30 reasons why I am awesome

So, perhaps it is self absorbed to write a post titled: "30 reasons why I am awesome". I figure this is an improvement from: "Why I am F'ing Sweet" which is what I was going to title it. Mostly, I just wanted to brag about all the incredible concerts I have seen since April. Thank you to those that joined me, so many amazing times!

1. Modest Mouse- Two sets of drums, great live sound

2. Ted Leo and the Pharmacists – boundless passion for performing

3. Peter, Bjorn and John – Before the concert I had only ever heard “Young Folks” and was blown away by the Swedish awesomeness, ps. the video is pretty cute

4. The Arcade Fire - WOW - I complain that I will never get to experience Led Zeppelin or Pink Floyd, but the Arcade Fire, I believe, will be a cultural artifact from our generation.

5. Architecture in Helsinki – So fun, great energy
Opener: YACHT – Strange but cool I guess, music on laptop accompanied by dance

6. The White Stripes – Intense. Life altering. Dana=altered

7. Cary Brothers – I fell a bit in love
Opener: Mother Mother – pleasantly surprised- check out "Verbatim"

8. John Fogerty – lifelong dream come to fruition

Bumbershoot – Best consecutive 3 days of my life

9. The Shins – Winsome, lovely!

10. Kings of Leon – very rock, dude wore a vest

11. Gym Class Heroes – terrible

12. Wu-Tang – F’ing sweet... dollar dollar bill y’all

13. Andrew Bird – INCREADIBLE, I love whistling in songs. Would marry him tomorrow: Dana Bird

14. Joss Stone – aggravating, too much chatter on stage, I don’t want to hear about your life Joss.

15. John Legend – not my style but props to him for a good show.

16. Tokyo Police Club –can’t get into cheering for a bunch of screaming teens.

17. Devotchka – awesome experience, man drinking directly from a bottle of wine and woman dancing in huge tuba like instrument covered with red twinkly lights. Plus, Devotchka is just amazing...Little Miss Sunshine...

18. Barrington Levy – SO FUN – true performer... More and More and More and...

19. Rodrigo y Gabriela - beautiful

20. The Aggrolites - What a party, best live energy ever, how can you go wrong with a bunch of guys wearing jail suits and singing reggae!?!

21. Fleet Foxes – the next Neil Young

Bloodhag – Kidding, I wish I saw Bloodhag

22. Spoon – FUCK!!! SPOON!!! Maybe one of my best musical moments ever
Opener: Black Joe Lewis – the perfect lead in to Spoon...I love blues and SPOON

23. Shiny Toy Guns – the chick was sweet -she should do all the singing or get a new band.

24. Peter Bjorn and John – not as intense as the first time

25. Fujiya and Miyagi – although they aren’t Japanese they are brilliant.
Opener: Project Jenny Project Jan – very cool openers, great stuff, bought the cd

26. Shout Out Louds – Great instruments...they create great music

27. Final Fantasy – Sweet, I loved the projector show, plus I love the violin.
Opener: Great Lake swimmers – meh, kinda whiny

28. Joanna Newsom – delicate and enchanting

29. Caribou – great show, battling drums and a front man who is maybe the most talented guy I have ever seen...also they feature the recorder in one song.

30. MIA – still to come

A sip of tea and all that it can encapsulate

Isn’t it amazing how a smell or taste can transport you? I was reading at my desk in my office today listening to Feist and Catpower. I had a cup of tea steeping beside me. I reached over to my big blue mug, the one that I have been a devoted slave to for the past mmm 3 years - Wow that is remarkable. I have used the same mug, basically daily, for almost 3 years.

Anyways, I reached over- cradling it like an extension of my own being, brought it to my mouth, allowed it to warm my hands and fill my my nose with its familiar floral scent.

When the Earl Grey hit my lips I was back at the Delta house, wrapped in a toga blank as I used to do as a result of the sub zero temperatures. I was wearing my slippers- of course, as well as my over sized sweatpants that were a gift from my Acadia Alumni friend Jenny. I was perched on one of the crappy and uncomfortable black chairs `borrowed` from SFU residence and I could see various brown tiles peeling off the floor.

The table before me was covered in whatever art project I had been toiling at for the past month that I couldn’t seem to motivate myself to finish. A notebook of Pia's sat attentively across from me with her unique and very recognisable writing style. Several old newspapers were strewn about open to pertinent articles about technology, language or Stephen Harpers latest abomination; also abandoned in the chaos is a random To Do List of Tracey’s which would always crack me up as they included items like “Eat Lunch” and “ass cream” the latter I would have snuck onto the list laughing at my own comic genius.

Tracey's computer proudly dominated some of the kitchen table real estate, along with random pantyhose, a crossword completed by multiple members, a dillion pens, burnt cds and other miscellaneous objects.

I think about who I was then. How I have changed. How we have all changed. I think about that life and the goodness it possessed, the richness of it all. The excitement, the parties, the mess, the ranty conversations, the boys, the neighbours, the deck, the ideas, the hangovers, the books, the fashion, the music, mostly just the experience of it all. It was a whirlwind and it played out in our kitchen.

I think of my life in the same way as the geological time periods. Each era has major players, defining characteristics and strengths and weaknesses. I find comfort in my own continuity, I reflect at my good fortune. I have always loved geology, something about how time and pressure can bend and fold that which appears to be unbendable and unfoldable. I embrace and acknowledge the times that were and look forward to the times that will be. It is dangerous to be caught in the past, and I try to ensure that I keep my eyes fixed forward but my brief trip back to the Delta house yeilded a pleasant moment of warm refelction; a celebration of open minds and adventurous spirits.

Dana's List of the best things in life....

It has taken me a considerable amount of time to compile this list. The entire experience was rewarding as it really forced me to acknowledge the things that I hold close to my heart, and gave me an opportunity to reflect on the person I am and what in life is truly important to me.


So here it goes...


