That Day at That Place with Those People

I spent the day with my high school friends. I dont think of them so much as "high school" friends as I do just "friends". I guess its because I didnt make any "university friends" and the one that I did is too cool to be factioned or grouped in any which manner. I have friends, just friends, only friends, no prefix or suffix. They are very close to me. I'm happy beyond words that these people are back.



Visiting UHS was lovely and painful at the same time. I don't know what it is about that place. I'm so in love with it. I'm so in love with it and yet I hurt to see how much it has changed and how much faded glory it is trying to retain. Arts York is getting diluted. Going back there was a big reminder of that. I had forgotten, not facing it, not confronting it, because with all the pain this was too much to take.



But it's gone. Or going. Or getting there. Some of the teachers are still the same. J, for example, is still J. I find myself wishing that I was less of me and more of someone else with him though. I feel like a radio frequency...sometimes we hit in sync and there's perfect synergy and other times...I just miss the boat. It is tiring sounding like a broken record. I have about 4 or 5 emails sitting in my inbox that I haven't sent but written to him anyway that I've meant to sent but never quite could hit that send button. One of them even has the lines, "In the offchance that I hit the button and finally send this and you finally get this..." Sad. Indeed.



Slade. Slade is still Slade and my god, watching him and J go back and forth is pure entertainment, the likes of which even good money couldn't buy. Or bad money, in that case.



But god, this time was the first time I've ever felt pain going back. There has always been a sense of pride, of nostalgia, of misty, foggy-eyed comfort. But never this pain. The hallways, those hallways that we walked. I expected to see something at every turn. I expected to see them kissing, to see them holding hands. That yearbook office, I remembered the tie and the guitar and Parachutes and how hard he tried to impress her and how she completely turned a blind eye. The library, the library, full of its books, the study rooms, the bio, the exams, the shitty laptop, the linux system, the way he fixed her laptop. The way he said he felt like Sid in DHC when he was painting that painting for the woman he loved.

I found out that one of my teachers died the sunday before the monday that I visited UHS. She retired a year earlier (which I also didn't know) and on all my visits to UHS, I hadn't once thought about going back to see her. And then, when I hit the humanities office, they tell me, go away, J is in history. I say, I'm not here to see J, where is Ms. Brigham. And it all comes out. She died from cancer the very day I remembered her. I was absolutely heartbroken.

Alot of things in that place are leaving, dying. The Arts York program, for example, is being completely effing butchered because some crapass other schools are bitching about the unfair advantage we have. Well fuck you, because other countries have international schools and other forms and rungs of entrance exams. We have arts york. We pool talent and the program is invaluable. Its not a question of whether the druggie school, Alex Mack deserves this or not. It is that UHS doesn't deserve this; they don't deserve to have their resources spread thin and their talent diluted. They don't deserve to have their program watered down and taken away from them. These kids deserve this experience of a school that was a legend in itself, an incubator for greatness from all walks of life. Another heartache.

Slade will be gone by the end of the year and so will Salina because she is finally graduating, bless her lovely soul. I am really excited for her. Gawsh, she is going to be uber-amazing. More so than that, actually. Well, she already is but now she will rock the spheres of everyone pretentious idiot at OCAD or Sheridan or wherever she chooses to go. So Slade is gone and Salina is gone and Wozniak used me as a speech for Waterloo to his data class, so he's as good as dead for me. J's left but his amusing tidings and testy stints with admin leaves me sure that it's not for long. I hope it is though...that place needs some lost lustre retention and, imho, J is the only one that retains the flavour of old, spunky, outside of the box, new thinkers, art nouveau, experience extraordinaire UHS.

So...

...this was interesting.

Clickity.

In other news, I'm very depressed right now. So I'm going to buy a shitload of stuff to help and fill that strange gaping hole in my heart. I'm going to buy the Baraka box set because I am a nerd and the audrey hepburn box set because i'm ms. couch-potato-destined-to-be-cat-lady. And then maybe i'll finally buy a new phone or a bus ticket to new york, not sure which yet. and some books. And then some chocolate. And maybe i'll clean my room. Or not. Or I will build a time machine and go back to april of 2007 or august of 2007, yes, august of 2007. And change everything around.

Siesta

Perhaps the most perfect thing about my time here is that in one moment I can absolutely love life and totally curse my existence for different and overlapping reasons.

That, in one moment, I am utterly thankful for all the stupid small things and completely unhappy with the state of things at large.

