Daydreaming

So I'm sitting in my little sister's room helping her pack (aka she's going through her entire closet while I fiddle on the internet and drink a much needed americano).

She is nervous and unsure about what to bring, what her trip will bring, etc. but I for one am excited for (and exceedingly jealous of) her.

I wish that I was the one going away. I can't stand that I am still here, and that I have no plans, and that I cannot seem to make plans for myself. How infuriating.

That being said, I've already scored two new pairs of jeans out of her - woop! woop!

Inspiration

I just got back from watching Kevin Fox perform at The Carleton, a local - very small - venue. I honestly had never heard of him, but his concept of arranging music solely for cello and voice was very intriguing.

The show was amazing. As a former cellist, watching him perform and hearing the sounds he was able to produce with such confidence and precision was breathtaking.

I love the cello. It is my favourite instrument. I have a theory that virtually every song - certainly every ballad - can be made infinitely better if a cello part is included and I am truly amazed at the vast range of sounds and tones this instrument is able to emote.

After the concert I bought a cd and felt compelled to thank Kevin Fox for a remarkable performance and an enjoyable evening. I was not eloquent, and undoubtedly came across as someone far less than who I would prefer to be perceived as, but nonetheless I am glad I got the chance to thank the man who moved me, inspired me, and took me for a trip down memory lane.

Ack! Great musical talent just boggles my mind...

Pity Party - Table for One

So I've been in a really odd head space the past few days, and I'm not sure why. All I know is it's 4:30 in the morning and I'm still awake. Do you ever have those nights? Nights when you can't seem to turn your mind off and you fight reason, sleep, and time as you toss in your bed until the wee hours of the morning? Perhaps not. I hope not.

I don't know, lately I feel (to revert back to my treading water metaphor) like I can't find my way to the surface, or rather that I am perfectly capable of swimming to safety if only I would kick my legs. I'm just tired of telling the same white lies every time someone asks me what I'm doing, what I'm up to, or what my plans are. The truth is I don't know the answer to any of these questions, which is scary, and apparently impossible to admit. Ugh and I can't stand the 'looks' either. Whether it be pity, disapproval, concern, smugness, tolerance, judgement, whatever, I sometimes wish people could refrain from letting their reaction to my sorry answer show all over their face.

I've also been rather angry as of late (which may or may not be evident). Again, I'm not sure where it comes from...well, I suppose it is self-directed, although I'm pretty good at transferring that to whomever happens to say something at an improper time.

I wish I had the skills to pull myself out of this funk..this rut..this...coma I've fallen into. I know that there are people around me who are able to help me in this regard but reaching out requires courage, and courage requires energy, and energy requires actually sleeping at night.

Hmm. I guess for now I'll be grateful for cups of tea and online tv shows, and maybe - just maybe - I'll close my eyes and get some rest.

This is just much more eloquent than I could ever put it...

No one knows more about love than the heartbroken. Those whose hearts have been slashed, torn, bruised, thrown away, stomped on and even recycled know all too well that it takes a bit more than some salve and a Batman Band-Aid to heal their wounds and regain their superhero powers.

Simon and Garfunkel are privy to that secret too.

A winter's day/In a deep and dark December/I am alone/Gazing from my window to/the streets below/On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow/I am a rock/ I am an island-- they sang during the swinging '60s - a time of pondering and predicting.

I can't help but feel like a solitary rock. An island tucked deep away from any sign of civilization. Can we ever truly be an island unto ourselves? When does aloneness become loneliness?

Don't talk of love/But I've heard the words before
As much as we want it to be, love isn't always red roses and sweet candy. This week, lovers will be buying roses and carnations by the dozen and walking hand-in-hand with their sweetie as they rifle through that box of candy hearts looking for the perfect sentiment to appropriately mark the occasion.

Take me last year, for example: I had hope. I had determination. I had resolved that I, too, would find my other candy-heart half. I waited and waited - and waited - for my Prince Charming, roses in hand, but neither the horse nor the prince galloped to my doorstep. And when I realized that it was nearly impossible to beat a dead horse who is not even there, I vowed to give it all up. The search over. The curtain closed. Love obviously didn't want me, so I didn't want it. Heck, not only did I not want it, I didn't need it.

I've built walls/A fortress deep and mighty/That none may penetrate
So in an attempt to cloister myself from the world, I found myself on my own island. At first, I felt at home with the surrounding nature. I could sit on the metaphorical sunny and sandy beach all day and bask in having an entire island all to myself. I longed to be a ruler of one, and here I am, finally achieving peace, I thought. Safe. Isolated. Relieved.

