Back-dated entry. The joke was: matched luggage, like a jet-setter, but jet-setters don't move to the Yukon. Oh really? Since moving to the Yukon, I have never travelled so much in my life. It didn't take me long to realise that people in the Yukon tend to get the Hell out whenever they can, and I'm no different. Maybe it would be easier if I did it on a Government salary, though. That would be nice. Well, next time I move someplace totally remote and off the beaten track, I'll remember that.
Anyway, I'm sitting at YVR, Vancouver International Airport, drinking an unfabulous Starbucks coffee, listening to golden oldies being piped in. Through the glass, across a waiting area, I am being stared at by a large, Cathay Pacific 747. I'm thinking how small the cockpit windows are compared to the whole nose of the plane. It's a bit disconcerting. International travellers are walking back and forth in front of me, all different walks of life, skin colours, shapes and sizes, and yet all of them have that same bewildered expression on their faces that says: I'm in an airport and I think I'm going the right way, but I'm not sure. Even the crew walking by have an element of this in their faces. The same very tall man has walked by twice now, looking no less confused than he did the first time.
I'm wondering now, where the myth of the tiny Asian person comes from, because as I sit here, I am impressed by many tall Asian men and a few tall Asian women, too. Sure, every so often a stereotype walks by, but not as many as I assumed. Also, some of these people are sporting the most amazing outfits, sometimes stylish, sometimes outlandish, frequently layered and heavy on textures. Wow.
I'm going to Los Angeles and I don't know what to expect. I've never been to West Coast USA before in my life, excepting Bellingham, WA this summer to catch the ferry. California, though, that's pretty exciting. I do not anticipate falling in love with it as I did Philadelphia when I first visited it, or Cardiff, Wales. But I am looking forward to fun, sun and smog. Yes, really, the smog too. Is that weird? I'm a big city girl at heart and smog, although gross and bad for you, is part of the city experience. Sometimes I like to know that the reason my eyesight is bad is because of particulate matter.
Some confused people are walking by; I suppose they've missed their gate, or can't find it. And the Cathay Pacific flight attendants - they're so adorable. Does that sound patronising? It might be, except, well, there's no other word for them. I flew Cathay in May when I went back to New York for Alfred's funeral. "Tuuu-buuu-wance, buck-o seat behrts preease !" All of them could have been characters in an anime, looking unbearably cute and pretty in their uniforms and getting all excited and flustered. I really liked Cathay Pacific, too, they still treat their passengers well.
My coffee is nearly finished and I'm contemplating following it up with an Orange Julius, but maybe I'll just use my money to buy a 15 minute massage at the spa down the terminal. Whoever thought to put in spa/massage areas into airports was brilliant and deserves to die a multi-millionaire. Honestly, I recommend it ! Sure, it's probably a bit overpriced and they don't work you like a real massage therapy session would, but if your knapsack, like mine, is really heavy and you slept poorly in an uncomfortable seat on the first leg of your journey, nothing says bliss like 15 minutes of having your flesh kneaded. Awwww ya. Okay, on that note, I'm off for some kneading.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Airport Sitting
Back-dated entry. The joke was: matched luggage, like a jet-setter, but jet-setters don't move to the Yukon. Oh really? Since moving to the Yukon, I have never travelled so much in my life. It didn't take me long to realise that people in the Yukon tend to get the Hell out whenever they can, and I'm no different. Maybe it would be easier if I did it on a Government salary, though. That would be nice. Well, next time I move someplace totally remote and off the beaten track, I'll remember that.
Anyway, I'm sitting at YVR, Vancouver International Airport, drinking an unfabulous Starbucks coffee, listening to golden oldies being piped in. Through the glass, across a waiting area, I am being stared at by a large, Cathay Pacific 747. I'm thinking how small the cockpit windows are compared to the whole nose of the plane. It's a bit disconcerting. International travellers are walking back and forth in front of me, all different walks of life, skin colours, shapes and sizes, and yet all of them have that same bewildered expression on their faces that says: I'm in an airport and I think I'm going the right way, but I'm not sure. Even the crew walking by have an element of this in their faces. The same very tall man has walked by twice now, looking no less confused than he did the first time.
I'm wondering now, where the myth of the tiny Asian person comes from, because as I sit here, I am impressed by many tall Asian men and a few tall Asian women, too. Sure, every so often a stereotype walks by, but not as many as I assumed. Also, some of these people are sporting the most amazing outfits, sometimes stylish, sometimes outlandish, frequently layered and heavy on textures. Wow.
I'm going to Los Angeles and I don't know what to expect. I've never been to West Coast USA before in my life, excepting Bellingham, WA this summer to catch the ferry. California, though, that's pretty exciting. I do not anticipate falling in love with it as I did Philadelphia when I first visited it, or Cardiff, Wales. But I am looking forward to fun, sun and smog. Yes, really, the smog too. Is that weird? I'm a big city girl at heart and smog, although gross and bad for you, is part of the city experience. Sometimes I like to know that the reason my eyesight is bad is because of particulate matter.
Some confused people are walking by; I suppose they've missed their gate, or can't find it. And the Cathay Pacific flight attendants - they're so adorable. Does that sound patronising? It might be, except, well, there's no other word for them. I flew Cathay in May when I went back to New York for Alfred's funeral. "Tuuu-buuu-wance, buck-o seat behrts preease !" All of them could have been characters in an anime, looking unbearably cute and pretty in their uniforms and getting all excited and flustered. I really liked Cathay Pacific, too, they still treat their passengers well.
My coffee is nearly finished and I'm contemplating following it up with an Orange Julius, but maybe I'll just use my money to buy a 15 minute massage at the spa down the terminal. Whoever thought to put in spa/massage areas into airports was brilliant and deserves to die a multi-millionaire. Honestly, I recommend it ! Sure, it's probably a bit overpriced and they don't work you like a real massage therapy session would, but if your knapsack, like mine, is really heavy and you slept poorly in an uncomfortable seat on the first leg of your journey, nothing says bliss like 15 minutes of having your flesh kneaded. Awwww ya. Okay, on that note, I'm off for some kneading.
