Francis Ford Coppola

While working on a picture of me at four holding my baby brother in the tub, I honestly forgot how old I was. I'd just finished watching some old Christmas specials from around 1994, too, which only added to the confusion. I seriously thought I was looking at a recent photo, and I was shocked to see myself in the mirror and realise, good lord, I'm almost 20! Where have all these years gone? What happened to the '90s? It's almost 2008! And then I had my annual Mild Panic Attack about the coming new year and how my whole life will be over before I know it if I don't start paying attention. Oh, the years I've wasted, staying home and letting opportunity pass me by. I'm now at the age I used to dream about, an age of change and moving out, of boyfriends and cars and college and early fame. This is the time I've been waiting for. I can do things! And change things! And people will listen to me! But when I think of that, I get intimidated. I don't want to be a revolutionary. I want to go back to that time of limits. I want to be a kid again, if only because it would give me an excuse. This is what happens when I reminisce.

End of an era

Yesterday was so Art College I had to take a step back and try to comprehend what I was seeing. It was the last day of Sculpture, and everyone was showing off their final projects to the class. I wish every day could have been like this one--no working, no staring at a wall trying to think of something great, no hiding from my classmates, horrified at the idea that they might want to have a conversation (!) with ME (!!), no ambling from room to room and floor to floor trying to kill time--just walking around and talking about everyone else's work. For once I wasn't afraid to say what I really thought about other people's projects because there was guaranteed to be at least one person more pretentious than I was, and that was a huge load off my chest. One of the "suggestions" (art teachers don't like the word "rules") for this project was to stretch the conventional meaning of "sculpture", and my goodness did some people stretch. It was exciting to see what each person did differently; one person made a series of instructional pamphlets telling us how to make sure the oven is off, the OCD way; another tied belts around a fellow student's hands, feet, and eyes and placed him in the middle of a circle of chairs, where we were invited to sit. There was the dude who spread cedar boughs on the floor and sang a song with the lights off, the girl who sat in front of a projection of "Labyrinth" and wrote for the duration of a Perfect Circle song, the two people who set up an installation in the girl's washroom including a huge stuffed dog, a plank of pink styrofoam, a lava lamp, baby blankets, a mirror and a recording of approaching footsteps. There was the mother who put a car door and suitcases up against a wall and projected a video of her journey from Calgary to Cochrane and back. There was the girl who made a tiny replica of a tree and hung it in front of a black-and-white slide projection of the mountains, using the tree's shadow as an element. There was the graduate student who made a tiny neighbourhood out of plaster and covered it with a picture of a house that was recently torn down. There was so much variety, and for a few minutes I found myself thinking, this is what art colleges are for. Everything was experimental, and unlike anything I'd seen before. It was genuinely exciting to see what other people had created, and for once I wasn't embarrassed about what I had to contribute.

Oh, and everyone got to take home AT LEAST ONE Terry's Chocolate Orange. Score.

Blah blah blah blah blah balh balhbalhbhlahh

I'm feeling strangely euphoric right now. It's almost as if those days and weeks of no sleep and fighting with myself to just FINISH the Worst Project Ever never happened. I just want to put this whole term behind me and start again when I'm ready. I need to have some experience of doing what I like again, instead of just trudging through all the tedious stuff I have to do to finish first year. I'm pretty sure I failed at least one of my classes, but right now, that doesn't bother me very much. If I have to take it again, I'll take it again. If ACAD isn't the right place for me, I'll try someplace else. Everything seems really simple and optimistic right now. I don't want that to stop.
I'm already making my resolutions for next term: I will talk to someone on my first day of classes. I will not let myself fall into the role of crazy person who sits at the back and doesn't say a word, the one who obviously hasn't slept in days, wears the same clothes every week and always smells distinctly like hair oil and sweat. I will not undermine the value of doing an imperfect job. I am here to learn; nothing I do will be perfect. I will attend at least one event that I want to attend. I will save handouts and record my ideas. I will go to the library. I will not avoid people simply bacause I'm afraid they don't like me; if they talk to me, they're probably okay with being around me. That's all I have for now, but, you know, it's a start.

They aren't making enough soapboxes.

Tonight I managed to recycle the unrecyclable. I tore an old Pringles can into pieces, soaked them in water, and peeled off the plastic/metal/paper from either side of the cardboard. All this was done when I really should have been working on the project that's due tomorrow, but at the moment it seemed like the most important thing I could be doing and it would be heresy not to see it through to the end. I felt like I was on the edge of a revelation. Seeing that wealth of cardboard got me thinking of all the Pringles tubes that are thrown out annually, tubes made of TREES that could be put back into the system. I don't know if it was just the insomnia talking, but I suddenly felt very sad that trees aren't respected as much as they should be. Something so massive and daunting, home to an intricate community of plants and animals and part of a delicately balanced, self-regulating system that we could never possibly understand is reduced to a tube of pulp with one purpose only, to be thrown away after that purpose is fulfilled.
Over the past few days, I've been making myself crazy thinking of what each component of everything I use comes from. Fibres from cotton plants, plastic from oil, metals from the ground, adhesives from the bones of dead animals, etc. And it gets overwhelming when you think of just how little you have to do with the things you call yours. I don't know where this material was extracted, who extracted it, how many hours they worked, how much they got paid...I've never seen a field of sugarcane, a salt mine, a pulp mill, a slaughterhouse. All I know is what I see: shelves of clothing, rows of CDs, piles of fruit. It seems like things can go on like this forever, and that somehow, the world will always provide. But we know that oil is running out, that suburbs and megafarms are encroaching on well-maintained agricultural land, that entire species are being wiped out every day. I sometimes wonder if we are entering the next great extinction, a long period of chaos before the lull and eventual upsurge of new biological forms. Or if things will start to quiet down after the collapse of the American empire. I always get gloomy and apocalyptic when I think about what the dominant economy is doing to the state of the world. This make-believe concept of endless progress is driving us into the ground; even economists say it can't last. But we keep running with it, so much so that I'm afraid it won't stop until all our raw materials have run out.
I hate saying things like this, because I'm tired of hearing it myself. Words like "oil" have lost all meaning, relegated to the heap of buzzwords used by high school debate team zealots. I don't know anything about what I'm saying; I don't have any authority on the subject and I don't have the guts to do anything to change it. But some days I feel so impatient with the way things are. The world is falling apart and we still buy disposable products.

