysitting.
Charlotte Gainsbourg - IRM
Rating: Four brain scans out of Four
I might be biased because I got to interview her (!!), but I really liked this. I'd heard a lot of Serge Gainsbourg thanks to my slightly off-kilter grade eight social studies teacher. Apparantly, dirty French pop is good study music for thirteen year-olds! Anyway, I really liked how everything was arranged on the album, and you can really hear Beck (both literally and a little less directly) in the production. When it translated live, it surprised me that it worked so well. It was really good to hear something different than the recording.
Mika - The Boy Who Knew Too Much
Rating: Two cartoon solar systems our of Four
Okay, so I'll probably need to give this another few go-rounds, but I wasn't blown away. Life in Cartoon Motion was a hard act to follow. It became my go-to cooking/cleaning/working out soundtrack for months, and I couldn't wait for his next one. The anticipation gave me huge expectations. The CD comes with a disk of live tracks, which do sound quite good.
BOOKS:
The Beautiful Miscellaneous by Dominic Smith
Rating: Four accidental geniuses out of Four
So, this is something I'm re-reading, so it qualifies as current AND I am also able to review it. The premise is that Nathan Nelson, a seventeen year-old who has so far not been able to live up to his parents' expectations, is in an accident that results in his ability to recall pretty much anything. He becomes a living encyclopedia. What I liked was that the book addressed the intelect and human virtuosity in any field by showing its utility and its beauty. It's just good.
TV/FILM:
Mad Men
Rating: Four chain smoking men in suits out of Four
This. Show. Is. Amazing. What I love is that it is so quiet. According to script analysis, which we've just studied, there are few events in this show. Characters tend to go through their own personal plotlines, but there are few things that completely change the world of the show. I adore the women of the show, and I actually like the sexism. The show doesn't hold back or make nice with how people were, and though we still have a long way to go, we've made major progress as a society. Don Draper is probably the best written character I've seen on television, perhaps ever. I think we need a break from getting dazzled by flash and action and look at people. This show does this the best of much of what I've seen or read recently.
MUSIC:
She & Him - Volume Two
Rating: Three pairs of big blue eyes out of Four
This one is kind of a no-brainer. Anything that involves really sweet and catchy lyrics with a sometimes bass-driven darker instrumentation ("In the Sun") makes me very happy indeed. This album sounds like eating dark chocolate in a sundress. Plus, the reference to the Orpheus myth in "Don't Look Back" tickled me. Ms. Deschanel has a really cute country-esque lilt to her voice that I really like. I'd put this on if I was babysitting.
Charlotte Gainsbourg - IRM
Rating: Four brain scans out of Four
I might be biased because I got to interview her (!!), but I really liked this. I'd heard a lot of Serge Gainsbourg thanks to my slightly off-kilter grade eight social studies teacher. Apparantly, dirty French pop is good study music for thirteen year-olds! Anyway, I really liked how everything was arranged on the album, and you can really hear Beck (both literally and a little less directly) in the production. When it translated live, it surprised me that it worked so well. It was really good to hear something different than the recording.
Mika - The Boy Who Knew Too Much
Rating: Two cartoon solar systems our of Four
Okay, so I'll probably need to give this another few go-rounds, but I wasn't blown away. Life in Cartoon Motion was a hard act to follow. It became my go-to cooking/cleaning/working out soundtrack for months, and I couldn't wait for his next one. The anticipation gave me huge expectations. The CD comes with a disk of live tracks, which do sound quite good.
BOOKS:
The Beautiful Miscellaneous by Dominic Smith
Rating: Four accidental geniuses out of Four
So, this is something I'm re-reading, so it qualifies as current AND I am also able to review it. The premise is that Nathan Nelson, a seventeen year-old who has so far not been able to live up to his parents' expectations, is in an accident that results in his ability to recall pretty much anything. He becomes a living encyclopedia. What I liked was that the book addressed the intelect and human virtuosity in any field by showing its utility and its beauty. It's just good.