Dana's List of the BEST things in life

Morning sunshine, pink painted toenails, cute undies – calling them undies. Retro bikes- and giving inanimate objects nicknames.

Black tea with a splash of milk after dinner. Fine tip markers that are good for colouring on things. The smell of rain on pavement in summertime.

Photosynthesis.

Bellybuttons. Clean sheets and shaved legs. Starry nights. Boys with backpacks full of gear. Spitting sunflower seeds while driving on a winding dirt road. When forest fires make the sun glow pink.

Apprehensive kisses. Music that encapsulates a moment. Wanton splatters of paint that you discover days later. Popcorn at the movies. Getting ready for dances in junior high.

Coffee and a good mug that you can wrap your hands around. Postcards. Cake for breakfast. Making crafts. Drive in movies. Pussy willows, stuffed animal wars, fern fights and tree houses - innocence.

Travel stink – and everything else that goes with traveling.

Used books and used book shop jungles. Tan skin and the smell of coconut lotion. Freckles. A cat’s attitude. Make-up as an art form. Gnarled trees and Brad’s enrapturing stories.

Aquamarine.

Playing Tag in the dusk until your mom calls you home. Crickets providing the soundtrack to the summer. The simplistic beauty of sea shells. The ugly factor of sturgeon. Fingers -especially my boney ones. Thinking about how mountains were formed.

Daydreams. Dancing at Honey. Falling asleep when the sun is already awake. Adrenaline. A gorgeous pair of high heels. Pushing a button (especially a red one) you don’t know the consequence of.

Capricious and impassioned singing in the car with the closest of friends.

Warm clothes out of the dryer. The fuzz on peaches. Campfires. The ambiance created by burning candles. Being the cause or catalyst of a beaming smile.

Secret languages between friends.

Thick, sweet smelling lotion. Reading on my front stoop-front stoops in general. Homemade salsa. The stamp on my forearm- evidence of last night’s debauchery that I forgot to scrub off before work.

Sleepovers.

Metaphors.

Red wine in a Bordeaux glass. A witty retort. Woolly slippers. My Granny's jewellery. Organic yoghurt that tastes like clouds. All encompassing hugs that melt worries. The excitement of talking to boys on the phone.

Jenn’s hair and how it’s always evolving. A boisterous card game that results in playful shouting and cursing. Long luxurious sleep-ins and a good morning stretch. The sound a pen makes when it scratches on paper.

Errant smiles tossed at strangers.

Curls as they crawl down a boy’s neck when his hair is getting a bit too long. Large glamorous sunglasses. Fervent and ranty conversations. Fuzzy caterpillars. People that work in coffee shops.

The feeling you get when you think you may be out of control running hard down a hill. Snuggling under a blanket. Watching the same movies repeatedly with your sisters.

Raucous laughter! -almost pee your pants laughter.

Treasures that cost a dollar. Polka dots. The way a summer dress can make you feel. Peeling a grapefruit, bugging Ben about his mom peeling his grapefruits. Documentaries.

Holding hands. Swirly doodles. The taste of the glue on stamps. TV theme songs from childhood. Birthday cards. Icing- especially when it is turned blue with food colouring. Bunny rabbits. Discussing life with my mother.

Passion.

Bum dimples. Dystopian novels. Nakedness. Smoke rings. Hosting and attending theme parties. Dressing up. A beautiful notebook. Silk scarves tied around necks. The boots I bought in Rome, the boots I couldn’t afford in Florence.

Short yet complex puzzles. Poetic lyrics that inspire. Smoothed blue or green glass you find on the beach. Burying my toes in warm sand. Watercolours. The dizzy euphoria created by the hooka.

Music in Tarantino movies. The Sexy Eyes. The sound shell earrings make when you sway. Brush strokes in impressionists paintings.

The smells of: freshly cut grass, coffee grounds, and cedar.

Friends that are life enduring. Being a big sister. Concert t-shirts and t-shirt irony. How, many years later, I still have all the lines to the movie Dazed and Confused memorized.

Being waterlogged from eating an entire watermelon.

History.

Gin and tonic extra lime. Anything really sour or really spicy. Reading the paper on a Saturday morning with coffee and friends. Visits to the hair dresser.

Private jokes. Live music. Aspirations.

Change.

James Joyce’s passage on snow falling in Dublin. Crossword solving with my roommate. Diction, especially the words: vermilion, papillon, effervescent, crux, intrepid, esoteric, liaison, bliss, rad, mirth, juxtapose....

Saying the same thing as someone else at the same time. Waking someone up with Butterfly Kisses.

The Unknown. The Known.

Misshapen chaos of well seeming forms. Fireworks. Original Nintendo. Lavender.
The rock star face.
Monkeys.
Looking someone deep in the eyes and trying hard not to be the first to look away.

Learning always learning. Chocolate. Fresh flowers. Precious moments captured on film. Mix tapes -even though they are on cd.

Whistling in songs. “That is what I hope I like I old.” A cosy cardigan. Silver rings with sparkly jewels. How sweat pools on my lower back in yoga.

The last sentence on the last page of a book.

Love, sweet love.

A Junktastic Response ~ By Bradley, (Friend/Curler)

Commercials, advertisements, and society in general are all aimed at glorifying "things" and selling them as "Things". That is the need to propel a product or an idea into such prominence in one's life, that being without, would be like being without a soul, or a sense of being. This tactic can be applied to anything from a Saturn minivan to an Egg McMuffin. Western culture's obsession with "things", limits the value held in contentious or pivotal issues (and dare I say, traditional values as well). Instead of wanting a healthy family, or a stable home life, we want an I-Pod. Instead of reading the newspaper, or even watching the news; we turn to magazines, gossip websites, and reality TV.

Is it that one is so scared of reality we try and escape into fantasy worlds? Or is a portion of the population simply oblivious to the changing dynamics and the impending horror of what the world is becoming?