The chills, they won't go away

Have you ever listened, late at night, to what sounds like the rhythmic moaning of the wind?

Then found out it was your parents, upstairs?

HO. LEE. CRAP.

How can this be?

It's 5:01 right now and I'm not tired. At all. It's insane how quickly I've gone from Grandmother to speed freak in my sleep habits. I won't sleep for 2 days, then I'll sleep for 8 hours, then I'll stay up for another 2 days. My mindset has now shifted from "how late can I stay up before I start having trouble doing things?" to "how late can I stay up before I can NO LONGER FUNCTION?" Being an insomniac puts you in such a strange frome of mind. You start challenging yourself to little self-destructive contests, and you don't even question them because the common-sense part of your brain gave up hours ago. There's a certain threshold that you try to reach, when you give up on trying to sleep and become seduced by the notion that you can stay up forever. Right now, I feel like I'm running a marathon race..just a bit longer, just a bit longer, it's almost 6:00, you can make it! Because somehow I got it in my head that if I go to sleep now, I'll be way more tired when I wake up than if I don't go to sleep at all. How's that for logical thinking?

I'm going to go watch some infomercials. Hope your night was more restful than mine.

Army surplus parachute

The ACAD Winter show & sale is up and it is monumental and terrifying. It confounds me how they can fit so much art into such small spaces. Honestly, it's overwhelming to step into one of the alcoves and just try to take it all in. Somehow, it feels like you're on a timeline, like, because this isn't a gallery, you've got to KEEP MOVING AND NEVER STOP. So I scan the walls and try to take snapshots with my brain, because I know that I may never see this stuff again. I often forget just how amazing some of the work produced at ACAD is, probably because most of it is in hiding. Once first year is done, art projects become secret operations that remain skilfully hidden until one of the Big Days, when they can burst forth with all the shock and celebration of a surprise party. I often need these days to remind me that, yes, I am going to an ART college, a real one, and maybe I should show it a little more respect.
I'm being hit with another wave of cliche anxiety, and it's driving me up the walls. Any time I have an idea for a project, the Art Snob part of my brain starts attacking it with words like "trite" and "obvious" and "insincere". I think part of it has to do with our increased exposure to real artists and the contention that art you can explain is worthless. Now, art has to be vague. It has to express something that you can't express any other way. It's not enough to make meaningful art--the meaning has to be intangible and visceral. But it has to be real at the same time. And god forbid that you make something that's already been done before. If it's done once, it can't be done again. I know it's just my lack of self-confidence talking, but boy howdy does it ever get in the way.

Gubbish.

Since I've been in College, I have become increasingly aware of High School Social Roles. The full weight of my realisation came when I visited my brother's youth group on Friday. The social structure there was frighteningly clear; it was like watching a band of gorillas or lions in their natural habitat. There was a core of extroverts, with King Curtis sitting in the middle. Curtis is the coolest kid there, the funniest, the most charismatic, the most handsome. On his left were the girls, dressed in the brightest colours they could find, giggling and flirting and falling over one another. Jesters. On his right were the boys, lounging and joking about AIDS and The Gays, all wearing black jackets, white Tshirts, and blue jeans. And on the perimeter were the people who knew they would never belong. There were the Girls Who Acted Like Guys, the ones who wore dull clothing and never screamed. There were the Guys Who Acted Like Girls, who didn't want to be offensive and refrained from saying anything. And there were the Old People like me, who had grown out of the hierarchy and could now look on from the outside. None of us could socialise with the core. Even within the core, relationships were strained. There were introverts peppered here and there, who would only be talked to if other people were forced to acknowledge them. If girls wanted to interact with guys, there had to be a degree of separation there. They could never be on the same playing field. Converstion topics were narrowed and gendered. If a girl talked about anything other than her clothes or her pets, the converstion would die for a second and then get redirected towards one of those two subjects. And if a guy talked about anything personal, anything that even remotely hinted at vulnerability, he would immediately retract it with a "just kidding" and keep on joking.

I am so glad to be out of High School.

Okay

I was once a great multitasker. I can hardly believe myself when I look back a few months and remember the things I was able to do at work. I was like an automaton; I was a machine. I hated it, sure, but other people admired me for my ability to do so many things at once and still remain polite and on the positive side of a breakdown. What happened? How did I get from there to here? Now the idea of "one thing at a time" has been taken to the extreme. I feel like I've been turned off. I'm not interested in anything anymore. If I don't get something done, there's no guilt; there's no stress. I just don't care anymore. I don't feel anything when I finish a project that's been plaguing me for weeks. There's no sense of relief or release. It's just another day. Once I finish something, I go back to doing nothing. And I mean nothing. It doesn't matter if I'm in front of the TV or the computer, reading a book or deep in conversation. It's all the same for me. I'm really not a fan of this emotional stagnation. It seems to have nothing to do with anything, but it happens all the time. It'll just show up one day and drag me down until I don't notice it, and then it disappears as quickly and quietly as it came. I don't know how it happens, and I don't know how to get rid of it. It's like an outside apathetic force that envelops me in a state of transience. I try so hard to avoid it when I'm doing okay, but it always catches up to me in the end. It would be frustrating, but right now it just feels kid of disappointing. Everything's been put on hold for a while, and I'm afraid it won't be back to normal until sometime next term. I miss being able to work.
Sorry if I brought you down. I'll probably feel better tomorrow.

