Color: black fade screens with bursts of sparkly light
music: Bob Marley " Lively up yourself"
Mood: Flustered.
-----------
Work much like life seems to be chock full of the above mentioned dirty d word.
Those things that are created to keep the creative mind in check, to keep us ever submissive to the big guy who holds the whip, to keep us conscious of the market environment. Everything in this god forsaken life has a deadline.
Today, B & I are fully immersed in the thrill of our first studio run. We (the littlest shits in the business) are actually doing TV work. I realize that to most people, commercials are merely their prime opportunity to unleash the wrath of their bladders, make a phone call, grab some eats…..a sublime moment of release from the drama and energy of their regularly scheduled programming.
To us, commercials are our bread and butter. The fluff the makes this job a cushy dream. Little did we know the hours of tedious work, negotiations and waiting around that goes into the making of those 30 second spots. Its incredible to know that it takes a whole slew of people, talent, post production, hours of paint boxing, insane amounts of type setting that goes into adapting a simple spot.
Folks, it takes a helluva lot more work to create a 15 second teaser than it does to make a baby. Hrmph.
But that doesn’t suck the inherent joy out of this situation. B & I are living out the dream. We get to make tv spots for a living. How effin cool is that!
I can’t forget that this is monumental in our lives right now. I just wish that I remembered how to breathe or write or even think coherently.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I am officially losing my mind.
Can someone pass me an oxygen tank PLEASE. argh.
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Tickled Red in honour of St.Valentine!
Music: “silence” courtesy of an empty office.
Colour: Crystal
Mood: Clarity is just around the corner
-----------------
Feeling slightly bummed and refusing to partake in the joy of candied cinnamon hearts, I went through my riotous day in advertising with a gigantic chip on my shoulder. Things to do, concepts to think of, disappointments to deal with and most of all, a boyfriend that mucked up a hallmark holiday (such a hypocrite eh).
Until 11:30am that is.
For the first time in my entire existence I received a bouquet of gorgeous gourmet cookies delivered to my workplace. In that brief moment, I was struck by clarity.
M had actually planned a surprise for a holiday that he had absolutely no heart for. Sooo chweet no?
“wow, he loooooves you” sang me
“and this proves it no?” said myself
“mmmm. I guess he does kinda like me,” said I
And in unison they sighed as they collectively realized they were smack dab in the middle of a made for Harlequin romance.
While the weather emanated memories of London fog, we decided to make up for our comedy of miscommunication from the day before by watching “Hitch”.
Firstly, Will Smith is one hot tamale! Eva Mendez was breathtakingly gorgeous. But the star of the show was Doug Heffernen- I don’t know the dude’s real name (playing the character of Albert Brennaman). It was such a rip roaring comedic adventure of finding love and holding on to it in a big city. Refreshing to say the least. The dance sequences were out of this world and slightly evocative of B’s dancing repertoire! Gosh, that boy kills me with his undying optimism and his uninhibited dancing skills (B, that is).
(I got lucky three times around with the XY chromosome’d population. My appa is an astoundingly amazing man. M cut from the same roll of moral fabric. And now B, who feeds the soul and holds my hand as we live through the greatest dream of our lives.)
Best line in the movie: Life isn’t about creating breathtaking moments but about the moments that take your breath away. (shyte, I think I butchered it with my overzealous behavior, but that was the gist of it - err i think.)
I like that.
Moments that take your breath away.
And thinking hard about it, I’ve become conscious that my life is filled with exactly those types of moments.
Unexpected but Reassuring.
This year my life will be golden because me, myself and I (the holy trinity) will it so.
Be Blessed.
Colour: Crystal
Mood: Clarity is just around the corner
-----------------
Feeling slightly bummed and refusing to partake in the joy of candied cinnamon hearts, I went through my riotous day in advertising with a gigantic chip on my shoulder. Things to do, concepts to think of, disappointments to deal with and most of all, a boyfriend that mucked up a hallmark holiday (such a hypocrite eh).
Until 11:30am that is.
For the first time in my entire existence I received a bouquet of gorgeous gourmet cookies delivered to my workplace. In that brief moment, I was struck by clarity.
M had actually planned a surprise for a holiday that he had absolutely no heart for. Sooo chweet no?
“wow, he loooooves you” sang me
“and this proves it no?” said myself
“mmmm. I guess he does kinda like me,” said I
And in unison they sighed as they collectively realized they were smack dab in the middle of a made for Harlequin romance.
While the weather emanated memories of London fog, we decided to make up for our comedy of miscommunication from the day before by watching “Hitch”.
Firstly, Will Smith is one hot tamale! Eva Mendez was breathtakingly gorgeous. But the star of the show was Doug Heffernen- I don’t know the dude’s real name (playing the character of Albert Brennaman). It was such a rip roaring comedic adventure of finding love and holding on to it in a big city. Refreshing to say the least. The dance sequences were out of this world and slightly evocative of B’s dancing repertoire! Gosh, that boy kills me with his undying optimism and his uninhibited dancing skills (B, that is).
(I got lucky three times around with the XY chromosome’d population. My appa is an astoundingly amazing man. M cut from the same roll of moral fabric. And now B, who feeds the soul and holds my hand as we live through the greatest dream of our lives.)
Best line in the movie: Life isn’t about creating breathtaking moments but about the moments that take your breath away. (shyte, I think I butchered it with my overzealous behavior, but that was the gist of it - err i think.)
I like that.
Moments that take your breath away.
And thinking hard about it, I’ve become conscious that my life is filled with exactly those types of moments.
Unexpected but Reassuring.
This year my life will be golden because me, myself and I (the holy trinity) will it so.
Be Blessed.
Monday, February 14, 2005
Average is just not good enough. Period.
Music: “Wonderwall” by Oasis
Colour: a loud raucous gathering of purple shades!
Mood: restless
-----------------------
Friday: The day of revolutionaries
After a tough day at work, the familial unit decided to hit Morningside theatres to catch Coach Carter in action. Now, this is one picture film that did the struggle justice. Wrapped in eloquence and hand delivered with good intentions, this movie left me itching with memories of the revolution.
