Be Proud

From A Field Journal

I think New Year's Eve is one of the strangest times of the year. We draw lines in our smartphone calendars for this party or that party, all on some unsaid urge to have fun and make tonight special. As if sparkles and alcohol could accomplish that properly.

What I do love about New Year's Eve, though, is that these lines help us re-evaluate the past 12 months. If anything, it's a good way to allow ourselves to truly analyse what made us happy, what made us sad, and what we can change by the time 2014 rolls around.

People always forget to be proud of their accomplishments. It seems that there are those who claim we're entering a generation of wimps, where parents and elders constantly look out for us to make sure we don't get hit too hard by real life. But I think there's more than that to us. Maybe because we aren't faced by certain hardships that past generations have, we can allow ourselves to enjoy different things, things that they weren't allowed to before. We can travel. We can cast our social net wider than ever before, and make friends who are more diverse than ever. We can allow ourselves to be more creative, drawing inspiration from just about anything we see.

There's so much to do, and it seems that I always fall prey to the same things as anyone else when it comes to being proud.

Here are some things I'm proud of this year. I hope that this inspires you to take a look back and see what you're proud of too.

• While I lost some good friends, I reconnected (very happily) with a few old ones.
• Finally found a writing style that I love.
• Read a lot of great books, like this, this, this, and this.
• Learned to love knitting and love tea.
• I cooked more than I did the year before!
• Did school work (curricular and extra-curricular) that I'm proud of.
• Saved money for a Reading Week trip, hopefully somewhere down south.
• Learned how to wear red lipstick and not feel like a clown.

Have a great new year's eve, whether you're at a huge party or cuddled in bed watching a movie. And countdowns are always exciting, so make sure you say 3-2-1 out loud.

To the Holidays

I hope your holidays have been as relaxing as mine. I've been spending most of my time with random things around my house (my Playbook, W. Somerset Maugham's The Painted Veil, the black pepper bergamot candle recently purchased in a frenzy at Bath & Body Works) while hanging out with family and the boyfriend and, perhaps most importantly, the cat. 

Christmas was especially kind to me this year, with a new teapot, clutch, and NARS blush in Orgasm (drooooool) so I can only hope that everyone else's were delightful. Or that you saw a good movie, at least. (Les Mis was amazing, but less so when you have people CONSTANTLY TALKING DIRECTLY TO YOUR LEFT. My most passionate pet peeve.)

Have a happy new year, everyone, and remember to take time to read books and watch good TV during the break.

A Distant Vantage Point

I first wrote about Carl Sagan's Pale Blue Dot here but, upon coming across this video today, I thought it best to mention this wonderful spoken word piece yet again.

Pale Blue Dot from ORDER on Vimeo.

Something to Think About

I was struck by the above photo on reddit today. Watch this video to learn more about these gorillas, orphaned by poachers and the like, who are raised in the jungles of the Congo. 

In the past few years, I've developed more of a compassion towards animals. It began with studying biology (my minor) and learning about all the species that inhabit this planet. Growing up, I didn't have any pets, but my parents were always incredibly good about teaching me how to respect animals and exposing me to wildlife through trips to the zoo and various books that still line the shelves at home. About a year and a half ago, I began volunteering for Toronto Cat Rescue, a charity which helps stray cats by placing them in foster homes and arranging for their adoption through a rigorous screening process (starting with places like the Adoption Centre at any Petsmart!). I've heard it described as something like adopting a child.  

Now that I'm nearly graduating, I can't help but think about what to do with a gap year. I know of friends who are travelling to far-off places to teach schoolchildren English, or to help out with a not-for-profit charity in a developing country. It's something that's been on my mind lately and, while I don't see a future in wildlife preservation per se, I think that it's important to expose myself to more species conservation efforts.

The research process will be an ongoing one, but I'm excited to see where this desire to help out takes me. The effort will always continue, but I can't wait until I can take part.

Tea and Wontons

It's exam season, so that means I'm indulging in way too much of the title foods. Contrary to what the title might suggest, I've been doing a lot of random home cooking that requires ELABORATE PREPARATION AND THOUGHT. 

Just kidding. I usually text my dad and ask him for recipes that will enter my mind after a bout of nostalgia. That's why I went on a tiring search for tamarind soup base the other night which, I now realize, was probably sprinkled on all dinner foods ingested in my formative years. I just marinated two chicken breasts in half a package of tamarind soup base (found at your local Asian grocer!) along with salt, pepper, and a chopped onion for fifteen minutes. Bake at 350 F for half an hour and voila - you have a savoury, Filipino dinner.

I think exams set off a weird homely tic in me. I've been spending more time knitting and lighting scented candles which, if you haven't guessed, half the girls my age are indulging in nowadays. Maybe we're all searching for some sort of comfort normally found at home in the comfort of free rent and a well-stocked pantry. I don't much care. I'm just glad I found a (crappy) balsam fir candle at Dollarama.

This is my latest knitting creation - a white circle scarf that came out a bit too large. Trust me to be an overzealous knitter. Also, let's appreciate the fact that this is the first time this week that I've worn contacts and mascara. Appreciate.

And if you're looking for some creative holiday music, look no further than Jimmy Fallon, The Roots, and Mariah Carey...