I miss you all like you wouldn't beieve.

Perpetually at 49 posts

The other day, while I was on the bus, I heard the following conversation between two kids:

kid 1: How many cellphones have you gone through in the past year?
kid 2: Eight.
kid 1: Eight?
kid 2: Yeah, well, my parents keep buying me new ones so...

Marvel at my restraint as I said nothing. That conversation filled me with loathing so powerful I almost found myself grumbling "kids these days...". How on earth did this happen? One cell phone alone is a tremendous strain on the world's resources, but friggin' eight?! Questions flooded my brain: does he have anything to do with the expenses associated with said cellphones? What was he doing with them? Did they break or just become unfashionable? Does he know where cellphones come from? Does he know what they're made of? Is he grateful of his parents' foolish generosity? There is something very wrong with the world if a kid in junior high school can motor through cellphones without a second thought and rely on his parents to keep giving them to him as if they were his god-given right. I couldn't help but wonder what his future will be like, and I have a terrible sinking feeling that he's going to be tremendously successful.

Disregard this.

I've decided to write because I'm freakin' out and I need something to calm me down. I'm operating on binary right now: super mellow and crazy frantic. I don't want to be crazy frantic, but super mellow doesn't do anything for me either. There needs to be some middle ground, but in the middle of all these assignments, it's pretty hard to find. I start working, and things get hectic. I take a break, and things come to a standstill. I need some way of doing things until they're done--focusing on one thing at a time, prioritising--all that nice stuff they taught you in high school. But my goodness everything comes at once and I spend too much time enjoying my day to get at it! My wheels are spinning, dudes and ladies. My brain is too fast and my body is too slow. I can't articulate my ideas because there's so much in my head. Good gracious, this isn't helping at all. It's been a long time since I've felt this complete shut-down stress. I think it got completely out of hand with that new sculpture assignment: build something massive with 8-foot planks. I don't know how to build! I've never built anything in my life! The only "training" I got was a half-hour lecture on what to do if your fingers get cut off in the woodshop. I think the problem here is one of demographic. All the other people in my class have had extensive experience in the field of sculpture; they entered this class because they're passionate about sculpting, carving, and building. I, on the other hand, joined because I needed a 3-d class to pass first year and I didn't want to do 3-d fibre. Ahaha! Look where my idea of a :slack class" got me!

A quick suggestion

Go outside and look at the leaves. They'll be covered with snow before you know it.

Sometimes I miss being able to look at art and just enjoy it. The "that's so cool" factor is still there, but now it's coupled with a nagging "I'll never be able to do something like that". Creativity is hard to come by, and all the ideas I thought were brilliant have been done to death. Making something "cliche" has become my greatest fear. I get the feeling that my ideas are inadequate now that I'm surrounded by brilliance. Art is no longer far-off and separate; artists are no longer behind the curtain. Everything is right there. These great artists are my classmates, and I feel like I have to keep up with them to be worthy. I've lost a lot of confidence in these past few months, and it's getting harder and harder to realise my own self-worth. This feeling of losing in a competition isn't doing me any good. I wish it was easier to shift my perspective.

Oh my goodness hello!

Rediscovering these blogs has made me feel, if only in part, that I'm still in contact with my friends. Which sounds a little depressing or melodramatic but isn't really. I've been in a sort of limbo for the past month, not really talking to anyone except Hannah, moving in and out of my classes arbitrarily, and either working too much or too little. It kind of feels like all my feelings have been neutralised. So I can feel a little bit sad, or a little bit happy, or a little bit angry, but anything really passionate is kind of on hold right now. I think it might just be the regular beginning-of-fall blues, which descends rapidly into the dead-of-winter horror. Hooray! ACAD is alright, but I really wish that a) I wasn't so shy and b) I had more than one studio class. It's hard being in an Art school and spending most of your nights reading textbooks and writing essays. The things I'm learning are really interesting, though, and I've already begun to feel the characteristic University Turnaround. I'm actually learning things that affect the way I look at the world! How foreign! Ooh, also, the ACAD library has this little nook made out of boxes of National Geographics dating back to 1923. Some genius set up a group of chairs in the shape of a bed back there, so I like to see it as the communal student bedroom/archive of aristocratic American ads. It's pretty beautiful.

I'm missing you all more than I can say. I am super looking forward to our joyful reunion, so I can get back to not being lonely.

LUV YAZZ

I have realised something.

I have realised that I hate facebook. It actually feels like part of me dies when I log on; like I've lost something that I will never, ever get back. I get a sinking feeling in my heart when I check a friend's page and realise that they've been having a billion times more fun than I ever will. I get lost in the pictures of smiling faces that I recognise, in places I will never visit. It just reinforces the divide between me and the people I miss so much. And that's why I hate being addicted to it.