Anyway, I'm sitting at YVR, Vancouver International Airport, drinking an unfabulous Starbucks coffee, listening to golden oldies being piped in. Through the glass, across a waiting area, I am being stared at by a large, Cathay Pacific 747. I'm thinking how small the cockpit windows are compared to the whole nose of the plane. It's a bit disconcerting. International travellers are walking back and forth in front of me, all different walks of life, skin colours, shapes and sizes, and yet all of them have that same bewildered expression on their faces that says: I'm in an airport and I think I'm going the right way, but I'm not sure. Even the crew walking by have an element of this in their faces. The same very tall man has walked by twice now, looking no less confused than he did the first time.
I'm wondering now, where the myth of the tiny Asian person comes from, because as I sit here, I am impressed by many tall Asian men and a few tall Asian women, too. Sure, every so often a stereotype walks by, but not as many as I assumed. Also, some of these people are sporting the most amazing outfits, sometimes stylish, sometimes outlandish, frequently layered and heavy on textures. Wow.
I'm going to Los Angeles and I don't know what to expect. I've never been to West Coast USA before in my life, excepting Bellingham, WA this summer to catch the ferry. California, though, that's pretty exciting. I do not anticipate falling in love with it as I did Philadelphia when I first visited it, or Cardiff, Wales. But I am looking forward to fun, sun and smog. Yes, really, the smog too. Is that weird? I'm a big city girl at heart and smog, although gross and bad for you, is part of the city experience. Sometimes I like to know that the reason my eyesight is bad is because of particulate matter.
Some confused people are walking by; I suppose they've missed their gate, or can't find it. And the Cathay Pacific flight attendants - they're so adorable. Does that sound patronising? It might be, except, well, there's no other word for them. I flew Cathay in May when I went back to New York for Alfred's funeral. "Tuuu-buuu-wance, buck-o seat behrts preease !" All of them could have been characters in an anime, looking unbearably cute and pretty in their uniforms and getting all excited and flustered. I really liked Cathay Pacific, too, they still treat their passengers well.
My coffee is nearly finished and I'm contemplating following it up with an Orange Julius, but maybe I'll just use my money to buy a 15 minute massage at the spa down the terminal. Whoever thought to put in spa/massage areas into airports was brilliant and deserves to die a multi-millionaire. Honestly, I recommend it ! Sure, it's probably a bit overpriced and they don't work you like a real massage therapy session would, but if your knapsack, like mine, is really heavy and you slept poorly in an uncomfortable seat on the first leg of your journey, nothing says bliss like 15 minutes of having your flesh kneaded. Awwww ya. Okay, on that note, I'm off for some kneading.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Saving Toronto's Matador Club
I live in Whitehorse now, but for most of my life, Toronto has been my home. I've been amazed that the Matador has made national press on CBC Radio repeatedly. "Q" has covered it, which is probably available as a podcast from cbc.ca, and this morning I woke up to hear a major discussion about the Matador on "The Current".
It's on the radar and the City is looking pretty bad. The Parking Authority, an agent of the City of Toronto, is now talking about EXPROPRIATING the site for its incredibly backward-looking 20-unit parking lot across the street from the College St YMCA. This seems like madness to me, considering that this is an easily accessed intersection (by streetcar and bus) in a highly pedestrian neighbourhood.
Writing to Councilor Adam Giambrone is not the answer. He is ineffectual and hypocritical and you'll just get a form letter. Attached below is the letter you will receive. However, if you want to contact him, visit his website (which does not seem to mention the Matador at all, as if it were a non-issue, although it does link to his role as TTC chair and show a marquee of him sitting in the drivers' seat of a streetcar, no less). Take this higher - to the Mayer - take it to the street. Flood the media - CityTV, Global, CBC, CTV. Visit Speakers' Corner, write letters to the Editor. Rally, blog, do anything, but take this to the next level !
This movement needs organisation. I wish I could be there to help.
The form letter from Giambrone's office, wherein he passes the buck and effectively shrugs his shoulders:
Dear Resident,
Thank you for contacting me about this issue. I can confirm that the Toronto Parking Authority is interested in purchasing 466 Dovercourt Road, known as the Matador, for a new parking facility.
The TPA is an independent agency of the City, the municipal equivalent of a crown corporation. The TPA, not the City, funds its own capital purchases out of its own revenues. They do not come out of the City budget.
The TPA is pursuing this property because it has made a business case showing that it believes there is sufficent demand for parking in the area and it will be profitable for them to operate there. The owner of the Matador is willing to sell, and the TPA wants to buy.
The reason the TPA has come to the City is for the authority to expropriate if necessary. The expropriation process requires both a 'hearing of necessity' and third-party arbitration to determine the price if there is a discrepancy between the City's assessment and the seller's.
If the TPA does end up acquiring this lot, I want to use this opportunity to to make some real innovative changes to our community. How can we make it contribute to the pedestrian and cycling environment? How do we reduce its environmental impact? Are there opportunities for the inclusion of public art? Can some sort of memorial to the Matador be included?
I would like to invite community members interested in this issue to work with me and explote creative opportunities. Let's start sharing our ideas on how we can re-imagine and re-invent this space so that, if this purchase does happen, it ends up being a very different kind of parking lot than what this city is used to---one that contributes more to the neighbourhood than just space for cars.
You may also want to contact the TPA about this issue. Their website is www.greenp.com, their email is tpamail@toronto.ca, and their phone number is 416-393-7275.
Yours truly,
Adam Giambrone
It's on the radar and the City is looking pretty bad. The Parking Authority, an agent of the City of Toronto, is now talking about EXPROPRIATING the site for its incredibly backward-looking 20-unit parking lot across the street from the College St YMCA. This seems like madness to me, considering that this is an easily accessed intersection (by streetcar and bus) in a highly pedestrian neighbourhood.
Writing to Councilor Adam Giambrone is not the answer. He is ineffectual and hypocritical and you'll just get a form letter. Attached below is the letter you will receive. However, if you want to contact him, visit his website (which does not seem to mention the Matador at all, as if it were a non-issue, although it does link to his role as TTC chair and show a marquee of him sitting in the drivers' seat of a streetcar, no less). Take this higher - to the Mayer - take it to the street. Flood the media - CityTV, Global, CBC, CTV. Visit Speakers' Corner, write letters to the Editor. Rally, blog, do anything, but take this to the next level !