The question of image is a tough "nut to crack". When it boils down to it, EVERYONE has an image. You have to choose something, or a smattering of somethings. People that try so hard to be "imageless" are the most obvious of all. The typical Commercial Drive hipster, who only wears hemp, composts in their bedroom, and hates anyone who wears a leather jacket or owns a TV, are the easiest to spot. I sometimes wonder if they think, "Who am I, and how did I assimilate into this culture of "poor aristocracy". Pointing your nose up at every person unlike you who walks the street is just as bad as rich people not bothering to communicate with the "commoners".

Don't get me wrong, I think it is completely okay to hate Wal-Mart, America, and Television, but is it NOT okay for people to actually like these things? One can try and hold up the ideals important to them, but why bash others for expressing what they like?

I have thought in the past that a certain group of people are just simply more aware of the plight of the universe, whereas others are completely oblivious. I sometimes envy the oblivious, however, WE ALL BUY INTO SOMETHING.

It is essentially about, us, as humans, in a rich country; trying to find the right (or maybe righteous) path, and being so fucking confused along the way.

The Western/First World "culture" disgusts me, but I would never want to experience third world hardships.

Why do we complain?

Sincerly,

A Consumer.

A Junktastic Ideology - Part 2

For most of us a “junktastic ideology” and a “product drunk culture” is not new and startling information. We all know our society is escalating out of control, sometimes it feels like preaching to the converted. But how converted are we? I know that I am guilty. I can still fall madly in love with a dress or a pair of shoes - inanimate things that should not have such power over me. I struggle to find ways to manage the clutter rather than downsizing it. I am selective in my efforts. What values am I espousing?

I turn my nose up at those that spend exorbitant amounts on labels for the enhancement of their cultural capital. No matter if your clothes are purchased at Holt or at Value Village we are all cultivating some sort of image when we dress in the mornings, no matter if you understand it or not what you put on speaks about your person. Just like the books you select to read, the films you chose to watch and the events you attend all weave together to form the image you wish to project.

It doesn’t matter if the things you chose to consume are highbrow or lowbrow you are still consuming- and that is what gets me.

Lately I find myself struggling with authenticity. I walk down the enlivened Commercial Drive which I have come to love for its chaotic communal atmosphere. I see a vibrant counter culture that celebrates an alternative and retro revival. I am not confident however that the mainstream fashion rejection is rooted in a vehement refusal of mainstream norms but rather that it is just another way to consume. The problem for me lies in the fact that the progressive lifestyle ideas are imbued with this fashion choice when in actuality the price tag on a vintage dress can be the equivalent of a new one. Somehow the alternative style has become intertwined with socially conscious humans and I think that this is a hugely flawed generalization. You would be hard pressed to find someone who will tell you that they buy vintage clothes because they are against the creation of more needless items – hence why Mintage sells both vintage and designer duds.

Am I the only one that finds it ironic that my street is called Commercial Drive? Just wondering?

The “Drive” is just a counter culture - a pretty good one at that, and hey we all must exist somewhere... but my problem is that we express ourselves by trashing mainstream culture; I know many of us are educated or in the process of becoming educated, socially aware, well-read and for the most part- financially overextended. What bothers me is the elitist views we take as though we have it all figured out and can chastise the rest of the world for their lifestyle choices. And yes, I know that I am the ringleader of the “I hate consumerism and mass culture Club”, so maybe this sour tang I find in my mouth is a result of my own inability to reconcile my beliefs and dislikes about our world knowing that it is not my place to judge.

Maybe I am just a hopeless hypocrite.

What I have always felt about consumerism is somewhat Orwellian, in that the Proles were distracted by the lottery, I feel like the masses are being duped by the needless pursuit of finery. I feel like instead of tackling the major problems in our world we are content to be distracted by material things and all I can say is thankfully we were born here because the other end of the spectrum is not faced with questions like dark or light denim but by much more meaningful and urgent things, like survival. Do we allow the system to continue because we are all waiting for our opportunity to ascend to the upper echelons -where we can exist in opulence or is it because we believe with the purchasing of one more hat or coat or plasma screen TV we will achieve contentment? When and how did we come to connect the pursuit of happiness with the pursuit of objects?

I guess within my own community I don’t like to see people falling into the same traps that they use on the masses, I guess I just expect more from us. I guess I had assumed that us auspicious ones would take our positive circumstances and use them for the betterment of human kind rather than celebrating our own good fortune. I guess I was naive- and now, I’m just disheartened.

So...Havana’s anyone? Pitcher of sangria on the patio- we can criticise what everyone else is wearing. I will be the girl toting a classic and pivotal piece of literature, a bag displaying the buttons from the bands and social movements I currently support, in a dress I bought up the road. I will laugh and joke with my friends and complain about all the things that are wrong with the world -but don’t worry I won’t mention my own inaction, I won’t face my own demons.... they are so last season.

A Junktastic Ideology - Part 1

I was reading a story on CBC today that caught my fancy - mostly because I consider myself to be somewhat of a "Thrift" shopper. The article, Worshipping at the altar of Cheap, by Heather Mallick, surrounds how our society has become obsessed with Cheap and how quantity has definately taken presidence over quality.

In Canada's cities, homeowners passively enriched by exploding house prices still go to Costco and Wal-Mart for bulk goods while complaining about property tax increases. They impoverish the lives of others, destroy local shops and live with housefuls of shoddy goods because they are worshipping that Canadian idol, the Cheap god.

And by the way, the problem isn't plastic bags. The problem is that plastic bags are free. If they cost $5 each, trust me, people would pull them out of tree branches and hoick them out of the mouths of poor strangling fish already marinated in mercury. They'd probably frame them.



Heather Mallick quoted a "product-drunk" culture and a "junktastic ideology" from Mark Mumford, who had much to say...

We are not the slightest bit trained to care about waste, excess, the mindless accumulation of needless things. The notion of simplifying, of saying no, of intentionally and mindfully choosing to keep ourselves free of all the superfluous crap that's hurled at us by a product-drunk culture is so far from our junktastic ideology it is, as evidenced by my cashier's baffled reaction, nearly unthinkable.