TV/FILM:
Mad Men
Rating: Four chain smoking men in suits out of Four
This. Show. Is. Amazing. What I love is that it is so quiet. According to script analysis, which we've just studied, there are few events in this show. Characters tend to go through their own personal plotlines, but there are few things that completely change the world of the show. I adore the women of the show, and I actually like the sexism. The show doesn't hold back or make nice with how people were, and though we still have a long way to go, we've made major progress as a society. Don Draper is probably the best written character I've seen on television, perhaps ever. I think we need a break from getting dazzled by flash and action and look at people. This show does this the best of much of what I've seen or read recently.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Female pt.1
Through my work, I've met and spoken to plenty of women artists and producers, read countless articles about everything from sex toys to hate crimes, looked at nude photographs, seen beautiful art, become angry, felt shocked, and realized that I am a feminist.
Women's issues are now becoming issues, not just some backburner pseudo-story. People are becoming more articulate about what is happening in their own bodies, minds, hometowns and families, in every gender. Which is great. But I still think we need to get talking.
I saw a performance of the Vagina Monologues recently, and I'm reading it for myself now. What's great about it is what it has done: it's gotten people to talk. Women are realizing their potential and power, and men can learn to be less afraid.
It's funny: I was reading this on the plane, and I got quite a few reactions. Granted, the piece has gotten a bit of a reputation and has been parodied as well as celebrated. But it was interesting to see that the word "vagina" still made people uneasy.
In work, seeing women artists in the context of their male counterparts has been eye-opening. I've seen people dismiss playing a female artist or group and use a male one instead. To be fair, there are plenty of non-gender related reasons why this happens. But, I've caught the occassional comment to know my suspicions are somewhat valid. I overheard someone in a music store where I was shopping dismiss a CD because it was "pussy rock". It was Heart.
GRrrrRrrrr.
I didn't think I'd find this kind of perspective in a mainstream music artist, but here she is. Lady GaGa, in all her kitschy glory, said it pretty well:
"You see, if I was a guy. and I was sitting here with a cigarette in my hand, grabbing my crotch, and talking about how I make music because I love fast cars and f**king girls, you'd call me a rockstar. But when I do it in my music and in my videos, because I'm a female, because I make pop music, you're judgemental. You say that it is distracting. I'm just a rockstar."
**she does go on to say that she isn't a feminist because she loves men. I'll forgive her.
Women's issues are now becoming issues, not just some backburner pseudo-story. People are becoming more articulate about what is happening in their own bodies, minds, hometowns and families, in every gender. Which is great. But I still think we need to get talking.
I saw a performance of the Vagina Monologues recently, and I'm reading it for myself now. What's great about it is what it has done: it's gotten people to talk. Women are realizing their potential and power, and men can learn to be less afraid.
It's funny: I was reading this on the plane, and I got quite a few reactions. Granted, the piece has gotten a bit of a reputation and has been parodied as well as celebrated. But it was interesting to see that the word "vagina" still made people uneasy.
In work, seeing women artists in the context of their male counterparts has been eye-opening. I've seen people dismiss playing a female artist or group and use a male one instead. To be fair, there are plenty of non-gender related reasons why this happens. But, I've caught the occassional comment to know my suspicions are somewhat valid. I overheard someone in a music store where I was shopping dismiss a CD because it was "pussy rock". It was Heart.
GRrrrRrrrr.
I didn't think I'd find this kind of perspective in a mainstream music artist, but here she is. Lady GaGa, in all her kitschy glory, said it pretty well:
"You see, if I was a guy. and I was sitting here with a cigarette in my hand, grabbing my crotch, and talking about how I make music because I love fast cars and f**king girls, you'd call me a rockstar. But when I do it in my music and in my videos, because I'm a female, because I make pop music, you're judgemental. You say that it is distracting. I'm just a rockstar."
**she does go on to say that she isn't a feminist because she loves men. I'll forgive her.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Terrified Forays into Iambic Pentameter
Inspired by The Ode Less Traveled by Stephen Fry. For lack of a better description, it is a how-to book for writing poetry. I’ve learned about enjambments, caesuras, end-stopping and some history as well.
Structure is often seen as restrictive to creativity, blocking out artists from achieving what they truly would like to accomplish. To paraphrase from the book, complete freedom is daunting and too scary to actually create.