A gut wrenching moment in the dramatic sequence was when one of Carter’s young students finally answers the question he was plagued by: What is your greatest fear?
(Isn’t that just something though? A question dropped so instinctively during the movie is actually the sum parts of the one question that all of us seek to answer. The answer which will finally set us free from all the real and imaginary demons that flutter through our days)
The beautifully written prose cited by that student in response to Carter was originally written by Marianne Williamson in her book “A return to love: Reflections on the Principles of – A course in miracles”. This was also the quote that Nelson Mandela read at his inauguration in 1994, and rightfully so.
Here it is, in its entirety:
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is
that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our
darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be
brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous? Actually, who are you not
to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the
world. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within
us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our
own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do
the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence
automatically liberates others."
Yup. Wowzers ladies and gentleman. Put me down on the list of people whose very soul rose to touch those words, whose spirit gently fondled it’s self worth – those words are liberating to anyone who has rightfully asked themselves that very same question.
What are you afraid of?
Fear is a powerful motivator. I should know, I’ve raged battles with it my entire life. My life has been defined by the presence or the absence of fear. Everything comes back to square one – and my square one is painted in all the glory of anxiety-ridden nightmares.
1. What if I never amount to anything?
2. What if I do?
3. What if I never find love, joy, and contentment?
4. Fuck, what if I do?
And so on and so forth.
As scary as failure can be, it is success that scares the living daylights out of me. The premise of achieving my dreams, having it all in the palm of my hand to only eventually discover that I don’t know how to give back, pass it on or let it trickle down – kills me. The premise of being utterly content with my patch of grass and not moving forward, absolutely annihilates me.
We are all born with the inimitable strength of perseverance, joy and hope. We are all born to be superstars in our very own existences – we all have the infinite potential to become anything we can imagine for ourselves. Scary innit? And sadly, true. The only thing that separates the physically/emotionally/mentally successful ones from those whose lives are filled with regret – is the process of coming to terms with the power that lies within you.
The greatest fear (in my humble opinion) is figuring out how to release that inner light and then to nurture it to its fullest potential. (I sound like a effin self help book innit)
It’s taken me a ¼ of a century to figure that out and everyday is another learning opportunity (I feel like I’m still in grade 3 in the school of life). Everyday is another opportunity to face that fear – the fear of never fully realizing our self worth or our potential. A fear of lacking the confidence/diligence to actualize that very spirit, which oftentimes renders us paralyzed. A fear of being unable to release light that lives inside the darkness we collectively create for ourselves.
And how relevant is it that Coach Carter aired smack dab in the middle of Black history month. Too many of our young brothers and sisters are foolishly losing themselves in the game created by the system. Humanity was misplaced and in its wake left generational angst to pave the path of the future. For every young black person who succeeds, handfuls surrender themselves to live a life that buys into every prevalent stereotype.
It’s time to cushion that fall. It’s time to lend a hand in support. But more importantly, it’s time for the privileged few to stand up for those who are unable to stand up for themselves. The light is within reach people; it’s time to reclaim it.
The adrenalin left me hyperactive and awake. I’m such a child and M realized that for the gazillionth time. He still loves me though – I’m one lucky lil girl.
--------------------
Saturday: sick and at work.
Cocooned in the arms of the ever-popular flu bug, I found solace in M’s arms (after a hideously long day of work). I fell asleep at a ridiculously early hour and once again proved that old age is definitely catching up to me.
I see walkers and a monthly pension cheque in the near future.
---------------
Sunday: pretend days never bode well to relationships built on reality.
M & I decided to celebrate our saccharine sweet love fest today in lieu of the day before St. Valentine did his thang and received his 5 minutes of fame. Needless to say it fell flat on its face and broke it’s sugary nose on hard cold concrete.
Fights are great indicators of how life can truly be with your partner. They speak of communication styles; clash tactics, strategically conjured verbiage and the likes – giving each person enough ammunition to wage war on their collective future.
I like the way M battles it out at the worst of times. Never swearing, never disrespecting, never intentionally trying to injure my personhood or my heart. He gently treads upon my heart, in moments of ire, like a child stomping up stairs and slamming the door in utter disdain. It’s comforting to know that he doesn’t fight dirty because lord only knows, I can. And oftentimes, against my better judgment, I do. I don’t deserve to be loved so wholly but I am tremendously grateful for it.
M, my heart is in your hands to love, adore and keep safe. My soul was born to experience a thousand tumultuous relationships to pleasantly find it’s journey’s end entwined with yours. You will always and forever be the only stranger that I choose to call my family.
And that ladies and gentleman, is quite the compliment coming from the girl who unconditionally loves ONLY her own.
Possessive much? Don’t hate, if you had a family that was perfect in all its imperfections, you’d have some crazy unachievable standards too.
According to the prettiest psychology major in Canada, my lama, I’m still struggling to get out of the toddler phase.
Perhaps one day yea.
But for today, I find my version of saccharine sweet joy in these fleeting moments of truth.
Colour: a loud raucous gathering of purple shades!
Mood: restless
-----------------------
Friday: The day of revolutionaries
After a tough day at work, the familial unit decided to hit Morningside theatres to catch Coach Carter in action. Now, this is one picture film that did the struggle justice. Wrapped in eloquence and hand delivered with good intentions, this movie left me itching with memories of the revolution.
A gut wrenching moment in the dramatic sequence was when one of Carter’s young students finally answers the question he was plagued by: What is your greatest fear?
(Isn’t that just something though? A question dropped so instinctively during the movie is actually the sum parts of the one question that all of us seek to answer. The answer which will finally set us free from all the real and imaginary demons that flutter through our days)
The beautifully written prose cited by that student in response to Carter was originally written by Marianne Williamson in her book “A return to love: Reflections on the Principles of – A course in miracles”. This was also the quote that Nelson Mandela read at his inauguration in 1994, and rightfully so.
