you can scoop out my brain

I'm going to go home soon. Home to Toronto, I mean.

This trip to the homeland has been horrifically, tamely painful. I guess what I mean is that I didn't cry, but I did shake a tonne, sitting alone at a table in the Roastery with my back to the biggest heartbreak of my life. I had a short conversation of polite, bitten-off sentences punctuated by a terse goodbye.

Oh and then I wrote a fucking ridiculous pseudo-cryptic paragraph about (above).

I was going to say "I don't just think about the gradients and shades and mechanics of feelings", but that actually is all I do. And I'm not even good at it!

My beautiful friends opened their arms and let me run into them. Thanks guys. Seeing these people really scared me, because I love them so much and I kind of forgot that I did until I laid eyes on them. Until we were halfway through talking about how much the students' union sucked and even though it was a totally mundane conversation I wanted to burst into tears and hug them. Until I got home, nose frostbitten and jeans frozen from cold and understood that I had just seen them for the last time in months (maybe longer).

Maybe best of all, I made a new friend. A beautiful girl who makes beautiful things and is vulnerable in the same way I am. A girl who, last night, snuck a camera into my face, the flash blinding me in an unsuspecting expression, then threw her head back and laughed maniacally. She is six years older than me and that partially makes me sad, because it is going to take me six years, probably, to get wise(r).

I will be back in four days and I will need familiar faces and potlucks and lots of hand-holding to make me feel sane and whole, okay?

but there's no way we can relive our youthful past

Maybe I should save this for the zine, but there's something that's been hounding me for awhile, and I want to write about it now.

My sister said, "I think there's a certain degree of permanency we expect from love, whether we're conscious of it or not."

I thought about an unerasable memory: kissing on a creaky futon and seeing the boy's eyes trace my unclothed skin. "Please," I whispered, "Don't," turning his chin up with a hand. He laughed, not a mean laugh, a laugh that was bewildered and sweet and said my name in the gentlest voice I have ever heard say my name.

I thought about this, and then thought: We're Not Friends. Not in a mad way, a vengeful way...not in any way except a profound and sad puzzlement. Something that at once seemed so big is now so gone.

what is the light

I feel more and more tired every day, which likely has something to do with goodbye parties and wine and mimosas and sleepovers. I just have to get through this weekend moderately alive. Come on team come on.
Vanessa and I saw Wilco and Neil Young, and it was awesome. Wilco didn't rock nearly as much as I expected them to, but they did play "Company in my Back" and "I'm the Man Who Loves You", which was really good enough. Neil rocked out, but not in an embarrassing Mick Jagger (i.e. wizened strutting peacock) kind of way. Just really pure, as cheesy and idealistic as that sounds.
I got a cellphone. Or rather, Vanessa is moving, so I'm taking over hers for nine months. It takes me half an hour to send a text message. My ringtone is the Star Wars themesong. Badass.
Lately I've been listening to the Flaming Lips' The Soft Bulletin and it's perfect for the weather/time/etc.
I am pretty happy and I don't have trouble sleeping much anymore.

right this way to the museum of love

Today I sang "Alison" by Elvis Costello. With relatively little irony.
ALISON, I miss you. Also, I heard you let that little friend of mine take off your party dress.

Snerk snerk snerk.

In excellent news, my work contract has been renewed, so I don't have to face employment-related anxiety over winter break. I'm taking two weeks to go visit my parents and friends.

My drawings have been bad lately. The shoulders. Always the shoulders, where the shoulders really connect to the arms. I never feel as if I got it quite right...like I've somehow just lied and cheated my way to making it look alright when it does turn out.

Everything I've written and thought has been fragmented, too.

But in general, things are good. I have security (for now) in my job. I have a favourite Vietnamese restaurant (with two things I can actually eat on the menu). The zine I contributed to is for sale in actual comicbook stores in Toronto (two of my favourites!). And of course, my friends are wonderful as always.

Sorry that I use parentheses so much.

getting dumb

Things are pretty good with me right now. My roommates gave me money for new pens and markers and a new sketchbook for my birthday. Today my aunt and uncle took me out for lunch and bought me expensive French peasant bread from some classy place in Yorkville (somewhat ironic).

The strike rages on, and only one prof made demands that we stick to deadlines. I started the essay for his class today and banged out a little over 1/4 of it in a little under two hours. I can't tell if it's any good or not, but it came fairly effortlessly. Maybe because it's for a course about comics and cartoons (therefore of interest)? Anyway, what I really wanted to say in regards to this is that while I don't really like school, I'm pretty good at it and it seems a lot more interesting when I don't have to haul my ass to campus. After a couple of years, it's probably safe to say that I'm not the academia-lovin' type (most of the time I want to scream and throw things at everyone), but at least I'm not struggling super hard.

I finished my portrait of Jean-Luc Godard today. Not that much time actually went into it, I just kept getting bored and wanting to do other things. It didn't turn out as charmingly as the Jacques-Yves Cousteau one, but I think it's cute. He ended up being hunkier than he was in real life. I totally suck at using these new brush pens, but I'll get it eventually. These pictures are just going in our kitchen, anyway.

Last night I had a miniature panic attack when I looked in the mirror and some pictures of me were posted to that dreaded facebook thing. Lately I've been feeling really ugly and weird looking, like a squishy alien with tiny watery eyes and a permanently stupid expression on her face. When I was in highschool, this girl I knew said "Do you ever feel like you're watching yourself go through your everyday tasks and all you can think about is how stupid you look doing them?" Like, gosh, how succinct. That's exactly how I feel. Bumbling and stupid and ugly. So last night I sat in my desk chair, terrified and horrified and feeling absolutely paralyzed.

