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When we started this blog for the documentary, I promised myself I would never go more than two weeks without posting. I also promised myself that I would never start a blog post with something lame and apologetic like, Read more
I don't flirt. Ever. Not because I don't know how, but because I just don't like to. Being funny had always been my technique as a server and it was more profitable and less exhausting to maintain than keeping Read more
It's 2012. I hope I don't need to remind anyone (other than Conservatives and misogynists, if you'll pardon the redundancy) that women are so much more than their looks. We are capable of anything we set our minds to Read more
A couple of weeks ago, my brother Dan came up for Mum's 75th birthday celebration with his five kids (Paul, 18, Em, 15, Lauren 14, Jon, 12 and Briana, 6), all of whom reminded me of what is was Read more
I stand before you, a sinner. I have broken my word. I have not practiced what I preached. I have failed!
Contrition was a big thing in the 80's. People were always apologizing for something or other and apparently it Read more
I was an imaginative child, but so was every kid who was born before Lego came in kits. More than that, I was a strange child surrounded by much older siblings and exposed to Devo and Monty Python far too young. Mum could tell you the story of how I was a fussy eater and the only way she could get me to eat spaghetti was on a towel on the floor under a beach umbrella. I don’t know why this appealed to me but perhaps it had to do with the 1977 Hawaiian sunset wall mural in the living room. It only worked for spaghetti apparently, but it’s proof that at an early age, home decor and my imagination were inextricably linked. The seed was planted like so many Chia-pets of the era, but unlike the clay trolls who sprouted hair within days, my seed would lay dormant for decades. Read more
Every morning when I turn on my gas stove, for just an instant that first head-achey whiff sends me right back to a little log cabin in Harvie Heights, Alberta in 1992. The one-room cabin was so old and in need of repair that in some places there were half inch gaps between the logs. I could literally see the heat escaping. We stuffed the spaces with towels and wool socks but to compensate we’d have to turn on the gas oven to keep from freezing. It was my first time away from home. I was nineteen and homesick and broke but I knew why so many people moved out West and never came back. Pictures in textbooks did not do the Rockies justice. In person they were like a holographic Hollywood backdrop; so real they seemed fake. I don’t think there was a day that went by that I didn’t look around in awe. Read more
When I went out of town to visit family last month I was actually looking forward to taking a little break from writing. I was afraid I was becoming too negative and self-involved and quite frankly, I was sick of myself. I figured I could take a hiatus and my muse would wait patiently for me in the glove box. Unbeknownst to me she got out for a stretch at one of the new and surprisingly clean ‘Eat Here and Get Gas’ pavilions on the 401 and I drove off without her.Even if I had wanted to express myself through the glory of blog, I was living in a series of sad and interchangeable hotel rooms. Hotel rooms are good for many things but unless you’re Dr. Hunter S. Thompson, writing isn’t one of them. I swore off trying to emulate my hero the last time I ate a handful of peyote buttons and wandered off into the hinterlands with a tape recorder and a shotgun. Lesson learned. Don’t ignore your muse for she is a spiteful mistress. Read more
Terms like ‘Mission Statement’ make me think of Corbin Bernsen from LA Law. Anachronistic I know–but there it is. So for a moment I’d appreciate if you thought of me as some Hugo Boss wearing, Gucci shod, slightly amoral, over-coiffed snake oil salesmen who secretly has your best interests at heart.
Things have been getting pretty heavy in here recently, not that I’m complaining, but in the interest of levity I’m going to be completely superficial (who, moi?) and kick things up a notch. High. HIGHER! Straighten up people! Feels good, right?
And now a word or two about posture.