Pre-tensions

Summer always seems to happen all of a sudden, and every year it takes me a little while to realise that it's actually happening. In the 6-8 months of winter we get here, summer to me is like distant memory of something rare that happened years ago. I can't conceive of green grass and sunburns, mosquitoes and sunshine at 9pm. In the first few weeks of real summer weather, after the annual May snow that we're all still surprised to see, I feel a strange euphoria. Like this perfect weather can't really be happening. I tell myself I will not take it for granted. I'll get outside every day and enjoy the fleeting green. I will go to the mountains and attend music festivals. But after those few initial weeks, I start adapting. I stay inside because it's cooler. I complain about the heat and the sunburns and the mosquitoes. And by September, I'm already mourning the loss of long sunny days and picnics in the backyard. Summer turns into that distant, misty-eyed fantasy again, and I prepare for the next long winter.

I wish I lived closer to downtown. I'd love to be able to just go somewhere with someone without having to set up a date and time, without setting it up days in advance and without figuring out bus routes and schedules. I've decided that my dream living accomodations are the apartments above the Oolong tea house and Hot Wax. They're super close to ACAD, relatively inexpensive, and seem like just the broken-down, ramshackle bohemian apartments I've been looking for. I could walk across the street and buy cupcakes! I could walk down to the theatre and see indie films whenever I wanted! I could wander down to The House and get drunk while listening to live music! I would never have to buy a car! I could live the dream of being a new urbanite in a suburban city. My dream is tangible; I just hope it's still there when I'm ready to move out.

This is my manifesto that will save the world.

1. Find the maximum amount of nuclear waste that can be consumed by people.

2. Inject that amount into everything we eat.

This way, people could rely on nuclear power without worry! Also our food would glow in the dark, which is pretty cool.

I wonder where neon-coloured pigment comes from...

Plastic.

Isn't it phenomenal that we've created a material that will still be around even after our bones have turned to oil?

I am seriously hoping that the Feist concert isn't sold out, but I'm afraid it probably is. I've wanted to see this show since March! Maybe next year...

Also, I hate slivers.

I just can't say no to these...

What’s your name?
Rita Jean Mang-Wooley

what do people call you?
Rita, Nomad, Redcard, bonesaw.

Were you named after anything?
I have this idea that I was, but I won’t try to remember the story.

if you were born the oppisite sex what would your name be?
Probably something lame like Richard or Axel. I quite like the name Tomithy but I don’t think it would suit me.

do people spell/say your name wrong?
Sometimes. Some people spell it Reta because it’s modern or something.

if you could change your name what would you change it to?
Oh goodness...I think Marion maybe? Talula?

gender?
Female. Hold on...yes, female.

birthday?
July 20

age?
18

age you act?
Somewhere between 4 and 28. Depends on the day, I guess.

age you want to be?
24.

height?
5’3”

eye colour?
“Hazel.” I don’t check very often.

happy with it?
I don’t lose sleep over it.

natural hair color?
Brownish brown. I don’t pay much attention to my hair either.

happy with it? if not do you dye it?
Dyeing takes too much effort and usually ends in disappointment. So yes, I am happy with it.

righty or lefty?
Righty

family?
I’ve...got one, yes.

pets?
I have 1 cat and .5 dog.

peircings?
Zero.

tatoos?
Zero.

single?
Zer...I mean, yes.

who are you with, or who do you want to be with?
Ha, “who do you want to be with?” What a question!

are you in love?
I am in love with the whole world.

have you ever been in love, if so how many times?
I fall in love every day and have my heart broken every night....uuunnnghhh.

do you believe in love at first sight?
Yes. Yes. It is the only kind of love that matters.

is it possible to be faithful to one person for ever?
Yes, I think so. I hope so...

do you want to get married?
Not right now, but we’ll see what comes up.

do you want to have kids?
Sometimes, until I’m reminded of tantrums and teenagers.

how many?
All of them. I mean, wait...

do you believe in divorce?
Well, I’ve seen it happen, so I guess I have to.

do you believe in true love?
Trite trite trite.

do you consider love a mistake?
If it makes you unhappy, then maybe?

turn-ons?
A nicely-waxed moustache and a well-crafted smoking pipe.

turn-offs?
Arrogance, cockiness, rage, jackassery...all the unfortunate byproducts of testosterone, I guess.

do you think the oppisite sex finds you attractive?
Ha ha. Only old European men and men who can’t see very well.

what is best about the opposite sex?
They are less complicated than women, in general.

what is worst about the opposite sex?
Testoste-rage.

are you a virgin?
Oh, wouldn’t you like to know. (the answer is yes)

do you believe you should be in love to have sex?
It would be nice, but it doesn’t always happen that way...

how far have you gone?
Well..I once kissed a guy..on the lips.

how many people have you had sex with?
I’m going to forego this exercise in redundancy to ask myself an ALTERNATIVE question: Rita, what song has been stuck in your head since you got up yesterday morning? Answer: friggin’ California by Rufus Wainwright.

do other people consider you a slut?
Oh I bet.

right at this moment...

where are you?
On a chair in the basement with one of my feet propped up on another chair and the other resting on a drawer handle.

what can you see out your window?
Not much. A couple of streetlights, maybe.

are you listening to music?
California, California...

are you lonely or tired?
I am neither actually. What a rare feeling.

use 5 words to decribe how you are feeling:
Happy, jumpy, headache, caffeine, cynical

are you talking to anyone online? if so who?
Nope, but I’m seriously considering it.

are you talking to anyone of the phone? if so who?
Ha. Me, on the phone?

what are you wearing?
Too-small jeans and my work shirt. Oh, and socks with cats on them (they have heart-shaped tails!?)

what are you doing?
Doing my part to save the world.

