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Nov. 22nd, 2009 @ 07:37 pm
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For someone who is uncomfortable wearing logos, I am really into consumption. Consumption of food, anyway.
I've decided that I really like food.
Persimmons, pomegranates, goat cheese, anchovies, prosciutto, salami, parmesano reggiano, avocados, really dark chocolate, dried cherries, roasted peppers.
Foie gras, creme brulee, smoked salmon.
Fresh bread.
And having a well-stocked cupboard fills me with warm serenity. I'm a squirrel at heart.
Does this make me a glutton? I eat socially; I'm not a closet devourer. I throw dinner parties! And salons! (Although, just between you and me, we are thinking of changing them to colloquies because people keep making dumb jokes about hair.) |
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Oct. 8th, 2009 @ 08:09 pm
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Me: Can we make out tomorrow?
Megan: Of course. There will be so much making out. There will be so much making out that the making out police will come, but we won't be able to answer the door because we'll be so busy making out. |
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I am not speaking to history. Fuck this shit. I don't want to be a lawyer. I don't want to be one of those concert pianist balleria AIDS activist straight-A student football playing babykissing student council president writer community organizers. I haven't singlehandedly raised money for a new MRI machine or worked in Ghana or learned six new languages or or or or. I am rebelling. My rebellion is apathy. Not apathy. Enjoyment. Quiet. That should be the counterculture of the overscheduled Accutane swimming practice orthodontics suburban kids. A refusal to play the law school med school grad school sell yourself as hard as you can game. They expect us to care so much. To be the bright young stars of tomorrow, the leaders, the next generation onward and upward. Is it any wonder that we care so little? Do so little? We fight back. We are contrary. We do the things we aren't supposed to. But we are supposed to be successful. Here is the real trap of bleeding-heart liberal multiple-intelligences everyone's-a-winner. Every possible way to be successful in our feel-good postracial postindustrial postmodern society is valued. Is cossetted. Well, what if a reasonably freethinking young person wants to escape this system? The Man owns the avenues of escape. Rebellion is commodified. Diversity is institutionalized. The only way to not play the success game is not to be successful. Period. There can be no "success on your own terms" because people are okay with success on your own terms. They call it entrepreneurialism. So let's be failures. The only way out is down.
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Sep. 28th, 2009 @ 06:09 pm
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This is good. School is good.
Cultivating relationships with professors, taking difficult and interesting classes, keeping basically on top of my reading,
I wake up every morning and do a little squirm of joy that I am not stage managing.
I haven't even been shut out of the costume shop. Not yet, anyway. Maybe next year.
The self-righteous martyr attitude is starting to get to me. The "well, I'm in drama even though I know I'm not going to make any money. My dedication and talent and general self-worth is so much more than yours because I am sacrificing my future stability! My motivation is love, which is eight million times more pure than yours" attitude. So I've started responding with the "drama is limiting/anti-intellectual/watered-down pap for people who can't read and write" attitude. Neither of which are actually true, but that's what belligerent poses are all about.
Also, I'm an Ontario Young Liberal now. that's nice too. I haven't had to do anything more than shake hands and drink. I thought that the perks would need to be earned. Maybe some hard work first? Apparently not.
I need to be more interesting. All I talk about is school and the theatre. I'm not thinking big thoughts because I'm concentrating on learning other people's big thoughts. This makes me boring. |
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Sep. 16th, 2009 @ 09:57 am
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I just composed a four-sentence email to you-know-who in less than five minutes.
This is the beginning of a grown-up, responsible friendship.
So there.
...different you-know-who, by the way. Not the same you-know-who that will probably never return my most treasured book.
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| » Small hints that twelve hours of fanfic on Sunday was a bad idea |
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My inner monologue on Monday:
Oh man, I shouldn't have read so much fanfic yesterday; I'm so behind on my work.
I can't start off behind, that's really bad!
I need to be completely on top of my work to get a good start this year.
I will be on top of my work. I'm determined, I can do it!
I am going to be so on top of my work that it's going to be all like "baby, take me now" and I'm going to be like "way ahead of you, bitches."
...shit. I really shouldn't have read so much fic.
How can I package this to go on LJ?
Sep. 15th, 2009 @ 05:08 pm
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| » (No Subject) |
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No, of course I'm not going to get my copy of American Gods back. It's gone to San Francisco. Along with a painful amount of my dignity.