Here it is, in its entirety:
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is
that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our
darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be
brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous? Actually, who are you not
to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the
world. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within
us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our
own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do
the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence
automatically liberates others."
Yup. Wowzers ladies and gentleman. Put me down on the list of people whose very soul rose to touch those words, whose spirit gently fondled it’s self worth – those words are liberating to anyone who has rightfully asked themselves that very same question.
What are you afraid of?
Fear is a powerful motivator. I should know, I’ve raged battles with it my entire life. My life has been defined by the presence or the absence of fear. Everything comes back to square one – and my square one is painted in all the glory of anxiety-ridden nightmares.
1. What if I never amount to anything?
2. What if I do?
3. What if I never find love, joy, and contentment?
4. Fuck, what if I do?
And so on and so forth.
As scary as failure can be, it is success that scares the living daylights out of me. The premise of achieving my dreams, having it all in the palm of my hand to only eventually discover that I don’t know how to give back, pass it on or let it trickle down – kills me. The premise of being utterly content with my patch of grass and not moving forward, absolutely annihilates me.
We are all born with the inimitable strength of perseverance, joy and hope. We are all born to be superstars in our very own existences – we all have the infinite potential to become anything we can imagine for ourselves. Scary innit? And sadly, true. The only thing that separates the physically/emotionally/mentally successful ones from those whose lives are filled with regret – is the process of coming to terms with the power that lies within you.
The greatest fear (in my humble opinion) is figuring out how to release that inner light and then to nurture it to its fullest potential. (I sound like a effin self help book innit)
It’s taken me a ¼ of a century to figure that out and everyday is another learning opportunity (I feel like I’m still in grade 3 in the school of life). Everyday is another opportunity to face that fear – the fear of never fully realizing our self worth or our potential. A fear of lacking the confidence/diligence to actualize that very spirit, which oftentimes renders us paralyzed. A fear of being unable to release light that lives inside the darkness we collectively create for ourselves.
And how relevant is it that Coach Carter aired smack dab in the middle of Black history month. Too many of our young brothers and sisters are foolishly losing themselves in the game created by the system. Humanity was misplaced and in its wake left generational angst to pave the path of the future. For every young black person who succeeds, handfuls surrender themselves to live a life that buys into every prevalent stereotype.
It’s time to cushion that fall. It’s time to lend a hand in support. But more importantly, it’s time for the privileged few to stand up for those who are unable to stand up for themselves. The light is within reach people; it’s time to reclaim it.
The adrenalin left me hyperactive and awake. I’m such a child and M realized that for the gazillionth time. He still loves me though – I’m one lucky lil girl.
--------------------
Saturday: sick and at work.
Cocooned in the arms of the ever-popular flu bug, I found solace in M’s arms (after a hideously long day of work). I fell asleep at a ridiculously early hour and once again proved that old age is definitely catching up to me.
I see walkers and a monthly pension cheque in the near future.
---------------
Sunday: pretend days never bode well to relationships built on reality.
M & I decided to celebrate our saccharine sweet love fest today in lieu of the day before St. Valentine did his thang and received his 5 minutes of fame. Needless to say it fell flat on its face and broke it’s sugary nose on hard cold concrete.
Fights are great indicators of how life can truly be with your partner. They speak of communication styles; clash tactics, strategically conjured verbiage and the likes – giving each person enough ammunition to wage war on their collective future.
I like the way M battles it out at the worst of times. Never swearing, never disrespecting, never intentionally trying to injure my personhood or my heart. He gently treads upon my heart, in moments of ire, like a child stomping up stairs and slamming the door in utter disdain. It’s comforting to know that he doesn’t fight dirty because lord only knows, I can. And oftentimes, against my better judgment, I do. I don’t deserve to be loved so wholly but I am tremendously grateful for it.
M, my heart is in your hands to love, adore and keep safe. My soul was born to experience a thousand tumultuous relationships to pleasantly find it’s journey’s end entwined with yours. You will always and forever be the only stranger that I choose to call my family.
And that ladies and gentleman, is quite the compliment coming from the girl who unconditionally loves ONLY her own.
Possessive much? Don’t hate, if you had a family that was perfect in all its imperfections, you’d have some crazy unachievable standards too.
According to the prettiest psychology major in Canada, my lama, I’m still struggling to get out of the toddler phase.
Perhaps one day yea.
But for today, I find my version of saccharine sweet joy in these fleeting moments of truth.
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Colour me blind.
Music: ‘Retrospect for Life’ by Common
Colour: A veritable rainbow of vibrating energy
Mood: contemplative
-------------------------------------
White.
It’s said to be the colour of purity. Untainted like white doves, baptisms, pouffy nuptial gowns, virginal silences and clandestine moments. Uncontaminated like the aura that peeks from behind the spiritually blessed encasing them in divinity. It’s also the light that leisurely sits upon the locks of angelic beings. In secular society – white is crisp and clean.
Unfortunately amongst all its unpolluted glory lay the smatterings of my personal truth: white is the absence of colour and to me it will always be, just that. In the religion of the blue god – the absence of colour is synonymous with the absence of life. Flat, barren and a footstep away from being extinct. White is the colour of purity for the soul’s right of passage – a mourner’s cocoon of sorrow. Worn relentlessly until it numbs the pain and life is reintroduced through swatches of colour.
White will always remind me of just that – the morning after my ammamma (grandma) passed away. The house sighed with heaviness as a village of people traipsed through its doors. All sheathed in variations of white – sari’s, salwars, linen shirts and the such – their sorrow worn for the world to see. She was gone. The shakthi (energy) that protected the house, the waves, the wishes and the clan had evaporated into thin air. And with her demise, white became the color of death. The colour of separation and the whittling away of our familial tribe.
Needless to say, my subconscious made the connection and it has stuck ever since then.
The world of retail therapy helped mask it with a band-aid of “must-have” white garments which I often over indulge in. White is now a double-edged sword – one side recalls the balmy sunshine of hot Indian summers and the other, impending doom. The irony of it all fascinates me. Colour is a powerful connector to childhood memories, it bleeds into the character one dons proudly and mostly it finger-paints its way into your solitary reveries.