whats on your mousepad?
Many different coloured dots and a few years’ worth of grime.

friends:

how many true friends do you have?
A lot more than I thought I had a few years ago.

are you a loner?
In theory, no. In practise...well...

who is your best friend?
Me. I am my best friend.

oldest?
Age-wise, Kathleen. Known-for-the-longest-wise: Joelle.

newest?
I’m going to be a jerk and say Mike, my work-buddy.

shyest?
Kathleen, I think.

loudest?
Kesinee!

smartest?
What a mean question.

ditziest?
Alison.

funniest?
Everyone!

who is the best listener?
I’ll say Hannah. She’s had to do it the most.

do you prefer to hang out with one friend or a group of friends?
A group, usually. Though one-on-one can be very nice too.

who do you wish you were closer to?
Kathleen/Eve/Summerstock kids too numerous to mention.

who knows the most about you?
Hannah!

who knows the least about you?
Oh goodness...probably eve?

who do you trust the most?
Again, probably Hannah.

the least?
The people I don’t trust aren’t really my...friends...

who do you fight with the most?
I’ve probably had more fights with Joelle or Hermit than anyone else. But that’s all water under the bridge by now.

who do you talk to online the most?
Well, it’s been a while since I’ve talked online at all, but I think it’s a three-way tie between Kes, Ali and Liam.

who do you talk to on the phone the most?
Ha. My mom?

do you trust others easily?
Sometimes a little too easily it seems. But it hasn’t caused any trouble yet.

name one who's arms you feel safe in:
To be honest...Kylian’s.

who’s house were you at last?
Probably Ali’s. It’s been a while.

who's your second family?
Oh goodness...Haneys, Mathers and Inni.

who lives the farthest away?
Kathleen! 

do you....

smoke?
Not that I know of...

drink alcohol?
All the time.

do drugs?
After seeing all those crime movies, I don’t think I could.

pray?
I don’t think so.

go to church?
Not unless I have to...

sleep with stuffed animals?
Who doesn’t?

take walks in the rain?
Yes. And regret them afterwards.

dance in the rain?
Unfortunately, no.

do any sports? if so which ones?
Not unless running alone counts as a sport.

sleep around?
Wow, that came out of nowhere.

lie a lot?
I don’t think so.

steal?
Just food from my family and workplace.

gamble?
I wouldn’t know where to begin.

have you ever....

kissed a stranger?
I kissed Michael Giesbrecht’s hand when I first met him, but I don’t know if that counts.

slept with a stranger?
Well...they weren’t TOTAL strangers.

spun until you were so dizzy you couldn't walk?
Innumerable times.

screamed so much you lost your voice?
Just about.

laughed so much it was painful?
Innumerable times.

cried so much it was painful?
Maybe a couple of times.

gone skinny dipping?
Not yet.

played strip poker?
Nope.

had a medical emergency?
Not a real one.

ran away from home?
I tried once when I was 6 or 7. I thought it was something every kid did at least once in their life. All those cartoons gave me the wrong impression.

done something extremely unexpected?
Innumerable times.

slept outside?
Yay!

been onstage?
Yup.

deep stuff....

whats your biggest fear?
The whole world is falling apart and there’s nothing I can do to change it!

what was your weirdest dream?
I can’t really say. I have so many of them it’s hard to say which one was weirder than which.

scariest dream?
I’ve had some pretty terrifying apocalyptic dreams about huge surrealist natural disasters or strange and deadly phenomena.

do you have a reoccuring dream?
I don’t think I’ve ever had one specific recurring dream, but my dreams tend to have themes that change from week to week.

what was your best dream?
Again, I can’t say. There was one about a man with “gould” coloured hair and a ghost in a drawer that screamed “oxymoron” before swallowing people, but I don’t know if I would say it was the best.

what IS your dream?
To be happy without starving.

do you live in the moment?
Too much. I don’t think about the future until it comes up, and by then it’s usually too late.

what you greatest strength?
I pride myself in being able to listen and remember.

whats your greatest weakness?
Whenever I get close to success, I shy away and return to mediocrity.

do you have a motto you live by?
Eat it now, it might be gone tomorrow.

if your life were a movie what would it be called?
The Saga of Adventure. Or maybe, The Clumsy Sidekick who Avoided Adventure.

do you have any bad habits?
I still pull out my hair.

do you have any secrets?
If I did, I’ve probably forgotten them by now.

are you fake?
I don’t try to be. Do you think I’m fake?

what do you want to do in life?
I honestly don’t know. Get to know as many people as I can, I guess.

are you a daredevil?
Exactly the opposite.

are you predictable?
I think I am. Most of the time.

do you keep a journal/diary?
Yuss.

if you could change one thing about you would you? what would it be?
I would love to be braver. Or if not braver, at least a little less shy.

if you were someone else, would you be friends with yourself?
I might be, but I don’t think I’d be very good friends with myself.

do you think you're a good person?
I think maybe? Mostly? More so in theory than in practise, though.

do you think you're emotionally strong?
I’m afraid I don’t quite understand the question...

do you regret anything?
My life is a rich tapestry of regret.

do you think life has been good so far?
All in all, I’m pretty damn lucky.

what do you like most about you body?
It moves when I tell it to and all parts function accordingly.

least?
The usual (insulation around my stomach, my sides, etc. etc.).

are you trust worthy?
I think so.

are you gullible?
Not as much as I used to be, but it still takes me quite a while to catch on.

Finished! Are you exhausted? Try doing it for yourself!

I am eating pine nuts and they taste like tiny trees

I finished them as I was typing that sentence.