Anything Could Happen

The new Girls trailer is up, which means I'm only counting down the days until I get to go into full torrenting mode every Sunday night. Even though I frequented (too) many tourist areas in New York City last weekend, I loved the way that city felt in the way that most metropolitan places feel - full of motion, cynicism, and sound. It's exhausting, I imagine, but I'm also of the school of thought that if you're not exhausted, you're doing something wrong.

For example, Friday was the annual holiday party for overtired, school newspaper staffers like myself. I spent way too much time getting ready (aka precariously applying red lipstick) but I think the result was wonderful. It was good to go out and good to eat real food and good to spend time yelling at friends in a noisy, but mostly-deserted, nightclub.

Anyways, happy exam time all. While you're all studying, I'm neglecting 300-page novels in order to knit my sister a winter headband. 

Before you go, though, check out this trailer for Sarah Polley's documentary Stories We Tell. It premiered at TIFF, the film festival that highlights one of the many reasons I'm excited to move back to the city. I first loved Sarah Polley in Road to Avonlea. I really liked Canadian Maritime junior fiction when I was a preteen, for some reason, and I was reminded of her talents upon seeing her film Away From Her. Her screenplay for that film was nominated for an Oscar a few years back.

Anywho, here's the trailer for Stories We Tell.

Who Do You Wear Makeup For?

It's fitting that I stumble upon this Beautylish article, "Who Are You Wearing Makeup For?", on the day that I buy myself a Stila eyeshadow palette and Too Faced bronzer from Sephora because, hey, I'm in New York and it's Black Friday and I got both of these babies for $10 each! Down from their normal retail price of $30 to $70! Yay!

Wandering through Sephora, as I have been known to do many a time, you can't help but notice the insurmountable amount of mirrors that litter the store. And in front of every single one, someone is checking themselves out. Whether to try out a new lipgloss or check that their hair is okay, I feel like we all have this weird obsession with looking at ourselves. (It really drove my sister crazy when one lady inadvertently held up the bathroom line at Starbucks because she was checking out her hair...)

It's no wonder, then, that people tend to think that makeup addicts, like myself, are unreasonably vain attention mongrels who wear cosmetics simply to attract the opposite sex. 

Like the amount of lipsticks and eyeshadows in my collection are a registry of the different ways I can convince a guy to talk to me. Like the pink lips and neutral eyeshadows mean that I'm sweet and perky. Like the sultry reds and the precision-black eyeliner mean that I'm amazing in bed.

I agree with the above article when I say that when it comes down to it, the colours and the shades and the glitter don't mean anything. Not to you, at least. 

For a long time, I had trouble reconciling myself with wearing things on my face. I thought that all-natural beauty, which is wonderful in its amazing way, was the only way to go, and that any other option was shameful. I was wrong, of course. There's no shame with wearing a little blush and lipstick when you're feeling down, as I have done many a time. And, as most people know, hiding some pimples with concealer does wonders for the self-esteem on those days when your skin is a little less forgiving.

It helped when, in high school, I had a friend who introduced me to what it was like to like makeup, to fully enjoy playing around with colours and ways to enhance your natural beauty. I didn't fall in love then, though. Not yet. It wasn't until this past summer, when a bout of blog browsing brought on a new love with having fun with makeup.

Now I have fully embraced makeup, like any other hobby or interest anyone could cultivate. We shouldn't shame people who love to wear makeup, just as we shouldn't shame people who choose not to. It's just one of those things, those little preferences akin to whether you like wearing socks to bed or not. 

As for me, I still love wearing socks to bed from time to time, just as I fully believe that a coat of mascara on some mornings can help me feel beautiful and ready for the day. It's a preference thing. There's nothing wrong with that.

Skyfall

I hate labelling myself a "film buff." I'm not. I haven't seen half as many classics (Hitchcock, Lynch, Scorsese, etc.) as I desire to. But I think I know a beautifully-shot film when I see one.

That was the case with Skyfall last week. I'm not a huge Bond fan either. I guess I was never exposed to Sean Connery nearly as much as I should have been when I was young (too many Star Trek reruns to watch with my dad...), but this seems to be a good introduction to whatever impending Bond marathon is on the horizon.

Here are some shots (and spoilers) from the latest of 007. Click here for the full album.

I'm heading to New York City this coming weekend. A family trip, but I'm sure that, after this hell week, I'm going to need it.

Listen to this.

Dyed Hair

I once had an obsession with dyeing my hair. I wanted to do that common Azn (~~~~~, etc.) thing where you put blonde streaks in your EBONY BLACK hair. It was not a nice thing. And I thank my mother everyday for preventing me from making a mess with bleach and whatnot.

But now the ends of my hair are a confusing shade of brown, so maybe her finger-wagging didn't work out after all.

Anyway, here's a song that I've been listening to too much for it to be considered okay anymore.

It's my birthday this Wednesday, which means I will be eating food (medium rare sirloin, maybe) or drooling over Ben Whishaw in Skyfall. I loved him as Keats and I expect I will love him just as much as Q.

A few weeks late, but here's an article I wrote for the Journal about taxidermy. I spent an early weekday morning touring the underside of the BioSci building to get a taste of dead animals (ew?) and what goes into stuffing them, etc. It's a weird fascination of mine (along with birds, used book shops, and sad people). 