Yet, when I was a toddler colour was merely another mode of finding one’s voice. All consuming yet subjective in its very essence – interpretations cast their own shadows upon impressionistic art. This premise was perhaps the underlying reason behind the quick demise of my fledgling career as a visual artist. I chose words instead. They were always more manageable, controllable and all mine (a possessive lil minnow eh?). The intention could never falter in the face of multiple interpretations. Nobody would leave their footprints on my words, nobody would dare to kill its spirit or ravish it’s soul.
That became my happy place.
And as age paints me with it’s unremitting brush, I’m forced to wonder if I will ever truly release those connectors. Or, if I will fall into the hollow depths of my fear and pass these scars on to the pitter-patter of little feet. I just pray that wisdom finds me and teaches me the much-needed lesson of letting go.
27 and still struggling with the burden of remembering too bloody much and not knowing how to forget any of it.
(Nietzsche would have a field day with this one)
-----
Brief synopsis of daily drama: I was spinning ideas and words until 11pm last night. At work and chugging along with trusty B by my side…I realized that regardless of how frustrating some days and some people can be – we are living the dream. And for this, we’re both eternally grateful to the powers that be.
As you might have construed from the little blurb above this one – I left my dates (all 60 of them) at the gym, hanging.
No phone call.
No email.
I just straight stood them up.
( yup, I think I just reserved my spot in hell)
So much for good intentions in the world of advertising.
Colour: A veritable rainbow of vibrating energy
Mood: contemplative
-------------------------------------
White.
It’s said to be the colour of purity. Untainted like white doves, baptisms, pouffy nuptial gowns, virginal silences and clandestine moments. Uncontaminated like the aura that peeks from behind the spiritually blessed encasing them in divinity. It’s also the light that leisurely sits upon the locks of angelic beings. In secular society – white is crisp and clean.
Unfortunately amongst all its unpolluted glory lay the smatterings of my personal truth: white is the absence of colour and to me it will always be, just that. In the religion of the blue god – the absence of colour is synonymous with the absence of life. Flat, barren and a footstep away from being extinct. White is the colour of purity for the soul’s right of passage – a mourner’s cocoon of sorrow. Worn relentlessly until it numbs the pain and life is reintroduced through swatches of colour.
White will always remind me of just that – the morning after my ammamma (grandma) passed away. The house sighed with heaviness as a village of people traipsed through its doors. All sheathed in variations of white – sari’s, salwars, linen shirts and the such – their sorrow worn for the world to see. She was gone. The shakthi (energy) that protected the house, the waves, the wishes and the clan had evaporated into thin air. And with her demise, white became the color of death. The colour of separation and the whittling away of our familial tribe.
Needless to say, my subconscious made the connection and it has stuck ever since then.
The world of retail therapy helped mask it with a band-aid of “must-have” white garments which I often over indulge in. White is now a double-edged sword – one side recalls the balmy sunshine of hot Indian summers and the other, impending doom. The irony of it all fascinates me. Colour is a powerful connector to childhood memories, it bleeds into the character one dons proudly and mostly it finger-paints its way into your solitary reveries.
Yet, when I was a toddler colour was merely another mode of finding one’s voice. All consuming yet subjective in its very essence – interpretations cast their own shadows upon impressionistic art. This premise was perhaps the underlying reason behind the quick demise of my fledgling career as a visual artist. I chose words instead. They were always more manageable, controllable and all mine (a possessive lil minnow eh?). The intention could never falter in the face of multiple interpretations. Nobody would leave their footprints on my words, nobody would dare to kill its spirit or ravish it’s soul.
That became my happy place.
And as age paints me with it’s unremitting brush, I’m forced to wonder if I will ever truly release those connectors. Or, if I will fall into the hollow depths of my fear and pass these scars on to the pitter-patter of little feet. I just pray that wisdom finds me and teaches me the much-needed lesson of letting go.
27 and still struggling with the burden of remembering too bloody much and not knowing how to forget any of it.
(Nietzsche would have a field day with this one)
-----
Brief synopsis of daily drama: I was spinning ideas and words until 11pm last night. At work and chugging along with trusty B by my side…I realized that regardless of how frustrating some days and some people can be – we are living the dream. And for this, we’re both eternally grateful to the powers that be.
As you might have construed from the little blurb above this one – I left my dates (all 60 of them) at the gym, hanging.
No phone call.
No email.
I just straight stood them up.
( yup, I think I just reserved my spot in hell)
So much for good intentions in the world of advertising.
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
The Amazing Farce
Music: Daphne loves Derby “ Hopeless Love”
Colour: Incarnations of crimson
Mood: her shoes are still by the door but her corporeal being has disappeared. Lost in Translations perhaps.
---------------
After sitting through the two-hour finale of the Amazing Race, I am furious. The model douche-bag squad won through lying, cheating, deceit and general ill will towards the rest of the members playing the game. I’m irked. I had my fingers crossed for the all- around virtuous team (Kris & Jon) and once again I was bitch-slapped with the realization that the world is not a fair place. Life makes it painfully obvious that the most deserving ones rarely see the light of victory.
(grr)
On other topics for the day, today is my day of atonement – I have officially penciled in my “gym” thereby making it a date (with me, myself, I and 60 other sweaty women). I plan to work my little heart out because quite frankly the lack of motion in my life is starting to make itself excruciatingly apparent. My friends are the greatest unwitting charlatans, you can’t really trust them when it comes to games like “rate my looks”. They’re all biased you see – they love me blindly, thereby not realizing that a life with no movement can transform a beautiful swan into an ugly duckling. (super-sized at that too!)
Three cheers for good intentions.
Words: the real conspiriologists. They connive to leave me writhing in pain as I attempt to birth a fabulous piece of conceptual art. Unfortunately, 9 out of the 10 that do survive the grotesque birthing process end up falling short at some point of the game.
Be warned: perception mixed with expectations can be quite deceptive to the naked eye.