Free plane ticket! Free iPod! Free colonoscopy! Free tank of gas! Free extra set of cheap useless knives when you buy the two other sets of cheap useless knives! Free supersizing of your Coke! Free upgrade to premium membership when you commit to a 10-year contract! Pay no money whatsoever! Seriously! No money at all! All we ask in return: countless, endless chunks of your time, your brain, your intelligence, your health, your soul, your respect for nature, just a little bit of your ability to think and feel and care about the world. Come on now, is that too much to ask?


Link to the article: Totally Free! Click Here Now!

My thoughts on these articles are still being formulated....

Jesus is my homeboy

My friend wrote me an email with some questionable content and at the end of it she inserted: "I am going straight to Hell". I thought about our cavalier use of this phrase; however, collectively (I dare say), we believe that religious higher powers are as legitimate as the Ab Tronic 5000.

I wonder why it is that upon a morally questionable action or thought we always revert back to the old standby of damnation for eternity. Does this occur because from early on we are conditioned to equate this life’s no-nos with worse consequences in the supposed spiritual world? Reflecting further, does that mean that we are tenaciously clinging to a belief in hell because we so desperately want to believe that there is something more after our hearts stop pumping? And, because on some unconscious level we want some form of heaven to exist, if so facto we must believe in Hell? Or, is it just a moral pulse check, where we pause and evaluate our behaviour and deem it to be unsatisfactory against the go-to scale that Jesus, or God, or whoever, created; doing so without buying in to the superstitious mumbo jumbo?

Now that I have written a paragraph about religion every ounce of me is screaming to highlight and delete before some line is crossed. Although, I don’t really care about slighting someone’s beliefs; but rather, I feel ill informed on the subject as: A. I have never read the Bible and B. I stopped going to church as soon as it was no longer appropriate for me to make Jesus crafts in Sunday school.

Anyways, no matter if you believe or don’t, you really have to hand it to some of these quips for their staying power. It is certainly not uncommon in a moment of fury for the phrase, "What the Hell?" to escape my lips. This just a more imposing way of inquiring: "Why is this occurring?" Why does Hell carry such risqué innuendo?

Hell in a handbasket, does anyone know the origin to this phrase? I just looked it up – and actually: No, nobody knows. Where does one purchase this alleged handbasket? And, how does one travel to hell in it... it must be an awfully large basket, maybe it is one of those magical carpet bags like Mary Poppins totes -only made of asbestos so that it doesn’t burn up on contact in the fiery depths.

Why are we still using these phrases? Do they carry extra weight because they have a religious allusion and are therefore naughty? Or, have we become so flippant with these ideas that they have become devoid of meaning, such as the words gay and retard?

Religion has lodged itself in our everyday vernacular but is this symptomatic of the power it wields or the lack thereof?

I was thinking about Jesus the other day- how even if he did exist, how ridiculous it is to believe that he is some sort of deity, he is probably just some guy who was trying to get everyone to be nicer to each other. Actually, Erik Davis relates in the book, Techgnosis, that there were lots of guys spouting Jesus like material at that time... maybe he was just the one who hit it big. That's a pretty phenomenal idea, imagine if he was just some regular dude who wanted his voice heard and the message came out horribly warped like some perverse game of telephone.

You know the question: If you could have a conversation with one person living or dead, who would it be? Jesus would definately make my top 5.

Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.

"Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick. Don't lose faith. I'm convinced that the only thing that kept me going was that I loved what I did. You've got to find what you love. And that is as true for your work as it is for your lovers. Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don't settle."


This is the text of the Commencement address by Steve Jobs, delivered at Stanford University. Here is the link to the entire speach. Enjoy.

The new royalty has arrived

It starts. We are sitting on the edge of a media torrent that will parallel this spring’s Anna Nicole Smith debacle and we don’t even realise it. With Brad Pitt’s split from the almost perfect Jennifer Aniston and hook up with Do Gooder (therefore boring) Angelina Jolie, the throne of king and Queen of Hollywood has been abdicated. Luckily, the British X-popstar and handsome footballer have Touched down in LA to fill the bronzed god/anorexic and talentless celebrity void (this story was featured in the sports section on CBC this morning).

So be prepared for the onslaught of paparazzi stalking and aggravatingly banal coverage of their day to day lives, in all shitty dailies, and heinous entertainment programs. Don’t do it Rick the Temp, you used to be cool- am dating myself by alluding to the fact that I was around when Rick was just a temp at Much Music, before he got too old and had to take his black painted fingernails to Extra Canadian addition? (Shudder) Sidebar- I don’t have cable but with the assistance of bunny ears can receive 4 channels, I don’t understand how one of those terrible shows is always on, who is watching this crap? I can think of 1 million things I would rather do, including: testing all the shampoo in my shower to see which ones are actually tear free.

Anyways, back to Victoria Beckham or should I call her Posh Spice.... Duhh Dun Dhunnnn.... that's right my friends, most of us knew her as the “fashionable” aka least talented Spice Girl... Does anyone else find irony in the fact that she was supposed to be “posh” in a pop group that was manufactured; where, I am fairly certain, she didn’t get to make her own fashion choices? What really surprises me however, is that she has really stuck with it- if I was a not so integral part of a cultural phenomenon that had run its course, I would put as much distance between myself and that persona as possible; however, Posh took it the opposite direction and kicked it up about 8 notches. There is nothing that makes me more agitated than our society worshiping a celebrity that has absolutely no valid claim to fame (Paris Hilton). At least David Beckham has a skill -what is Victoria’s: sitting still for hair and makeup?

Am I the only one surprised at their move to LA? I would like to know the strategy behind this manoeuvre. I always thought that Britain had an elitist culture industry, isn’t Hollywood a step down?