That everything - music, colours, life, love - is, beyond a shade of doubt, tumultuous and yet alive in every notion and aspect.

That I am who I am and though I totally hate who I am, I wouldn't change anything. That I can look forward to silly feel-good movies, and dream and talk and retain a shine and twinkle. Possibly, I am describing some sort of bipolar attitude here but hey! What is the point of all of this - all of THIS - if one cannot feel every single expression and emotion that may come their way?

I'm completely lost and I dont know what the fuck I'm doing with my life. I know I'm meant for great things but that definition is relative. All I know for sure right now is that everything is imperfect and perfect and beautiful but destroyed.

And you wouldn't want it any other way, no, because then neither could you appreciate the beauty without pain nor pain without beauty.

May the beautiful destruction never end. And if it must, may every last drop of love and emotion and thought be expressed before everything finally shuts down for the turn of the era.

Fashionopathy

So I don't know whether to rave about this or to rant. It could really go either way here; I could make this bloody or I could gush.

I suppose if I were to say that I absolutely love this outfit by Lanvin, it would be because of its simplicity. It is brilliant in its simple lines. The colour is just subtle and plain enough to let your natural skin tone shine through and its elegant, flowing lines remain unassuming because they are not stitched or pulled into place, but they simply flow on the wearer's body. The main line draws your eye from Katie's right shoulder, straight down to the narrow hem, giving it a very fifties look with a toga twist. The Christian Louboutin's are this outfit's real saviour adding not only height but making the outfit decidedly soft and feminine. The lines in the dress are accentuated by her own curves which is why she is able to work the outfit so well. Katie's pert hair doesn't hurt either.

If, however, I confess that I hate this outfit, I would be completely remiss if I didn't point out that it is merely a sack that looks (thanks to its bland colour) to be made out of twine that has been knotted and hemmed to be able to somehow enter society sans the hobo tag. It's a little short of the outfit for the Paper Bag Princess and even Robert Munsch might not want his heroine wearing this. Points for the Christian Louboutins and the perfectly toned upper body, however, that only slightly made up for this sack - er, dress. But honestly, if you wanted to show those two things off, you might as well have just come naked with the Louboutins on, the effect would have been less devastating to the eye, I think. Perhaps next time we'll see Sienna Miller in a towel and Manolo Blahnik. Oh no, wait, that already happened.

It's interesting because while spotting her strolling in Central Park during her stage time on Broadway, Katie clearly decided to cash in on the fashion boho warp scene that everyone seems to be trying out. People say, "I always wear what's comfortable for me" or, "I believe in individual voice through fashion", and the ever popular, "I don't follow trends, I make them. I wear what I feel like." That, my lovelies, is a load of old tosh. Or at least...it is with most tweens. For some reason, there are a select few group of people who seem out to prove to the world their individuality by pairing random shit with random crap. For instance, high-heeled hooker boots, plaid shirt and a long thin gold necklace ending in a bling pendant with shitty out of bed hair. I mean, honestly? I don't need to see that; that's not fashion, that is the leftovers of your closet on laundry day. Feel comfortable in it? Great! Good for you! Want to stroll in the streets with it? Power to you! Just don't label it fashion. For godsakes! Katie Holmes decided to do the same thing: she took gigantic painter/plumber jeans and rolled up the hems, pairing them with moccasins, a beaten vintage leather brown bag and a giant thinly knit sweater and mahousive goggles - er, I mean, glasses. I thought she looked fine, whatever, it's comfortable right? But when people started trying to gauge the next fashion trends from what she was wearing, I got pissed. I'm not going to judge her weekend wear, because it's NOT fashion. I'm not trying to define something like fashion because to me it is an art form. It could go both ways, which is really what I'm trying to say with the Lanvin dress above. You could love it or hate it or both. But honestly? A trend is Fedoras. A trend is not sweatpants and stilletos.

Being brown for the first time EVAH!

I love Shahrukh. I've loved him since I was five and i watched Baazigar. But really....all I can say to this is LOL.

is this OSO and Nishabd and DTPH all in one? and why is there so much reference to Raj Kapoor? Honestly, all the RK in the world couldn't save Saawwariya. And why all the dancing in garages? and why is there a song called Dance Pe Chance? And why is shahrukh shorter than her? And why does Yash Raj INSIST on using Lata Mangeshkar's voice as their mascot? WHy isn't she dead yet? Maybe this is why Dostana sank without a trace. You know...besides the shitty plot and dialogue. Oh no, wait. That was Karan Johar's fault.

just...lol at srk image. so fob. in both ways. why is he so fob, anyway? Could a movie with this much dancing really have a plot that doesn't involve shahrukh's painfully fake moustache? Why are they trying to age him and make him young all in one movie??

