A very warm congratulations to my beautiful friend Aly and her very lucky new husband on their nuptials! The trip to Halifax may have left me a little worse for wear - what can I say, I found myself overwhelmed and, accordingly, over-imbibed - but I could not have been happier to have made the trip.
I got to see my brilliant life-role-model, Kathy, who, finishing her third year of law school, is a shining example of someone who I hope I can come even close to emulating. I also spent so much of my weekend with the amazing and kind Genny, who always overwhelms me with her consideration, hospitality and hilarity. I wish I could have spent so much more time with them, but alas, all three of us are in professional school (Genny is on her way to being the most kick-ass nurse) and therefore time is not something any of us have.
And Aly. Holy smokes. I knew I wouldn't get to see much of her this weekend, aside from staring adoringly at her in her happiness and her dress (which was stunning!). The weekend made me very excited that she and Mr Aly will be my relative neighbours here in Toronto in not too long.
I have some truly amazing and lovely friends.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Grown Ass Woman?
The facebook status of a friend of mine recently read:
Hilarious, right? But also, this reminded me of my deeply held opinion that you are what you eat. Not quite as literally as my friend, but just that what you eat says a lot about you. But what it says about you may be just as irrational as the literal "I am spicy lentil soup."
Illustration: I am of the opinion that grown ass women should eat salad. Well, more accurately, I think that society expects grown women to eat salad. Ok, ok, lets refine this even more: society holds that grown women should want to eat salad.
I don't know that on any criteria - external to the eating of salad - that I qualify as much more than a conspicuously old, large child. I spilled lunch all over myself today, for instance. Pure toddler move. However, if I did, on some narrowly defined and strictly age-based definition of "grown," qualify as a "grown woman," on the matter of salad I would undoubtedly fail. I occasionally eat salad, yes. And I want me to want to eat salad. But do I get out of a stressful class and think "I really just need a kick-ass salad right now"? No. "I really need a muffin," maybe, or, more likely, "I really need a drink" sooner come to mind. I need mashed potatoes or peanut butter cookies. I do not psychologically need romaine.
I see girls bring sliced, raw vegetables - the to-go salad, if you will - to class as a snack, and it makes me feel ashamed that not only do I not have sliced veggies of my own with which to flaunt my mature femininity with, but I don't even want to eat sliced veggies. I want sliced veggies only insofar as I want to give the entirely false impression that I enjoy eating barren cucumber slices and carrot sticks. I want the status of vegetables.
Furthermore, when I do try to eat salad the delicate grace expected of, not just grown women, but functional adults, eludes me, and I end up with obscene mouthfuls that my lips can't quite entirely conceal. Or I end up wearing it, as per my lunch today. Trying to ensure the proper ratio of delicious salad elements in a manageable bite is quite outside my wheelhouse, it would seem.
So I add this to the ever growing list of reasons I am not a grown up. Salad.
You are what you eat. That's funny, I don't remember eating a fucking legend.
Hilarious, right? But also, this reminded me of my deeply held opinion that you are what you eat. Not quite as literally as my friend, but just that what you eat says a lot about you. But what it says about you may be just as irrational as the literal "I am spicy lentil soup."
Illustration: I am of the opinion that grown ass women should eat salad. Well, more accurately, I think that society expects grown women to eat salad. Ok, ok, lets refine this even more: society holds that grown women should want to eat salad.
I don't know that on any criteria - external to the eating of salad - that I qualify as much more than a conspicuously old, large child. I spilled lunch all over myself today, for instance. Pure toddler move. However, if I did, on some narrowly defined and strictly age-based definition of "grown," qualify as a "grown woman," on the matter of salad I would undoubtedly fail. I occasionally eat salad, yes. And I want me to want to eat salad. But do I get out of a stressful class and think "I really just need a kick-ass salad right now"? No. "I really need a muffin," maybe, or, more likely, "I really need a drink" sooner come to mind. I need mashed potatoes or peanut butter cookies. I do not psychologically need romaine.
