Look! No hands!

There's this class I have to take called "New Media Literacy", taught by a lady who insisted we all install Netscape 4.2 on our computers (Ryan refused) because she's a crazy lady who refuses to learn to use any other e-mail program. Basically, she's teaching us about how to lay out our e-mails real purty, so I'm not sure where this "literacy" part comes in. It's an online elective, which means a.) it's easy, and b.) I don't have to go to class.

My assignment for this week was to Google "the workplace of the future", find 3 related articles, and write an opinion, which I'd like to share with you because it's kind of interesting and I want to show you guys my homework. =D Ready?

The Workplace of Tomorrow

The workplace of today is already planets away from the places in which we worked a century ago. The workplace of tomorrow is whole new horizon outlined in smarter technology and wireless communications. The leaps we have taken to create an efficient and productive world is speeding us towards a future where computers aren’t as frustrating; where our workspace is more comfortable than the oppressive cubicle; and most importantly: where we can telecommute.

Businesses are changing the way they use office space. The old view was that top management should get the best offices and the best views, and everyone else should get stacked in tiny cubicles. Today, there are an increasing number of open offices and workstation offices that allow much more interaction between the staff and management. Employees are being armed with laptops, mobile phones, and other wireless gadgets, which gives them more options as to where to work. This is to allow the employees to spend more time with clients, go on business trips, and work from the comfort of their homes. Office space isn’t cheap, so Jeff Kinder suggests an alternative called Office Hotel, where people can book office space according to their schedule.

But Office Hotel is only an idea. Right now, people are turning their homes into offices. CompUSA is helping people set up home networks that tie their computers to their TVs to their sound systems to their printers to their phones to their security systems, and so on. Basically, people want to have all the convenient luxuries of the office right in their homes without fussy wires and odd ends sticking out everywhere. However, as Martin Bean and Robyn Thorpe explains, one of the main problems of home networking is making it user-friendly and maintainable by the homeowner. Unlike an office, the home doesn’t have an IT department.

In the future, there will be smart computers that can repair themselves and office chairs will give you back massages – anything to make you more productive. But with all these perks and telecommuting and wireless communications, people will be expected to work everywhere they go, and there will be no way to hide from the office. Dana Knight claims that “Forty-two percent of executives said they expect people will work longer hours by 2020. The average 40-hour workweek may be replaced by a 50-hour schedule.”

The workplace of the future is starting to sound a little scary. While all these technological advancements hope to make life easier for individuals, as a society they might burn us out. Will we know where to draw the line once we invite our employers into our homes through laptops and video conferences? Will we know when we’ve spent too much time working? All these articles talk about how telecommuting will be so amazing because it will save us time and money, and we won’t have to see our pesky co-workers and bosses. But part of our social development is learning to work with each other. When given the option of confronting someone we don’t like, the majority will choose to hide behind a computer or a phone. But that doesn’t make us stronger, and it doesn’t allow us to grow emotionally. As human beings, we must never forget that our society thrives on human intimacy, and though technology brings people around the world closer together, it is keeping the people around us farther apart.

Goddamn Baby Boomers!

I got a new issue of Vice - the Baby Boomer Bashing issue. I don't know a lot about economics and history and shit, but the idea of blaming most of North America's problems on one generation is pretty stupid. These "baby boomers" are part of what I like to call Human Beings. And through years of evolution, we've become ever more self-centred and greedy, so what makes Vice think that we're going to be "better" than our moms and dads? One can hope of course, and that's why I'm planning on having children no matter how fucked up this world gets because it's about the most meaningful contribution to mankind I could leave behind. Everything else like my work and my house and my car and my money won't mean much in the grand scope of things once I'm gone.

Vice does raise a lot of really good points, which I won't get into (grab your own copy if you're curious). Although I don't hate baby boomers (how can anyone EVEN VICE hate the hand that raised and fed them???), I do see the consequences of our ego-centric behaviour. All humans are ego-centric - were people made as a reflection of God or was it vice versa? But one thing we used to have that we somehow lost incidentally during the baby boomer's generation was the honouring of one's family. And I don't mean going to family get-togethers and staying in touch because that's more about you than about the family. I'm talking about family values.

In my mom's generation, everyone got divorces. That to me was the biggest offence those goddamn baby boomers made to our society. People started thinking only about themselves - and they fucking forgot about the children! Now those children think that divorce is OK - they survived it, their kids will too. But we lose sight of the fact that divorce really fucking sucks for kids and you can't ever make it up to them no matter what you do to try to make their lives better. No matter how many sacrifices, your kids will always kind of hate you for not giving them a real family. Maybe that's is just me talking.

Anyway, my point is that all those strong family values supported by society and religion are gone. Once you've given everyone the personal freedom to do basically whatever the fuck they want, you can't enforce any laws on them. God knows, I'd be the first to riot if someone told me I was NOT allowed to get a divorce. But maybe there's another better way. What if we simply taught our children to value families, to value others, and to value ourselves all at the same time. That it doesn't have to be ME vs. YOU. What about that, Dr. Phil?

Yes, this is the idealist talking.

Ah... well, what do I know anyway? I'm just pissed because on top of everything else, thanks to those goddamn baby boomers, the cost of a post-secondary education far (and beyond) exceeds its value now.

Test

Hmm... heard my site was down. Just checking it out?