The ten syllables per line of iambic pentameter gives you just enough structure to depend on, but frees you to write about anything. Below are the few little lines I have written. Again, as suggested by Mr. Fry, read these out loud, feel the heartbeat of the lines, sink into the ancient structure….
Terrified Forays into Iambic Pentameter:
Never could I share in the delight,
Of music, of complex shapes of light,
When fallen from the favor of your eye.
The darkest step in which I hide my soul,
Screams in protest with every strangers’ tread.
I alone must bruise the shattering wood;
Footfalls drown out stifled cries of agony.
I cannot believe you would leave me here!
Hit on, in a bar, with piss-water beer.
Can you hang on to my keys, just for now?
My hair is a messy, frightful tangle.
You right my wrongs, most beautiful lover.
The Grey Lady haunts her mother’s tower,
A Ravenclaw, never to leave the school.
Structure is often seen as restrictive to creativity, blocking out artists from achieving what they truly would like to accomplish. To paraphrase from the book, complete freedom is daunting and too scary to actually create.
The ten syllables per line of iambic pentameter gives you just enough structure to depend on, but frees you to write about anything. Below are the few little lines I have written. Again, as suggested by Mr. Fry, read these out loud, feel the heartbeat of the lines, sink into the ancient structure….
Terrified Forays into Iambic Pentameter:
Never could I share in the delight,
Of music, of complex shapes of light,
When fallen from the favor of your eye.
The darkest step in which I hide my soul,
Screams in protest with every strangers’ tread.
I alone must bruise the shattering wood;
Footfalls drown out stifled cries of agony.
I cannot believe you would leave me here!
Hit on, in a bar, with piss-water beer.
Can you hang on to my keys, just for now?
My hair is a messy, frightful tangle.
You right my wrongs, most beautiful lover.
The Grey Lady haunts her mother’s tower,
A Ravenclaw, never to leave the school.
Communication
How do you communicate? Really?
Most of us have a dependency on being able to speak and be understood. We'll use gestures and facial expression to emphasize what we are saying. Body language, tone of voice, movement and vocabulary are all important aspects of communication.
For most of us.
I've been fortunate to find a job at a little toy store, which brings in a greater variety of clientele than you might think. Of course, there are babies, children, parents and grand-parents, people who can see, hear and understand (or are begining to understand) English. The most memorable ones do not.
I greeted her as usual: "Hello! Can I help you with anything?"
No response.
In my mind, I automatically thought, 'Snob.' I tried again to make sure.
"Hello?"
She noticed me, and smiled as she held up a small doll, making a pulling gesture at her mouth. 'How much?'
She was deaf.
Through my embarrasingly tiny knowledge of sign language and with the aid of pen and paper, she was able to leave with exactly what she wanted.
Another one comes to mind. A man, who had obviously come off the streets, spent a great deal of time near a display after I directed him there. He had chosen a small black dog, a labrador, and had come to the counter to pay. He never met my eyes as he paid in nickles and dimes. One by one, he dropped them on the counter, giving me exact payment. He was completely blind and able to tell the coins apart by the sound they made on the counter.
I've had a few other encounters: tourists from Asia and Europe with very different ways of communicating through personal space, people who spoke only German, an Italian uncle who I was able to speak to....and of course, babies, who will respond with a smile and gibberish which I'm sure contains the meaning of life.
My question to you is this: what is within each human being that makes it possible to exchange information despite any kind of barrier? What makes this possible?
Let me know.
Most of us have a dependency on being able to speak and be understood. We'll use gestures and facial expression to emphasize what we are saying. Body language, tone of voice, movement and vocabulary are all important aspects of communication.
For most of us.
I've been fortunate to find a job at a little toy store, which brings in a greater variety of clientele than you might think. Of course, there are babies, children, parents and grand-parents, people who can see, hear and understand (or are begining to understand) English. The most memorable ones do not.
I greeted her as usual: "Hello! Can I help you with anything?"
No response.
In my mind, I automatically thought, 'Snob.' I tried again to make sure.
"Hello?"
She noticed me, and smiled as she held up a small doll, making a pulling gesture at her mouth. 'How much?'