I see girls bring sliced, raw vegetables - the to-go salad, if you will - to class as a snack, and it makes me feel ashamed that not only do I not have sliced veggies of my own with which to flaunt my mature femininity with, but I don't even want to eat sliced veggies. I want sliced veggies only insofar as I want to give the entirely false impression that I enjoy eating barren cucumber slices and carrot sticks. I want the status of vegetables.
Furthermore, when I do try to eat salad the delicate grace expected of, not just grown women, but functional adults, eludes me, and I end up with obscene mouthfuls that my lips can't quite entirely conceal. Or I end up wearing it, as per my lunch today. Trying to ensure the proper ratio of delicious salad elements in a manageable bite is quite outside my wheelhouse, it would seem.
So I add this to the ever growing list of reasons I am not a grown up. Salad.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Five Senses Friday: Trois
Feeling:
Content. The long weekend is underway, and I am spending it recooperating and nesting. My apartment is clean, my garbage taken out, and all my missed readings caught up on. While other people will go home to their families, I'm cuddled with She Ra and looking forward to watching a rugby game with the incomparable Heather. I got myself to the gym today. I went grocery shopping. I had a glass of wine at lunch and a dirty martini with dinner. It has been a fabulous start to a promising weekend.
Smelling:
brownies that I fully intend on giving away. I just wanted to bake them, eat two, and be the generous brownie gifting stranger.
brownies that I fully intend on giving away. I just wanted to bake them, eat two, and be the generous brownie gifting stranger.
Hearing:
Tasting:
I had a fabulous array of food today, courtesy of a much needed Costco trip. I enjoyed falafal with hummus for dinner, brownies for dessert, and the indulgent dirty vodka martini. I do, however, need to purchase myself a shaker and actual martini glasses - this stirred-martini-in-a-juice-glass nonsense will do the trick for now, but I DEMAND THE BEST. | ||
| I had not anticipated that a google image search of "dirty martini" would result in quite so many pictures of strippers. |
Seeing:
This amazing video, courtesy of The Spartan Warrior. What a great message. It really spoke to a number of adventures I'm in the beginnings of in my life.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Macklemore & Ryan Lewis
I just stumbled across this truly beautiful and relevant piece of contemporary hip hop on facebook this morning. I don't know much about the artist, Macklemore, but I intend on changing that. Not only does this song show uncharacteristic sensitivity to a politically and emotionally charged issue - that of gay marriage and equality rights - but it brings hip hop back to its politically charged roots. Macklemore points to the hip hop of the 90s, of the Fugees and Nas, when artists used hip hop as an accessible medium to convey political messages, as a medium to fight for racial equality. Hip hop has not been that, as of late. Hip hop has been Boom Boom Pow and Rack City, Bitch. I applaud this truly beautiful effort to bring hip hop back. The video and message are beautiful. It brought tears to my eyes (and cheeks)
Friday, September 28, 2012
Five Senses Friday, round II
Feeling:
Excited - I made the last minute discovery that tonight is Hip Hop Karaoke Toronto, AND that it's a competition. I haven't had the pleasure of going to an HHK show since I performed in one in MTL, so needless to say, I can't fucking wait.
Smelling:
Autumn. My window is open letting some fresh air circulate through my inexplicably humid apartment. It's still crisp and fresh out, and I love it.
Autumn. My window is open letting some fresh air circulate through my inexplicably humid apartment. It's still crisp and fresh out, and I love it.
Hearing:
I took a break from my morning hip hop routine (post work out I'm so wired that nothing seems more appropriate than Wu Tang) to remind myself of the Staves. I saw these girls open for Bon Iver and I absolutely love them. They are such exceptional vocalists. Give 'em a listen
Tasting:
Seeing:
an apartment that desperately needs to be cleaned.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
The New Furby and Why I'm So Deeply Upset By It
I have been unable to hide my penchant for all things 90s from many of my new law school acquaintances. Given this reputation, on a day that should have been spent ceaselessly reading case briefs, I found myself in the library, staring open mouthed in horror at my laptop screen when a classmate sent me this clip:
Being in the library, I watched this clip on mute. I don't think my reaction was entirely different to that upon most people in the 1940s seeing clips from concentration camps; my jaw dropped, eyes went wide, I looked around for someone to help me make sense of what I was seeing, and clapped my hand over my offensively slack jaw. Ok, furbies aren't the moral equivalent of a concentration camp - I'm certain furbies have not been used to commit war crimes. Yet. But, that was my reaction, nonetheless.