This movement needs organisation. I wish I could be there to help.
The form letter from Giambrone's office, wherein he passes the buck and effectively shrugs his shoulders:
Dear Resident,
Thank you for contacting me about this issue. I can confirm that the Toronto Parking Authority is interested in purchasing 466 Dovercourt Road, known as the Matador, for a new parking facility.
The TPA is an independent agency of the City, the municipal equivalent of a crown corporation. The TPA, not the City, funds its own capital purchases out of its own revenues. They do not come out of the City budget.
The TPA is pursuing this property because it has made a business case showing that it believes there is sufficent demand for parking in the area and it will be profitable for them to operate there. The owner of the Matador is willing to sell, and the TPA wants to buy.
The reason the TPA has come to the City is for the authority to expropriate if necessary. The expropriation process requires both a 'hearing of necessity' and third-party arbitration to determine the price if there is a discrepancy between the City's assessment and the seller's.
If the TPA does end up acquiring this lot, I want to use this opportunity to to make some real innovative changes to our community. How can we make it contribute to the pedestrian and cycling environment? How do we reduce its environmental impact? Are there opportunities for the inclusion of public art? Can some sort of memorial to the Matador be included?
I would like to invite community members interested in this issue to work with me and explote creative opportunities. Let's start sharing our ideas on how we can re-imagine and re-invent this space so that, if this purchase does happen, it ends up being a very different kind of parking lot than what this city is used to---one that contributes more to the neighbourhood than just space for cars.
You may also want to contact the TPA about this issue. Their website is www.greenp.com, their email is tpamail@toronto.ca, and their phone number is 416-393-7275.
Yours truly,
Adam Giambrone
Monday, October 01, 2007
Stardust
Stardust might very well be the lovechild of The Princess Bride and Gormenghast and as such, 20 years since the release of The Princess Bride, it might just be the heir to the fantasy-romance throne. As a fairytale, it is quite predictable, almost from start to finish, but it's not really about how it all shakes out in the end, but the journey it takes to get there. And it's about love, unfettered and unconditional, dreams and being all that we can be. It's also about goats and gay pirates - go figure.
Three years ago, I would have loved this movie but thought it just that, a fairytale. And then I met Gareth. I hope he sees Stardust and, just as I thought of him throughout, I hope it makes him think of me. I hope he and I have a future, but if we don't, at least, in that possible bittersweet ending, at least I will have had my star, for a little while, here on Earth.
Three years ago, I would have loved this movie but thought it just that, a fairytale. And then I met Gareth. I hope he sees Stardust and, just as I thought of him throughout, I hope it makes him think of me. I hope he and I have a future, but if we don't, at least, in that possible bittersweet ending, at least I will have had my star, for a little while, here on Earth.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Autumn
It's here, the fall, that is. The leaves have turned their yellows and oranges, have browned and curled, and in most places they've fallen from their branches. Tomorrow, the last of the 2007 cruise ships docks at Skagway, then the stores will be shuttered to wait out another winter. The days are shortening at a pace - the harsh price of those blissfully long summer days. The nights are frosty and the flowers in their planters are starting to wither. My strawberries, on the other hand, seem to be doing really well. I shall let them go dormant for a time once the cold really sets in, then I'll bring them inside and give them a start so that they may fruit earlier in the season.
The rain has been falling for the last several days, and at higher altitudes, the rain is replaced by wet snow that seems surprised that it can last more than a few seconds on the cold ground. There is a thin blanket of snow on the mountain tops already. The feel of the days reminds me of early November in Toronto, the drab days before winter decides to set in. The difference being that in Toronto, sometimes the winter never makes the decision. Here, on the other hand, snow will be a permanent feature come Hallowe'en.
My longing for the Cottage has passed with the ending of summer. I have to hope that next year I will visit. Two years away is too long. My longing for Christmas holiday at my mother's has not started yet and when it does, I shall be disappointed. I will make do with a short visit home in that drabbest of times, late November, and will enjoy it to the fullest. For now, all I really want to do is sleep, tucked up tightly with my cats, and wait for spring once more.
The rain has been falling for the last several days, and at higher altitudes, the rain is replaced by wet snow that seems surprised that it can last more than a few seconds on the cold ground. There is a thin blanket of snow on the mountain tops already. The feel of the days reminds me of early November in Toronto, the drab days before winter decides to set in. The difference being that in Toronto, sometimes the winter never makes the decision. Here, on the other hand, snow will be a permanent feature come Hallowe'en.
My longing for the Cottage has passed with the ending of summer. I have to hope that next year I will visit. Two years away is too long. My longing for Christmas holiday at my mother's has not started yet and when it does, I shall be disappointed. I will make do with a short visit home in that drabbest of times, late November, and will enjoy it to the fullest. For now, all I really want to do is sleep, tucked up tightly with my cats, and wait for spring once more.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Summer's over
"Hot town, summer in the city, back of my neck gettin' dirty and gritty..."
That Lovin' Spoonful song is like an anthem (it's on the radio right now, forgive me) and there was a time I knew summer was come when it would get semi-regular playtime. It makes me a bit sad that I didn't get any real "hot town" weather this summer. I enjoy it for about a week every year, and then I want it to die. Well, although it reached the mid-20s here on several marvellous occasions, summer in the southern Yukon is a mild and fairly pleasant affair.
However, it's over now. We're probably dead centre in the glories of autumn now. The trees have been turning since the end of August and some trees are starting to look kind of bare. Within a week there might not be any leaves left at all. I've taken advantage of the fine weather a few times to go get some photography done. I can look forward to real frost, soon, too. We've had some patchy frost a couple of times, but later this week, it looks like the nighttime low will dip below 0.