She was deaf.
Through my embarrasingly tiny knowledge of sign language and with the aid of pen and paper, she was able to leave with exactly what she wanted.
Another one comes to mind. A man, who had obviously come off the streets, spent a great deal of time near a display after I directed him there. He had chosen a small black dog, a labrador, and had come to the counter to pay. He never met my eyes as he paid in nickles and dimes. One by one, he dropped them on the counter, giving me exact payment. He was completely blind and able to tell the coins apart by the sound they made on the counter.
I've had a few other encounters: tourists from Asia and Europe with very different ways of communicating through personal space, people who spoke only German, an Italian uncle who I was able to speak to....and of course, babies, who will respond with a smile and gibberish which I'm sure contains the meaning of life.
My question to you is this: what is within each human being that makes it possible to exchange information despite any kind of barrier? What makes this possible?
Let me know.
Salvaged III
Inanimate
Here I am.
Do you want me to sit here?
Oil on water.
Dust on a penny.
My amber gaze pierces your lies.
As I sit on this shelf;
My stealthy vantage point.
Trees
I put my trust in trees
I know what each knot
will support my fingerhold
I know if I slip in the mud
my foot will find a root
and I will walk again
I know each branch and
bramble catches and clings
but keeps me from going too fast
I put my trust in their shadows
I will never be without
something over my head
FeverBrain
Looking through a past entry
I begin to understand my anger.
It was no more significant than
a few grains of tea
but I still
I still
decided convention was
for all but me.
I led a friend into the
wrong part of the city
we became lost
I became lost especially in
embarassment,
I hid.
Because I am sick...
Here I am.
Do you want me to sit here?
Oil on water.
Dust on a penny.
My amber gaze pierces your lies.
As I sit on this shelf;
My stealthy vantage point.
Trees
I put my trust in trees
I know what each knot
will support my fingerhold
I know if I slip in the mud
my foot will find a root
and I will walk again
I know each branch and
bramble catches and clings
but keeps me from going too fast
I put my trust in their shadows
I will never be without
something over my head
FeverBrain
Looking through a past entry
I begin to understand my anger.
It was no more significant than
a few grains of tea
but I still
I still
decided convention was
for all but me.
I led a friend into the
wrong part of the city
we became lost
I became lost especially in
embarassment,
I hid.
Because I am sick...
Salvaged II
Train Ride
One speeding refuge from baking on cement
My train home.
A dollar thirty for a twenty-minute trip
Whiz by houses, apartments.
Distracted momentarily by a smile and a wink
He has nicotine stains and mile-long arms
Thanks, but no thanks.
One speeding refuge from baking on cement
My train home.
A dollar thirty for a twenty-minute trip
Whiz by houses, apartments.
Distracted momentarily by a smile and a wink
He has nicotine stains and mile-long arms
Thanks, but no thanks.
Yet another midnight journey.
But tonight, I cost sixty cents more.
I don't notice her sitting next to me until she sneezes
Barely human, she is all bones and cloth.
A hundred empty seats surround me.
Why here? Why me?!
She coughs again:
"Sorry, I have a cold." Her eyes are sunken.
She asks me where I'm going.
Lions Park.
"Sunnyside," she says.
We talk. She laughs quietly, with her eyes.
Her name is Pam, but she likes ‘Pigeon' better.
She leaves at her stop. Leaves me with a gift of a birthday candle.
It takes the world to lift her up.
I hate what I do next.
I check for my wallet, the quarters in my coat pocket.
Pigeon I can trust, not her needs.
On my train rides I have met hundreds of people:
Two Haitian sisters, a Russian woman with no English.
An Englishman with lung cancer.
Men in suits with sly smiles and low hands.
Bag ladies and bums with more class than business people.
The same people with glass eyes and too many words.
The train scares me,
Track rhythms soothe me.
Every ride is a fight.
Retrieval
A crash of thoughts
and a parliament of words
come wave after wave.
My silly blue bucket cannot
hope to catch a mouthful.
Benign understandings
of malignant concepts
seem much to common
and curiously over-used
A mermaid's glove
finally reaches out
and takes my vessel
Now it is mysteriously filled
and I leave satisfied.