Note to self: plan schemes more carefully in the future.
I guess a paperback is a small price to pay for the privilege of never having to see him again.
But still. I loved that book.
Aug. 31st, 2009 @ 05:50 pm
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| » all is gold that glitters for the glitter is the gold |
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Best day ever.
Me: I have too many pillows.
Mom: Well, you're the pillow queen
Me: *explains what a pillow queen is*
Megan: '*something technical about cosmos hybrids*
Me: Yeah, she's a breeder.
Megan: You're a half-breeder.
Megan and I: *explain to my mother what a breeder is*
Aug. 14th, 2009 @ 11:32 pm
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"What do you want to do when you grow up?"
Other people want to be firefighters or astronauts or investment bankers.
I just want to be well-read and intelligent.
Aug. 9th, 2009 @ 10:26 pm
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| » (No Subject) |
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"Kissing you with my nose stuffed up is like do-it-yourself breathplay."
-???
Jul. 1st, 2009 @ 07:26 pm
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I imagine that the only thing sadder than getting the oxygen tank and hospital bed is giving them back.
We took the bed apart yesterday and untaped the tubing from the doorframes.
Today we tidied the house for the viewing.
We are making the program for the funeral mass, renting chairs, ordering food, buying black outfits, hanging pictures, doing laundry, last-minute gardening. Phones, emails, international flights. We will run out of work to bury ourselves in.
There is a hole in our family. A 55 year-old widow.
Jun. 22nd, 2009 @ 06:33 pm
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| » (No Subject) |
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A Short List of my California Adventures
Flew by myself for the first time.
Sent my first text message.
Had a free lunch at a cafeteria at Google. They actually call the campus the Googleplex.
Walked through the fancy subdivisions in San Carlo.
Went to a jazz concert in wine country.
Had my first In-n-Out experience. It was like McDonalds, but fluffier.
Breakfasted on three quarters of a pound of prosciutto.
Saw a hipster restaurant with a sign-up sheet outside. That served the dual purpose of getting in line for a table and making sure that everyone else sees how cool you are.
Almost got run over by a fire truck.
Walked up Haight to Ashbury. The actual intersection is full of tourist crap, but the rest was authentically hippie.
Bought a really funny book at one of the anarchist bookshops on Haight.
Went to see a simulcast of Tosca at the ballpark. There were 15,000 people watching the opera.
Went to a genuine San Francisco costume party/house rave. There was a Pokemon, a Teletubbie and lots of pot.
Walked barefoot on the beach under the full moon.
Went to an alcohol-fuelled street festival. It wasn't any different than any other city's street festivals, I think.
Went over the Golden Gate bridge a few times and stared rapturously at everything.
Went to a crab bake and played Taboo for three hours.
Jun. 7th, 2009 @ 02:36 am
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| » (No Subject) |
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I may have just read the best fic of my life. It was an RPS AU with Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles.
Who are these people? Is it still RPS if I have no idea who they are?
May. 27th, 2009 @ 01:45 pm
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| » You can't tell time, you're a zebra. |
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I visited the Gomes family for the first time in five years on the weekend.
The girls are tall and beautiful. The mother is radically slimmer and beautiful. The father is the same, just with more grey in his hair and a job at a different software company. They're a real immigrant success story. The children play the piano and go to karate lessons and do housework and are obedient Pakistani daughters with the outward confidence of Westerners (No, this isn't a contradiction).
Is that why my grandma grandpa aunts uncles and every single one of the cousins either has a degree or is working towards one? Is it because we are immigrants? I never thought of us as immigrants, not really. We don't speak any other language or even with any real accent (except for some residual Britishness when the grown-ups get together). We are an academic family.Higher education is an expectation. I think that hardworking immigrant syndrome only comes when you define yourself in opposition to the dominant culture. Mrs. Gomes knows that she holds her children to a higher standard. "White people" and "in this country" and instances of general superiority pepper her speech.
Us? I forget that I am not white until someone reminds me.
Thoughts?
May. 12th, 2009 @ 12:17 am
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| » The darkness is starving. It's eating the rocks. |
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Today we studied the difference between wanting to be and wanting to be with. Just another step in the plan to get rid of these stupid adolescent crushes. The "aww, he ain't worth my time" method has also been used.
After all, I am too old for this shit.
I am now a waitress-in-training at Sushi Kui in the St. Andrew's plaza. Next step is to learn how to pronounce the restaurant's name.