Possible reasons for moving: Money? I can’t see it being that I’m sure they already swim in a pool of gold coins like Uncle Scrooge. Soccer? Why would you move from Europe where fans form gangs they are so obsessive to a country where nobody cares about your sport? So, by process of elimination the only other answer is: Prestige- if you can call having the minute details of your life snooped at by a population that believes CSI to be credible and UFC to be a sport. David and Victoria want to be the world’s hottest couple and they just can’t get there while trapped on that little island. Ouch England: do you realise how big a slight that is? I guess the sun does set on the English Empire after all.

So, I wonder how long until I barf a little in my own mouth as a result of the excessive media coverage- a few weeks, a month? I guess it isn’t all bad, I am sure we will all welcome the break from Lindsay Lohan’s party girl debauchery and Paris Hilton’s fatuous behaviour and vapid demeanour.

T-Shirts make me Happy

So yesterday I was reunited with my all time favourite T-shirt: the Matt Costa. I experienced a rush of euphoria as I held it up to myself and a flood of warm memories washed over me. In my elation I shouted down the hall at Ellisa, “Isn’t it so beautiful?” to which she replied, “It’s just a t-shirt”.

What is it about a good t-shirt?

I realised that I belong to a very small sect of society; some people love their lulu lemon, some love their hoodies, I love my t-shirts. And I am not alone; I know there are certain ones of you out there that can identify with me. I have run into such lovers over the years but this bond we share seems to be unspoken.

One such person is my childhood friend, Chris Boultbee - if you ever get the chance to meet this elusive character consider yourself to be among the privileged few. Boultbee is one of those people that enters your life and is truly an experience to meet even if it’s only a fleeting visit. Last summer, the Delta House was blessed by the Boultbee charm as he shocked Tracey’s Grandparents when he turned up on our deck (hair a mop of blond jejune curls and missing a tooth).

I remember us all hanging out as we would, for long hours on the deck, beyond the last burst of red as the sun sunk below the skyline. I remember the laughter, the stories, the cocktails, the Rolling Stones, mostly the times between friends. I also remember Boultbee, who has no permanent address, who likes wrestling with dogs and named his cat Trogdor, saying toTracey with 100% sincerity, “I like your t-shirt”. I never knew that Boultbee noticed things like fashion on girls and I still don’t think he does, rather I think that he can enjoy the simplicity of a good t-shirt. And it is a good one - her canary yellow Diet 7up t-shirt that she spent way too much on but has paid itself of exponentially- a true t-shirt lover knows it is always worth it.

My second story involves my friend Brett. I am unable to describe Brett in a few sentences so those that know him know his practicality and anal retentiveness in almost all areas of life. The t-shirt category is no different except that Brett refuses to wear t-shirts from stores. It must have been after grade twelve when Bretty graduated from the waffle shirt to the t-shirt, and we were all glad to see some sort of print on his muscular (haha) frame. The great aspect to his t-shirts is that they are usually found or stolen. When I think of Brett I can only picture him in one of 3 shirts, the Hog Farmer shirt which I think he stole from someone, the Lions Head shirt that he got from his local pub and his newest and heaviest in rotation: the Beaverdell shirt, which he traded the t-shirt of his back (belonging to our friend Cam) to a vagabond who likely hadn’t washed in weeks, mid bar. This is classic behaviour of a t-shirt lover, trading your friends t-shirt off your back for a good one that likely has its own ecosystem living in it.

I got to thinking about fashion and clothing and appearances and all that that entails. I thought about how when I see someone with a good t-shirt like: Wax on Wax off or Science Rules! it puts a smile on my face. I realised that to some it doesn’t matter what you display on your chest, but to others, your careful selection can mean an instant camaraderie (Example: the Unsolved Mysteries t-shirt from a few weeks ago and anyone wearing a CBC t-shirt). I used to have this little boy’s t-shirt that announced, “Free Hugs” it had a bear on it with outstretched arms, then I grew boobs and could no longer wear it, yet I still think about it and how it always got a reaction. First impressions matter, and the messages you wear do make an impact.

Oh the power of a clever tee!

So, to all of you that have never given it a thought, every time you put on an American Eagle shirt that boasts: "Costa Rica" remember that what you are wearing is delivering a message. Do you really want someone to ask you about your trip to Costa Rica and have to respond that you actually picked it up at the mall? Did Roxy or Quicksilver ever pay you to advertise for them? Don’t let them ride your coattails of coolness. Often the best t-shirts are found when scouring the dense underbrush of thrift stores. These gems were originally worn in a different capacity and take on new meaning a decade or so later... plus everything is exponentially cooler when it costs a dollar-that’s a fact, don’t argue it’s science.

Our society is superficial and we will always be judged, I implore you not to be defined by what you wear but rather define yourself in your own terms and dress accordingly. So, be clever, be original and have a goal of making someone smile.

Here is a site for the T-shirt lover. Threadless

Jack White is cool personified.

What is Black and White and Red all over?

So is it possible to have an equal crush on both Jack and Meg White? Because I seriously do. I thought I was more into Jack but then Meg got up to the mic and belted out In the Cold Cold Night, a throaty ballad and I was enraptured. (If you look up enraptured on dictionary.com the sample sentence is: We were enraptured by her singing. No Joke) She has this Deep South beauty to her, she reminds me of a magnolia with her creamy skin and careless dark tresses. I think what really intrigues me is how she exudes this sensation of cool complacence, a calm that has almost a peaceful effect- which is a strange juxtaposition at a concert with such energy.

And Jack. Wow. I think what truly gets me is passion; it doesn’t matter what it is, if you love doing it and do it with everything you have it drives me crazy. To see him toss an errant smile out into the crowd and stop mid-lyric just to say “Hey” to someone- you can tell he is loving it. To feel the energy of a true performer, who wants to be there more than you do, and who has the power to stir a mass in such a positive way is a rare experience. Actually being present for the riff from Seven Nation Army was an inexplicably monumental sensation. He is on another level, a level of genius; which he allows you a glimpse of, fleetingly, through his artistic creativity and vision.