Along with a discarded glove...
Powerless
Who am I
to tell you about
each dewy summer evening:
watching the sun cling
to every blade of grass?
How can I
tell you about
the smell of going out:
mother's perfume and father's shaving lotion
helping to attach the clasp
of a stubborn string of pearls?
When will I
tell you about
those secret morning runs:
the wind crushing your lungs
stopping to tie a shoe
with muddy laces?
Who am I
to tell you about
each sensory field:
one fruitless motion after another
taking your paper cup to fill it
with stale water?
Souvenirs
he echo in a seashell,
I have heard,
is not the ocean caught
in the smooth curvatures of
a vacated home:
but the rhythm of
life pumping in your ear
(For Mum)
Salvaged
Here are some poems from an old blog I had. The site is shutting down, so I'm moving everything. Next, I'll be putting up more self-contained pieces that I have on there.
Lenses
Note on the poem: I was experimenting with a fictional voice and watching the sunset go down, wondering what it would be like to feel a part of oneself die with the world. There are some violent images in the poem, and I would like to remind you that this isn't me, but a character I found and wanted to help.
Discouraging sunsets yell at me
gold and green gold and green
make-believe you know me
mysterious girl in gold and green
play me like every other one
and I really want to run
trip and fall and pick the scabs
get up and scream in your face
and the words are gold and green
pinch me and I bruise
but I never seem to wake up
I slap you and you stay asleep
and the blood is green and gold
I hug my arms against the wind
And your breath down my neck
is green and gold green and gold
And now I'm falling falling
falling falling falling falling
to the bottom and I close
my eyes and the shapes
are green and gold green
and gold green and gold
Gravity
Look at the little ones hiding near the wall.
The wall, so tall
It looms over their fragile heads
It has stolen their mothers
And its stolen their beds.
Look down,
Fold your hands,
They don't want to see you laugh
They don't want to see you cry
They just want to see you.
Deus Ex Machina
Tools from God, Heaven,
Divine flashlight to illuminate the farthest corner
Counter-weights, pulleys, curtains...
The cold machines that fool you!
To become oneself, in front of others,
So real, there is an imposition of truth.
We trick you, hide behind makeup and smoke
To tell you that this is life.
And you believe us.
We want to be immortal, if only for a second.
Because, you see,
we made God's hand weeks ago.
And the tools are our own.
I Have a Window
The energy is seated beneath my collarbone,
layers of skin do nothing to protect me.
So raw.
Outside my window people sit and talk
and talk and talk.
No parties, because of class.
I have met my home today, a baby labrynth in its own right.
And I must try and become:
A sexual vegetable.
I think a zucchini will do.
And I wait.
Root Bound
Lenses
Note on the poem: I was experimenting with a fictional voice and watching the sunset go down, wondering what it would be like to feel a part of oneself die with the world. There are some violent images in the poem, and I would like to remind you that this isn't me, but a character I found and wanted to help.
Discouraging sunsets yell at me
gold and green gold and green
make-believe you know me
mysterious girl in gold and green
play me like every other one
and I really want to run
trip and fall and pick the scabs
get up and scream in your face
and the words are gold and green
pinch me and I bruise
but I never seem to wake up
I slap you and you stay asleep
and the blood is green and gold
I hug my arms against the wind
And your breath down my neck
is green and gold green and gold
And now I'm falling falling
falling falling falling falling
to the bottom and I close
my eyes and the shapes
are green and gold green
and gold green and gold
Gravity
Look at the little ones hiding near the wall.
The wall, so tall
It looms over their fragile heads
It has stolen their mothers
And its stolen their beds.
Look down,
Fold your hands,
They don't want to see you laugh
They don't want to see you cry
They just want to see you.
Deus Ex Machina
Tools from God, Heaven,
Divine flashlight to illuminate the farthest corner
Counter-weights, pulleys, curtains...
The cold machines that fool you!
To become oneself, in front of others,
So real, there is an imposition of truth.
We trick you, hide behind makeup and smoke
To tell you that this is life.
And you believe us.
We want to be immortal, if only for a second.
Because, you see,
we made God's hand weeks ago.