And a rock feels no pain/And an island never cries
But happy? I kept waiting for it, hoping it would magically appear or fall from the leaves of the magical palm trees nearby, but it never came. The plain truth was that in my search for shelter, for safety, for some semblance of peace and clarity, I'd accepted seclusion as the most suitable option.


And like the song, I have my own books - or in my case, my own magazines - to protect me. They're my suit of armor -- something I can easily and conveniently hide behind. I'd never have to face anyone as long as I keep a fresh supply of shiny stacks close by. My words could forever be my mask, my own private disguise.

But in reality, can it really be only one or the other? Are we forced to choose between complete aloneness or complete saturation in society?

It can't be that black and white. Because it's got to get pretty lonely on that massive island all by yourself - not to mention all those cold and windy nights. There has to be a boat out on the horizon somewhere. Its lights are peeled ahead, desperately looking for you. And something tells me you're looking for it too because whether I'll admit it or not, I'm looking for that rescue boat too. When it docks at the shore, I'll hop on, but this time, maybe I'll leave the raggedy old books and things behind. After all, do I really actually definitely need them anymore? I think I'm strong enough now to weather the storm without them. Maybe I've found my superhero power once again.

Until we meet...



Borrowed from So about what I said...

Just another movie trailer...

I'm listening to Cat Stevens 'If You Want to Sing Out Sing Out' right now. It's kind of exactly what I want to be listening to.

I saw Harold and Maude while sitting outside on the Boardwalk eating fresh made popcorn and drinking red wine. I was at the Alfresco Film Fest (one of my favourite Halifax summertime activities) and it was awesome. The movie is too cute for words, and I think Maude's sage advice is worth listening to. You should see it.

Could my inner fashionista BE more excited?!

On a completely separate note...

I indulged in two magnificent things today:

(1) Hand-paddled vanilla ice cream with brown sugar fudge and butter crunch [Yum!]

(2) The September issue of Vanity Fair. [I very rarely buy magazines - exciting!]

Scene 24, Take 1

Do you ever watch a movie and wish it was your life?

I do it all the time.

I love movies. I took several film classes in university, I appreciate the artistry and hard work that is involved in their creation and I admire their ability to transport an audience to any time or place while evoking feelings that are perhaps unexpected.

Sometimes I think I love movies too much. 'Love' perhaps is not the proper term. I adore movies, in the sense that I look up to them and trust them to provide answers to my questions. I have found myself thinking - on more than one occasion - 'if my life were a movie more exciting things would happen' or 'gawd what a boring scene this would be' or 'this song would be perfect for a film montage'. Pathetic, I know.

I have a tendency to indolence. Far too often I feel like I am sitting, waiting for my life to happen to me. As if I were patient enough, my grand adventure would fall into my lap. Perhaps I'd encounter it at a missed airplane connection, or in the dressing room at a vintage shop, or during my next elevator ride. This is what happens in films - the bad ones and the good ones. Then again, even if things don't always turn out - guy doesn't end up with girl, new house is a nightmare, heroine fails, hero falls - lessons are always learned, there is always growth, the audience is left satisfied (best case scenario), stupefied (worst case scenario) and with a common sense of experience.

My lack of motivation is one of my least favourite traits. This summer, and to be honest for the past year and a half, it has been the cause of much stress and numerous sleepless nights. Whenever confronted with the future (duh, duh, duuuuh) I get overwhelmed by all of the amazing possibilities that lie ahead. I become terribly worried that I'm going to pick the wrong path, miss my true opportunity and consequently drastically diverge from what is supposed to be my life. Or something. It's all very complicated.

I've decided that enough is enough: this fall I am going to make a decision and stick to it. Who knows if it will be "the right one" or "the wrong one", and really, who cares? I figure as long as I make a choice, live by that choice, and learn through the process, I can do no harm. After all what is life if not a series of experiences - both shared and solitary? Drama, adventure and romance are swell and I hope to encounter all three throughout my life however they are also delusions of grandeur when viewed through Hollywood's lens.

So here's to movies as entertainment and life as experience! (Worse comes to worse I can turn my failures into a screenplay and make a mint...)

I wish Fashion Photography depicted real life.

Seriously.

photos found here

Urban Art - a reminder that life is indeed beautiful

Street Rothko

Shared via AddThis

found here

A Case of the... Tuesdays ?