Trying to not get like that too often. It happens less than it used to. It still happens though, and it's still scary when it does.

Today is my Birthday

(credit: PBF comics (http://www/pbfcomics.com))

So far, I have received a very sweet birthday e-mail from the CBC offering me $5 off my next shop purchase. This means I am seriously considering buying either season one of The Newsroom or all of Twitch City.

I've also eaten a bowl of cheerios and cornflakes combined.

It's a big day, people.

post-script

My friends and the people I used to know are all becoming insanely beautiful and falling in love and going to big cities to look at art! Help!

he had crashed the t-bird twice

After work and dinner I made some tea and put my hair up and sat in the bathtub reading this book that Kash introduced me to when we were 15. The Weetzie Bat books? Sure, google them and look at the trashy-looking glitter teenage covers with '90s photography and pink fonts. I secretly was unimpressed and a bit embarrassed when Kash handed me Weetzie Bat. Then I, you know, read them and they were filled with beautiful magical realism prose and the most beautiful things.

Anyway. Along I went with Weetzie and Dirk through the streets of L.A. and their little cottage with the aqua room and the rose room and the rose bushes and lemon trees and, you know, punk rockers and babies and taffeta dresses, and I felt comfortable and familiar with the words, with my green tea and flower-smelling bath, but...

I also felt a bit bummed. I think that's normal.

After my bath I looked in the mirror and saw pale skin and hair and eyebrows and mouth, almost stupidly dark glasses frames. Highschool ripped band tshirt and the underwear that I've had every first time in (inadvertently). Part of me wanted to punch myself in the gut. The rest of me just wanted to shake some sense into that pale shell, that baffled-looking weird face.

I'm working on a series of portraits of old French dudes for our kitchen. I think they are going to be pretty swell.

no false claims

Over a year ago, I kind of had this thing with a nice dude who sent me lovingly assembled parcels filled with incense and mix cds and national geographic collages and homemade comics. When we finally united, woke up holding each other on his cramped single bed, something was different and cold and slimy in my stomach. I went home and he said "I am still in love with someone else - I'm sorry. I thought you were my ticket away from all this; I really did."

--> and I was pretty steamed.

(but I got over it----------and we didn't talk again)

Then yesterday I got a message from him saying he finally read my favourite book and he loved it.

I feel like boys are constantly deciding I'm not their ticket away and then cold-shouldering my feeble attempts at friendship.

----> so I didn't want to cold-shoulder this boy, even though he was sort of irresponsible with my feelings. he is a genuinely nice person who cares about people

I sent a short, polite message back. I'm glad he enjoyed the book.


I'm not trying to say "SO I'M A MODEL HUMAN BEING", because I'm not. But I think I am trying to say that it isn't so hard to forgive people. It's actually easy. Maybe too easy? I don't know. I don't like to be mad.

looking for a robot to teach object lessons

This is my first encounter with Daylight Savings Time. I don't know have to change my watch, a (lovingly used) gift from someone seemingly no longer into talking to me (not to be melodramatic, but it is true), so that's sort of a problem. But problems are something I've been trying to not think about too much lately. Yesterday was All Souls Day and it was maybe the best time of my life in quite some time.

Vanessa and I had an incredibly anti-climatic Halloween the night before. We went to go see the Deep Dark Woods (a band from our hometown), but unfortunately we were both so tired and the show started so late that we were literally nodding off midway through the first set. We were planning on going to a party afterwards, but we just ended up going home. So I had an excellent sleep and woke up super late, ate some granola and soymilk, made some vegan chocolate chip cookies, drew a little... Then V came home and we ate a fairly magnificent lunch of nutted couscous with fresh tomato sauce (parenthetical aside: I know I talk about food a lot; that's a post for another day).

Then I realized that I wasn't going to get much work done at home and I went to my friend Chris' house. We listened to Marvin Gaye's What's Going On while I drew and he did homework. It was comfortable and we asked each other some important questions, like:

What three albums do you know best, like, start to finish?
What were the albums in heaviest rotation in your house growing up?
Is it weird to have an all-time favourite song?

Soon it was getting to be dinner time and I booked it to No Frills (after going to wrong way), bought some salsa-ingredients, and shuffled home. Vanessa, Adil, and I made salsa and pita chips, and then the roommates + boyfriends embarked on what would be the awesomest night ever.

1. We went to our old flatmates Edith and Sarah's new house-warming party. They are the nicest people ever and had an enormous (vegan!) feast ready for the insane amount of people there. There was hardwood flooring and halloween lighting and So. Much. Dancing. We didn't stop for several hours, dancing to everything ranging from the old school ska of Edith's university days to Spanish rockabilly. Edith is a fantastic dancer and so was pretty much everyone there. A bald dude and a tall blonde woman and their baby cut up some serious rug. It was this experience utterly lacking in pretension and it was wonderful. And! Everyone was sober. Which made it even better.

2. Adil and Vanessa and I went to Dance Cave, a local hipster dancing establishment. No cover charge and good music = I don't care what kind of people go there, and they all seemed nice anyway. We danced on a beer-sticky floor to The Pixies, New Order, The Smiths, and pretty much everyone else wonderful. Our last dance was Paper Planes by M.I.A. and then we walked a block or two and ate the best Lebanese food of my life. They had a big sign outside that said "VEGAN COMBOS" and I was sold. Everything was cheap and insanely delicious.