If you like taxidermy, though, read this article by UBC alum Rachel Poliquin. She runs a blog called Ravishing Beasts, and spent a lot of time looking at dead animals and their taxidermists for her thesis. A really interesting read.

Now, I leave you with this - a button that takes you to useless websites. It's amazing, I swear.

Notes

I write everything down. I spent part of my evening yesterday sifting through the memos on my phone, little bits of things I observe each day. Maybe some quote that I found or a description of a person I saw on the bus. Funnily enough, I'm writing this post as I'm supposed to be working on next issue's article. I can never seem to focus enough.

Here's a really interesting thing I found written in a memo:

We all have the potential to fall in love a thousand times in our lifetime. It's easy. The first girl I ever loved was someone I knew in sixth grade. Her name was Missy; we talked about horses. The last girl I love will be someone I haven't even met yet, probably. They all count. But there are certain people you love who do something else; they define how you classify what love is supposed to feel like. These are the most important people in your life, and you’ll meet maybe four or five of these people over the span of 80 years. But there’s still one more tier to all this; there is always one person you love who becomes that definition. It usually happens retrospectively, but it happens eventually. This is the person who unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of these loveable qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. The person who defines your understanding of love is not inherently different than anyone else, and they’re often just the person you happen to meet the first time you really, really, want to love someone. But that person still wins. They win, and you lose. Because for the rest of your life, they will control how you feel about everyone else.

- Chuck Klosterman, Killing Yourself to Live: 85% of a True Story

I first read Chuck Klosterman's book Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs in my first year of university. I remember being really pleased with myself because, not only was I reading a book that was not a novel for the first time in forever, but it seemed to impress this boy that I liked at the time. I bought the thing from Urban Outfitters, though, so I don't know if that makes me more or less of a scumbag. Probably more.

Anyways, here's a nice photo of Fry by the waterfront. We went for a long walk yesterday and he had a staredown with a Schnoodle. It was adorable. 

Also, this picture encompasses a lot of the reasons why I love living where I live.

The Wall

My darling one, you are young and inexperienced, and though you think the world is at your feet, it can rise up and tread on you.

The above quote is from Atonement, one of my all-time favourites. It's one of those films that allows me to centre myself - as in, any time I'm feeling a little too trapped in my own head, it's the first thing to play. That, or Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I have a melancholic taste in movies.

It's less than two weeks into school and I already feel drained. I want to keep going though. It's difficult to maintain a certain momentum while keeping yourself grounded, I've come to learn. It's hard to balance your frantic and ambitious self with your calm and collected self. Can they exist in the same being? Still figuring that one out.

This is the first time I've been able to sit at my bedroom desk in a long time. Nothing like lighting a candle, eating some chocolate and finding new music. Here's the latest to occupy that hole in my heart.

The Messy Top Bun

I have a strange relationship with fashion trends. I'm sure I can talk enough fashion (and, on that note, cosmetics) to last an unnaturally-long lifetime, but I'm never sure if what I'm following is simply trendy fashion, or style. As I observe the sea of messy buns, loose knit sweaters, and cuffed boyfriend jeans descend upon campus, I can't help but wonder if I'm simply a victim of trendiness, or something better. To that end, is it even that much better to go against the grain? (I may say this because I'm in love with loose knit sweaters and all the food babies they afford me)

Also. Do I even care that much? I've been partially blind when it comes to picking things out of my closet. Plus, my penchant for avoiding the gym has been determining my fashion choices as of late.

Coco Chanel once said this: "Fashion fades, only style remains the same."

Thanks Coco, but how am I supposed to figure out what defines style when I'm sitting in the monoculture of this university campus?

Here's an evening read - Fiona Duncan's article in Bullett, titled How to Write About Dressing Well: The Truth About Fashion Criticism. I wish I knew how to be as extensive and elaborate with my interviews and my writing.

The past two weeks have been a flurry of everything Journal-centric. My sixth article for Postscript is in the works but, in the meantime, read last issue's piece titled Books breed wonder.

It's a profile of Kingston's Wayfarer Books, a bookstore haunt known to us who, you know, like to haunt used bookstores. Take a look and see if you can catch any sign of my love for what some call a dying industry. I'm still not sure if it's a doomed romance or not. How tragic if it will be.

Hello September

Casimir Pulaski Day is celebrated on the first Monday of every March in Illinois. I'm five months early and in an entirely different country, but this song sounds like September to me anyway. Enjoy.

Summer Hatin'

I'm sitting at my desk on my second-last day of work. It's nice and cool in this office (the finger's on my right hand feel like a well-crafted ice sculpture) yet I know that it's boiling outside. Summer has decided to rear its head one last time.

The past week or so has been filled with packing and, subsequently, taking inventory of my possessions. I have an entire suitcase filled with books and shoes. There is another filled with girly things like chiffon blouses and scented facial moisturizers. If there was anything that came out of this summer, it's that my wardrobe and cosmetics collection has become significantly, I don't know, feminine? I wear (a very pale, almost-white) pink now. I own more than nine kinds of blush. Is this an issue?