Right now, I actually have nothing to do. And somehow, that makes me feel guilty. It's like the second week of summer holidays, once the relief and novelty wear off and you're stuck in a zombie routine of reading, watching TV and going online. Reading, watching TV, and going online. Reading, watching TV, and going online. But unlike summer holidays, I have this nagging feeling in the back of my head saying I really should be doing something. Writing an essay or studying for a test. It's been 10 months since I've been at "real" school, and I still can't adjust to having nothing to procrastinate on. My art class ended a couple of Saturdays ago, and this coming Monday will be my last guitar lesson. I'm thinking of picking up a few commitments to replace the old ones, but I can't really think of anything. If you have any suggestions, feel free to throw them out there; I really have no idea.

My brother decided to be terribly nice to people today, and said it resulted in the best day of his life. I want to follow this shining example and tell people all the compliments I've held back, no matter how unconventional they may be. "You look like Kevin Bacon, only much less funny-looking." "You act the way Truman Capote writes." "You have a very look-at-able face." That kind of thing. The prospect of all this kindness makes me excited. I just hope I'm not too shy to carry it out.

I am seriously missing the dudes of Summerstock, despite not knowing them very well. Kevin, Kylian, Alex, Luke, Dean, Liam, Mike...those dudes seriously know entertainment. I need to kick myself into visiting someday.Maybe Friday. Maybe next week. I don't know.

I don't mean to sound so depressive. It just kind of happens when I sit down and type at a computer. Here, have some delight: http://bentobjects.blogspot.com/index.html

I love the whole world.

>>REDCARD

This is what I do instead of homework.

Respond with your name and...
1. I'll respond with something random about you.
2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3. I'll pick a flavor of jello to wrestle you in.
4. I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me.
5. I'll tell you my first memory of you.
6. I'll tell you what animal you remind me of.
7. I'll ask you something I've always wondered about you.
8. Everyone must post this on their blog too.

That's all for today, I guess.

I wish I was in Victoria

North Calgary in the snow is boring.

Boring.

Boring.

Boring.

I need to find some things to do.

There's a new guy at work who kind of makes me...not want to work there anymore. He's not mean or creepy, just...awkward. He is awkwardness personified. Being around him makes me feel a little dead inside. Plus, he's having some trouble getting things right, and it's hard to tell him otherwise because he's at least 20 years older and 2 feet taller than me. Speaking of work, I had some chili that had been sitting out for at least 4 hours and now I am sick. I think I need to get out of the mentality that if it's free, I should eat it.

Alright, time to watch me some Steve Carrell. Bye pretties.

Goodnight ladies

I sometimes wish I was at university, just so I could have something to write about. I was inspired by cap'n wulf to start updating more often, so here I am...updating more often. Maybe I should make an effort to fill my life with wonderful and interesting things for the sake of this blog and/or scintillating conversation. But what? I should start seeing me some stage plays. Invite some strangers out to dinner and see how that plays out. Take the train as far as it will go and try to find my way back. Yes. How 'bout that.

I'm supposed to be writing a personal statement that will help me get into ACAD. Write 500 words about yourself. Sounds easy. 3 months later and here I am, still no further ahead than when I started. I've written little disjointed bits of it in a thousand different places, which really doesn't help at all because there's no way to fit them together. Maybe I should just lie. Tell the heartbreaking story of my childhood as a poor beggar growing up in a cardboard box. I would draw pretty flowers on the walls of my corrugated prison with crayons I pilfered from the daycare across the street. It was my art that helped me survive the harsh Mongolian winter. I would shiver in my trash bag clothes as my eyes rose to the pretty flowers on the wall. It was always springtime in that box of mine.

Goodness, that took no time at all. I think I've struck gold.

(Keep smiling. The snow will melt and we will have beautiful flowers once more)

Montreal might eat its young

Today I met someone I didn't know existed; my work-buddy's identical twin brother. He came in for a visit and I stared in disbelief while my brain tried to figure out what was going on. It was like one of those lame split-screen movies where one actor plays both twins, only in REAL LIFE. They even talked the same. I can't adequately explain how cosmic this was for me, partly because I'm still hopped up on tylenol and don't know for sure if it actually happened. But it was pretty cosmic.

Also, I learned from the radio that crazy film editors created a perfect digital tear and edited it onto Jennifer Connolly's face for the pivotal scene in Blood Diamond.

Just think about that for a second.

Gall

Wow, it's been a while. Not much has happened between February 9th and now, just thought I'd let y'all know I'm still alive.

So...I've quit Summerstock The Rita Way: not showing up until everyone just assumes I've gone for good. I got an email today about my "resignation" and it made me terribly sad for one reason or another. I wish I could be more decisive. If I'd told Jim straight out that I was quitting, it wouldn't be so bad. But this way it feels involuntary, like I've let something good slip away from me and I didn't try hard enough to hold onto it. Or something. I think these weeks of isolating myself in a dark cement room are beginning to turn me into a real brooding art student. I've been letting go of my commitments, I forget the plans I make, I don't make an effort to see my friends or talk to people at school--all that matters is my art.

I've been pretty bummed out these days, so I'm sorry if I'm sounding a little depressive. My favourite person at work is having surgery done, and most likely won't be back once she recovers. My other favourite person will be going on sick leave, then maternity leave, pretty soon, so I probably won't be seeing her for a while either. There are no good shows on tv. I will never move out of this house. Crap.

I wanna go on a road trip to San Francisco.