My goal (well our goal – B’s & mine that is): To increase our chances by participating in some Lamaze-esque practices – to faciliatate the slow and organic birth of precious light bulbs with the sparkle of brilliance in their new born eyes. It’s on its way – I can feel it (I sure hope it doesn’t get stuck in that treacherously long birth canal).
Now if we only had something comparable to an epidural, we would be in business folks!.
B is a saint to put up with my snarky behind.
Be blessed.
Colour: Incarnations of crimson
Mood: her shoes are still by the door but her corporeal being has disappeared. Lost in Translations perhaps.
---------------
After sitting through the two-hour finale of the Amazing Race, I am furious. The model douche-bag squad won through lying, cheating, deceit and general ill will towards the rest of the members playing the game. I’m irked. I had my fingers crossed for the all- around virtuous team (Kris & Jon) and once again I was bitch-slapped with the realization that the world is not a fair place. Life makes it painfully obvious that the most deserving ones rarely see the light of victory.
(grr)
On other topics for the day, today is my day of atonement – I have officially penciled in my “gym” thereby making it a date (with me, myself, I and 60 other sweaty women). I plan to work my little heart out because quite frankly the lack of motion in my life is starting to make itself excruciatingly apparent. My friends are the greatest unwitting charlatans, you can’t really trust them when it comes to games like “rate my looks”. They’re all biased you see – they love me blindly, thereby not realizing that a life with no movement can transform a beautiful swan into an ugly duckling. (super-sized at that too!)
Three cheers for good intentions.
Words: the real conspiriologists. They connive to leave me writhing in pain as I attempt to birth a fabulous piece of conceptual art. Unfortunately, 9 out of the 10 that do survive the grotesque birthing process end up falling short at some point of the game.
Be warned: perception mixed with expectations can be quite deceptive to the naked eye.
My goal (well our goal – B’s & mine that is): To increase our chances by participating in some Lamaze-esque practices – to faciliatate the slow and organic birth of precious light bulbs with the sparkle of brilliance in their new born eyes. It’s on its way – I can feel it (I sure hope it doesn’t get stuck in that treacherously long birth canal).
Now if we only had something comparable to an epidural, we would be in business folks!.
B is a saint to put up with my snarky behind.
Be blessed.
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
Urban myths
Music: “Golden” by Jill Scott
Colour: Blinding sunflower yellow
Mood: Joyful
---------------------------
Last night was an all -inclusive feast. My eyes, my belly and my spirit were rejuvenated by the sheer joy of great company and lip smacking soul food. S, P, D, C&M and beloved M and I took a well-deserved journey into the lifestyle of the “big city, young hip professionals” myth and blew its cover.
Winterlicious is a great idea. The opportunity to have chi-chi poo-poo fun on a poor man’s budget gives us aspiring big wigs the chance to revel in the affluence of our self –prescribed future’s. The décor at Joe’s coupled with the moonlighting artist-esque waiters infused the evening with giddiness and a general gaiety for life. It was a carnival for the senses – stimulated, overjoyed and in great company.
I love M’s friends. They are such a fun and engaging group of people, their personalities bleed into each other – complementing, harmonizing and creating a wonderful aura of familiarity. It’s almost like spending time with family and that my dear friends, is quite the honor. M has gifted me so much in this lifetime – unconditional love, understanding, acceptance and a circle of brave enigmatic souls who are just as inherently adorable as he is. I guess the adage rings true – you can tell a lot about a man by the friends he keeps. In this case, they feed the soul. Each a muse for the open and inspired. Each a hand to hold in the best and worst of times. Each a small wondrous blessing. And I feel, adequately blessed to know them.
It’s Tuesday morning and I still feel the remnants of that chocolate mudslide scrumptiously snuggled between the folds of my spirit (yup, that’s what I call my chunky monkey backside) and my eternal sweet tooth. My silent promise to hit the gym has once again nullified as I vehemently fought slumber only to sorely lose that battle, again. So it was the GO.
Unlike the subway, the GO caters to the suburban crowd – a group of middle aged men and women who have contently settled into life away from the raucousness of the city dwellers. A quiet ride strung together by moments of silence, tranquility in motion. Then came the exit route – union station. A melding of city meets suburbia; a walkway of human congestion. I moved not by choice but by the sheer energy and force of the people around me. I stood still, planted my feet firmly like the roots of that pine outside my house, but to no avail. For those brief moments, I was defined not by the person I am, the dreams I nurture or the character I’ve painstakingly cultivated. For those brief moments, I was the sum total of all the parts around me – a veritable cog in the wheel, one measly part in the grandiose proportions of human machinery. For those brief moments, I wasn’t alone but at the mercy of the crowds because I perfectly fit into the urban myth of life on the go.
Puts things into perspective, innit.
Colour: Blinding sunflower yellow
Mood: Joyful
---------------------------
Last night was an all -inclusive feast. My eyes, my belly and my spirit were rejuvenated by the sheer joy of great company and lip smacking soul food. S, P, D, C&M and beloved M and I took a well-deserved journey into the lifestyle of the “big city, young hip professionals” myth and blew its cover.
Winterlicious is a great idea. The opportunity to have chi-chi poo-poo fun on a poor man’s budget gives us aspiring big wigs the chance to revel in the affluence of our self –prescribed future’s. The décor at Joe’s coupled with the moonlighting artist-esque waiters infused the evening with giddiness and a general gaiety for life. It was a carnival for the senses – stimulated, overjoyed and in great company.
I love M’s friends. They are such a fun and engaging group of people, their personalities bleed into each other – complementing, harmonizing and creating a wonderful aura of familiarity. It’s almost like spending time with family and that my dear friends, is quite the honor. M has gifted me so much in this lifetime – unconditional love, understanding, acceptance and a circle of brave enigmatic souls who are just as inherently adorable as he is. I guess the adage rings true – you can tell a lot about a man by the friends he keeps. In this case, they feed the soul. Each a muse for the open and inspired. Each a hand to hold in the best and worst of times. Each a small wondrous blessing. And I feel, adequately blessed to know them.