As there will be no trips home for Christmas or to Wales (ever again?), I jumped at a seat sale and bought myself a plane ticket to visit LA over the Thanksgiving weekend. Now my Godmother, Liz, cannot complain that I don't visit. I know she'd kick my ass if I moved off somewhere else before visiting her. Her son, Orson, is apparently looking forward to seeing me again, too. They haven't seen me since 1996, when he was something like 8 or 9 years old. At the time I was quite fit from working with horses and at the stable and I picked him up and tossed him around like he weighed nothing. I hope he realises I can't do that to him any more ! Anyway, I'm looking forward to that trip.
Maybe in LA I'll get a delayed 'hot town' gritty summer. That would be nice.
That Lovin' Spoonful song is like an anthem (it's on the radio right now, forgive me) and there was a time I knew summer was come when it would get semi-regular playtime. It makes me a bit sad that I didn't get any real "hot town" weather this summer. I enjoy it for about a week every year, and then I want it to die. Well, although it reached the mid-20s here on several marvellous occasions, summer in the southern Yukon is a mild and fairly pleasant affair.
However, it's over now. We're probably dead centre in the glories of autumn now. The trees have been turning since the end of August and some trees are starting to look kind of bare. Within a week there might not be any leaves left at all. I've taken advantage of the fine weather a few times to go get some photography done. I can look forward to real frost, soon, too. We've had some patchy frost a couple of times, but later this week, it looks like the nighttime low will dip below 0.
As there will be no trips home for Christmas or to Wales (ever again?), I jumped at a seat sale and bought myself a plane ticket to visit LA over the Thanksgiving weekend. Now my Godmother, Liz, cannot complain that I don't visit. I know she'd kick my ass if I moved off somewhere else before visiting her. Her son, Orson, is apparently looking forward to seeing me again, too. They haven't seen me since 1996, when he was something like 8 or 9 years old. At the time I was quite fit from working with horses and at the stable and I picked him up and tossed him around like he weighed nothing. I hope he realises I can't do that to him any more ! Anyway, I'm looking forward to that trip.
Maybe in LA I'll get a delayed 'hot town' gritty summer. That would be nice.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Emotional Me
I wrote a poem tonight. The thing about me writing poetry is that it rarely happens and I'm either intensely hopeful/happy or deeply troubled. I can count on both my hands the number of poems I've written in my lifetime. The best, and sadly long-lost, being the one I wrote after spending a strangely special night with a musician that I didn't quite date. But I was hopeful. Tonight's probably isn't very good and it's pretty depressing. I guess the kids nowadays would call it 'emo' or something. ;) I really hate that term. But it is pretty emotional and it's sure not happy.
For myself and for him, I've decided to think in terms of being single. Gareth needs the space to do what he's got to do and I need to get over being heart-broken all the time and hoping for a future that may not come to pass. I need to get on with things. I'm reminded of that year when Tracy vanished from my life... Of course I want for this to end similarly, with it all working out the way I hope and pray it does. I'm setting myself up for disappointment, though, so I'm trying very hard to move on. I need to put the same emotional distance between us as he is, I need to free myself and prepare for a different future than I'd wanted.
No easy task.
Anyway, I'm not going to share my poem. It's private. But I'm not looking forward to another lonely winter in Whitehorse, that's for sure.
Instead, I'll give you the incredibly apt lyrics from the Mika song, Happy Ending:
"Happy Ending"
This is the way you left me,
I'm not pretending.
No hope, no love, no glory,
No Happy Ending.
This is the way that we love,
Like it's forever.
Then live the rest of our life,
But not together.
Wake up in the morning, stumble on my life
Can't get no love without sacrifice
If anything should happen, I guess I wish you well
A little bit of heaven, but a little bit of hell
This is the hardest story that I've ever told
No hope, or love, or glory
Happy endings gone forever more
I feel as if I feel as if I'm wastin'
And I'm wastin' everyday
This is the way you left me,
I'm not pretending.
No hope, no love, no glory,
No Happy Ending.
This is the way that we love,
Like it's forever.
Then live the rest of our life,
But not together.
2 o'clock in the morning, something's on my mind
Can't get no rest; keep walkin' around
If I pretend that nothin' ever went wrong, I can get to my sleep
I can think that we just carried on
This is the hardest story that I've ever told
No hope, or love, or glory
Happy endings gone forever more
I feel as if I feel as if I'm wastin'
And I'm wastin' everyday
This is the way you left me,
I'm not pretending.
No hope, no love, no glory,
No Happy Ending.
This is the way that we love,
Like it's forever.
Then live the rest of our life,
But not together.
A Little bit of love, little bit of love
Little bit of love, little bit of love [repeat]
I feel as if I feel as if I'm wastin'
And I'm wastin' everyday
This is the way you left me,
I'm not pretending.
No hope, no love, no glory,
No Happy Ending.
This is the way that we love,
Like it's forever.
To live the rest of our life,
But not together.
For myself and for him, I've decided to think in terms of being single. Gareth needs the space to do what he's got to do and I need to get over being heart-broken all the time and hoping for a future that may not come to pass. I need to get on with things. I'm reminded of that year when Tracy vanished from my life... Of course I want for this to end similarly, with it all working out the way I hope and pray it does. I'm setting myself up for disappointment, though, so I'm trying very hard to move on. I need to put the same emotional distance between us as he is, I need to free myself and prepare for a different future than I'd wanted.
No easy task.
Anyway, I'm not going to share my poem. It's private. But I'm not looking forward to another lonely winter in Whitehorse, that's for sure.
Instead, I'll give you the incredibly apt lyrics from the Mika song, Happy Ending:
"Happy Ending"
This is the way you left me,
I'm not pretending.
No hope, no love, no glory,
No Happy Ending.
This is the way that we love,
Like it's forever.
Then live the rest of our life,
But not together.
Wake up in the morning, stumble on my life
Can't get no love without sacrifice
If anything should happen, I guess I wish you well
A little bit of heaven, but a little bit of hell
This is the hardest story that I've ever told
No hope, or love, or glory
Happy endings gone forever more
I feel as if I feel as if I'm wastin'
And I'm wastin' everyday
This is the way you left me,
I'm not pretending.
No hope, no love, no glory,
No Happy Ending.