Today I worked at my old job. My former boss called last night and left a lengthy, desperate message about how crazy things were and could I possibly offer any of my time to come in and do odd jobs, etc. and I figured since my days aren't all that exciting, and my bank account is steadily diminishing, why not.

It was weird. Things were exactly the same whilst being subtly different. A few times throughout the summer I've regretted quitting, mostly because no part of my summer has turned out as planned, and while I've been bragging about my self-proclaimed status as a "lady of leisure" life has been pretty dull. Pretty dull, and plenty lonely. I remembered how good I was at my job, but I also remembered the monotony of it. I worked a half day, it went by fast and I said I'd stop by tomorrow. Now that I'm home I'm quite tired and I can't decide how I feel about the situation.

Worst part of the day was having to explain what I'd been up to all summer, and why I hadn't moved yet. This question is always tricky as I have no real answer. Any and all I come up with are either rather pathetic or incredibly self-deprecating.

I'm also now in a mood because upon her arrival home, my sister decided to tear into me for no reason. No wonder I'm exhausted and generally disapproving of my current living situation...

So now, after opening up the fridge, spying a can of Stella and thinking a beer was a fabulous idea, I'm two sips in, have (a tad unsuccessfully) avoided an argument and I think I'd much rather a giant cup of tea.

I make a damn good Tour Guide..

I feel like I have been neglecting you, dear blogworld - how utterly terrible of me. This weekend one of my cousins came into town. He's my age, visiting from Ottawa and thus I felt compelled to show him around. Touring and family bonding-esque activities have consumed my recent days, and to prove it I have acquired a photo collage filled with wonderful summer-y, tourist-y fun activities including the beach (YAY!!) and BeerFest. More compelling post to come, I promise.

As an aside, I also got a chance to view Jupiter through a telescope this weekend. I was just strolling down the boardwalk when low and behold I come upon two astronomy enthusiasts with telescopes pointing at the sky - one on Jupiter and one on the moon. Apparently Jupiter is only visible 3 or 4 times a year, and four moons were visible. I freakin' loved it. Dorky? Perhaps. Wicked cool? Unequivocally.

Keep Breathing

Written by Ingrid Michaelson

The storm is coming but I don't mind
People are dying, I close my blinds

All that I know is I'm breathing now

I want to change the world
Instead I sleep
I want to believe in more than you and me

But all that I know is I'm breathing
All I can do is keep breathing
All we can do is keep breathing now

All that I know is I'm breathing
All I can do is keep breathing
All we can do is keep breathing

All we can do is keep breathing
All we can do is keep breathing
All we can do is keep breathing
All we can do is keep breathing
All we can do is keep breathing now

My darling friend Sarah introduced me to this song the other day. I like it. Simple, yet poignant - plus I'm a sucker for any song that includes a cello..

I want this to happen to me.

How Great must it be to be the author of this message...

I went to see (500) Days of Summer tonight. It was everything I thought it would be and more. Go see it.

Buyer's Remorse

So when I was away, I stumbled upon (aka was taken directly to by shopoholic cousins) a shoe factory outlet store. It carried mostly Naturalizer, whose shoes are super comfortable, erganomic, etc but which tend to be a little on the granny side stylistically. So imagine my excitement at the surprising selection of cute shoes at this store. Super cute shoes - and at a minimum, yes minimum discount of 30% off.

My cousins and I took over the store - in our typical fashion - and tried on dozens of shoes. I found a glorious pair of pewter loafers that were on sale for the rediculous price of $29.99. All of my inner instincts were telling me to buy those shoes, even if I had purchased a pair of loafers not 2 weeks prior.

I did not.

Instead, I decided to be practical; and may I say that that is the last time I will do so.

I bought a boring pair of black mary janes so that I would have comfortable, ergonomic shoes to wear when I'm serving (catering being my only real job these days). The black shoes were not $29.99. They were $69.99 and they were a mistake.

I can think of at least 3 occasions since my return back home when I thought, 'those silver loafers would be perfect for this outfit/outing'. Today was my first catering shift in ages so I busted out my new black shoes and they BUSTED up my feet. Granted, my knees are noticably uh, not sore considering I've just been standing up for 12 and a half hours but good god you should see my heels. Blisters like you would not believe. For the past oh, 3 hours every step has felt like blades jabbing into the back of my feet, and once I got and took the damn shoes off I discovered two blisters - one on each heel, each in identical locations - and by 'blisters' I mean way-past-the-blister-stage, nickel-sized open wounds. OWWWWW. :(

"Practical Purchase" = BIG failure. Never. Again