While I do have the obligatory sundress or sleeveless blouse in those suitcases, I keep getting unreasonably giddy when I think about the oncoming autumn. Kingston turns into a gorgeous little mosaic of fall colours. It even smells differently. Maybe the dying leaves do something? It seems that I take an odd joy and comfort in the decaying greenery around me.

I get to wear brown and green. I get to wear my mustard yellow coat. Dark red lipsticks are in fashion now, so maybe I can exude some Morticia Addams, at least lip-wise. You won't see me snipping the blossoms off roses anytime soon.

Dear Morticia

Autumn is also a time for Starbucks' pumpkin spice lattes. If I could have any year-round indulgences from this season, that would be it. I remember doing a mass order of Starbucks for work last November (mass order being running around taking people's drink orders so I could walk to Starbucks for nine containers of hot liquid) where, like, most of the orders were for these little cups of pumpkin heaven. They're amazing. If you want to try anything from this overpriced mecca of gourmet drinks, try this. Not salted caramel lattes. No. Ew.

With the autumn weather also comes my tan fading into a reasonably human colour, scarves, Halloween (I already have my costume!) and my birthday. I still can't decide whether I want to actually go out, or fall over the handlebars of my bike and walk home in the rain, carting around my now-broken mode of transportation.* Stay tuned!

Meanwhile, here's another song to soothe your senses as we transition into the most glorious season of all. Be sure to watch the video. The first time I saw it, it sent me into a nostalgia trip like no other. I used to sit on my living room floor watching this cartoon. It was part of this Disney Halloween compilation video that I'm pretty sure my five year old self was obsessed over.

*The latter story is true. I was leaving Starbucks, my choice haunt for essay-writing, to go home and treat myself to some sushi. It had just rained so the roads were slippery. The strap of my stupid shoulder bag (such a long shoulder bag) got caught in the front wheel's splash guard. I (pretty much) flew over the front of the bike and landed on my palms and chest in the rainy street. Luckily no one saw,** but I still treated myself to chocolate alongside the salmon sushi.

**Well, not really. I ended up crying while walking home. Then it started raining ever so slightly. Then I had to say hello to an old friend who I may or may not have had a minor crush on a long time before that encounter. Since it was my 20th birthday, I also felt more purpose in this mini pity party. See, there's no shame in a pity party every once in a while.

iPhone Envy

Until the day I ditch this silly Blackberry, I will have mixed feelings of jealousy and haughtiness when I look at the kids with their iPhones and their Androids - you know, phones that work.

I really just want an iPhone for the Urbanspoon app. I first discovered it in first year when a friend with an iPhone showed it to me. Now I let it guide quite a few of my culinary choices. I pretty much salivate each time I think of the time it might save me from wandering up and down Yonge St. looking for a place to spew money on yummy things.

The reason I've written a mini-diatribe on iPhones is to show you this Twitter @instagramwords. It's my new favourite thing to follow on that godforsaken social networking website, and makes me feel slightly better about my slow technology. In a weird way.

Hey man. At least I know how to shoot in real film.

Here are some of my favourites:

Self-Loathing

There was a movie I saw once (or a billion times) called Before Sunrise. Ethan Hawke's character Jesse has a line where he talks about why so many people hate themselves.

"Seriously, it's just that they are sick to death of being around themselves," he says in a night-long conversation with cool Frenchwoman Julie Delpy.

I get this. Jesse's absolutely right. I have just as many neurotic tendencies as anyone, maybe more. I liken myself to those anxiety-ridden dogs that are brought to their adopted homes for the first time and, like, spend all night curled up in the corner because HOLY SHIT THERE'S FOOD. Not that I'm comparing myself to an abused animal or anything - I just freak out at almost anything that seems vaguely normal. Ask me to do something vaguely weird, though, and it's like I'm as calm as Crater Lake. What's that even about? But yeah, these dogs. They can't hate themselves like us humans can. See, eventually they even out. They nap on your couch and hang out with you. They have no life outside of sleeping, running and eating and you are just so envious of them for that. Then you hate yourself because you can't be a dog.

It's this funny thing about self-loathing. I think it stems out of comparing yourself to others, even dogs. There was a comedian or actor once who talked about how everyone hated their early 20s. It's just that no one knew it then, and we all thought that we were flailing alone in this pit of despair and expensive poutine. The grown-ups didn't know it then. Us early 20-somethings? We won't realize it 'til later, when all of our money is spent on rum and we're sitting alone on a loveseat with our knees to our noses.

So yes. This concept of feeling alone. You look and you look and you look at the shiny Facebook faces smiling back at you. This party or that party. You're thinking - why don't I go out and have fun with my fun friends as well? And then you remember that you hate that. And then you feel abnormal for not wanting to stand in a room of sweaty people, looking around you to see if anyone is having any fun. We're so bored of ourselves.

It's things like this that have become worse with Twitter and Tumblr and instagram and all that shit. There's less of a filter in these places, so then you find yourself in your bathrobe on a Saturday morning scrolling through blog posts of friends past, inwardly weeping because you have no more cashews left. Not that I've ever done that or anything.

I don't know what's happening anymore. I think this is coming from this influx of super pretty party people pictures being posted online, and me just wanting something simple instead. Like more sleep or for more rain to come so that grass can be green.