This is the way that we love,
Like it's forever.
Then live the rest of our life,
But not together.
2 o'clock in the morning, something's on my mind
Can't get no rest; keep walkin' around
If I pretend that nothin' ever went wrong, I can get to my sleep
I can think that we just carried on
This is the hardest story that I've ever told
No hope, or love, or glory
Happy endings gone forever more
I feel as if I feel as if I'm wastin'
And I'm wastin' everyday
This is the way you left me,
I'm not pretending.
No hope, no love, no glory,
No Happy Ending.
This is the way that we love,
Like it's forever.
Then live the rest of our life,
But not together.
A Little bit of love, little bit of love
Little bit of love, little bit of love [repeat]
I feel as if I feel as if I'm wastin'
And I'm wastin' everyday
This is the way you left me,
I'm not pretending.
No hope, no love, no glory,
No Happy Ending.
This is the way that we love,
Like it's forever.
To live the rest of our life,
But not together.
Sunday, September 02, 2007
Self expression
I did art tonight, rather than my essay or sleep. It's 5am.
Seeking Solace - 2007 by *Mambolica on deviantART
It's neat, because I don't usually do digital art and this is worked out entirely on the computer with stock images and serious reference stuff, and I painted it in photoshop7.
Call it escapism. It's my RoD character, Suliss, as an elder priestess, knowing her time is come. Yup, I think I'm killing her off.
Seeking Solace - 2007 by *Mambolica on deviantART
It's neat, because I don't usually do digital art and this is worked out entirely on the computer with stock images and serious reference stuff, and I painted it in photoshop7.
Call it escapism. It's my RoD character, Suliss, as an elder priestess, knowing her time is come. Yup, I think I'm killing her off.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Faith
I am writing this post as a personal response to an article in the LA Times, written by the paper's former religion columnist. It's a very moving piece of writing about a spiritual journey that took him in a direction he'd never expected: the loss of faith.
I have faith. In some ways it is deeply at odds with the rest of me, my doubt and skepticism, more than anything. I used to call it spirituality, what I possess, but let's be honest. It's faith. What I do not have, nor do I want, is religion. I consider myself, if pressed, a Judeo-Christian-Paganist. Haha. My little joke. I'm culturally closer to my Ashkenazim roots than anything else, but I'm no practicing Jew. I try to observe the High Holidays, not because I think it's my duty, but because I like to feel closer to my cultural roots. I don't beat myself up if I miss one. I also really enjoy Christmas. Not because it's the birth of Jesus, but because it's a beautiful and ancient holiday borrowed from several pagan traditions that predate any idea of "religion" common to the Western world. Even current polytheist religions don't quite compare.
My faith isn't tested by my belief in science, far from it, in fact. No, I look at the awesomeness of the universe, from the Big Bang to evolution to plate tectonics as facets of an incredible creation. Not Creation, as in the Bible, but I believe that something started it all off and put the ball in motion. Like I said, it's not spirituality, but faith. I choose to believe this.
Sometimes, I forget that I believe in the existence of something bigger than all of this. 'God' is a funny word. It doesn't seem quite right to me, mainly because I can't help envisioning a bearded white guy in the sky. I do not believe in that god. I don't want to say 'force' because this isn't Star Wars, but I prefer to think of 'God' as a something, intangible and invisible, but able to take the forms that people need in order to feel connected. Today, God is this rock. Tomorrow, perhaps God is you.
When I plead with 'God', I look up. This is not because I believe it is up above, but because, I think, by craning our necks backward, we are making ourselves vulnerable and in pleading to 'God', we are undoubtedly feeling vulnerable. I thought about this the other day as I wept in the shower. I felt, at that moment, as though my whole world had fallen in on me, Gareth had told me he needed a break. My plea was not to make him change his mind, but to give me strength to bear it, to be okay, because I believe that things happen for a reason, even though we rarely can see the why of it at the time it's happening.
No, I don't believe that 'God' actively intercedes in our lives, not really. I think it's more that 'God' has an unlimited energy or strength that when we are in need, and open to it, we can share. Does that sound strange? I am okay, and whatever the outcome is, I have to trust that it will work out. That's faith, not spirituality. But it's not religion. I do not need people to interpret for 'God'. People just screw it up. People get in the way. People have ulterior motives.
Among my friends I have counted Jews, Christians of many sects and stripes, Wiccans and Pagans, Hindus, Baha'i, Muslims, Buddhists, Atheists and agnostics. These people have been of various colours, creeds and sexual orientations. I tell none of them that by believing what they believe they are wrong, because they're not. I find no issue if they associate themselves with a particular religion or are lapsed, for our actions speak clearly about us as human beings, and there have been some awful people who did what they did under the mantle of religion.
When I was a teenager, I thought I would make it official. I had plans to study my Torah and have my bat mitzvah once I'd turned 18. I'd chosen not to when I was a child because I did not feel, coming from a multi-faith home, that I was ready to make such an important decision. Smart kid. Through my teens, I successively lost five relatives over the course of three years, not all close, but starting with my beloved Nana, and ending with my father. That final loss, when I was 18, threw my religious plans in a tailspin. I lost my faith, or so I believed. I was angry.
I hadn't lost it, it turned out, I simply put it somewhere safe and then forgot where I'd hidden it. It was two years later, maybe three, when I stumbled upon it once more. I don't remember what happened or where I was that triggered it, but I think that as a guess, it was probably my cottage. When I recovered my faith, I had found that my interest in associating it with a religion had disappeared. I was what I was and no brand name was going to change it.
I do not love 'God', but I have respect and I believe that 'God' is there when we need it.
I have faith. In some ways it is deeply at odds with the rest of me, my doubt and skepticism, more than anything. I used to call it spirituality, what I possess, but let's be honest. It's faith. What I do not have, nor do I want, is religion. I consider myself, if pressed, a Judeo-Christian-Paganist. Haha. My little joke. I'm culturally closer to my Ashkenazim roots than anything else, but I'm no practicing Jew. I try to observe the High Holidays, not because I think it's my duty, but because I like to feel closer to my cultural roots. I don't beat myself up if I miss one. I also really enjoy Christmas. Not because it's the birth of Jesus, but because it's a beautiful and ancient holiday borrowed from several pagan traditions that predate any idea of "religion" common to the Western world. Even current polytheist religions don't quite compare.