By this time it was past two, so we hailed a cab (one of my favourite things to do, but obviously something I can't do more than, uh, twice a year) and vamoosed home.

Study Summary

1. I should go dancing more often.
2. Dancing is way more fun when you are not with someone you have a crush on/are dating and therefore feel shy dancing around.
3. It's pretty easy to dance without being drunk, contrary to popular belief.
4. Marvin Gaye made a really good album in 1971.

running returning

I'm going to stay put.

Or at least, I'm not going to think about leaving. The past week has really convinced me to stay in this city and not flee back home. I went to Canzine and learned about starting a distro. A guy named Tim asked me to illustrate some of his wheatpasted posters. I went to a meeting with the comics collective I recently became a part of and we all drew pictures of each other and planned the upcoming launch party. My friend Tyler sent me a message asking if V and I wanted to go over and play Settlers of Catan on thursday.

--> Sidenote: Tyler and I met on the 196 Express Bus. He was facing away from me, wearing a Turning the Tide bunnyhug (Turning the Tide = revolutionary bookstore in Saskatoon). Immediately, I thought "Oh my gosh. We have to be friends." When he turned around, I recognized his face because I went to his thesis-defense-afterparty with Meagan W. That week he came over for political discourse and vegan chocolate chip cookies. He is our PhD-seeking, married, real-life-living friend.

So really, what I'm trying to say is...I feel like I'm falling into place here.
I'd like to stay.

hmm.

I wish I had a scanner or a digital camera so I could show you guys the more interesting facets of my life, like:
-the amazing pie I made last week
-the excellent loot I got from Canzine (some for free!)
-the drawings I'm making

I even trekked down to the library on Pape the other day (and by trek, I do mean a 15 minute walk...) in search of a scanner. No such luck. My sister informs me that Robarts has excellent scanners, so I guess I'll have to venture over there this weekend.

You know what else I wish?
I wish that I had super cool stories to impart to you, my small readership. In all actuality, my life has been relatively normal, other than kind of horrifying financial problems (which I mention constantly, because I have this stupid idea that by talking about them, it'll diminish the gravity of the situation). I've been slacking off at school, as per usual, and working my shifts at the medical clinic. The rest of my time is allotted to drawing, cooking delicious vegan dinners or studying with V, baking, knitting, and occasionally hanging out with *gasp* friends!

Yesterday I was hanging out with my friend Chris and his brother Rob, and Rob actually physically injured himself mocking Coldplay's performance on SNL. Seriously. I wish I could describe it in its full glory, but I cannot (p.s. the rest of the visit basically consisted of watching Rob re-enact every episode ever of South Park).

Lately I've been feeling a bit more conviction about being a vegan. Not that I was cheating before or anything, but I recently read some fucking awful stuff about factory farming and my disgust is kind of renewed. Seriously? Overfeeding pigs and chickens and cows until their legs break under their enormous weight?
--> anyone who says eating meat is natural should go for a little tour of a corporate farm. unless you're hunting your own wild game, there's nothing 'natural' about it.
(and p.s. guns aren't exactly natural either)

I don't want people to brand me as "that cranky vegan bitch", but seriously? Seriously.

(P.S. Don't worry, I still think PETA is fucking stupid. Anyone who compares anything to the Holocaust repeatedly and without realizing their error = moronic.)

Oh, and...

V and I were studying (she was reading about greenwashing; i was reading about the industrial revolution) and we kept reading passages out loud to one another. Basically, it resulted in an evaluation of how capitalism has repeatedly made our lives miserable. My current complaint: dear capitalism, thanks for making me hate my body and spend years of my life feeling you owned my very being.

Oh, except that anxiety disorders and eating disorders and any sort of ailment of the mind is clearly the result of chemical imbalances. That's why so many places other than the Western world have these problems!!

Quitting before I get too steamed and ridiculous,
c.

fuck starbucks

Today, conversing with my dear friend from home, Chris G, I was informed of a truly upsetting fact: The Living Room, one of my favourite coffee shops in Saskatoon, has closed down after a few years of struggling to compete with a Starbucks that had moved in two doors down from them.

The Living Room was located on my favourite street in the city, very close to the house I grew up in. It's been a fixture of my life for long enough that I can't remember when I started frequenting it. As I got older, the atmosphere became a little more formal, but for a long time the Living Room was all about mismatched mugs, squashy, beat-up armchairs, and comfortably dim lighting. Gradually, they bought a new set of mugs and fixed up some of the chairs, got classier-looking menus, etc, but it was the same place. It always retained that air of comfort and the coffee was always good. And the sandwiches! Were huge. And delicious.

Here are some of my favourite memories of The Living Room:

15 years old, with Nassim, Daniel, and Bailey. During outdoor school. We were cold and had just seen a play at the Broadway Theatre (which I would work at four years later). I was feeling jittery and sick and Nassim seemed to get it and said "Just drink this peppermint tea," very kindly and quietly.

16 years old, meeting my friend Ryan for the first time. I had seen an ad he put up looking for folks to join a post-rock band, pounced on it, and called the number. We met on a school night and sat near the back (left side, Saskatonians, closer to the kitchen). I was wearing a Spiderman t-shirt, and he asked me if I had ever heard of Animal Collective (I hadn't at the time). He showed me his sketchbook and told me about this girl he was madly in love with (soon to be my friend, because that's how Saskatoon rolls). We were friends fast, and although our band (Kingdom Protista) was short-lived, we did play a few good shows.