This should be good...XD

Re-Evolution; Re-Vo-Lution

Somehow we got Barack Obama, first African American president in the history of America, elected to office in the same month that we had the word entry for "meh", an apathetic expression, entered in the dictionary.

Does anyone else see the irony of this?
Now I will say something: LOL (and this is ironic, idiots; let's enter this in the dictionary too!)

Is it just me or is there something very strange about these two, clearly opposite, events? Even just in the wording of them.

Barack Obama, America's first African American leader, elected to office by a nation struggling, rumored in hushed circles to be a civilization finally reaching its peak and falling, whose people are suddenly aware and tired of Republican follies, whose youth are taking a stand for once, actively participating, dancing in the streets, celebrating victory, carefully weighing their options between candidates.

"Meh", an expression to indicate apathy and uncaring, a general 'I cant be bothered' attitude, born of MSN language, which is really just an application for people to "chat". It's not about informality or slang. Colloquial language changes all the time and if it were not for the cataloguing of these changes, we might still be speaking Victorian English (some of us still do, scarily enough). It's only right to be tracking the change in language.

But, suddenly, apathy is indicated by a sound. We are apathetic, reluctant, to even assign an actual word to the feeling of indifference so rife in our society. We can't be bothered. It's not even onomatopeiac. It's just three letters strung together, from the sound of someone shrugging their shoulders in indifference. That's what we just catalogued.

The sound of indifference. The shrugging of shoulders today's youth seems to be doing.

Clearly, these two events are indicative of something bigger. The irony of meh and Obama hits me hard. There is something going on, going down, that is missing in this generation. I don't know what it is and I don't know where it begins, where it ends and whom to assign fault, blame, cause and effect to.

All I know is, its there. Watch me not shrug my shoulders and actually take the time to figure it out.

Society is going absolutely mental.

Why? Because.

A very very close friend, so close to my heart that they might be my heart itself or I am their soul. Understood, as the understanding that comes with these sorts of relationships. Asked myself, why? Answered, because. Sent this my way so that I had all my incoherent words once again articulated. Or else, I saw that shining thread that bound all these thoughts and a resounding recognition that I could not ignore etched deep in these words. Believed once more, for a moment, in the Soul of the World.

Why Study the Arts & Humanities?

Because, that's why.

Because a man downtown with a voice like the sea against the rocks told me I should.

Because my mother told me not to. Because she said mathematics, female engineering - engineering female. Because she spends so many nights in paperwork, dreaming herself into fairytales.

Because of the bruises etched into a Grade 4 spelling partner's cheek each week by his father.

Because television sets are alive and sucking patience out of brains like electric leeches. And it could take hours to perfect this sentence.

Because the average Canuck consums 140 percent the caloric intake required in a day.

Because KKK.

Because Chagall's 'Self-Portrait with Seven Fingers', did not quite make it into the Saturday morning comics.

Becase Adolf Hitler and Staling are the only two I've learned about.

Because it's been scientifically proven that listening to Mozart sonatas improves bad hearing.

Because the Burmese government is carbonated in every can of Pepsi Cola.

Because East Timor is on channel 3 and my brother is watching The Simpsons.

Because painters did not build atomic bombs. Because poems dissect them.

Because advertisement agencies are calling themselves creative.

Becayse a beautiful woman is a dress and a breast size and no longer compared to a summer's day.

Because no one's homophobic but alot of people stared when a girl kissed a girl at the bus stop.

Because sometimes even starving artists like to eat dinner.

Because time spent with family is marked between 6 and 7 o'clock in the daily agenda.

Because Picasso would tell you that skyscrapers do not quite equal the beauty of all the daffodils they have swallowed.

Because two boys in a coffee shop carried out a complete conversation and say nothing.

Because I don't know whether I'll be clubbed for saying Black People if I should be saying African Americans.

Because the government runs on monotone thought.

Because a successfully cloned sheep.

Because.

Because sometimes you see yourself more clearly in the characters you are writing than when you look in the mirror.

Because ulcers are nibbling away on stomachs everywhere.

Because graffiti is getting a little bit repetitive.

Because I'd rather be short than vertically challenged.

And if that's not quite enough...

Then because I can write these things to you and go to math class tomorrow and pretend that they weren't written for myself.