And the tools are our own.
I Have a Window
The energy is seated beneath my collarbone,
layers of skin do nothing to protect me.
So raw.
Outside my window people sit and talk
and talk and talk.
No parties, because of class.
I have met my home today, a baby labrynth in its own right.
And I must try and become:
A sexual vegetable.
I think a zucchini will do.
And I wait.
Root Bound
"Just a stone's throw from here, actually,"
she says. "A bit north. Can't miss it."
He thanks her for the directions,
buys some liquorice cigars to pay her back.
A bit north.
It is not worth it to keep moving now, he thinks.
Besides, it is very pretty here:
paintbox sunset rooted by a green hill.
I could just stay here, he thinks.
It wouldn't be so bad.
The cigars are stale.
Leathery and bitter. He eats them anyway.
A bit north.
He looks over his right shoulder and sees it.
Just a stone's throw.
It feels warm here. Comfortable.
The people are nice, he says to himself.
Too bad about their candy.
Can't miss it.
So why is it so unreachable?
He feels his feet begin to root.
Sunset becomes dusk, but he stays there.
He counts the stars. He makes new constellations.
For tonight, this is home,
for tonight.
Tomorrow, he must lift and continue.
Leave sweetness behind to go north,
find a somewhere on his own.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Updates
Alors,
For my regular readers (hi mum), I thought I'd give you a bit of a summary of what has been happening in the Geeniverse lately. The answer in short is school. And that isn't particularly interesting. So, class by class, here we go:
Singing: Not too much. Singing old English love songs about bonny lasses and such.
Voice: Shakespeare, Shakespeare, Shakespeare. It's delightful, really. And for once, I am not too afraid of looking like a dumbass. So, I take a few more risks and get involved. There is no such thing passivity with ol' Bill. I sat on a wall for about a thousand mental years to know this. You can be utterly silent and the most attentive character in the scene. Bystanders are some of the most important people in drama. I have also made very, very good friends with Adriana from Comedy of Errors. She and I would be pals. And I can now breathe properly.
Acting: To quote an exchange I've had with my friend Alex:
"I'M A SEAGULL!"
"Shut up, Nina."
Ca-caw! We are delving into Chekhov, and it is such a departure from Shakespeare. It feels like there is a railway switchman, Petit Prince-style, going from verse to naturalism. Feel it, act between the lines, act in your line, act when others are talking. It is so full of energy, and there is so much detail despite the fact that the language is concise. Often perplexing . And I am playing Masha, the woman I understand the least. But I've been wearing more black and mentally gaining about fifteen pounds before entering. The snuff and alcoholism? Not so much.
Movement: It is becoming less of a constant reminder of my deficiency of grace and more of a learning experience. It's easier now that it is contemporary dance and not ballet. Ballet was maddening. I find that contemporary and I are pals. We are also creating a dance/movement study from a painting. I picked - in retrospect, quite naively - Picasso's Guernica. It is heartbreaking, enraging and exhausting. I am also using a piece of Yann Tiersen's music in which a violin is not so much played, but tortured. Oh, goodness gracious. I can't spend more than fifteen minutes a time creating it. More like GRRRRRnica.
I am also in a small show and still working in radio, but those will merit their own posts later.
And that is all for now. I should probably do some real work, now...
For my regular readers (hi mum), I thought I'd give you a bit of a summary of what has been happening in the Geeniverse lately. The answer in short is school. And that isn't particularly interesting. So, class by class, here we go:
Singing: Not too much. Singing old English love songs about bonny lasses and such.
Voice: Shakespeare, Shakespeare, Shakespeare. It's delightful, really. And for once, I am not too afraid of looking like a dumbass. So, I take a few more risks and get involved. There is no such thing passivity with ol' Bill. I sat on a wall for about a thousand mental years to know this. You can be utterly silent and the most attentive character in the scene. Bystanders are some of the most important people in drama. I have also made very, very good friends with Adriana from Comedy of Errors. She and I would be pals. And I can now breathe properly.
Acting: To quote an exchange I've had with my friend Alex:
"I'M A SEAGULL!"
"Shut up, Nina."
