Monthly Archives: August 2010

rainy days and miss marling

Haven’t posted about music in a while so thought I should. Though it’s August the weather where I live has been rather gray today. Kind of a nice dreary though. I don’t mind a little rain when I can sit inside with a cup of tea and a good book. Well, I guess that last requirement has been failing me. (So far every time I crack open dear old Oscar Wilde’s Dorian I seem to fall asleep. Yes, literally.) But Miss Marling has more than made up for that. I’ve been hooked on a lot of happy, poppy music lately (think Kate Nash, Matt & Kim) and the softly melancholy sound of Laura’s voice along with her barely-there guitar comes as a very refreshing surprise. On a day like today, with all the rain and gray skies, I would go for “New Romantic.”

I’m guessing you have to be in the right mood to fully fall in love with this song, but if you’ve ever been in love and then gone through the pains of losing it, I’m sure you’ll understand. If this is the case, please do this for me. The first time you listen, don’t try too hard to catch the lyrics (she does mumble through them quickly so it’s not a hard task). Instead, just sit and let the sound wash over you. I know that sounds cheesy but just do it. If you’re feeling really nostalgic, you might think about that boy who made you so happy you were scared to lose him. And the devastation of realizing how easily you could have prevented it when you actually did (lose him, that is). But only if you’re feeling nostalgic. The second time through, listen for the lyrics. Somehow, inexplicably, the words manage to be perfectly naive while insightfully mature. She’s lamenting the loss of the innocence of her first love! … And yet remaining calm as she realizes that she will never treat romance in the same way ever again.

“And I’m sorry to which ever man should meet
my sorry state,
watch my steady lonesome gait and beware.
I would never love a man
’cause love and pain go hand in hand
and I can’t do it again.
I would never love a man ’cause I could never hurt a man,
not in this new romantic way.”

Anyway, sorry to drag everyone’s mood down. I guess you could blame it on the rain instead if you were feeling generous.

*Little update – I figured out how to embed Vimeo videos into a post (yah!) so hopefully that will overcome the annoying “embedding disabled by request” message.


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Go on a scavenger hunt to your nearest thrift shop. I’d recommend Value Village (very cool) or Talize (almost as cool and smells infinitely better). Try on some crazy jackets – especially the ones with poufy shoulder pads – and some flashy red heels and only once you’ve done that….head for the Purses & Bags section. Cast your eyes over the (hopefully large) selection and pick the bag you like best. Usually you can find something with flowers or sequins or (in this case) a cute fringe. It doesn’t matter if the strap is ugly cause we’ll be changing that!

On your way home, make a stop at your local craft store. Michael’s is usually good, and sometimes even Walmart. In this case, I went for Write Impressions, which is a very pretty (but way too expensive) shop near my house. Anyway, once there you should make a beeline for the ribbon section. (No getting distracted by the I-can’t-believe-they’re-fake flowers and all those soft balls of yarn! You’re on a mission!) Feast your eyes on the rainbow of ribbons and go ahead and pick the colour you absolutely fall in love with. You can afford to splurge on this! You bought the bag at a thrift store for $3.99, after all. Tell the nice lady that you would like two yards, please, because you’re making a very artsy-fartsy purse like no other.

Hurrah! You’ve now arrived home and are on the third and final step. Haul out your sharpest pair of scissors and prepare to cut the existing purse strap to shreds. Make some pirate noises as you hack away at it and finally chuck it in the garbage. Next, loop your new shiny, sparkly ribbon onto the bag in its place. Ta, da! Comment on how pretty it looks to whoever’s standing nearby. Poke them until they compliment the purse in return. Dream about what outfits you’ll pair the purse with and all the movies and bookshops and concerts you’ll go to with it strapped across your chest. Sigh a deep sigh as you return to reality. Now crank up that Jackson 5 “ABC” cause it really was easy as 1,2,3, wasn’t it?

P.S. Check out P.S. I Made This for similar tutorials. (Similar, but not nearly as classy. Hehehe!)

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and then i screamed (well, tried)

Just took a look at myself in the mirror and let me tell you, it was not a pretty sight. If my jaw wasn’t so crazy sore, I would have screamed a frightful scream. I better just face the fact: I’m turning into some of the ugliest celebrities alive. Well, not altogether ugly, but let’s just say I’ve acquired their worst features. I have Dolly Parton’s huge red lips and Renée Zellweger’s fat face and Keira Knightley’s vampire-white cheeks. In all fairness they did warn me – “A little bit of swelling, dear, for the next 72 hours.” Still, it’s pretty terrifying to glance at yourself in the mirror and immediately have your brain connect to Dolly Parton.

If you haven’t guessed, I got my wisdom teeth out today. And I don’t know why but it seems like every time I’m melodramatic about things like that on my blog, I feel better. So if you care to read, the following will be a full account of my painful day. (I will most definitely be playing up the painful bits and juicing out the drama to make myself seem heroic. Just deal with it.)

So it all began a few weeks ago when we got a call from a certain oral surgeon’s secretary. Even on the phone, I could tell she was another one of those compulsive gum chewers. You know how some nicotine addicts go through a few packs of cigarettes each day? Well, this woman was probably chomping her way through a couple packs of Excel Minty-Fresh on a daily basis too. We’ll be referring to her as Ms. Chomp Chomp. Anyway, as Ms. Chomp Chomp gnawed on her gum, she and my mom arranged that I would be getting all three wisdom teeth yanked out of my mouth on Friday, August 13th. FRIDAY THE THIRTEENTH, PEOPLE! (I’m not actually superstitious but it adds to the drama. Like I said – heroic, that’s totally me.)