The events that lead up to this phenom unfolded in a somewhat cosmic way. It was if they were strategically manoeuvred around the White Stripes.

Sunday morning: I am awoken by pounding rain on my window. All day the weather flirts with the possibility of clearing up but remains cantankerous.

Sunday afternoon: We depart for the concert armed with garbage bags as extra rain protection. By the time we reach the skytrian my shoes and jeans are already soaked from the torrential downpour. We are all grouchy… and doubting the worth of the concert in regards to our water laden trek. We arrive at Deer Lake Park, the line to enter the concert is all the way down to the road … we wait and wait … it rains and rains.

We are told that umbrellas are not permitted in the venue and must be left outside. Someone has abandoned their umbrella in the crotch of a very moist and gnarled tree. Tracey and I decide to wedge her umbrella as well as another that we find into various cavities, creating a real life Umbrella Tree.

After an hour and a half we gain entry. The clouds crack open and roll away; the sun, held at a distance all day, makes a much appreciated appearance. There is an air of tension hanging over the concert grounds, it feels like the buzz of electricity - but sans electricity, the buzz is being created by fervent people.

Despite the rain people have come in White Stripes appropriate dress, including men’s red western wear complete with white tassel fringe and girls in big floppy red and white sun hats. I am disappointed that I dressed for rain instead of coolness…. I did roll with red and white papers however.

So Jack and Meg appear and the crowd immediately compresses into about half the size and cacophonous cheering erupts from everywhere. The intensity level is apparent right from the start and our soggy feet are a distant memory. Icky Thump comes up and the crowd goes crazy for it and Jack is loving the reaction. My friend leans over to me and says, “This is already worth it and it is only the third song!” The crowd is regaled by the line up both new and old. Jolene is sung with such tortured intensity, I am sure Dolly would be proud; and from the new album, I’m Slowly Turning into You demanded veneration. Hotel Yorba is fun and playful and on numerous occasions we take part in massive sing-a-longs.

As each songs ends we stand posed like children, waiting, eyes wide and attention focused on what’s coming next. It is not just about the music, it is also about the spectacle. Every detail contributes to the story; every element builds towards the White Stripes experience. The duo performed in front of an ardent red wall and as the night progresses their daunting black shadows were cast upon it. Their pseudo brother/sister relationship left spectators pondering, especially as Jack lovingly glances towards Meg and sings to her throughout the concert. We are allowed a glimpse of the rocker world when the lights directed over the crowd are switched on bathing us in a hot red glow. It is almost like we are in a time warp, but what era I can’t pin down.

They end and it feels like they have just started, I am not sure if this is some weird aspect of the show or if they are actually done. The masses holler and cheer for their return, and our wishes are granted. They launch into Seven Nation Army which brings new life to the already epic concert.

Jack White is cool personified.

The climax, for me, was when I was pleasantly blind sighted by We’re Going To Be Friends. I felt like I was about four years old and had been wrapped up in a blanket made of sunshine and love. Is that possible? How can you make another human being feel that way through music? It was the most pure and innocent … winsome even, musical moment of my life. So, for that especially I thank the White Stripes, what an incredible show. I feel so fortunate to have witnessed another’s genius and been moved accordingly. I am so happy that Vancouver was the first stop of the tour, having no knowledge of what was coming made it all the more intense.

What Does Green Really Mean?

What does Green really mean? Our country cheered as the recently dubbed, "Green Giant" Arnold Schwarzenegger, took a trek across Canada last week. I was appalled that we, as Canadians, were ecstatic when faced with the opportunity to hobnob with a true celebrity. The Terminator comes to town and we are reduced to screaming teenage girls watching the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan show.

I expected more from Canada- why are we perpetuating this America's lapdog behaviour? Our relationship is reminiscent of a shotgun toting hick who returns from the town bar, highly inebriated who boots his dog as it greets him, tail-wagging at the door. My point is that Arnold's visit was the top news story each day last week as he worked his way across this country. This is a man who frequently uses, "I'll Be Back" in his political addresses I'm sorry but are we living in a futuristic movie where robots have taken over?... because I am starting to believe this is a reality that I can more easily accept. Movie cliché's have no place in politics; this is real life, we are real people and have real problems. It is not time for make-believe.

Or is it?

"Technology will save us." This statement became his visit's second contentious issue for me. Technology will save us - because in practice this solution has been working really well. Isn't the very problem he is fighting a result of technology? If technology were so all-powerful wouldn't there be solutions to global problems such as World Hunger and Cancer? We have been pumping money into them for an awfully long time. This attitude reads like a copout answer from someone who is wearing the green suit but not willing to live the green lifestyle. We should be demanding more from our representatives, and shaming Arnold for his poor behaviour - not championing the few things he gets right. California is a contender for the worst air quality in North America, meaning Arnold is doing precisely what he has been elected to do. We don't pat the mail man on the ass every morning when he gets the letter in the right slot.

The third thing that caught my interest was the questions posed to the "Green" California Governor about his collection of Hummers. Now, I know that California has a large amount of rugged terrain and enemy insurgence so a Hummer is a necessity, but five Hummers? Yes, I heard you when you said that one of them runs on biofuel and smells like French fries (are you allowed to call them "French" fries again?) and that two others are also energy efficient, but five Hummers!? You have been making valiant efforts to clean up the air but what about keeping garbage out if the landfills? I am no expert, but I am fairly certain that needless consumption is not environmentally friendly.

Arnold: What kind of message do you think this conspicuous consumption is sending to the people of California?

You have gained this highly influential position it is your responsibility to set a good example for the nation to follow. If the environmental problems we face were encapsulated in a box of Smarties, then only solving the problem of emissions is like tossing out all the green ones, which comprise only one eighth of the crisis. I am not saying that what he is doing is not a good thing, but rather that reducing emissions alone is not enough, and I am sure he has a team of advisors that have told him that.