Safeway sushi

That's what I had for supper. It tasted like mayonnaise, mostly. I may be sick tomorrow. Right now I'm looking at the nutritional information on a package of Wasabi paste. Calories: 10. fat Cal.: 10. Total fat: 0g. That's pretty perplexing. How can there be 10 calories from fat in something that has no fat in it? This is going to bother me all night. Really.

I sprayed some fixative on the drawing I spent a week on, and now you can barely see it. That high-pressure aerosol spray blew the chalk away, and I'm too weary to fix it. It didn't even do a good job. The stuff that's there still smudges. Oh well. At least it's done.

I think you peeps should come to ACAD, if only for the shows. The Forty-part motet is still there (as far as I know), and just as spellbinding as ever. For people who don't know, it's a room with forty speakers lining all four walls. From each speaker comes a single voice, each singing a unique part of the same song. As certain parts begin and end, the sound travels across the room in all directions. It's pretty awesome. There's also a show being put on by 3rd and 4th-year design students, and it's impossible to just walk by without looking at something. Those kids are taught how to make things eye-catching, and by jove, do they ever do a good job. There's even a robot cowboy. You just can't pass that up. Of course, I haven't visited the building in a week, so all this may be gone already. I guess I'll know by tomorrow.

I have a new friend at work. Someone I actually TALK to during my long, harrowing shifts. I think his name is Brian, but I'm not sure. Brian or Steve. He kind of looks like an otter or some other lesser mammal, and he tells jokes that are only funny because they're not funny at all. He seems like he should be a maritimer because of the way he can keep a conversation going, but apparently he's from the Southern States. He didn't specify which state, though, which makes me a little suspicious. Funny thing: after being there for only two days, he's already doing a better job than me. I guess I shouldn't be too jealous, but still it surprises me.

That's all I have for today, folks. Keep smiling.

>>REDCARD

Anna Nicole Smith

You know what's shocking? I never knew that Anna Nicole Smith was a Playboy centrefold. In fact, I had no idea who she was, even though I'd been hearing her name for well over ten years. I just assumed she was an actress or something. Her name became one of these buzzwords of popular culture. And it's crazy that although her name was all I knew about her, I still stared in disbelief when I heard that she had died.

How does this happen?

Some pictures from my sty-dio

See...it's like a studio...but messier?



I've got everything I need. Also, product placement.



This here is what I'm drawing...



And this here is a crappy photo of how I'm drawing it.



I guess that concludes our tour of my sty-dio. I hope it taught you a little about life, a little about love, and maybe, just maybe, a little about yourself?

Everything is illawesomenated

Guess what dudes and ladies? I'm tired as all crap and I've still got a few hours to go. Awesome. I like how I still haven't caught on to this whole "going to school" thing. I'm only taking one class and still I'm barely scraping by. I don't regret my dinner with Eve and Kes for a second, but man...it would be nice to be able to do that sort of thing without scrambling to finish my homework the next couple of days. All nighters are pretty great, but I'd rather not have them every week.

Oh goodness, 15 minutes is up. Gotta go back to work! ahahaaaa...

Slugs

I'm in a good mood today. I went out and bought some flavours I haven't tasted in years; real genuine bubblegum and some of that pina colada Sobe I loved so dearly when I was younger. I briefly considered doing something outrageous. I wanted to reinvent myself, get some turquoise and pink eyeshadow, bleach out my hair and get it cut with a razor. But I decided against it. There are some people who fit noticeability, and I am not one of them. People like that are stuck up if they don't talk to anyone. As I am now, I'm just shy.

I'm still undecided about Summerstock. A lot of the time I feel like I don't fit in with the created drama and complicated undertones that seem to come with being a stocker; a female stocker in particular. I'm tired of talking about the same things (oh I wish I had a boyfriend, Jim is being unfair, everything's going to be different this year, etc.) with people I don't really like being around. There are still great people in Summerstock, but most of them are in lead roles and I'm friends enough to do other things with them anyway. Then again, I felt this way at the beginning of last year, too. Maybe it's just a phase I'll get over. Who the crap knows?

No son of mine calls me a hog farm

That's what my mom said. After smacking Jordan for calling her a hog farm.

So, exciting news. Barb's ex-husband has potentially hired me on to do some commission work. 60 to 80 cartoons by the end of February. Problem is, I'm supposed to send him in some samples today so he can see if my "style" is anything close to what he wants. I have not yet started said samples.

I think I might be afraid of success, or at least doing something with what I've got. I knew about this potential commission for at least a week before I phoned him, and now I'm stalling again. I wonder if I really want to get myself into this, but I can't really see a clear downside. I'll be drawing again, which I love, I'll be getting my work out there, I'll be challenging myself, and if the samples are accepted, I'll get paid. I won't have to be working for him/them for long, only till the end of next month. There is nothing to be afraid of, but I'm still hesitant, still stalling, and it might already be too late.

When I was 9, I could have been in a real stage play with real teenagers and twentysomethings, put on by One Yellow Rabbit or some such company. But I hesitated, and I faltered, and eventually turned down the offer.I really wanted to be on stage, I wanted to act, but I had a fear of being seen. I was afraid of being out there and being noticed. I thought it was too soon. I'm too young for this. Maybe in a few more years. A few years later and here I am, still afraid of being out in the open, still telling myself I'm too young. Every time I get closer to being a real "artist," I hesitate and take a few steps back. This anonymity is where I'm comfortable; it's where I've settled all my life.

This blog is getting pretty depressive. I'm sorry about that.