And my brother is a class-skipping pot-smoking hooligan. With class-skipping pot-smoking hooligan friends. No change on that front.
May. 5th, 2009 @ 07:55 pm
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| » Nay! These are the marks of love! |
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I can't be twenty. I don't know anything.
I can't be twenty. I still have too much teenage angst.
I am twenty years old and my life is not perfect yet. What's the hold-up?
Apr. 21st, 2009 @ 12:44 am
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I just bombed the shit out of Native Lit, but I am trying really hard not to care.
After all, I just got back from delirious fun with my cousins.
We played spoons and hid the spoons in Nigel's clothing because he fell asleep. We played sandman in a playground downtown and narrowly avoided blindly groping the toddlers. We invented a new version of hanky panky and rolled Sonja in the carpet when we were done. We ate tons of food at home, ate South Indian and went on a lassi crawl on Gerrard, sang karaoke in a private room, played four games of mafia in one night, got yelled at real bad by grandma, went all mushy over the newest cousin, had a freezing cold photo shoot by the lake and made plans to meet up and do it all again in San Francisco.
I feel most like myself when I'm with my cousins. I think it has to do with the torrential outpouring of unconditional love. Aunts and uncles are swayed by politics. Grandma is kind of grumpy at four in the morning. But cousins are forever.
There's just something about so many people having such unshakeable faith in you. Like you can do anything. One of us (them?) is an illegal alien in Florida. One just got into Wharton for his MBA, one is going to learn French in Montreal, one teaches high school physics online, one just got her high school diploma, one is failing grade nine math, etc. There is such a richness of stories.
Apr. 15th, 2009 @ 01:39 am
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| » Tybalt, you ratcatcher! Will you walk? |
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Just in case you people on Megan's flist think our relationship is crumbling, I need to tell you that I have a sushi date with Mr. Unsecret himself. Today. At one. I think I need some tranquilizers.
So we're fine.
Just so you know.
Apr. 6th, 2009 @ 10:07 am
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| » Nothing is impossible, you'll find / within the zone of the unconscious mind. |
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My house is shaking.
With the mysterious two week-long excavation project next door and the heavy construction equipment that just went down the street, I'm kind of worried.
Yesterday, my Unsecret Crush was really affectionate and sweet and saying that he'd miss me when he graduated and we should hang out after we go back home. It was beautiful.
Then I found out that his alcohol tolerance is almost as bad as Megan's.
He could barely walk to the party.
An extension on a paper is not a simple "whatever, I don't care when you hand it in". It's an "I care enough about you to give you another chance. I know that you can do better." I just need to work on the "doing better" bit.
Here is what happened in Topics in the Apocalypse yesterday.
Kyle: So, I'll pretend like I have a nosebleed and you're helping me. We can get our stuff at the end of class.
Helena: Genius! Wait, Narbonne's coming! Ssh!
Narbonne: So, Helena. Are you doing a study group for this class?
Helena: ...erk. Yes?
Narbonne: Do you mind opening it up to the rest of the class?
Helena: *in her head* Of course I fucking mind! I hate stupid people in my study groups! I almost killed two girls for being stupid, you know. I'm pretty sure one of them cried, at least.
Helena: *in real life*: Well, I'm really mean. I yell at people a lot.
Narbonne: That's fine. Class, Helena is holding a study group!
So he suckered me into teaching the last twelve weeks to a bunch of snot-nosed slackers.
Eff.
This show is the best one yet. The actors are all lovely, the people backstage are mostly lovely and the production itself is lovely. This one is my favourite. I feel like it's my reward for spending 600 hours in the theatre this year. And an enticement to spend another 600 next year.
Mar. 27th, 2009 @ 03:20 pm
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| » (No Subject) |
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Beth: Yeah, so I used to be blonde.
Helena: ! You have two choices. "Goldilocks" or "sugartits".
Beth: How about I shove your computer so far up your butt it prints through your mouth?
Helena: Uh-oh, you go to the gym, so I better watch out.
Stratford doesn't want me and the teaching in Italy thing won't place me with Windsor people. So... who knows about a (good) job in Aurora/Newmarket/Richmond Hill/downtown? Vaughan might even permissible, even though it's the ugliest and worst planned township in the history of humanity.
Bar none.
Mar. 17th, 2009 @ 10:57 pm
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