Having watched the video in its entirety, my horror is not abated, but, rather, solidified. It doesn't bother me that Hasbro has opted to reincarnate a cult-toy of my late childhood. I narrowly escaped having a furby of my own due only to my parents deep sense of unease with the toy. Or maybe their desire to be less indulgent. I was, after all, a little shit, if accounts are to be trusted. Do I think it's kind of a sell out? Yeah - Hasbro, you had your chance with this in 1998 (and again in 2005? Seriously?). And you did well! Let it go. However, my personal childhood favourite, Littlest Pet Shop, had a reboot of its own, so I can't entirely begrudge Hasbro for giving it a try with one of their own highest earners. After all, have kids stopped liking furry dependents any more than parents have despised cleaning up after neglected Christmas pets? If Homeward Bound II taught me anything, the answer is no.
However, some of the elements of this new, reconceptualized furby, give me more than a momentary pause. On silent viewing, I was immediately struck by the one very obvious physical change made to the toy. Let's take a moment and compare, shall we?
Here is our original (classic, if you will) furby. This is the being that first elicited the wikipedia description, an "electronic robot toy resembling a hamster/owl-like creature." Sure. Now here is the 2012 furby:
Ok. So, what do I find distressing about the new furby? You need not be a film study major to pick up on my not-so-subtle emphasis on eye imagery. Hasbro forfeited the glassy, psuedo-life-like, googly eyes of the classic furby in exchange for an arguably more expressive pixelated digital eye. I will concede that I find their expressions creepy (particularly that one that I managed to find a picture of above), but my discomfort extends beyond that mere esthetic dislike. I couldn't help but be saddened that our world is one in which small children are more comfortable with furry little monsters which are quite clearly fused with technology than the ever-so deceptive furry little monsters of my childhood, rotating eye balls and all.
It means that that stupid Futureshop commercial where a kid claims to be "born on the internet" is less a hilarious impossibility and more a political statement on the sad boarders of reality the define (dare I say it?) kids today. A child, "ages 6 and up," is not at all disquieted by the fact that their teddy bear has achieved the Singularity. They are more concerned with what sort of ipod burgers to feed it to make sure it loves them the most! (You'll know it loves you when it sounds like a Sims character achieving orgasm)
What happened to Barbie Dolls, Mighty Max, Lego and, I don't know, actual hamsters? I had one! Of all of those things, actually, but specifically a hamster. If you want your child to love and care for something while learning vague vestiges of responsibility and stewardship, is this the best we can do? My preliminary research shows that one of these furbies goes for $69.97CAD. Yahoo! Answers indicates that, with the current rate of global inflation being what it is, hamsters go for anywhere between $6 and $20CAD. I spent more than that last Friday on vodka shots. I may have spent the amount necessary to buy a furby as well, but that is beside the point. I just hope that parents will think long and hard before they pander to their kids, but more specifically to toy and marketing companies, on this one. Think of all the shelter kittens that could use a home, or consider the value you, as a child, put on the first pet you had that[you perceived] was all your own. Can we please just reject the insidious research that has gone into marketing this crap towards kids and refuse to technologically indoctrinate our children when they are as young as 6-years-old? In this regard, I guess I'm pro-life, anti-technology. Send me to Georgia. Or Quebec, where the furby website has been banned for children 13 or under.
I don't like kids, and certainly don't want any of my own, but I still think they deserve better than a digital-burger eating owl/hamster that's a shitty dancer. Don't you?
Being in the library, I watched this clip on mute. I don't think my reaction was entirely different to that upon most people in the 1940s seeing clips from concentration camps; my jaw dropped, eyes went wide, I looked around for someone to help me make sense of what I was seeing, and clapped my hand over my offensively slack jaw. Ok, furbies aren't the moral equivalent of a concentration camp - I'm certain furbies have not been used to commit war crimes. Yet. But, that was my reaction, nonetheless.