His disregard for sustainable living causes me to wonder if he is actually interested in the environment or if this is just a sensational way to get his already famous name back in lights. If you are not willing to give up your vehicle, which serves no purpose other than to solidify your image, you are not dedicated to the cause and you do not deserve praise, nor a snappy nickname.

So, my fellow Canadians: Do not accept his half-assed measures. We are more than that and should be demanding more. Let the politicians schmooze and drool over him. That is their job.
Our job is to keep them in check- making him feel loved will certainly not bring about the necessary actions for a more sustainable planet. I urge you all to look deep inside yourselves, before it is too late, and ask, "What Would David Suzuki Do?"

So, I decided to look up some great Arnold clips and I managed to find this nice compilation of his accomplishments. Also, I came upon this collection of some dudes Favourite Movie Quotes. I am also including this comment from DoctorMeatDic who reviewed it: " These are the shittest movie quotes of all time. You haven't a clue, you fucking clown."

I thought that was a little harsh. But I love "clown" as a mock, it reminds me of Bretty.

Ode to the Weekend of DANGE

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The 'Weekend of DANGE' was as epic as the 'Summer of Love'... well if you factor in time compression and number of people affected.


I must say this about Ange and Dan- these two are a 'no holds barred' kinda couple. Often times in a relationship, in various situations, partners will slide into roles...for example: taking turns partying. When you go out drinking or partying with a boyfriend or girlfriend there is an unwritten rule that one of you should stay lucid enough to ensure that you both get home. (When you are single this is not an issue as you don't worry about getting home -Sidebar: this is way more fun). So anyways, back to Ange and Dan... so if you have a couple that both really likes to party it can be a contentious issue as to who will board the train to total inebriation, loss of bodily functions and brain activity...and sometimes, it is simply a race to see who can get there first and the loser has to back down and buck up.
In the case of the ‘DANGE’ these rules do not apply. There is no backing down. That's what I love about them. They will both go out as hard as humanly possible, and if we are really lucky we may be party to a little team barfing...


Friday Night: Honey
Song of the evening: Wolf Like Me - TV on the Radio.

The only down point in the night was the early departure of the weekend's stars as Dan decided to pound drinks immediately upon arrival could no longer feel feelings nor remain standing. It is really incredible to watch a person's transition from good times to completely inebriated as if a switch has been thrown.
The weekend’s fun didn’t end with threatening comments such as, “We are not here to make friends Ange” –Daniel Webber; nor did it end with a dirty sock assault - Ange Feehan. These two rallied and the second night was as epic as the first.


The Royal Unicorn Cabaret –a setting out of a Quinton Tarrentino film and appropriately the new Saturday night scene of choice was less full than usual as most of the hipsters and scenesters were at the Girl Talk Show. The early closing time of the Unicorn -a definite negative factor, lead us to find a worthy after party. Tracey and I were both minus an earring from the raucous dance party but we were all game for an adventure. Our crew embarked on a somewhat sketchy trek down Hastings Street in search of a cab that would take all five of us. After a bit of a debacle at Hastings and Main, involving myself, Bradley and a lucky homeless person we found a taxi and were on our way.


The after party was pretty cool. Recipe for success: A big empty room, a rad DJ, and lots of fucked-up people. Fashion highlight of the evening was Tracey’s new friend Nick, who was sporting an ‘Unsolved Mysteries’ t-shirt.


The party was only starting to get going when Vancouver’s finest decided that the time for illegal night activities was over and flashlights in hand funnelled us to the exits. We milled about outside in a vain attempt to find another party but nothing seemed to materialize. We did bump into Alan Cumming, guy from Spiderman (I can see why he plays rather dark roles as he is just plain eerie). The Dange had had enough by this point and were wisked away by the number 20, whilst Brad, Trace and I decided to join some people we met on the street and go to an after after party in Yaletown. The after after party was another unique experience and by this time it must have been around 4 am. I must say that the best part of the after after party was when Bradley and I shared a dance to Spoon. Have I mentioned that I am in love with Brad and Spoon- because I totally am.


When we got back to our place at 530, knowing that we had to take the Dange to the airport at 630 we decided to stay up, have a hooka and create a cd of night inspired songs for the drive. We were pleasantly surprised to find Ben asleep on the couch when we returned to my place and he was game to have an early morning hang out with us.

So that pretty much sums up the weekend of the Dange.
What fun!

"I can be moving or I can be still, but still is still moving to me"

This morning I was confronted with the words of Jello Biafra, of the Dead Kennedys... which I am sure have a deeper origin; however, I am unconcerned with the origin, but rather it is the content of the phrase that struck me.

I have been struggling with the concept of Stillness lately. It seems that I am always rushing. Everywhere I go and everything I do seems to have a time and date stamp on it, and I am not one of those people who have to be constantly busy booking multiple appointments in a day and accepting every invitation. I take pleasure in sitting and reading a book, sipping a cup of coffee, or basking in the sunshine. I wonder when it was, that we as a society, stopped working to live and started living to work. Who likes their job, really? Doesn't everyone complain? Why is it that we rush, rush, rush each morning, allow ourselves to be held hostage for eight hours at a time and nobody sees the crime in this? How has this become the norm?

When I was in Spain last fall I was poking around a little shop looking for the perfect Spanish silver ring when this little old lady approached me and uttered in her broken English, "Closed, siesta" – here is a culture that has their priorities straight. She asked me, a potential paying customer, to leave her store as it was time for a nap. Can you imagine? This sort of mentality would never fly in the "No rest zone" of North America. Also, customer service was non-existent as everyone hated their job, they didn't paint on that shellacked plastic smile, or utilize the fake phone voice. I loved it; I revelled in the disdain for work, and praised them for their appreciation of leisure time.

I think that we have conditioned ourselves to be continually switched on. I come home from work where I exist all day as my alter ego: pleasant, polite, proper, and any other positive adjectives you can think of. I then ride home on a packed bus and am forced to listen to 9 different cell phone conversations and the same amount of different music blasting from peoples shoddy personal music devises, creating a cacophony of noise, which, in the best situation, is offensive to the ears. We have become programmed for continual distraction, so much so that we don’t know what to do with ourselves when not being berated by oral and visual assault. What happened to decompressing after a day at work, what happened to quiet reflection?