Ca-caw! We are delving into Chekhov, and it is such a departure from Shakespeare. It feels like there is a railway switchman, Petit Prince-style, going from verse to naturalism. Feel it, act between the lines, act in your line, act when others are talking. It is so full of energy, and there is so much detail despite the fact that the language is concise. Often perplexing . And I am playing Masha, the woman I understand the least. But I've been wearing more black and mentally gaining about fifteen pounds before entering. The snuff and alcoholism? Not so much.
Movement: It is becoming less of a constant reminder of my deficiency of grace and more of a learning experience. It's easier now that it is contemporary dance and not ballet. Ballet was maddening. I find that contemporary and I are pals. We are also creating a dance/movement study from a painting. I picked - in retrospect, quite naively - Picasso's Guernica. It is heartbreaking, enraging and exhausting. I am also using a piece of Yann Tiersen's music in which a violin is not so much played, but tortured. Oh, goodness gracious. I can't spend more than fifteen minutes a time creating it. More like GRRRRRnica.
I am also in a small show and still working in radio, but those will merit their own posts later.
And that is all for now. I should probably do some real work, now...
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Canuck or not...
... you owe it to yourself to check this out. And yes, this is a cop out for the last post of January (HOLY DOODLE!)
http://www.cbc.ca/radio2/cod/concerts/20091215quest
http://www.cbc.ca/radio2/cod/concerts/20091215quest
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Resolving
I usually don't think New Year's resolutions, in the traditional sense, are such a good idea. Often, they do motivate positive change, but sometimes, they cause disappointment. How many times have you absolutely promised yourself to do X, and you never do?
At the same time, goals are very important. You can't rely on sheer moment-to-moment intentions to get you through life. Telling yourself to accomplish something in a certain amount of time encourages you to get the damn thing done. And I do this with myself: have this chapter read by five, this paper written by next week, dinner on the table in an hour. In fact, I believe it is the basis of my sanity.
And (I do feel odd, saying this at my age, believe me) as I get older, time seems more and more precious. By Tuesday, I feel like my week is nearly done. My weekends blur together and I can't remember if the party was last week or last night. Everything zips past me, and I lose awareness of what I am given sometimes.
Though aspects of my personal life are a bit iffy, I am LOVING what is happening academically. In class today, we got notes on our Shakespeare pieces. We then took the rest of the hour to talk about process-oriented learning and how we feel about it.
I am a gold-star kind of girl. Did I do it right? Do I get a check mark? For someone to tell me that I can't get it right is to tell me I've failed. Nope, sorry. That was wrong. Therefore, you are terrible.
When you focus on the process, however, all of that falls out the back. You can't get it right, but you can't get it wrong. And there is no end in sight. It feeds my desire to keep trying and discover new things. And, to be proud of myself for my work. Not for the nod from my instructor.
It is better, I've found, to feel the ground under your feet than constantly squint into the horizon. I'm still learning this.
I resolved this year to find joy in the process. To take my time, and savour what I am learning and discovering. I want to fall in love with the world again, and to take care of myself and the people around. I want to be enraptured in the now, with the occasional glace ahead. I want to be on track and on focus.
And, for reading this rant, I give you:
At the same time, goals are very important. You can't rely on sheer moment-to-moment intentions to get you through life. Telling yourself to accomplish something in a certain amount of time encourages you to get the damn thing done. And I do this with myself: have this chapter read by five, this paper written by next week, dinner on the table in an hour. In fact, I believe it is the basis of my sanity.
And (I do feel odd, saying this at my age, believe me) as I get older, time seems more and more precious. By Tuesday, I feel like my week is nearly done. My weekends blur together and I can't remember if the party was last week or last night. Everything zips past me, and I lose awareness of what I am given sometimes.
Though aspects of my personal life are a bit iffy, I am LOVING what is happening academically. In class today, we got notes on our Shakespeare pieces. We then took the rest of the hour to talk about process-oriented learning and how we feel about it.
I am a gold-star kind of girl. Did I do it right? Do I get a check mark? For someone to tell me that I can't get it right is to tell me I've failed. Nope, sorry. That was wrong. Therefore, you are terrible.