I’ll admit I’m not an expert on this subject or most subjects, to be honest. Maybe ‘Random Jeff Bridges facts no one (even Jeff Bridges) needs to know’, or ‘Obscure Saturday Night Live references circa 1983-2000′ are topics more in my wheelhouse but I’ll give it the old college try. I do have a couple of points of reference that distinguish my opinion; I was diagnosed with scoliosis at the age of eleven and I spent almost 4 months in a back brace after a spinal fracture in 2005. I may not have a degree, but neither does Dr.Dre and don’t nobody front to him, Mother Effers!…or something of that nature so just indulge me okay? Read more
Today I did something I haven’t done since starting this challenge; I bought a fashion magazine, and not just any fashion magazine, a September Issue. I didn’t get the ‘Vogue’ September Issue for several reasons, least of which that it’s cliche, but mainly because of the sexy 10 year-old thing and the fact that I’ve never been a big fan of Vogue anyway. Sure, Creative Director Grace Coddington is a styling genius and creates beautiful photographs of beautiful women in beautiful clothes, but it’s always been just that to me. When I want art I go to a gallery. Today I went with ‘In Style’, for the simple reason that it was the biggest September Issue I could find.
I’ve had a rough couple of days, physically and mentally. A busy weekend with not much sleep and my TMJ and chronic back pain worsened by what I will charitably call an accidental acupuncture ‘misadventure’ means I’ve been dreading coming up with something witty or astute to write about this week. Then I saw the answer in the form of a 2 pound (writer’s estimate) ladies monthly with a shiny Beyonce looking glam-diculous on the cover in a dress festooned with what I can only assume are bedazzled cookie-cutters. “I know,” I thought, “I can read the magazine as a test of my fortitude.” Not a bad idea, Me. It might also serve as a ‘comfort-food’ of sorts as I used to pore over fashion magazines like Details and Mirabella as a teen and rip out the best pictures for a bedroom wall collage. If I fail to be circumspect at least I can turn it into an angry screed that Tim will appreciate even if no on else does. Read more
If you’ve been paying attention you’d know that this challenge has affected me in other areas of my life that I didn’t necessarily expect. As last week’s clip showed, I’m no longer as dependent on cosmetics as I used to be. My overall commitment to my outward appearance has diminished to what I hope is the benefit of my emotional well-being. But life has a way of laughing at our plans, and just as I was relishing my minimalist future the universe threw my family a curveball in the form of an immigration snafu leaving my Mum in a housing lurch. Without getting into details, because we all know how much fun is to be had traversing the labyrinth that is federal bureaucracy, our household has now increased indefinitely by one.
This wasn’t really a surprise as Nick and I bought our house with this eventuality in mind, but it happened a little sooner than we had planned so we all agreed that the third floor would become Mum’s apartment. Until now the 300 square foot third floor was underused as my office, a cobweb collecting second living room, and a shrine to Jeff Bridges. In preparation for Mum’s arrival, Nick and I and a litter of dust-bunnies spent a full Sunday readying the space for her. The previous owners had done a beautiful job renovating the room and using the space to it’s maximum benefit, employing the eaves under the roof as long narrow storage compartments. Plenty of room, right? Read more
I entered the modeling world at the overripe age of 19, far beyond the typical expiry date. I was scouted at a mall and thought,”Why not?” I entered into it with eyes wide open and zero expectations. I was not a minor, nor was I pushed into it by a parent, I was just killing time until I figured out what I wanted to do with my life (for that momentous occasion I would have to wait about 7 more years). Having spent the previous 5 years working mostly in restaurants and nursing homes, I figured that modelling would be a pretty easy gig, and depending on the shoot, one that wouldn’t end with me being screamed at by a senile octogenarian or smelling of club sandwich. With those not-so-lofty ambitions, for about six months I was a model.
I had been surrounded by males all my life. My brothers and their friends saw me as another boy but with less hair (I didn’t even have enough for an anemic ponytail until I was 6). I was an outdoorsy girl, ‘au naturel’ according to Linda, my agent, with absolutely no idea how to apply makeup or walk a runway. When I met the other girls in the agency I was more than a little taken aback by how young they were despite the layers of makeup and teased ‘freshly-fucked’ hair. Most were in their early teens yet looked older than me. They sat in the makeup chairs chain-smoking and drinking coffee, perfunctorily tended to by their mothers. This is what creeped me out the most. Today we have shows like ‘ Toddlers & Tiaras’ to act as a cautionary tale. Back in ’92 I was unaware that such a casual evil existed and was secretly thankful that my mother loved me enough to say no when I had expressed an interest in modeling as a pre-teen. Read more