Noise is everywhere around us, it is so all encompassing that silence has almost become unnerving. And how about the art of conversation, where did it run off to? We have traded in small talk for oral abuse, I realise that chatting with a complete stranger is unappealing to some, but are we not taking it too far? This is reinforcing our individualistic and solitary society that depends on personal technological devises to keep each other at a distance- to avoid any form of communal atmosphere.

When I get home and am alone the very first thing I do is to put on some music. Is this because of a deep love for music- Yes- but perhaps it is also that I am unaccustomed to the buzz of electricity, and being alone with only my thoughts as companions is unsettling. Or, maybe it just sets the mood or tone of my atmosphere; do I have a desire to have a soundtrack set to my life, with various music to define my capricious whims? Perhaps it runs deeper than that, perhaps the passion and emotion contained within music is what we crave from each other and as we become more solitary we search for other means of attaining these sentiments. My roommate recounted a podcast that stated that people complain that life is rushing past us and that they cannot keep up, but is not life that is doing the rushing, rather it is us that cannot take the time to stop, reflect, listen and just plain exist. We all need to step away from the extraneous factors of this society, take some time, and search inwardly, do some personal reflection and ensure that our actions and aspirations are aligned.

So, in this sense, I do believe, that to attain something as precious and rare as Stillness would be undeniably moving.

How Drinking Games are Philosophical

Friends are like no other; you can never replicate the dynamic of chillin' in a small group with people that you have developed a deep camaraderie with, and know a detailed history of.

I love hanging out with just the girls, especially the ones that I know, and know me, inside and out. So, last night we were playing Kings, because I am 24 years old and I still enjoy a good drinking game – by the way I am proud of this fact. Anyways, clearly after about 7 years of kings we are forced to become more inventive, including inserting such rules as: The Dictionary Card, where you must pick a word and read three definitions and the other participants must guess the correct meaning (Hanging out with me is a real barrel of monkeys let me tell you)....by the way it is considerably more difficult when you have been drinking excessively. I pulled a card that demanded that I share a fantasy-the stipulation on the card was that it could be any form of fantasy, not necessarily a sexy fantasy.

So, I told the girls about a book I read not long ago about a nomadic group of cave men called "The Clan of the Cave Bear”. In this book the society of “The Clan” was very complicated and developed; they had a hierarchy, defined gender roles, deities, and established traditions that doubled as their means of survival. The Clan was forced to leave their cave when an earthquake ripped open the land. In their search for a new cave they found a girl from another more evolved species, who was victim of the quake, helpless and alone. The Clan decided to rescue her and tried to assimilate her into their culture. Physically she looked different, but more significantly her brain was more advanced and was able to make more connections ...so mentally she was more evolved than them.

She struggled and struggled to fit into their way of life but could not because of an ability to understand concepts on a different level which left rifts between her and the others. Another result of the evolution was the urge for her to do things that were outside her gender role or even outside the confines of the species. These behaviours and thoughts shook the Clan to the core as they were beyond their ability to understand and conceive.

So, my friend Ange asked me what I was really talking about and I my response was that these people, cavemen, neanderthals whatever we want to call them, were so certain in their society. The things were the way they were and had been for as long as they knew. They didn't question the reasoning behind the values but just trusted them blindly. Taking the knowledge that science has bestowed upon our own society we can see where their conventions were false -and these are things that are foundational to them as a people - it would be like us finding out that gravity isn't gravity at all but can be explained by some completely different aspect that was previously outside our conceivability; knowledge that would rock any civilization.

This has caused me to wonder how much of the society we exist within is ideology and how much is actuality – if indeed anything exists in actuality. It wasn’t that many years ago that we believed in bleeding people to rid sickness or that diseases were caused by bad spirits. I am uncertain about what is true and what I perceive to be true because I have been conditioned to do so. I don’t mean to be a spoiler but in the end of the novel the medicine man of the Clan of the Cave Bear comes to understand that this girl is the future and that the ways of the Clan are obsolete and the end of their society is drawing to a close. I truly wonder if and when we will ever reach that tipping point within our own society, after all, compared to the age of the earth us humans do not even register as a blip. How can we live with such an arrogant outlook and reap such domination over the land- confident in the ideology that we are the masters?

OSCULATE

os•cu•late

ˈɒs kyəˌleɪt - [os-kyuh-leyt]

Pronunciation Key - verb, -lat•ed, -lat•ing. –verb (used without object)

1. to come into close contact or union.
2. Geometry. (of a curve) to touch another curve or another part of the same curve so as to have the same tangent and curvature at the point of contact. –verb (used with object)
3. to bring into close contact or union.
4. Geometry. (of a curve) to touch (another curve or another part of the same curve) in osculation.
5. to kiss.

I am not cut out for an office. I cannot sit in my chair properly. I remove my shoes immediately and have to sit cross legged. I am certain that the others think I am weird. Am I the only one? All I do is listen to music, drink coffee and look up good words on dictionary.com, which I don’t even think is a very scrupulous site. (yes scrupulous was a product of the thesaurus) Anyways, I am reviving the word osculate because of a confusion with a roommate who titled a mix cd Oscillate Gloriously... which means move or sway; but, I had interpreted it as osculate- to kiss... gloriously. Although, I am not certain how to kiss gloriously....I guess the rush you encounter could be considered glorious, the surging sensation of lowering your barriers and connecting with another human being in an intimate capacity. Grazing their lips with your lips, teasing each other with a playful tongue, a gentle nip. I am not going to lie, I like to kiss, and gloriously sounds like a good way of doing it.
I did find this interesting article on the CBC, On Kissing, that relates that, "On average, a woman kisses 79 men before finding a husband". Kiss on sisters!