Anyways, here's my latest happy song. Get listening.

Speeding

There was an article printed the NY Times about Emma Koenig (lil sis of Ezra!) and her blog, Fuck! I'm in my Twenties.

I feel okay about the blog. However, I really like the video below. It's written by Emma and directed by her and David Seger - incidentally, her bf. Saw it about a month ago and was reminded of it again upon reading that article. So yeah. Here ya go.

Wanderlust

I think summer is in its winding down mode now. I'm getting used to work and to my awful habit of sleeping at 3 in the morning each night. I've been spending many an evening in a dark cinema watching whatever film came out this week. I'm not even bothering to wait for Cineplex Tuesdays (10% off for Scene card members!) because I'm dangerous. I like rushing to the mall at 8:30 pm because, hey, if I get there with half an hour left to shop, maybe I won't spend so much money. I've settled into summer. And that, I think, means it's time for it to end.

I don't think that would be the case if I had somewhere to go, you know? I love traveling. I have always loved traveling. But I have a lot of trouble overcoming personal hurdles like my inner stream of dialogue that speaks exclusively of my spending habits. It's terrible because, for some reason, it hardly questions the $15 or more I spend almost every night, but it seems to stand in the shadow of Kilimanjaro whenever I think about shelling out more than $500 to do something more useful - traveling.

There are many places I want to go. I ooze jealousy when I think about how many folks my age have seen Europe or South America or Asia for god's sake. I wasn't born in this country, but I have also never managed to remember anything from where I was born. There were hills apparently. And mango trees. And lizards on the wall. Maybe a monkey or two.

I have never so strongly felt the desire to leave, while having it paired with this flow of dread concerning spending the money. I wish I could get over it. But I'm working on it. I'm working to go to a pretty place in the Tropics by this time next year, for example.

Anyways, here are a slew of videos that have made my eyes drool of happiness and excitement at what's beyond suburbia and crowded college towns.

That last one, about the Aokigahara Forest in Japan, is particularly interesting. This place is notorious for being a popular suicide site. It's eerie but incredibly fascinating. If you don't want to put up with the bright colours and lush images of the other videos, at least take a look at the dense green landscape and broken skeletons of the last one.

Night Drive

When you're sitting in a car and you're upset and tired and frustrated at yourself or at the person next to you (or even people in general), this is a good song to listen to. It simultaneously makes me feel better while letting me wallow in utterly pathetic misery.

To Wed a Graphic Designer...

"We asked 15 friends to help tell the story of how we came to be and created a wonderful digital storybook for our wedding invite" reads Jessica Hische's description of a website describing how her relationship came to be. It's part love letter and part catalog, married in one of the most visually appealing wedding invitations I've ever seen. Click the picture below to check it out.

I'll just be here, trying on different lipstick shades while pretending I have a life. I'll probably watch Say Yes to the Dress while doing it.

Happy wedding season, everyone!

Future London

I'm a sucker for fashion, London and Tom Hiddleston. It's an issue.

This TIME Style and Design story is from March, but I am still unabashedly in love with it. Below is the video that goes with the article - a really neat way of showing off some designer clothing while utilizing Michelle Dockery and Tom Hiddleston's facial expressions and body movements to illustrate a story. Editorial fashion spreads should employ this method more often. I'd definitely pay more attention.

June in Photos

June is almost over, so here's a bunch of photos of things.

 

(L to R; 1: The remains of a St. Phillips strawberry cheesecake; 2: My summer reading list; 3: Backyard hammock and cat hair-covered leggings; 4: Ray-Bans at a beach in the city; 5: Roxie, who is me in dog form; 6: Levon, one of the kittens at the cat adoption centre; 7: Thundershirt. 'Nuff said;
8: Oreo befriending the backyard cat) 

I'll Try Anything Once

I found this song in a trailer for Sofia Coppola's movie Somewhere. It feels really Gen Y of me, but I've been on this Sofia Coppola/Kirsten Dunst kick. I think it began once I found the entirety of Marie Antoinette on YouTube. That was a great afternoon at work.

I'll indulge in more Kirsten Dunst when I watch Melancholia tomorrow. It's such a beautiful movie that it makes its resulting heartcrushing depression sort of worth it. Maybe I'll follow it with a viewing of Bring It On, because why the hell not.

I don't usually listen to The Strokes - other than this song which, lo and behold, I also found via Sofia Coppola. I like "I'll Try Anything Once" (this is the demo version) because it reminds me of when I used to sneak out my window to the roof. I thought I was being so dangerous then, just because I could sit on some roofing tiles staring at suburban houses and the tops of pewter-coloured cars. I was 17, and I hadn't even learned how to smoke a cigarette. Obviously I was 2cool4u.

It stopped when my dad caught me on the roof. He told me it sent people a "bad message." I think it was just because he didn't want to find me with my back broken on the driveway. I guess he was being reasonable...

I'm excited. I'm going to Kingston this weekend to see friends and drink beer on a patio. While the three hour drive is, at times, daunting, I'm glad to see my own bedroom again. I had forgotten what it looks like until I randomly found a picture of it in my phone. I don't know what I'm going to do when I graduate and leave school forever.