Having watched the video in its entirety, my horror is not abated, but, rather, solidified. It doesn't bother me that Hasbro has opted to reincarnate a cult-toy of my late childhood. I narrowly escaped having a furby of my own due only to my parents deep sense of unease with the toy. Or maybe their desire to be less indulgent. I was, after all, a little shit, if accounts are to be trusted. Do I think it's kind of a sell out? Yeah - Hasbro, you had your chance with this in 1998 (and again in 2005? Seriously?). And you did well! Let it go. However, my personal childhood favourite, Littlest Pet Shop, had a reboot of its own, so I can't entirely begrudge Hasbro for giving it a try with one of their own highest earners. After all, have kids stopped liking furry dependents any more than parents have despised cleaning up after neglected Christmas pets? If Homeward Bound II taught me anything, the answer is no.
 |
| their eyes just got SO MUCH BIGGER! |
 |
| circa 1998 furby |
 |
| I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY DE-FUZZED HIS EARS! |
It means that that stupid Futureshop commercial where a kid claims to be "born on the internet" is less a hilarious impossibility and more a political statement on the sad boarders of reality the define (dare I say it?) kids today. A child, "ages 6 and up," is not at all disquieted by the fact that their teddy bear has achieved the Singularity. They are more concerned with what sort of ipod burgers to feed it to make sure it loves them the most! (You'll know it loves you when it sounds like a Sims character achieving orgasm)
What happened to Barbie Dolls, Mighty Max, Lego and, I don't know, actual hamsters? I had one! Of all of those things, actually, but specifically a hamster. If you want your child to love and care for something while learning vague vestiges of responsibility and stewardship, is this the best we can do? My preliminary research shows that one of these furbies goes for $69.97CAD. Yahoo! Answers indicates that, with the current rate of global inflation being what it is, hamsters go for anywhere between $6 and $20CAD. I spent more than that last Friday on vodka shots. I may have spent the amount necessary to buy a furby as well, but that is beside the point. I just hope that parents will think long and hard before they pander to their kids, but more specifically to toy and marketing companies, on this one. Think of all the shelter kittens that could use a home, or consider the value you, as a child, put on the first pet you had that
I don't like kids, and certainly don't want any of my own, but I still think they deserve better than a digital-burger eating owl/hamster that's a shitty dancer. Don't you?
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Om/Ow
This weekend I had planned on gushing enthusiastically about my renewed embrace of a regular yoga practice. I was probably going to be sanctimonious, waxing on about the peace of mind and sense of self it instills in me, how it helps me arrange my priorities in a way that helps me achieve a more balanced life. Blah blah blah. I've said it before and I'll probably say it again. I have an awful habit of falling in and out of my yoga practice. I would say that the entire past year that I lived with my parents I went to yoga only very occasionally, and that self-definition as a yogi was entirely absent. So yeah, it's always exciting to rediscover something that you love, especially if that thing also happens to be really good for you.
But, God damn, does my body ever hurt. Between gym dates with law girls and my own stubborn commitment to yoga (motivated in no small part by a desire to get my money's worth of a month unlimited pass), I am virtually incapacitated. I'm trying to read my text on the law of contracts, but all I can think about are my hip flexors! And my shoulders. Triceps. Low back too.
Yoga; I love you so much, and all you do is hurt me. I think I'll stick it out though. Unlike an abusive boyfriend, our relationship will actually change.
But, God damn, does my body ever hurt. Between gym dates with law girls and my own stubborn commitment to yoga (motivated in no small part by a desire to get my money's worth of a month unlimited pass), I am virtually incapacitated. I'm trying to read my text on the law of contracts, but all I can think about are my hip flexors! And my shoulders. Triceps. Low back too.
Yoga; I love you so much, and all you do is hurt me. I think I'll stick it out though. Unlike an abusive boyfriend, our relationship will actually change.
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