It’s Tuesday morning and I still feel the remnants of that chocolate mudslide scrumptiously snuggled between the folds of my spirit (yup, that’s what I call my chunky monkey backside) and my eternal sweet tooth. My silent promise to hit the gym has once again nullified as I vehemently fought slumber only to sorely lose that battle, again. So it was the GO.
Unlike the subway, the GO caters to the suburban crowd – a group of middle aged men and women who have contently settled into life away from the raucousness of the city dwellers. A quiet ride strung together by moments of silence, tranquility in motion. Then came the exit route – union station. A melding of city meets suburbia; a walkway of human congestion. I moved not by choice but by the sheer energy and force of the people around me. I stood still, planted my feet firmly like the roots of that pine outside my house, but to no avail. For those brief moments, I was defined not by the person I am, the dreams I nurture or the character I’ve painstakingly cultivated. For those brief moments, I was the sum total of all the parts around me – a veritable cog in the wheel, one measly part in the grandiose proportions of human machinery. For those brief moments, I wasn’t alone but at the mercy of the crowds because I perfectly fit into the urban myth of life on the go.
Puts things into perspective, innit.
Monday, February 07, 2005
The un-telling.
I lied - unconsciously so but twas a lie nevertheless.
Corporate sponsors spent $2.4 million USD to air their 30 second stories during the Superbowl festivities.
wowzers.
i'm still gurgling with ire at the stupidness of the Global feed. Oh and lest I forget, i still aint feelin them god dern americans.
pshhh.
That's another two points lost in misinformation.
grr.
Corporate sponsors spent $2.4 million USD to air their 30 second stories during the Superbowl festivities.
wowzers.
i'm still gurgling with ire at the stupidness of the Global feed. Oh and lest I forget, i still aint feelin them god dern americans.
pshhh.
That's another two points lost in misinformation.
grr.
Brimful Epiphanies
Music: Chantal Kreviazuk “Is This Life”
Colour: Mellow yellow – a pastel blanket akin to rose colored glasses that radiates a sun kissed glow. Needless to say, it sure doesn’t feel like a Monday.
Mood: Awakened by the screeching tires of life, warm feet now faltering and cold as they tip toe around eggshells, courtesy of the unfamiliar. In one word: reflective
------------------------------------------
Dies Veneris or "Venus's day" also known to mere mortals as Friday. The common denominator between the rich and the struggling to be rich – a day of sheer unadulterated freedom.
The most anticipated day of the working week (by some) and to the “love is work” individuals (like moi), it spells a few days of cerebral recuperation. A mental playground, to nurture and cultivate the inter-connectivity of self and expression.
I had the misfortune of blindly picking “the wedding date” – a glorified picture film that showcased the grandeur of Debra Messing’s unnaturally long nose and reaffirmed the factoid that women meet their significant other’s in ridiculously skewed circumstances. A movie that involved coercion on my part as I guilted my boyfriend into sitting through the idle chatter of an estrogen filled evening. Thankfully, his XY chromosomed buddies proposed a night of pool – an invite he eagerly lapped up in order to maintain his evaporating sanity.
S & Magic have set three possible dates for their dum dum dum. All in July, the only month when my social calendar didn’t boast a wedding. Karma tends to do that though – it picks my month of magnificent single girl solitude and smacks in another reminder of anticipated forever’s. It arrives by courier (speedy lil buggers) with a sense of exhilaration neatly tied together by gut wrenching fear.
We’re all aging and evolution has us poised for matrimony – with or without a ‘suitable’ groom. A thought that sends an icy cold chill up my spine.
However, the flip side of it is that this year will be defined by five connubial events, each pleading that I sheath myself in glorious silk saris and ridiculously high stilettos. I’m secretly looking forward to sari shopping, a natural born advantage that tickles me pink.
I crawled into bed (exhausted but elated) and flirted with slumber on a fragrant cloud of french vanilla. Thank heavens for Mr. Tim Hortons.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Saturday: Revelations...
Unearthed.
Have you felt your entire world shift 2 ½ inches to the right? I did and it thankfully happened in the sheltering arms of unconditional love.
M and I joined one of my closest friends T (easily, one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever had the chance to know and love), her husband J and their latest addition, sweet baby R for an evening of catch up. And that’s when it all went down.
Back-story: I’ve never been one for wanting children. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always liked them just so – happy, vociferous and lurid but mercifully, they always go back to their respective homes. It’s been my inherent belief that I got passed up during the distribution of the much sought after maternal gene and I’m quite comfortable with that knowledge. I mean, not everyone can be great moms and trail blazing career women. I was A-Okay until Saturday night. And on this fated night I met my ultimate undoing.
The catalyst that jolted me out of a state of emotional slumber was 1/10th the size of a regular human being. Small but profound. My biological clock ran smack dab into perfection and plunged into the depths of unfamiliar optimism. I just hope the bloody thing can swim.
T’s baby girl is absolutely precious. Holding her, I experienced a moment of lucidity – my entire existence shifted to reveal new possibilities. She is the sum total of all our dreams exquisitely packaged as an adorable pudgy little angel. Her innocence left me in awe; her tiny fingers, which one-day will revel in a world of rainbow varnish, clung to my relatively withered ones, in trust. She trusted me. Unfamiliar me. The me that never made time to visit her, hold her or bond with her, as I should have. She looked past all my misdemeanors and fit tightly into the crook of my arm, nestled in complete solace.
I was painted in colours of wonderment. The depth of her dark fish eyes, mesmerizing everyone, including cynical old me, into submission. She is destined to be beautiful and I am lucky to have her in my existence. Never would I have fathomed being able to love so completely, someone that I didn’t know. Analysis is a moot point. Getting to know her is unnecessary. I saw, I touched and I breathed in the scent of pure love.
Her innocence rubbed against my jaded perspective and I was awakened anew. She was my greatest undoing and in those moments, she changed the way I perceived the rest of my existence. I will not run in fear as the imminent footsteps of the future approach my very doorstep. I look forward to embracing every opportunity, to cast aside the tumultuous relationship I have with aging and mortality and to truly be the best person I can – for the sake of my family, friends and potential angels of virtue.