Anyways, here's a list of other things I'm excited about. Sorry for the haphazard thought process that is this blog post.

1. HBO's The Newsroom premieres on June 24.
2. Finishing Game of Thrones the book by early next week. Finally.
3. Purity Ring performing on the Danforth in a few weeks.
4. Tycho in Toronto soon after.
5. Downloading and watching the season finale of Girls. I am an awful procrastinator.

Until next time!

Spirit Animal

Every time I watch this video, I wonder out loud whether it's okay that my spirit animals are often very awkward women who, in all likelihood, eat too much steak.

I ate a 12 ounce steak once. My father is an avid BBQ-er. Even with all his guidance and genetics, I have yet to master the medium rare filet mignon. He's probably really disappointed in me, right? Right?!
 
Happy Father's Day!

Not About Love

I know people typically like to mope to Fiona Apple, or wail along with her while driving at high speeds down a mostly-empty freeway. It's cool. I've done it too.

When I was in the tenth grade, and first discovering what music could be outside of Destiny's Child (who, don't get me wrong, are awesome as well), I would borrow CDs from the library. This was before I knew how to download and torrent, mind you. I had also been banned from using Limewire on the computer. Whatever.

Fiona Apple's Extraordinary Machine was one of these CDs. While other girls let her sing their soul out, I listened to her while doing math homework in my basement. I associate her with #feelings and all of that, but those images will always and forever be tied to trigonometry and quadratic functions. Sorry, Fiona.

Bookish

"Maybe you'll fall in love with me all over again."
"Hell," I said, "I love you enough now. What do you want to do? Ruin me?"
"Yes. I want to ruin you."
"Good," I said. "That's what I want too."

Ernest Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms is sitting on my bed right now. I am so excited to read this book. My giddiness at new books pairs well with my dream of being an old woman who goes on neighbourhood walks, drinks gin, and reads all day long. It's not a bad future.

I had a dream last night where I was at some sort of fashion show with Alexa Chung, Imogen Poots, and various other glamorous women. Beforehand, I ran into Dree Hemingway. She's Ernest Hemingway's great-granddaughter, a fashion model, and actress. In my dream, she was a fabulous, gay man who was a prolific writer. Apparently, I had sent him a short story of mine. He told me he loved it, while smoking a cigarette, wearing sunglasses and an ascot while sitting on a low garden wall.

Not too long after, someone yelled to us that Ernest Hemingway had ruined the Toronto Star by writing for it. I screamed some expletives at them and probably threw something. 

What is my mind.

Things I've Been Listening To

Here's some music that's been making the rounds on my iPod.

In reference to the post title, here's a Reddit thread I've been lurking. It's basically a huge discussion/rant on why we can(not) end sentences with prepositions. My grammar rule-loving heart quivered.

Until next time!

"The beginning and end of everything."

"No personality as strong as Zelda’s could go without getting criticisms and as you say she is not above reproach. I’ve always known that. Any girl who gets stewed in public, who frankly enjoys and tells shocking stories, who smokes constantly and makes the remark that she has 'kissed thousands of men and intends to kiss thousands more,' cannot be considered beyond reproach even if above it. But Isabelle I fell in love with her courage, her sincerity and her flaming self respect and it’s these things I’d believe in even if the whole world indulged in wild suspicions that she wasn’t all that she should be.

But of course the real reason, Isabelle, is that I love her and that’s the beginning and end of everything. You’re still a Catholic but Zelda’s the only God I have left now."

- F. Scott Fitzgerald's letter to a friend, found here

How Shakespearean

I like to fall in love with British thespians. It began in high school, when I was forced to read Shakespeare drama after Shakespeare drama. Romeo and Juliet was okay, but strangely easy to understand. That sounds really pretentious, but please remember that I was the snooty tenth grader who was easily bored in math class because the equations didn't look complicated. I'm a difficult person to please, apparently.

When I read Macbeth, I knew that there was something to be said about Shakespeare. That's probably the simplest way I can put it - we can attribute a lot of what literature became to what he did back in his time. After the Scottish play, I got to read Hamlet and King Lear. The latter is still one of the most poignantly tragic stories I have read. Seriously. A father goes mad and two of his daughters neglect and abuse him while one remains steadfast in her devotion to him? That was a terrible run-on sentence. Whatever. It's still just so goddamn sad.

So, yes, now I have this penchant to fall in love with British thespians - strangely, before I have seen them in Shakespeare. There's Patrick Stewart, of Star Trek and X-men fame. And then Ben Whishaw, whom I have loved since watching The Hour and Bright Star. Finally, there is Tom Hiddleston. Because of Avengers, Deep Blue Sea, and Midnight in Paris. Because duh.

Also, he can recite poetry.

Imagine my joy when I found out that these three actors are going to be featured in a series of BBC miniseries adaptations of Shakespearean dramas. Check out the video below.

I Want You To Read This

"We don't have a word for the opposite of loneliness, but if we did, I could say that's what I want in life."

Please read Marina Keegan's final piece in the Yale Daily News - her last published words before her graduation and before her death at age 22.

I have read this piece about five times since I heard about it seven hours ago. It's halting and beautiful and ultimately terrifying for this newfangled 20-something. Maybe there's something to learn here.