17 years old, skipping school with Lisa and Orlanda. Eating huge sandwiches with hummus. We laughed a lot but wondered if we were going to drift apart (we did). Going down by the Meewasin afterwards and getting our shoes dusty. We didn't go back to school that day.

19 years old, on an afternoon after a sleepless night. Luke and I met and talked about Before Sunrise/Sunset and Annie Hall at the table closest to the coat rack. I felt nervous about making too much or too little eye contact. It was a sunny-shivery day and we went to sit on Nutana's fire escape after and got too cold.

I've never set foot in that Starbucks, and I never ever will.

like a bull with its horns

I am sometimes kind of abrasive.
Sometimes I sound angrier than I am.

(Most of the time I'm just scared.)

In a bit, I'll be done school and I'll just take conversational french classes, make tonnes of zines, wear braids most of the time, bake and cook delicious vegan food, read excellent books, work a sweet minimum wage job, and hang out with my mom. That sounds pretty good to me.
So Saskatoon, if I come back in like half a year, would you put in a good word for me at the theatre I used to work at?

Toronto, I love you, promise. You're what I needed, f'sho. My mom said to me on the phone:
"Maybe you need a year of feeling sad and lonely and uncertain about your life,"
and I thought: Fuck yeah (not ironic or sarcastic)!

So, yes. I can probably survive.

oh dear.

1. "But we were stupid then," Alison and I used to say, citing our possible ignorance as our reason, half-jokingly, half-desperately. Alison is kind of amazing (kind of=totally).

2. There's this line that goes "Holding you at night/doesn't feel quite right/and that gives me a fright".

3. Whatever, I don't feel good about you anymore. It feels like you're holding a big secret far from me. I'm so tired from trying to get you to talk to me about anything meaningful. In your parents' car, you said "Really? Sharpie? I always thought sharpie looked tacky."

4. I have grass-is-greener syndrome and I'm not sure if it's curable.

5. I used to sleep on one side of the bed, lying stiff as a board. Now I curl up as small as I possibly can in the middle, between the pillows.

how do you change a tire? do you EVEN know HOW?

I was in need of counsel; real, no-bullshit counsel. So I sought the advice of the coldest of the cold, asked for assistance from the iciest being I know.

"Lake Ontario," I said, alone on the beach save for a couple far down on the other side making out in the lifeguard stand. "I feel lonely and sad and scared all the time, and I don't feel like anyone or anything can help me."

The lake was a loud listener, gushing freezing blasts of waves that receded with harsh hisses, but a listener nonetheless.

"I mean, I don't know. I kinda feel like a big fake moron for telling you this," I continued.

Roar, recede. Roar, recede.

"Do you want me to come over there and prove I'm not a wimp?"

Roar.

"Because I will."

Recede.

I rolled up my pant legs and ran into the frigid waters. "Look, Lake Ontario, I'm not afraid to get my feet wet. Ha, ha."

I watched some aeroplanes go by and made some wishes. Only vague things, because wishing for specifics doesn't work.

I looked over my shoulder at the CN Tower in its ugly lit-up glory and wished on it, too.

Then I wished on the dim light of the lifeguard stand.

And then, I said goodbye to my attentive friend and walked home.

"Life is, and is not, a gentle bore."

So:

1. Lying on Vanessa's bed listening to Moonshiner, I ask "Was this your song?"
She answers, with tremendous bravery, "It was his song, I think."

2. Holding hands with a dear dear friend on a wednesday morning, I remembered us doing the same in Saskatoon while an enormous flock of bohemian waxwings took flight the morning after it rained. This felt different, but not jarringly so.

3. Swaying with Vanessa last night while a band from our hometown played at a tiny little country bar, I felt like I was home. Then I started worrying about where home is, if there's more than one, and where I should really be.

4. I finished Microserfs and it was perfect.

hit the low note

Yesterday, Alison and I ate a delicious vegan dinner at Fresh on Bloor. She's in town for a brief few days before she skips off to Ukraine for 1/4 of a year, and I got to see her, which wasn't entirely expected and was completely wonderful. We wandered Harbord Street and Kensington and Bloor at night and it was magicmagicmagic to sit under the protruding glass of the ROM and talk about what we're afraid of and what we love.

I don't head in to work until noon today, but I arose early nonetheless to sort out some questions I had about my university courses and to call the bank to pay tuition. Of course, the guy on the phone at York assumed I was a total idiot and had no idea what I was talking about, but once I finally convinced him my concerns were legitimate, he was pretty nice about it and we figured everything out. Looks like I'm attending courses on two separate campuses, but uh...that's just a cool challenge.

I'm doing slightly better financially than I thought I was, but I was definitely under the impression that I was completely fucked. Looks like I'll do okay if I limit my expenditure a bit more for the next two weeks...and um the rest of the year.

Apologies for this fairly uninteresting information (re: school and banking). A neurotic's got to get this sheezy off her chest.

here comes the crash (we have tiny friendly parachutes)

Vanessa was here this weekend, and she's going to be my roommate for a semester, starting two weeks from now. She is incredibly dear to me and has this supercapacity to make me feel safe and whole.