When you focus on the process, however, all of that falls out the back. You can't get it right, but you can't get it wrong. And there is no end in sight. It feeds my desire to keep trying and discover new things. And, to be proud of myself for my work. Not for the nod from my instructor.
It is better, I've found, to feel the ground under your feet than constantly squint into the horizon. I'm still learning this.
I resolved this year to find joy in the process. To take my time, and savour what I am learning and discovering. I want to fall in love with the world again, and to take care of myself and the people around. I want to be enraptured in the now, with the occasional glace ahead. I want to be on track and on focus.
And, for reading this rant, I give you:
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Another Body Blog
Hot Damn, it's Crystal Renn!I've always had a very strong relationship to my body, and I know other women can relate. It's a stereotype that we get together and whine about our 'huge' thighs and barely visible wrinkles, but stereotypes have to come from somewhere. And I've been in one of those body circles enough times to know one thing: satisfaction is the Holy Grail. Within my particular group of friends, self-flattery is very, very rare. And yet, as I look at all of the women I spend time with, I can't see what they could possibly complain about. We seem to save the ultra-critical (and cruel) lens for our own bodies.
Yet, as every feel-good women's magazine has told us time and time again, there is nothing to worry about. It takes all kinds to make a world, and that goes for bodies, too! They've also had countless articles and polls about how men feel about our bodies. The result is relentlessly unanimous: they love the way we look. And no, they don't see the wobbly bits and other flaws as detractors, more like things that make that woman unique and memorable.
So, what are we worrying about?
As someone who has gone from deliberate food abstinence to dancing and feeling incredibly confident and sexy (and everywhere in between), I can tell you it is all in our heads. That doesn't make the feelings any less real.
When I was withholding food from myself, I was very young. This was in junior high. I couldn't control very much in my life, so my body became my project. It happened by accident. I started to eat smaller and smaller amounts, and I'd get compliments on my figure. I was also in martial arts from age seven to fourteen, so my small frame has always been fairly muscular, never Natalie Portman-esque and delicate. This was, of course, a time when my body was changing on its own. As I developed more of a woman's body, I was unable to stop controlling my size, and I felt disgusting. By the beginning of high school, I was noticing that men - not just boys my age - would stare at me. The attention made me feel like I'd done something wrong.
The sexuality of my figure was something I couldn't control, and it was something I would grow into more and more. I wasn't obsessive like I was in those earlier years, but I'd keep an eye on how my body reacted to my lifestyle. I kept a finger on the pulse of my body. And that's when I spoke in those cirlces. Other girls would butter me up and then complain about their own issues.
I have by no means have had a very bad relationship with my body. And I know many women who have. I'm thankful for it, and what it allows me to do. I've got the luxury of being able to complain about petty things. I'm aware of that.
Going back to the picture I topped this blog off with: that is the beautiful Crystal Renn, a plus-size model. One of the most successful in the industry in fact. Over the holidays, I read her book Hungry, which I recommend to anyone who is interested in this topic. She's gone through a similar journey to mine, but in greater extremes. After trying to get a career going as a straight size model - a period of several years which involved extreme diet control and exercise bulimia - her body began to rebel. She was in the office of her agent when she realised how disconnected she was from her body. When she moved into the plus world, she was able to use her talents and her intelligence, both of which had been robbed of her when she was starving. She does, of course, have to monitor her appearance, but it is more of a careful watchfulness rather than oppression.
It breaks my heart to see so many women at odds with their bodies, distancing themselves from the corporal by measuring everything. Even in many western Yoga studios, the emphasis is on the "burn" and getting a cute butt, not on the fusion of the body and the spirit. My mother, trained as a Yoga teacher, is always puzzled when she hears someone say that they've gotten hurt during a session. "If they actually knew what was going on in their bodies, this wouldn't ever happen" she says "We don't allow the body and the mind to be one. Rather, our bodies become a project."
To any woman who has read this and can relate: listen to Crystal, listen to those very cute magazine articles that tell you how great you are, listen to the man or woman in your life who adores your bum and your tummy. And, most importantly, listen to your own body and what it needs. When you tune in, you'll be healthy.
Take care!
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