I look at my writing and I cringe at how behind I am, how people who remember the same Saturday morning cartoons as me are spewing their mind's clutter onto a page and actually making sense.

I want to be good. But don't we all?

Booksellers

Berry & Peterson books in Kingston, Ontario.

The first time I went to Berry & Peterson, I was skipping an English lecture. I was skipping an English lecture to browse used books. I have a funny life, I think.

It was within the first few weeks of school - too early for the rush of assignments to begin piling up, and too late for my friend and I to find any books we needed for our syllabi. According to the store owner (who routinely purchases books from antique markets and book sales), students pretty much flee to the store to save a few extra dollars.

It's cool though. After spending an hour to two sitting on the floor literally digging through piles of books (there are few things as enjoyable as that) I found a good handful of things to read.

I've been going back ever since. Perhaps I'll start posting hauls of books I purchase here?
One of my best purchases was a cloth cover collection of W. Somerset Maugham short stories. He's my housemate's favourite writer so the book was for her - and so I could buy in on the discount deal.

Maugham wrote the novel that was the inspiration for one of my favourite films The Painted Veil. I am forever searching for a used copy of this book since the one at Indigo costs about 20 dollars. It hasn't appeared yet, but maybe appear in a timely way. Just like the book I'm reading right now: Tender is the Night. I found it at B&P a month or so ago and added it to my growing collection of books that smell like they came from someone's dusty basement.

I am a huge F. Scott Fitzgerald fangirl. I think that was apparent when I wrote a huge post about Midnight in Paris, a film that I (yet again) stayed up til four in the morning to watch the other night. It's soothing, okay?

One of the best lines from Tender is the Night occurs when Dick Diver, one of the main characters, turns to the very young and naive Rosemary. He says, "You're the only girl I've seen for a very long time that actually did look like something blooming."
I wonder why people don't speak that way anymore.

Also, for the sake of everyone, I will leave my Gatsby movie trailer for another time. I hope I'll be okay with it, but it's always terrifying when someone touches a beautiful thing.

This Is My Life

Sorry for the super pretentious title. I volunteer for Toronto Cat Rescue, just in case you weren't sure about my "cat lady" status.

I do love the chance to hang out with some apathetic felines on a weekly basis though.

Summer To-Dos

In my mildest dreams, I have a window next to my desk. It would probably be overlooking something industrial but that doesn't really matter to me. I just miss UV rays - that's all.

In the meantime, I'm back in the nine to five grind. In between trying to make my cellphone work to its full potential (which it rarely does) and guzzling enough caffeine to kill a small child, I have a list of summer things to do. Now that the sun is out and I have no homework (other than one summer course about ethnobotany), I have to fill my time with something, right?

Also, I love making lists. It's a really sad compulsion of mine.

1. Bird watching. I went to Chapters last night in a fit of boredom, and because it was the only place open past 9 pm. There it was - the National Geographic Field Guide to Birds of North America. I've always loved birds (don't you find that an innumerable amount of people hate them?) but I particularly love being able to identify them. It's kind of disgusting, how much I pretend to be a biology nerd even though I don't know the first thing about an animal cell. I think I just really like sitting in my backyard and being the one to get really excited over seeing a Northern Cardinal.
2. Magazines. All of them. I once went to the bookstore to buy a magazine. I was preparing for an interview at a men's style publication, so I thought I should pick up some GQ and Esquire to get prepared. OhmygodIfellinlove. I know it's really suspicious for a girl to buy a magazine that has a scantily clad Sofia Vergara on the cover. It's okay. There were some pretty great articles in that issue (especially one about what it was like to be the "other woman" in a relationship of infidelity). A few issues back (I can't remember if it was in British GQ, American GQ or what) there was an article about the "hero" - why men and women fighting overseas shirked any accolades they were given. They just didn't feel like they deserved the same honour as war heroes and heroines of the past (namely, wars where there was the draft and battle was an obligation). I plan to devour as much of these articles as I can, which is the perfect preparation for my job this coming year.
3. Knitting. It's a little sad that this deserves its own place on the numbered list. Long story short: I screwed up the first scarf I tried to make. I'm doing it again, except with 99 cent yarn I found at Value Village. We're livin' large here people.
4. Macarons. In extending the homely theme of this list, I've decided to attempt macarons. I feel like they're insanely difficult, but all I can think about is sitting in the backyard eating, like, 20 of them. I am not ashamed.

I leave you with this picture - my new field guide! I bet you're all really jealous.

That Time I Was in a Field

I've come to realize that I don't fear animals.

I mean, there was that 24-hour period in my second-last year of high school... My father had successfully convinced me that I was going to die a slow, painful death because a dog (a tiny Shih Tzu) had bitten my finger, breaking the skin and causing some minor bleeding. I remember sitting on my bed when my dad entered the room.

"So you don't know if it had its rabies shot?"
"No, father, why ever would I inquire about such a thing?"
"Ah, well. If it has rabies ... you know, getting hit by a truck might be less painful."

I should have inquired about such a thing.

Anyways, the dog did have its rabies shot (this was discovered after painfully heckling the dog owner's friend for information) and I was left to live life normally.