In the meantime, I watched a way-too-happy video about the dangers of dry sockets. Seriously, the woman was actually smiling as she talked about the holes from the wisdom teeth being infected with bacteria and the sickening odour that would follow. However, I couldn’t help smiling along with her when she described all the drugs I would be given and that wonderful world of deep, deep sleep I would enter for a full two hours. Oooooh! Gotta love the drugs! (The legal ones, of course.)

Anyway, it got me thinking that maybe it wouldn’t be so dreadful after all. I actually started looking forward to it (kind of). I had to starve myself twelve hours in advance of the surgery so on Thursday  night I pigged out on roast chicken and apple pie (thanks, mom!) and chips and smoothies and …well, let’s just say I did the kitchen justice. (C’mon, you would too if you knew the next week you’d be living off soup and popsicles!)

The next morning, I slept in, watched a little “Very Potter Musical” (Did you know there’s a sequel?!! It’s just as totally awesome as the first, if you know what I mean.) , downed some disgusting pills that are supposed to help with the dry sockets (personally, I think they’re just to make you gag, throwing up any leftover food in your stomach), and headed off for the operation. When we arrived, Ms. Chomp Chomp was still on her lunch so we sat down in the waiting room. As I pretended to read, I mulled over how exciting this operation actually was. I mean, I was never a very adventurous kid. When little James was getting everyone to sign his cast, I was sitting in the corner attempting to brag about my asthma. And I’ve never been rushed to the hospital with a broken bone, just calmly arrived for an appointment scheduled to discuss my weird swallowing problem. (Seriously, they made me sit there for an hour watching me try to swallow a marshmallow without chewing it. A jumbo marshmallow, no less! I cheated when they turned around, those silly doctors.) Anyway, all that to say that this was an epic event in my medical history. I was about to have three teeth pulled out and given some intense stitches, all the while being drugged into the “risky, things-could-go-very-wrong” world of the subconscious.

And man, were those drugs strong! One minute, the surgeon was sticking a needle in my arm, humming along to Eleanor Rigby on the radio, and the next I was sitting in the car pointing out to my mom that there were “four red lights in front of us and the city was more messed up than I thought.” I must say I’m very pleased that I didn’t completely lose my vocabulary while I was stoned. Apparently I commented that the “cathedral was much more pleasing to the eye now that there were two towers rather than the usual asymmetrical one.” Ha,ha, haaaaa!

Finally we returned home where I insisted that I could “walk by myself, thank-you-very-much” before wobbling and swaying and being caught by my dad. From there I was forced into bed, given some more unpronounceable drugs, and fell once again asleep. All that acetaminophen (or whatever it’s called) must have worked it’s magic because it was two a.m. before I woke up, hobbled over to the mirror, screamed (well, tried), and began writing this. I just realized, this is probably the closest I’ll ever get to the stereotypical artist, drugged up and writing some of my best in the early hours of the morning. Look out John Lennon, it’s “Lucy In the Sky” all over again! Yeah, I know what you’re saying…“Don’t flatter yourself, Roz. You know you’ll never be as good as the ‘girl with kaleidoscope eyes,’ let alone rocker enough to try LSD.” True enough, true enough. But let me have my moment; today I’m a hero after all.

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the secret world of fit people


In the back of my mind, I’ve always dreamt* of joining the secret world of fit people. Trust me, there is an unofficial secret society. Or maybe not so secret if you think about it. Look at your next-door-neighbour, you know the one that goes jogging every morning at five a.m.? Bet she’s in it. That teacher at school who goes on and on about the wonders of celery sticks for your health? He’s in it too. And those two old people who bike by your house every Saturday in their weird lay-down-and-pedal bikes? They’re definitely in it. Yeah, I’m putting the club down…but that’s only because I really, desperately want to be in it.

I’d like to be able to stroll into my gym class, lie down on the mat, and do fifty sit-ups.
In a row.
Without gasping uncontrollably.
Or letting my feet fly up in the air.

I’d like to eat only fruit and veggies.
Without relenting for my usual late-night pig out of Ruffles Regular Ripple.

I’d like to teach myself to stick a sour-key in my mouth and cringe at the amount of sugar. (It’s quite tragic really that I’ve long lost that ability…my taste buds are immune!)

I’d like to bike to school everyday and meet up with all my environment-fanatic buddies at the bike rack. (We would most definitely glare at all the cars nearby and tut at the sight of their exhaust.)

I’d like to go running so early in the morning that I could watch the sun rise as I huff and puff.

But most of all, I’d love to feel pain. Let me clarify – not deep, gut wrenching pain but that satisfying ache you get in your thighs and your abs and really, all parts of your body after working out successfully. It’s just a nice little reminder of all the push-ups and pedaling and [trying to think of another “p” word] …prancing (?) you did and how it was all worth while. How maybe, if tomorrow you do some more push-ups, and pedaling, and –yes– prancing, those fit people will finally let you into their club.

P.S. Have you ever wanted to join a secret society? Maybe the music-lovers club or the in-the-know movie critics? Tell me how it worked out – especially if they granted you membership!

* “Dreamt” is a word, right? I’m not going insane. Stupid wordpress has been underlining a lot of my hard work with their insulting red lines and I can’t take it anymore.


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