My faith isn't tested by my belief in science, far from it, in fact. No, I look at the awesomeness of the universe, from the Big Bang to evolution to plate tectonics as facets of an incredible creation. Not Creation, as in the Bible, but I believe that something started it all off and put the ball in motion. Like I said, it's not spirituality, but faith. I choose to believe this.
Sometimes, I forget that I believe in the existence of something bigger than all of this. 'God' is a funny word. It doesn't seem quite right to me, mainly because I can't help envisioning a bearded white guy in the sky. I do not believe in that god. I don't want to say 'force' because this isn't Star Wars, but I prefer to think of 'God' as a something, intangible and invisible, but able to take the forms that people need in order to feel connected. Today, God is this rock. Tomorrow, perhaps God is you.
When I plead with 'God', I look up. This is not because I believe it is up above, but because, I think, by craning our necks backward, we are making ourselves vulnerable and in pleading to 'God', we are undoubtedly feeling vulnerable. I thought about this the other day as I wept in the shower. I felt, at that moment, as though my whole world had fallen in on me, Gareth had told me he needed a break. My plea was not to make him change his mind, but to give me strength to bear it, to be okay, because I believe that things happen for a reason, even though we rarely can see the why of it at the time it's happening.
No, I don't believe that 'God' actively intercedes in our lives, not really. I think it's more that 'God' has an unlimited energy or strength that when we are in need, and open to it, we can share. Does that sound strange? I am okay, and whatever the outcome is, I have to trust that it will work out. That's faith, not spirituality. But it's not religion. I do not need people to interpret for 'God'. People just screw it up. People get in the way. People have ulterior motives.
Among my friends I have counted Jews, Christians of many sects and stripes, Wiccans and Pagans, Hindus, Baha'i, Muslims, Buddhists, Atheists and agnostics. These people have been of various colours, creeds and sexual orientations. I tell none of them that by believing what they believe they are wrong, because they're not. I find no issue if they associate themselves with a particular religion or are lapsed, for our actions speak clearly about us as human beings, and there have been some awful people who did what they did under the mantle of religion.
When I was a teenager, I thought I would make it official. I had plans to study my Torah and have my bat mitzvah once I'd turned 18. I'd chosen not to when I was a child because I did not feel, coming from a multi-faith home, that I was ready to make such an important decision. Smart kid. Through my teens, I successively lost five relatives over the course of three years, not all close, but starting with my beloved Nana, and ending with my father. That final loss, when I was 18, threw my religious plans in a tailspin. I lost my faith, or so I believed. I was angry.
I hadn't lost it, it turned out, I simply put it somewhere safe and then forgot where I'd hidden it. It was two years later, maybe three, when I stumbled upon it once more. I don't remember what happened or where I was that triggered it, but I think that as a guess, it was probably my cottage. When I recovered my faith, I had found that my interest in associating it with a religion had disappeared. I was what I was and no brand name was going to change it.
I do not love 'God', but I have respect and I believe that 'God' is there when we need it.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Larry Bagnell = Love
There's just something about Larry Bagnell, Member of Parliament for the Yukon Territory. Even people who normally profess their hatred for the Liberals love Larry. Larry's a cool dude. He has some incredible magic ability to be everywhere all at once, at tons of community events and still be in Ottawa when the House is sitting. He's nice, personable, fun, comes across honest and good-natured and... well, everyone loves Larry.
Last night I went to his annual summer barbecue, which while a grill was grilling skewers, it was more of an Asian thing than burger thing, in that the Filipino community was out cooking and doing sort of generic Asian yummies. It was nice. Oh, and it was free. I was really impressed at the cross-section of people that came out for it, and all the different sorts shaking Larry's hand. Good times.
In other news, this has been a bad week, which I'm not going to talk about right now. Instead, I present you with a two-nosed dog !!
Last night I went to his annual summer barbecue, which while a grill was grilling skewers, it was more of an Asian thing than burger thing, in that the Filipino community was out cooking and doing sort of generic Asian yummies. It was nice. Oh, and it was free. I was really impressed at the cross-section of people that came out for it, and all the different sorts shaking Larry's hand. Good times.
In other news, this has been a bad week, which I'm not going to talk about right now. Instead, I present you with a two-nosed dog !!
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
No pressure
It's kind of nice to be posting to my weblog without pressure. I really did enjoy the Blogathon and I hope to do it again next year. I almost made 400 bucks this year for the Humane Society of Canada, which is great, but I hope next year to do better. Maybe a different charity, too. I really would have liked to do it for the local shelter, but they have no online donation form, so that made it impossible according to the rules of Blogathon. Oh well.
We were interviewing today for the Internship position with the Gallery. We had thought (hoped?) that we'd have had a clear leader in the candidates, but following the interviews, we were kind of hard-pressed to decide. This is why we ask for references, I guess. Anyway, all the shortlisted candidates really have something going for them.
Anyway, I don't actually have a lot to say, but I thought I'd better post an entry or I might lose interest again, and I really don't want that to happen. I've been writing in the blog since October 2001. It seems so long ago; certainly it is a lifetime ago, based on where I was then, and what I was doing at the time.
So, what was I doing? I was attending Seneca's digital media school doing computer animation. I had hopes of a career in video games or film. I'm still in touch with one of the students, Brian, and he managed to score the job, working at Bioware. I was not, however, living at home and rent-free so I couldn't devote all my time to creating mods with him. I had to work and an apartment to pay for.
Today, after work, I went shopping and found wild pink salmon on the store shelves. Once in a while, living in Whitehorse has its perks. I barbecued the little pink steaks, made a white/wild rice base and salad and finished it all up with a fresh fruit salad that included the strawberries I'm growing on my porch. Yummy. And, sure, rent is still a struggle, but a lot less of one, and I own a new car and pay my bills myself, mostly without the help of my mother. Ya, I guess I've come a ways since 2001.