However, I blame my father for my brief bout of canine phobia.

So, other than that, I don't usually fear animals. I pick up stray cats (cuddle with them too sometimes), pet strange dogs (only after letting them sniff my hand!), and have been known to touch a shark (a nurse shark at the Metro Toronto Zoo, but still).

But yeah, Dan and I went for a drive the other day. The initial plan was to go to Menchie's, but the weather was too perfect and my surrounding area too strangely rural to really resist exploring.

We went north of typical suburbia, speeding past nature conservation areas and the occasional cluster of one million dollar homes. Before we knew it, there was an eerie calmness to the landscape - we were surrounded by fields, with a glorious sunset in the distance partially obscured by a cellphone tower (we hadn't quite escaped civilization yet).

In that trip, I was tempted to do three things. Here they are, and why I did not do them:

1. Visit a strange graveyard. This was right before a steep hill that prevented us from properly pulling over. I would have gone, but I feel like the image of two twenty-somethings entering a graveyard at sunset is the go-to opener for Joss Whedon's next maybe-awful, surprisingly-awesome horror film.
   
2. Jump a strange fence. We were totally going to, and the grassy field filled with snakes and mice and maybe a skeleton or two did look awfully tempting, but in the end it was decided that this was private property. If we were to get shot... Well, in the rural fields north of the suburbs, no one can hear you scream.
   
3. Pet a strange horse. We had pulled over on a side road to look around. Lo and behold, there was a horse farm (a ranch? A dude ranch?) right next to us so I hopped over a sewage stream to get to these two horses that totally approached the fence. Kay, so I reeeeally wanted to pet one. Except, I did not know how to pet a horse. You know, there's an etiquette for any new animal you want to pet. Fun fact: you are supposed to let the horse sniff your hand, and then pat it firmly behind its wither (the base of its "neck"). So I was left to stand there and, like, look at this horse while meekly holding my hand out. I really wanted a friend I guess.

I made Dan take the picture featured below. I still count this as better than the time I ran into two feral cats in one day, but not as good as the time my friend was on something and was approached by a deer in a field in the middle of the night. The deer ran away, and then it was declared that it was his worst trip ever.

Look at my horse. My horse is amazing.

On Having a Cute Dog

This is (Phillip J.) Fry. He is a nine week old husky with a heart of gold and kibble.

My housemate and her boyfriend invested in the pup about a week and a half ago. Things he loves include: stinky shoes, dried leaves, kibble, fleece blankets, and warm toes. He's a strange beast, but we love him nonetheless.

Mallory and I took him for an hour-long walk/leash-tugging marathon today. There's something delightfully awful about walking through bunches of people on a busy Wednesday afternoon in the downtown core. Most, if not all, of them stop to make some comment akin to "HOW CUTE" or "CAN I PET HIM?!" He's not my dog, but I can understand how it gets daunting after awhile. My poor housemate. She's become a mechanical robot in the past little while, with answers ranging from "yes, I swear to god he's a husky" or "why, okay, I'll listen to the dog training advice you have given me, strange woman on the street corner." Poor girl.

I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. I just wanted to show you a picture of Fry. He's so cute. He nibbles my fingers and jumps on my bed and scares away stray cats that we let into the house sometimes. But oh my god he's so cute.

End.

Productivity

Just another silly summer song - the second on the elusive Eight and a Half's album. Right now, there are only two songs out.

I'm heading back to school tomorrow morning. Quite a bit has happened in the last few weeks and, I must say, I am more than excited to return to the city for the summer. I love my life at school but, as it typically goes, things have been feeling heavier as of late. Transition points are like this.

Instead of studying for exams, I have spent the past few days with family and with the Mockingjay trilogy. I've been reading too many works off my English lit syllabi as of late. I may have needed this YA fiction break, as embarrassing as that can be to admit.

Before I go, here's one of my final articles from the Features section of the Journal. It was one of my favourite pieces to write this year.

An Editor's Advice to Young Journalists

I've just arrived home after a three-hour trek from school. It's quiet in the house now, after I finished listening to a lecture on YouTube titled "Being No One." Really insightful stuff.

I'm wandering the Internet now. The cat's sleeping next to me while I read this great Tumblr post called "An Editor's Advice to Young Journalists." It's by Basem Boshra, the Arts & Life editor at the Gazette in Montreal. It's solid advice - and you all know how I like some solid advice for my sometimes-great-looking, sometimes-horrifying-looking future in print journalism.

Read on, my friends.

"I've been thinking a lot about young journalists lately..."

For When You Feel Terrible

For when you feel like there's too much snow, or when you feel like there's generally too much of anything. 

David Fincher's in the Snow

Finally went to go watch The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I had never read any of the books before (working at a bookstore makes you want to stave off of the best-seller list after the two hundredth preteen/mom combo come in asking for a copy of "that vampire book") so I really didn't know what to expect. But I liked it: dark, thrilling and a bunch of other adjectives that people use to describe crime dramas. I especially liked Daniel Craig's use of sweaters, I have to say.

The song above is used in the trailers and opening credits. I am deeply ashamed that I didn't recognize it as a cover of the original song by Led Zeppelin. I am equally ashamed that I didn't recognize it as being sung by Karen O.