To give you an idea, in the following picture, Vanessa and I were both at a time where we pretty much hated our lives. There had been death, heartbreak, and scary work-and-school-related things. And we look happy in this picture, because we are. Because we were together:


photo credit: Jess Lewis
(pay no heed to my cockatiel hair. it was like that for months.)

Seeing Vanessa for the first time in a few months on friday morning was ordinarily perfect. I ran into her room, she bolted straight up like she was a '30s actress, I glimpsed her tattoo (we have matching ones and i refuse to be embarrassed about this) and felt like I would burst with happiness.

I have a feeling things in my life are about to get a lot scarier. Vanessa will be here, though, and we're kind of champs when we're together.

surreality

Last night, I had a dream that my friend Jim and I were gambling (not for real, but with real money). I had three twenties in my left hand and a handful of change and a key(?) in my right. We were listening to a mix c.d. he had made and the Magnetic Fields were playing.

"Jim," I asked, my voice defiantly swallowing any threatening tears, "Why does everything suck so much?"
Jim adjusted his linen suit jacket and looked down at his cards, shrugging. "I don't know, friend. I guess that's just how it happens."

I opened my mouth to say something more, but then "Crazy in Love" came on and I started laughing. "Hey, did you know Chuck Klosterman wrote about this song in Killing Yourself to Live? He said that he almost died when listening to it and - "

Then I woke up.

and i turned 'round and there you go

When I moved here, I made a page-long list of various tasks to perform and things to accomplish. Each item varied greatly in terms of difficulty, i.e. "get a job", "buy coffee and tea", "locate a cheap photocopier", etc. About a week ago, I finally got around to obtaining a library card (second last tickbox). By this point, I had forgotten all about said list until the helpful librarian actually presented me with the card. Upon my return home, I checked what was left on the list, and was pleased to see that there remains only one item ("develop promising talent"...clearly something I could quantify :P).

So, um, goodgood. Makes me feel a bit more settled, I guess.

Adding to my relief is that I won't have to spend many weeks crying over finding a part-time job, as my current work place is planning on extending my contract. This is a Big Deal to me. I feel fairly insanely lucky.

There are some difficulties that have been arising in other sections of my life, but I feel this is pretty typical and to be expected. We will see, I suppose, and hopefully I keep my chin up no matter what.

Tonight Nadya and I are making artichoke and sundried tomato pasta. Tomorrow night, Vanessa-dearest will be home (albeit for a few days, then off again, then back for the semester). This is hugely wonderful. I've missed her a great great deal and we have much to discuss.

And now: to work to work.

Is it a crisis or a boring change?

Jen and I went to see Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind in Yonge-Dundas square last night. It didn't rain like it did for Annie Hall, but it was chilly and I wrapped myself up in Jen's enormous penguin-patterned blanket that we had been using as a beach blanket earlier that evening.

(The beach is a whole other matter. Let's just say there is a reason why I got teary-eyed and shaky from purchasing a swimsuit.)

Anyway, obviously it was enjoyable, but I seem to feel sympathy for different characters with each passing viewing, and to various degrees of intensity. The time before this, Joel seemed like a heartless pushover and Clementine like a hostile and selfish jerk. More intriguing were Stan (Mark Ruffalo's character) and Mary (Kirsten Dunst's). I recall feeling quite moved by Stan's teary nose-wipe as he walks away from Mary's car. They both get super unresolved endings, and this somehow really struck something with me.

This time, however, my heart was back to Clem, despite her hostility.



"People need to share things, Joel. That's what intimacy is. I don't constantly talk! I'm really pissed that you would say that about me!"

The contrast of such solemn sweet words and anger is irresistible.

you ain't going nowhere

"Tumultuous!"

That was Vanessa's word to sum up 2007. 2008 has hardly begun, even though it's more than halfway through (for me, the real year starts with the commencement of the academic year), but I'm trying to find a word for it already. Dense, maybe.

Among today's adventures were an unnecessary-but-fun car trip to Red Rocket (a twenty-minute walk away, but the lure of Jen's car is irresistible approx. once/month), morning cartoons and sugary cereal with Andrew, and...an extremely daunting outing with my roommates to find a swimsuit.

I haven't owned a swimsuit since I was twelve, which is almost eight years ago. I borrowed a hideous number from a friend for canoe-camping in Outdoor School when I was fifteen, which was the last time I ever wore such a garment.

The trip was a difficult one: we trudged through racks upon racks of scary floral one-pieces, stacks of impossibly tiny patterned bikinis, and finally: Jen emerged holding up something simple, in two modest pieces, with a small rip that somehow warranted it being fairly inexpensive. Drawing a great breath, I took it into the changeroom. After much lip-biting, face-covering, and nervous-opinion-asking, I was red and sweaty and shaking, but relatively triumphant.

I am so so glad July is coming to a close and school is around the bend. At the same time, September looms sinister with unconfirmed-employment, a new university that may have different expectations than the last, along with other strange, shadowy unforeseeable changes.

But there's August in between, and even that doesn't start until Friday.

Watching The Third Man this evening makes me crave transparency and truth above all else, which are alas quite often elusive things. This is something I can deal with rationally, however. My immediate concern: Obtaining a functioning alarm clock. This biorhythm shit ain't always reliable.

patience, patience.

Last night, Jess and I went to see Annie Hall(!) for free(!!) outside in Yonge-Dundas Square. About four scenes in, it began to drizzle. Within the next ten minutes, it was full-on raining and some guys passed around big black garbage bags to those of us who decided to tough it out. As everyone struggled with their bags to discover the style in which they would receive maximum protection from the rain, lightning occasionally struck and Alvy and Annie continued on, oblivious to our amusing plight.