We were interviewing today for the Internship position with the Gallery. We had thought (hoped?) that we'd have had a clear leader in the candidates, but following the interviews, we were kind of hard-pressed to decide. This is why we ask for references, I guess. Anyway, all the shortlisted candidates really have something going for them.
Anyway, I don't actually have a lot to say, but I thought I'd better post an entry or I might lose interest again, and I really don't want that to happen. I've been writing in the blog since October 2001. It seems so long ago; certainly it is a lifetime ago, based on where I was then, and what I was doing at the time.
So, what was I doing? I was attending Seneca's digital media school doing computer animation. I had hopes of a career in video games or film. I'm still in touch with one of the students, Brian, and he managed to score the job, working at Bioware. I was not, however, living at home and rent-free so I couldn't devote all my time to creating mods with him. I had to work and an apartment to pay for.
Today, after work, I went shopping and found wild pink salmon on the store shelves. Once in a while, living in Whitehorse has its perks. I barbecued the little pink steaks, made a white/wild rice base and salad and finished it all up with a fresh fruit salad that included the strawberries I'm growing on my porch. Yummy. And, sure, rent is still a struggle, but a lot less of one, and I own a new car and pay my bills myself, mostly without the help of my mother. Ya, I guess I've come a ways since 2001.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
B:45 The End !
This is my last post for Blogathon 2007. I'm pretty impressed with myself, I must admit.
My total? 15 pledges for $376.04 !! You have until Tuesday to pledge for me and the Humane Society of Canada if you haven't already, but wanted to. You can contact me or click this link.
As it stands now, I'd like to thank:
THANK YOU ALL !!!
And would I do it again? Hell yes. See you next year, Blogathon !! And Goodnight !
My total? 15 pledges for $376.04 !! You have until Tuesday to pledge for me and the Humane Society of Canada if you haven't already, but wanted to. You can contact me or click this link.
As it stands now, I'd like to thank:
- Claire
Liz
Al & Carrie
Lucy
Kelly
Pat
Hosh
Scott
Aislinn
Shecky
Didier
Tammy
Dodo
Megan
THANK YOU ALL !!!
And would I do it again? Hell yes. See you next year, Blogathon !! And Goodnight !
B:44 Second-to-last post !
HOLY CRAP. The end is in sight !!!! You know how I'm going to make this last half hour go by really quickly? I'm going to take a long, incredibly hot shower. It's going to be grand !
Catch you on the cleaner side of things !
Catch you on the cleaner side of things !
B:43 All-Nighter
When I was in university residence, the cafeteria staff always knew when I'd been up all night. Those were the only mornings I made it for breakfast. I loved those breakfasts. Back then, I usually was up all night writing essays. Only occasionally did I stay up all night doing the party thing. I didn't drink at all in my first year. In my second, I started drinking, but still, I usually stayed up all night only to write papers. Social activity and clubbing was best followed-up by a good lie-in the following morning.
When I was basically addicted to playing Realms of Despair (a pretty fabulous text-based roleplaying game), I willingly pulled all-nighters to roleplay all night (go Drow Elves, yeah !). Hell, I'd mastered the Drow dictionary, even. That's some serious involvement. And there were also the all night parties now and then. Then, around the age of 25, I suddenly found it really hard to do it. I suddenly hit a wall around 4am and had to go to sleep. I've discovered that this is not unusual and lots of people suddenly can't pull it off come their mid to late twenties.
This all-nighter, for the Blogathon, is the first all-nighter I've willingly pulled in probably about four years. It's been fun, too, in a strange sort of way. There's no way I could do this regularly, though. But dancing around in my living room has decided me on getting physically active again, so there you go. Go Blogathon !
When I was basically addicted to playing Realms of Despair (a pretty fabulous text-based roleplaying game), I willingly pulled all-nighters to roleplay all night (go Drow Elves, yeah !). Hell, I'd mastered the Drow dictionary, even. That's some serious involvement. And there were also the all night parties now and then. Then, around the age of 25, I suddenly found it really hard to do it. I suddenly hit a wall around 4am and had to go to sleep. I've discovered that this is not unusual and lots of people suddenly can't pull it off come their mid to late twenties.
This all-nighter, for the Blogathon, is the first all-nighter I've willingly pulled in probably about four years. It's been fun, too, in a strange sort of way. There's no way I could do this regularly, though. But dancing around in my living room has decided me on getting physically active again, so there you go. Go Blogathon !
B:42 Life, the Universe and Everything
I've reached Post 42, which means I'm in the home stretch. There are only another 90 minutes or so to go.
So, as is fitting for the number, I guess I should talk about my love of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, a very fine book, and the first in a five(?) book trilogy. ;)
It belonged to Tracy, but she and I shared books all the time. I guess I was about 14 or 15. One of us, probably her, dropped it in her pool. I remember reading it and all the pages were crinkled because I think she may have kept flipping the pages to dry them, and maybe even used a blow-dryer at one point.
The things we remember.
Tracy is still my best friend in the whole world. I love her. She's expecting her first child in September, and though I had initially planned to be there for the birth, I realise that probably won't happen. I miss her.
So, as is fitting for the number, I guess I should talk about my love of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, a very fine book, and the first in a five(?) book trilogy. ;)
It belonged to Tracy, but she and I shared books all the time. I guess I was about 14 or 15. One of us, probably her, dropped it in her pool. I remember reading it and all the pages were crinkled because I think she may have kept flipping the pages to dry them, and maybe even used a blow-dryer at one point.
The things we remember.
Tracy is still my best friend in the whole world. I love her. She's expecting her first child in September, and though I had initially planned to be there for the birth, I realise that probably won't happen. I miss her.
B:41 Music
There was a time when I knew all about who was new on the music scene, especially if they were British. I'm listening to the BlogExplosion Radio and they just played Kate Nash's Foundations. Who is she? When did she turn up on the scene? I rather liked that one song. It's a bit tongue-in-cheek, but then again, it's 4am and maybe I have no ability to discriminate. That's definitely possible. But come on, this is fun stuff:
Your face is pasty ’cause you’ve gone and got so wasted, what a suprise.