I went over to Liam's the other day, which was good. Though I mostly hung out with his little brother, which in retrospect seems pretty rude/wierd. And I finally got to see The Great Dictator, which was pretty awesome. I found out later that Charlie Chaplin was 51 when he did that movie. Fifty-one! That kind of surprised me. He was still just as quick and sprightly as ever. We also watched some Arrested Development, which made me further fall in love with that show. How could something so stunningly hilarious be cancelled so swiftly? Though I guess it's better for something to be nipped in the bud and be fondly remembered than to drag on and on, getting worse and worse until the letters come streaming in pleading for cancellation.

That's it, gotta catch a bus.

s'long, fellas and fillies.
(thanks wulf)

26 posts

That's the first thing I saw when I signed in. I guess I talk more than I give myself credit for.

I saw Arrested Development for the second time and I think I've found a new Favourite Show, at least for the time being. I'm so glad CBC started showing it. That was a wise decision on their part.

I had to clean blood off the wall of the shop this morning. I guess no one else had noticed it when they walked in, or just assumed it was ketchup and went merrily along their way. There was something terribly tragic about scrubbing someone else's blood off the wall, like it was never there in the first place. There could have been a fight, or a beating; somebody could have been seriously hurt. But for the sake of our customers, the evidence had to be erased. Nobody wants to go into a cafe with blood on the wall.

Pathos

There was a time, long ago, when I swore to update this blog every day. There were also times when I swore to talk to someone new every day, practise my guitar every day, write every day, and read a chapter of whatever book I was reading every day. Now I've decided to draw every day, and boy howdy is it frustrating. I've avoided life drawing for so long I've forgotten how to do it. After about 10 or 20 minutes, the same thing happens. I realise that everything I've drawn so far is wrong, and I just give up. There's no chance of going forward and there's no chance of going back and correcting what I've done. So I just sigh heavily and try drawing something else. It actually surprises me how depressing my "passion" can be. My years of settling with mediocrity, of sticking with what I'm good at and not even trying to go any further, have finally come back to bite me in the butt. Just a few more days...if I make it over the hump, it'll be clear sailing from here on out.

Speaking of mediocrity, I've come to the realisation that I can't deal with customers. If somebody comes to me with a complaint like "you only put one slice of meat on this sandwich?" or "I ordered a small. This is too small," or "what do you mean you can't take my hundred dollar bill? Money is money," I just smile and agree with them and make myself seem incompetent. I can never assert myself or solve problems or give anyone the right information. I can't direct people to the complaints box when they're blind with rage, or give a straight answer to a simple question. "I don't know" has become my mantra, and one of these days it's going to get me into trouble.

I'm in a whiny mood today, fellas.

That Andy Capp is funny.

He reminds me of my uncle before he went to prison.

So I had my first class at ACAD today and it was certainly not what I expected. I walked into a grey room with grey floors and an enormous grey block kind of left of centre. Around the block, in a sort-of circle, were what looked like small benches with a short board at the back and a tall one at the front, and two slats in between. There were maybe 10 or 15 people in the room, all straddling their benches, all reading the same sheet quietly. It was only after about 20 minutes that the instructor came in. His name was Mark Mullin, and he was the spitting image of Greg Kinnear. He talked for a while, mostly reading the sheet we all got aloud, then took us into the still life room to get ready for our first project. Each student got to take something out of the room; a plastic deer, a skull, a fisher-price telephone, children's chairs, a rocking horse, a sculpted head on a stick, a broken mannequin, a driftwood stump, etc. We set them up on the enormous grey block and got to working. Draw it with varying line weight, he said. Crap. When I was done, it looked like I'd been drawing with my eyes closed. Everyone else did super. It's very humbling to be in a class where you're probably the youngest student, and by far the least experienced. I had to keep reminding myself that these were art students; they weren't just doing this to fill an extra time slot. They were all terribly talented and passionate about their craft, and would probably want to keep doing this for the rest of their life. I just hope I improve before the end of the term.

Bloody pigeons

I totally finished applying online for ACAD. Now all I have to do is send in all my high school transcripts and hope that everything gets through on time.

Today has sort of turned into my "do everything" day. I think after months of being inactive, the "work" switch in my brain was miraculously turned on, if only for a short while. I finally practised my audition song (and by "practised" I mean "played the music so loud I couldn't hear myself and whispered the words in a reedy warble into my pillow"). I ended up screwing up the CD so it skips to the beginning of the song whenever it reaches the end, which I guess is okay for me. I also started cleaning my room, but stopped when I realised my guitar needed tuning. I love ADD. Really, I do.

Last night, I watched most of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, and it really baffled me that someone would choose to make such a mediocre hollywood movie with all the mediocre hollywood cliches. The main character has a tragic secret that he tries to conceal beneath his tough-as nails exterior? The jerk in the group is actually in league with the enemy? The apparently useless female character has a hidden superpower that she only chooses to use in the direst of circumstances? Golly, who knew? It really gets my goat that there are rational adults who probably went to college working on movies like these. They could do so much better. Why choose to make a slapstick family Christmas movie or a bawdy fratboy romp? Crappy movies bring in crappy revenue, and usually take the same amount of effort to make as brilliant and well-respected movies. Why would anyone choose to go the forgettable route?

I'm in a pickle

I want to change the layout of my blog. This one's pretty crappy and not real condusive to photoposting. But I'm not one to leave my identity behind. Maybe in a few more days...

I've been motoring through the Chaplin collection like there's no tomorrow, and I think my fandom has grown into an all-out obsession. Charles Chaplin was the great comedic genius of the 20th century. Not to discredit other comedians; there have been and continue to be some incredibly brilliant and hilarious human beings out there. But Chaplin was a real master of the genre, a pure, perfect, timeless, talented, and overall incredible man.