I forgot exactly how much I like Annie Hall. The first time I ever watched it was after a night of being utterly unable to sleep - I had things on my mind and consequently stayed up to watch Before Sunrise and Before Sunset (also excellent films). After watching these, I went for a walk around Saskatoon, ending up on the fire escape of a highschool drinking a cup of shitty 7-11 grade coffee and watching the sun rise. When the sun had come up, I shuffled home and watched Annie Hall, which proved to be my favourite of the movies I'd consumed over the past 24 hours. The quietness of seeing it alone, when no one else was around or even awake, somehow made it even more perfect.

Sometimes I really miss the feeling of knowing my city; of knowing the best spots and having memories attached to so many places - of having an effortless map of the city in my head and feet. Tomorrow, I will have been here for three months. I'm beginning to piece the fragments of Toronto I know together and build an internal map...it will just take time.

is your sweater on?

I think I might be the first person to have a diaper-related-injury.

And now before you all run screaming away from me, let me explain: Yesterday, for work, I was instructed to purchase $250 worth of diapers (which ended up being $274.04) for some care packages I'm making for prenatal mothers. I don't drive, and I don't carry a shopping cart around with me, so I got to take all of these shoved into four ENORMOUS bags for a bit of a walk to the subway station, then on the subway, then on a crowded streetcar. I have never received more looks of deep pity than yesterday, waddling down College Street, plastic handles twisting into my hands and occasionally pausing to attempt to secure my bangs off my forehead. Oy.

So when I woke up, my arms were incredibly sore and my shoulders feel as if someone has sliced through them with rusty breadknives.

But it's kind of hilarious, and I'm not too broken up about it.

On Sunday morning, Andrew and I ate Lucky Charms and watched cartoons, which has clearly inspired the entire house. Last night, we watched an almost-embarrassing amount of YTV programming, and Jen informed me that she, too, had succumbed to the deliciousness of the marshmallow-y goodness of a certain cereal. Basically, we're the perfect house.

And now, it is time to see what new delights await me at work.

yes, this really is an entry about alternatives to cheese.

Ah yes, there is but one working day until the weekend. Megan and I stepped on out for lunch today (we both brought one, but got coffee from Wanda's) and spent the entire (unpaid) hour bitching about how little work we have to do/how that makes the time a-drag. Miraculously, upon our arrival back, my boss had come up with a few things for me to do, which should also keep me busy all tomorrow morning. Holla!

After work, I scooted to the health food store and picked up what has ultimately restored my faith in vegan cheese. Back in Saskatoon, there were precious little options when it came to this: there was a brand available at Superstore that contained casein (really, why the fuck would you bother making soy cheese if you're going to put a milk protein in it? seriously guys), and another hideously overpriced brand at Steep Hill called something along the lines of Vegarella or Veganrella. Vegwhateverrella was not only overpriced, but slimy and seriously untasty.

Toronto is clearly a far more veg-friendly city. I can't recall the name of the brand I bought today, but boy howdy is it ever delicious, non-slimy, and completely lacking in secret milk proteins! It doesn't melt great, but nothing soy-based does, I suppose. Anyway, thanks, soy cheese, for a trip to tastytown (I had it in an olive bun with tomatoes and cucumbers).

On another note, thursdays are great, because they are often my "day-before-travelling-day", which is my favourite kind of day (other than travelling days). DFTDs get me super organized because I've got laundry to do, showers to take, delicious things to bake, and bags to pack. So I'm forced to be on the ball! Yyyyay! And I have something to look forward to! Yyyyay!

I'm off. Have a lovely weekend, everyone.

I wanna spread my dementia

Zine: done
Photocopying at Kinko's: cheap
Dinner tonight: cornflakes with the very last of the soymilk and raspberries and blackberries that were ultra cheap in the Annex

Jen and I went for a long walk to clear our heads. Then I finished sewing a skirt and read for a bit and felt sad about my utter lack of involvement in the feminist scene here. I need to get out more and find where the resources and programming and volunteer stuff is.

I guess I just want some ladies to strategize with re: smashing patriarchy, who can also tell me "YEAH, radical cheerleaders meeting wednesday" or "I wholeheartedly support your attempt to destroy beauty standards" or "Is Leslie Feinberg not the most wonderful person imaginable?"

Being more proactive is clearly the situation. Note to self: read last sentence only once more; then do as it suggests.

it's just a joke, man, it's just an interview

My triumphant steps to the 24-hr-Kinko's (a photocopying place, not a porn shop, incidentally), zine in hand, were somewhat dampened as I realized in horror that I had forgotten my wallet.

So it gets put off for another little while...which makes me infuriated, because this shit should have been done in december. It's not like I've done any real work on it since, for goodness' sakes.

What made my venture out worth it was that I was listening to Le Tigre and wearing my boy scouts of america shirt. Most days I don't really want to go outside because I feel pretty ugly and gross and getting anywhere in this city requires you to sit down for about half an hour with a bunch of people, then walk for another half hour with a whole new bunch of people, all of whom are ridiculously well-styled and dressed. BUT when you have Kathleen Hanna fighting the good fight in your ears, you feel a little better.