R,
I vow to protect you, love you and beat the living daylights out of anyone that infringes upon your inherent innocence. You will always be the keeper of eternal joy.
Aunty Jana.
(Wow, I’m a real aunty now)
---------------------------------------------------
Sunday – The religion of superbowl descended upon a group of much loved individuals who thanks to M, are now my friends as well. I adore his generosity – he’s comfortable enough in their love to share these special people with me.
Anyways, in the comfort of J & T’s gorgeous abode we partook in the sinful delights of Colonel Sander’s magical chicken concoctions, wings and football night grub. Great company, delicious food and unmitigated joy were the presiding themes of the evening.
Good times were definitely had by one and all.
Superbowl: the eagles lost. They should’ve won with the likes of Terrell Owens but someone dropped the ball (no pun intended..gawd I’m a geek)and destiny was forever changed. The half time show did nothing to titillate the senses or the mind leaving us questioning the relevance of Superbowl showtime. Isn’t entertainment supposed to be entertaining?
The commercials (the real reason I was at this gathering of sports fans) were filtered by Global thereby feeding me previously viewed Canadian spots. Not half as entertaining as the 30-second blurbs that corporate sponsors spent $1.7 million USD to air.
Discrimination of the highest form.
They (read: Americans) bombard us with their propaganda, their despicable fast food franchises, their political debacles, their inhumane norms and consumerist culture. Yet, the one time I yearn to feast my eyes upon what is often considered to be “must watch TV” in the ad world – they shut me out and turn the lights off.
So quite frankly, I’m miffed. America, you ain’t getting no love from me.
However, the one redeeming piece of telly last night was the Superbowl Simpsons episode. Laugh out loud funny. Best line is when Homer looks at Nerdy Ned and says: You help me and I will be helped by you. Classic case of egocentric selfish behavior.
I love it. Now all that’s left is to find a moment in reality where that line will make me a fabulously witty shit starter.
Next.
Colour: Mellow yellow – a pastel blanket akin to rose colored glasses that radiates a sun kissed glow. Needless to say, it sure doesn’t feel like a Monday.
Mood: Awakened by the screeching tires of life, warm feet now faltering and cold as they tip toe around eggshells, courtesy of the unfamiliar. In one word: reflective
------------------------------------------
Dies Veneris or "Venus's day" also known to mere mortals as Friday. The common denominator between the rich and the struggling to be rich – a day of sheer unadulterated freedom.
The most anticipated day of the working week (by some) and to the “love is work” individuals (like moi), it spells a few days of cerebral recuperation. A mental playground, to nurture and cultivate the inter-connectivity of self and expression.
I had the misfortune of blindly picking “the wedding date” – a glorified picture film that showcased the grandeur of Debra Messing’s unnaturally long nose and reaffirmed the factoid that women meet their significant other’s in ridiculously skewed circumstances. A movie that involved coercion on my part as I guilted my boyfriend into sitting through the idle chatter of an estrogen filled evening. Thankfully, his XY chromosomed buddies proposed a night of pool – an invite he eagerly lapped up in order to maintain his evaporating sanity.
S & Magic have set three possible dates for their dum dum dum. All in July, the only month when my social calendar didn’t boast a wedding. Karma tends to do that though – it picks my month of magnificent single girl solitude and smacks in another reminder of anticipated forever’s. It arrives by courier (speedy lil buggers) with a sense of exhilaration neatly tied together by gut wrenching fear.
We’re all aging and evolution has us poised for matrimony – with or without a ‘suitable’ groom. A thought that sends an icy cold chill up my spine.
However, the flip side of it is that this year will be defined by five connubial events, each pleading that I sheath myself in glorious silk saris and ridiculously high stilettos. I’m secretly looking forward to sari shopping, a natural born advantage that tickles me pink.
I crawled into bed (exhausted but elated) and flirted with slumber on a fragrant cloud of french vanilla. Thank heavens for Mr. Tim Hortons.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Saturday: Revelations...
Unearthed.
Have you felt your entire world shift 2 ½ inches to the right? I did and it thankfully happened in the sheltering arms of unconditional love.
M and I joined one of my closest friends T (easily, one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever had the chance to know and love), her husband J and their latest addition, sweet baby R for an evening of catch up. And that’s when it all went down.
Back-story: I’ve never been one for wanting children. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always liked them just so – happy, vociferous and lurid but mercifully, they always go back to their respective homes. It’s been my inherent belief that I got passed up during the distribution of the much sought after maternal gene and I’m quite comfortable with that knowledge. I mean, not everyone can be great moms and trail blazing career women. I was A-Okay until Saturday night. And on this fated night I met my ultimate undoing.
The catalyst that jolted me out of a state of emotional slumber was 1/10th the size of a regular human being. Small but profound. My biological clock ran smack dab into perfection and plunged into the depths of unfamiliar optimism. I just hope the bloody thing can swim.
T’s baby girl is absolutely precious. Holding her, I experienced a moment of lucidity – my entire existence shifted to reveal new possibilities. She is the sum total of all our dreams exquisitely packaged as an adorable pudgy little angel. Her innocence left me in awe; her tiny fingers, which one-day will revel in a world of rainbow varnish, clung to my relatively withered ones, in trust. She trusted me. Unfamiliar me. The me that never made time to visit her, hold her or bond with her, as I should have. She looked past all my misdemeanors and fit tightly into the crook of my arm, nestled in complete solace.
I was painted in colours of wonderment. The depth of her dark fish eyes, mesmerizing everyone, including cynical old me, into submission. She is destined to be beautiful and I am lucky to have her in my existence. Never would I have fathomed being able to love so completely, someone that I didn’t know. Analysis is a moot point. Getting to know her is unnecessary. I saw, I touched and I breathed in the scent of pure love.