Don’t want to look at your face ’cause it’s makin’ me sick.
You’ve gone and got sick on my trainers,
I only got these yesterday.
Oh, my gosh, I cannot be bothered with this.
Your face is pasty ’cause you’ve gone and got so wasted, what a suprise.
Don’t want to look at your face ’cause it’s makin’ me sick.
You’ve gone and got sick on my trainers,
I only got these yesterday.
Oh, my gosh, I cannot be bothered with this.
B:40 Gareth
I just got off the phone with Gareth. That may be one of the only good things about living eight time zones apart. When it's the middle of the night here and I need to talk to him (which doesn't actually happen that often), I usually can, because it's going on noon there. Anyway, we just managed to mostly talk about nothing for about forty minutes, which is why this post is a bit late. I wasn't going to get off the phone with my love, who I see every four to five months for only about two weeks at a time, just to blog, you know? I do have some priorities.
Anyway, I miss him a lot and hope I can see him sometime soon... but it just seems less and less likely that it will happen this summer. Oh money. I have promised him that when I leave Whitehorse, I will move closer to him, not farther away !
Anyway, I miss him a lot and hope I can see him sometime soon... but it just seems less and less likely that it will happen this summer. Oh money. I have promised him that when I leave Whitehorse, I will move closer to him, not farther away !
B:39 Blogathon on the radio...
Internet radio. Thank God. They are tailoring their music for the crazy people who are in the last three hours of the blogathon.
Here's a crazy person:
Here's a crazy person:
B:38 Something a bit more serious
I promised I'd talk about some of the things that have effected my life over the last few months. Hell, I never even finished writing about my holidays with Gareth or anything. I've been a shitty blogger in the last couple of years.
But in the more recent past, the last entry I posted was about nasty Mr. Jerry Falwell who died. More importantly to my life, a very close friend of the family died in May. Some of you may remember in 2003 when I went to New York because Robert passed away. His father, Alfred, was one of my mother's closest friends and she was a foundational person in Robert's life.
Alfred died in May. My mother went to New York in the last two weeks of his life. Initially, it was to help get his place cleaned up for his return in case he needed to get in home care, etc., but by the end, it was clear that he would not be coming home. He died the night after she left.
I dropped everything and got a travel agent to find me a "reasonable" flight from Whitehorse to New York. It was very expensive, but less than had I booked it myself. Half the price, in fact.
Going back to New York, staying in Alfred's apartment... without Alfred... it was very discomforting. I spent nearly no time in the living room because that is where he and I would have been hanging out laughing and talking if it were a normal visit. I stayed holed up in the guest room, formerly Robert's bedroom. There was no Alfred, no Robert, no cat... it was so strange.
And it was not only a goodbye to a beloved friend, but to a neighbourhood. A home away from home. I might write more about this... I don't know. I still hurt thinking about it.
In the last couple of weeks, Don, Alfred's close friend, and ours, too, closed up the apartment and turned in the keys.
It hurts my heart. I don't think I can write any more about this right now.
But in the more recent past, the last entry I posted was about nasty Mr. Jerry Falwell who died. More importantly to my life, a very close friend of the family died in May. Some of you may remember in 2003 when I went to New York because Robert passed away. His father, Alfred, was one of my mother's closest friends and she was a foundational person in Robert's life.
Alfred died in May. My mother went to New York in the last two weeks of his life. Initially, it was to help get his place cleaned up for his return in case he needed to get in home care, etc., but by the end, it was clear that he would not be coming home. He died the night after she left.
I dropped everything and got a travel agent to find me a "reasonable" flight from Whitehorse to New York. It was very expensive, but less than had I booked it myself. Half the price, in fact.
Going back to New York, staying in Alfred's apartment... without Alfred... it was very discomforting. I spent nearly no time in the living room because that is where he and I would have been hanging out laughing and talking if it were a normal visit. I stayed holed up in the guest room, formerly Robert's bedroom. There was no Alfred, no Robert, no cat... it was so strange.
And it was not only a goodbye to a beloved friend, but to a neighbourhood. A home away from home. I might write more about this... I don't know. I still hurt thinking about it.
In the last couple of weeks, Don, Alfred's close friend, and ours, too, closed up the apartment and turned in the keys.
It hurts my heart. I don't think I can write any more about this right now.
B:37
Oooh, another Blogathon game. This one is the "I Hate That Song" game. There aren't a lot of songs I actively hate. There are some genres that get up my nose, but hate is a strong word.
However, after thinking about this for a few minutes, I can name two songs that get up my nose sufficiently that, under the circumstances, I can probably say I dislike them intensely.
Patio Lanterns, by Kim Mitchell, is perhaps one of my most disliked songs. One summer, when I worked for the Ontario Government, it literally haunted me. Everywhere I was, it was played, or it seemed that way. Just the mention of 'patio lanterns' as objects make me shudder.
The other song is a little harder to nail down, but I really dislike The Macarena. I mean, really. I tend to eschew songs with dances attached to them at the best of times (anyone else remember the Achy-Breaky dance?), unless it's the chicken dance, because that's just silly.
When I get married, I have two rules for the DJ: 1) under no circumstance is he to play White Wedding because it is NOT A HAPPY MARRIAGE SONG and, 2) his life is forfeit if he plays The Macarena. Uhg.
However, after thinking about this for a few minutes, I can name two songs that get up my nose sufficiently that, under the circumstances, I can probably say I dislike them intensely.
Patio Lanterns, by Kim Mitchell, is perhaps one of my most disliked songs. One summer, when I worked for the Ontario Government, it literally haunted me. Everywhere I was, it was played, or it seemed that way. Just the mention of 'patio lanterns' as objects make me shudder.
The other song is a little harder to nail down, but I really dislike The Macarena. I mean, really. I tend to eschew songs with dances attached to them at the best of times (anyone else remember the Achy-Breaky dance?), unless it's the chicken dance, because that's just silly.
When I get married, I have two rules for the DJ: 1) under no circumstance is he to play White Wedding because it is NOT A HAPPY MARRIAGE SONG and, 2) his life is forfeit if he plays The Macarena. Uhg.