Oh, and I stopped wearing makeup. So far it hasn't gone over well, as I've alternately wanted to cry and scream for the past three days. BUT WE'RE DOING OK, FOLKS! I'm also giving one last shot at the vegan life, which has made me feel significantly happier, because it means I make a lot of vegetable-based and delicious meals. Tonight: potato-carrot-curry soup.

Now, off to make comics and soup now...I'm a productive person with interests and personality. You believe me, right?

you've got this thing with walking

Today on my lunch break, I bought my usual insanely cheap and delicious coffee from Cuppa Joe and then headed to Wanda's Pie in the Sky for a gorilla biscuit (the tastiest vegan treat on the block for under $2). As I sat there doodling in my notebook and listening to one of my new favourite songs, a woman and her two children came in and hung around waiting for a birthday cake to be ready. One of the kids was a baby in a stroller wearing a hat. The stroller was facing me, as was the baby, so I smiled and the baby returned it with the best smile I have ever seen in my two decades of living. I can't explain it entirely - it was slow to come across her face, as though she were blushing, but at the same time it was such a beam that I thought she must be consciously acknowledging that she was so very worth smiling at and that she thought I was, too.

I continued doodling and writing, but kept on feeling the compulsion to look back at the baby. Every time I did, she met my eyes and we smiled at each other. Finally, I caught her mother's eye and said, "You have a wonderful baby," to which she responded "Oh yes, she gets a lot of attention," laughing a little.

"She's very charismatic," I volunteered, unable to keep from beaming as I looked down into the baby's wonderful face.

I've only been truly intrigued by babies at one point in my life, which was during Mrs. Johnston's grade twelve biology class genetics unit, and that was 99% based in awe that humans are capable of manufacturing miniature versions of themselves. Other than that, I've never wanted children, and I still don't. My exchange with this baby was not based in maternal need or instinct. It was simply an exchange with another human being grateful for life and it made me remember to be thankful for the rest of the day.

Thank-you, charismatic baby, for the little reminder. I hope you grow up strong and excited about everything you can do and be.

blasphemy

I'm updating for once, mostly because Jen commonly utters the phrase, "Oh man, I can't WAIT for you to blog about this!".

That being said, not too much is noteworthy.

I was feeling not super great in the self-image department for the past few weeks, which was quickly getting to be a huge downer...until, as I walked home from work one night this week, I found a glorious treasure in someone's recycling that had been set out for pick-up: a 1980s rerelease of Our Bodies, Ourselves. Jen and I read it aloud for awhile and it was kind of awesome in its early-third-wave empowerment.

It's going to be my best friend for life.

Here's a list of things I'd like:

Glasses that never get dirty
Darker (or even existent) eyebrows
A full-time position at not-the-wine-store (this free bottle of wine every week is getting to me)
My imaginary friend from when I was five, whose name was Bowie (as in David Bowie)

Rock on, Captain Planet(s),

ctron

faced with the dodo's conundrum

My friends, gather 'round and rejoice, for today is a most glorious day. Sing praises to the heavens; I am motherfucking employed.

Not only that - I have not one, oh ho, not one but TWO sources of income: being a vest-sporting lackey at the liquor store AND short-term work at a community health centre. Is there something vaguely ironic about this? Can I get a witness??

(To which you heartily respond: "TESTIFY!")

Anyway, I don't start until saturday, which means I have to milk these last days of unemployment for all they're worth (and trust me, brothers, they are worth oh-so-much). To begin this veritable milk-fest (worst phrase ever, I'm sorry - and I know these parenthetical asides are irritating, so I'll stop), I went to my Aunt Rita's house last night to sup with her, my cousin Emma, and her friend Melanie. After our most delicious meal of vegetarian lasagna and ridiculously excellent homemade cheesecake, Emma and Mel and I wandered down to the beach just as it was getting dark. The fog was a-rollin' over the lake and the tide was roaring in and smacking against the rocks and we sat ourselves down to take it in.

"It's sort of an 'edge of the earth' type of feeling," Melanie said. Emma was quick to agree, and the two of them talked about how the water stretching on forever was majestic and beautiful or what-have-you, but also kind of eerie.

Conversely, I found the sensation comforting. I think it's because I grew up being able to see forever - not water, but wheat ("Wheat. All there is in life is wheat."). So looking out into the gaping endless maw of Lake Ontario felt not overwhelming or spooky but...actually kind of like home. As I thought about this, I remembered Ferron saying a similar thing about when she saw the ocean in Honduras: she was overcome with an oddly strong sense of homesickness.

As much as I felt an acute ache for the prairies, I'm incredibly happy to be here now. Oh, and - having a job lends it a sense of permanency it didn't quite have before. I think I'm here to stay, comrades.

dispatches from the unemployed

Number of job interviews today: 1
Number of jobs applied for today: 5

I'm just going to keep telling myself that something will come along eventually. Someone has to offer to hire me at some point, right? Right.

Reading Breakfast After Noon this morning probably didn't bolster my confidence that much, but it's sort of my own fault.

Guys! I am being a bright-eyed optimist! (But never a bright-eyed optometrist)

there's no riot...

My, my, what a day it's been. I woke up obscenely late and hauled myself up the stairs to eat some cornflakes and talk shit with my wonderful Southern Belle roommate, Jen, for a solid hour. Note: Jen may or may not actually have a Southern accent. I've been told I have a very vivid imagination when it comes to how people's voices sound (which is code for "I completely fucking make it up").