Her innocence rubbed against my jaded perspective and I was awakened anew. She was my greatest undoing and in those moments, she changed the way I perceived the rest of my existence. I will not run in fear as the imminent footsteps of the future approach my very doorstep. I look forward to embracing every opportunity, to cast aside the tumultuous relationship I have with aging and mortality and to truly be the best person I can – for the sake of my family, friends and potential angels of virtue.
R,
I vow to protect you, love you and beat the living daylights out of anyone that infringes upon your inherent innocence. You will always be the keeper of eternal joy.
Aunty Jana.
(Wow, I’m a real aunty now)
---------------------------------------------------
Sunday – The religion of superbowl descended upon a group of much loved individuals who thanks to M, are now my friends as well. I adore his generosity – he’s comfortable enough in their love to share these special people with me.
Anyways, in the comfort of J & T’s gorgeous abode we partook in the sinful delights of Colonel Sander’s magical chicken concoctions, wings and football night grub. Great company, delicious food and unmitigated joy were the presiding themes of the evening.
Good times were definitely had by one and all.
Superbowl: the eagles lost. They should’ve won with the likes of Terrell Owens but someone dropped the ball (no pun intended..gawd I’m a geek)and destiny was forever changed. The half time show did nothing to titillate the senses or the mind leaving us questioning the relevance of Superbowl showtime. Isn’t entertainment supposed to be entertaining?
The commercials (the real reason I was at this gathering of sports fans) were filtered by Global thereby feeding me previously viewed Canadian spots. Not half as entertaining as the 30-second blurbs that corporate sponsors spent $1.7 million USD to air.
Discrimination of the highest form.
They (read: Americans) bombard us with their propaganda, their despicable fast food franchises, their political debacles, their inhumane norms and consumerist culture. Yet, the one time I yearn to feast my eyes upon what is often considered to be “must watch TV” in the ad world – they shut me out and turn the lights off.
So quite frankly, I’m miffed. America, you ain’t getting no love from me.
However, the one redeeming piece of telly last night was the Superbowl Simpsons episode. Laugh out loud funny. Best line is when Homer looks at Nerdy Ned and says: You help me and I will be helped by you. Classic case of egocentric selfish behavior.
I love it. Now all that’s left is to find a moment in reality where that line will make me a fabulously witty shit starter.
Next.
Friday, February 04, 2005
The weekender
Music: Only Forward
Colour: Blue. Read: blue skies, cool blue mist, blue as blue was meant to be. Calming.
Mood: Unbeknowst to myself, she slipped out leaving the bed cold and unmade. That's the mood. Alone by choice and by circumstance. But not too close to lonely. Not yet.
______
It's friday. The bittersweet closure to a week filled with hectic deadlines and the gory trimmings that accent the world of advertising (love actualized). It brings as much joy and pain as the real thing.
Words. Being conceived between existential paranoia and human fear.
The invective, imminent.
The diatribe, a work in progress.
Tonight is for rest. My mind looks forward to chewing my boyfriends tender earlobe. Giving him yet another piece of my exhausted mind, a game of jigsaw puzzles and hide n go seek. My senses anticipating the voracious devouring of his very essence.
Good times in 3 km. A much needed release.
This weekend will mark the rebirth of word thoughts. I haven't done this in a while. Mentally peeling off each thought and analyzing it under the microscopic glare of perceptions tinged in hues of the past, present and future. Therapy is a frightening demon that ravages the soul on it's own terms. Prep is required and this weekend it will be accomplished. Sometimes, rediscovery happens when you take a step back before moving forward. I'm there. Alone. Yet, filled with the nuances of a thousand voices - internal dialogue has the power to revolutionize an army of one.
Liberating.
Unfamiliar eyes perusing through my life in vernacular, much like blind dates, scare me like boogey men and shadows in the dark.
Someone turn a light on won't ya?
Colour: Blue. Read: blue skies, cool blue mist, blue as blue was meant to be. Calming.
Mood: Unbeknowst to myself, she slipped out leaving the bed cold and unmade. That's the mood. Alone by choice and by circumstance. But not too close to lonely. Not yet.
______
It's friday. The bittersweet closure to a week filled with hectic deadlines and the gory trimmings that accent the world of advertising (love actualized). It brings as much joy and pain as the real thing.
Words. Being conceived between existential paranoia and human fear.
The invective, imminent.
The diatribe, a work in progress.
Tonight is for rest. My mind looks forward to chewing my boyfriends tender earlobe. Giving him yet another piece of my exhausted mind, a game of jigsaw puzzles and hide n go seek. My senses anticipating the voracious devouring of his very essence.
Good times in 3 km. A much needed release.
This weekend will mark the rebirth of word thoughts. I haven't done this in a while. Mentally peeling off each thought and analyzing it under the microscopic glare of perceptions tinged in hues of the past, present and future. Therapy is a frightening demon that ravages the soul on it's own terms. Prep is required and this weekend it will be accomplished. Sometimes, rediscovery happens when you take a step back before moving forward. I'm there. Alone. Yet, filled with the nuances of a thousand voices - internal dialogue has the power to revolutionize an army of one.
Liberating.
Unfamiliar eyes perusing through my life in vernacular, much like blind dates, scare me like boogey men and shadows in the dark.
Someone turn a light on won't ya?
my oh my, spacious innit!
Moving day Feb 03 2005.
Colour: excited purple complemented by blazing red tips of fear.
Music: Evanescence - Hello (appropriate would'nt you say?)
Mood: introspective
Words: star struck. white space and an unbridled audience has them clamoring for security. Will feature first post in all its glory in the coming hours.
Audience: 3. Me, Myself and hopefully I. She was invited but the beyotch has a real tacky habit of standing people up.
Fingers crossed.
wow. it's time to test them wings.
Stay tuned
Colour: excited purple complemented by blazing red tips of fear.
Music: Evanescence - Hello (appropriate would'nt you say?)
Mood: introspective
Words: star struck. white space and an unbridled audience has them clamoring for security. Will feature first post in all its glory in the coming hours.
Audience: 3. Me, Myself and hopefully I. She was invited but the beyotch has a real tacky habit of standing people up.
Fingers crossed.
wow. it's time to test them wings.
Stay tuned
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