Following this, I patched a shirt and gave myself a haircut. I was sort of trying to hold out with my hair, but it was already pretty drastically layered from March and it would've grown out strange anyhow. This whole cutting-hair-business is kind of Bad News Bears because summer is coming and my hair tends to look reeeeally bad in the summer, especially if it's short. But uh...you know. I didn't even do that much; it's just shorter on one side now.

Thrilling, I'm aware.

What other wondrous things have I spent my time doing? Uploading CDs onto my new laptop. It's tedious, but weirdly satisfying. I'm mostly just killing an hour before I make delicious delicious vegetable stirfry.

all good things

Photo credit: Jess Lewis

Well, team...my laptop didn't make it. It seems that the Great Coffee Disaster affected more than just his feeble keyboard. My roommates, my dear friend Cat who was visiting this weekend and I had a quiet service for him in the backyard on Friday evening. Cody was an excellent partner in crime and I'll always have fond memories of him.

Besides this tragic event, the long weekend was awesome. AND: I have two job interviews in the next week. Holla!

bonefish

Sweet merciful zeus.

Today's dramatic episode: I spilled coffee on my laptop keyboard. At first, it appeared that the only casualties were the navigation arrows in the bottom right corner, but it soon became apparent that none of the keys were working. Now, for someone who does nothing all day, use of a keyboard is pretty fucking essential. I *am* reading three books right now, and I did spend this morning drawing, but I have an intense attachment to my computer. It's where I do about 80% of my writing, plus I fritter and waste away like 10000% of my life blogging and instant messaging my roommates who are approximately ten feet away from me on it, too. So: problem.

I called some computer repair dudes, who clucked their tongues softly and said,

"Well, there's not a lot we can do."
"What do you mean?!"
"Well, we can come over for consulting...if only the keyboard was hit, we can order a new one and install it...for the consulting, hardware, and labour, it'd be about $300. Or we could just set you up with a USB keyboard and it'd be more like $130."

Anything with three digits preceded by a dollar sign turns the stomach of a jobless weirdo.

"Uh...I need to consult my, er, financial advisers."
"Do you mean your parents?"

I called my father, who proceeded to lecture me on how coffee + work areas = always a disaster, which was well-deserved. As I began my feeble defense, Felizia, my roommate, came into the kitchen carrying a still-in-the-box USB keyboard and slammed it on the table triumphantly.

"Dad? Can I call you back?"

It turns out only the keyboard was boned by the Coffee Nightmare of '08, and Felizia is graciously allowing me to use this USB-wonder until I'm totally employed and replace this piece-of-junk-of-an-ancient-Toshiba-laptop.

If I've learned anything from this incident, it's that being unemployed would suck more without proper computer access. Oh yeah, and don't drink coffee near the keyboard. But in all honestly, I probably won't abide by that rule. Will be super careful about that one.

Wow! My life sure is one drama of a rollercoaster.

Scrabbled down the hallways yelling "Yahtzee!".

Ohmygosh. I've applied for a ridiculous number of jobs (I'm too embarrassed to list the number here), and someone called me today. Maybe I'll be working for a temp agency. I can't believe I'm excited about this.

That's my bicycle, by the way. His name is Orde-Lees, after this fellow:


(thanks, wikipedia.)

...who was a surly German fellow aboard Endurance with Shackleford back in the day. He used to ride his bicycle on the icy surface of Antarctica, much to everyone's chagrin, and once got lost (they sent out a crew and found him, though).

Are you guys proud of me? I'm almost making progress. Today's been kind of a downer and I feel like melodramatic grumpy gus, but uh...I'm all about being irrationally cheerful in order to convince myself it's going to be peachy.

Oh, and I updated my flickr. Visit me.

Oh, and also...I've been thinking about Jan Von Holleben a lot lately. Visit him, too.

the beat of the gestetner

Oh boy! Oh boy! Here are some things I like about my new city:

-TTC tokens, because they look like magic money for a sweet videogame world
-Getting parcels from my parents (they pity me and sent me tea and drawing pens to cheer me up)
-Museum Station
-And the Museum, ok
-People not being assholes to cyclists (...yet)
-Legitimately missing home (the Weakerthans haven't sounded this good since I was sixteen!)

There's more, but y'know. I don't want to get too repetitive or predictable.

This week's the week I get a job. I, uh, just know it.

I feel like a total deadbeat. Filling out job applications actually just makes me want to fork out my eyes at this point.

On the bright side, being unemployed has really freed up my time for watching movies.

The only reason I'm still at home is because I'm waiting for my only pair of pants to dry.

"Great," I said, as I heated up some day-old coffee. "Now my coffee is going to taste like microwave popcorn."
Andrew stared at me for a moment before stating confidently, "Wow. Unemployment suits you."

I've almost been here for two weeks, and I'm still trying to find a job. However, I'm now a card-carrying member of an employment agency...and I applied for EI. This is pretty much cripplingly demoralizing, but also kind of hilarious.

It's hit me that I actually moved here and that I'm probably not going back any time soon. This feeling is possibly the result of spending $153 that I don't actually have on cheap Swedish furniture, but hey: my room is one fine looking room.

Most of my time has been spent madly searching for a job, but I've also been working on my zine (slowly and infrequently). It should have been done months ago, but I'm a lazy bastard, I guess. Also, I have a stack of books that I've irrationally promised myself I'll read by the end of the summer.

Once I procure an inexpensive camera, expect self-indulgent picture-posts showcasing my awesome secondhand yellow bicycle and the other things that are making Torontonian life worth it.

Until then, paix, mes amis.