L'escalier à HELL

The White Stripes live is like nothing I've ever seen before. How can two teeny tiny people on one huge stage, in one huge auditorium, make so much noise? The stage was decked out like a red, white and black jungle and seeing Meg and Jack perform is like taking an elevator to Hell and this is what you get when the doors slide open. The sheer quality of their music is undeniable at this point. Watching Meg play the drums is a simple pleasure in itself because she isn't merely a good drummer, her whole body embraces the rythme and she plays with the kind of conviction a little girl would have pounding on a toy drum set. And Jack - oh sexy Jack White - he tames every instrument he put his hands on and I couldn't help but think about Jimi Hendrix. I never really understood why Ryan had collected all their music on vinyl, but now I can see that they will undoubtedly go down in history as one of the landmark bands of this era.

There is a small spider web spun between two branches of my Mimosa Pudica and some of the fallen leaves look like they've been suspended in mid-air being caught in it.

We watched The Corpse Bride last night, which was very good of course because it's Tim Burton and it was a bittersweet love story about selfishness and selflessness. It had a wonderful musical score of course, and I've decided that as soon as I get a keyboard for the apartment (who knows when that will be!), I will start collecting all of Tim Burton's piano music. I can't start now because it's very sad having sheet music around and not being able to play any of it.

Outside of the theatre was a tourbus letting of some football players hootin' and hollerin' like they've never been outside on their own before. What is that makes these boys think it's impressive to scream "YEAHHHHH" from the depths of their diaphragms on the middle of the street? And it wasn't isolated to the boys from the tour bus either because their primal scream of uneccessary aggression incited sympathetic behaviour from likeminded boys off the street.

Turn off on Queen St. and you've got girls dressed like JLo and Paris and Jessica and those are the only images that come to mind. I don't wonder what kind of music they like or where they're headed to or where they're coming from because their outter shell already tells me all they want me to know: that they're beautiful and rich. They leave no trace of personality on their body - no original piece of jewlery, no signature, no flair. Just like cut-outs from a fashion mag walking a-glitter on the street.

Riding the bike home on the bicycle caravan, there is a man peeing on a street corner. He doesn't even bother to hide behind a bush or anything. He's just peeing. On the street. Now, I have nothing against public urination, in fact I just told my mom yesterday that I love peeing au naturel when I go camping because I can and it feels cleaner somehow. But that's camping and that's only at night when I won't even let Ryan shine a light on me for fear that someone might see me. But when you're riding down Adelaide - a pretty residential street once you go west of Bathurst, why the fuck are you peeing on the corner where anyone can see you? It's tacky. That man is an animal with no consideration for anyone.

I really love riding on a bicycle caravan because it's like taking a train. But I hate riding the bicycle on Queen St. on a Friday or Saturday night. It's pure bullshit like every driver has completely lost their mind. The cyclists on the other hand pedal confidently knowing that we can get anywhere faster than those cumbersome cars that gets clogged up in traffic. Some people are afraid to ride their bikes in the city, but it's one of my favourite things to do. It takes a certain level of concentration that once you've mastered, it becomes second nature and then you can start seeing details of the city you miss when you're walking because you're too busy looking into store windows, and stuff you miss driving by or on the streetcar because you're going too fast. Plus, I think bike riding recreates the closest feeling of flying. The problem with motorcycles and scooters is that you have to wear that helmet and for very good reasons because you're going faster than we're physically meant to. I choose not to wear a helmet on my bike because I love the feeling of the wind in my hair and I'm a very cautious rider where I avoid heavy traffic whenever possible (I'd rather walk my bike than get run over) and I never try to keep up with traffic. I ride leisurely with my eyes and ears open to take in this city that I love.

CAUTION: extremely boring post.

It's the end of Frosh week at school, and I haven't had to buy a lunch the past two days. There wasn't any free pizza today, but K'Naan was performing in the courtyard and there were lots of people chilling on the grass and listening to the tunes. I wish the school did stuff like this more often. And I wish summer could last forever. I have a four hour break on Thursdays during which we play cards and do homework, and talk about boobs and cocks and boys and girls and sex. Just like high school.

I basically have four friends at school: Jen, Ashley, Elisa and Peter. Jen is young and cynical and in her beats the heart of a true rebel. Ashley is young and cute, but I think she has the potential to go far in life because she's smart and she doesn't rely on her looks. Elisa is very easy to talk to and very cool, but the shit that comes out of her mouth guarantees her a spot in Hell. Peter is just a simple boy from Orangeville with big dreams and boundless energy. I think what originally brought us together is because we're the least threatening to one another. But with time, all these hours that forced us to be together have built quite the interesting friendship.

For some reason, I find it difficult to blog these days. Surely you guys aren't interested in the petty squabbles and gossip I hear at school. Also, it's the beginning of the year so nothing very exciting has happened yet. People have been on extremely good behaviour (with the exception of the Courtney incident mentioned earlier) and everyone is being really nice to everybody else. Besides that though, I've noticed a lull in blog activity amongst all of you so perhaps it's just a slow period for everyone. A new season. New adjustments. No doubt as we head towards winter when we're hiding inside more often, there will be more blog posts floating around for all.

I hate that this post is so boring!!! I just can't think of anything to say. Tell me, is it better to blog something boring or not blog at all? Do people care that what I just wrote has absolutely no pertinence to anything anyone else is doing out there; that quite possibly no one could care less about who I hang out with school and I shouldn't write unless I actually have something to say??? I don't know and I'm confused.

No Squares Allowed

I was devestated by my first few days of school. I thought I'd gone too far out over the summer and that school was going to completely lose its appeal to me and I was going to spend the next eight months in agony. I know that I have been on the right track. If there's anything this past summer has taught me is that yes, I am where I'm supposed to be. I'm meeting the people I need to meet who will teach me by example how to be a stronger individual, and I've been finding meaning in the smallest details of every day life. That kind of existential harmony is a Sign. I don't want to vomit anymore philosphical bullshit on you because I think I'm not educated enough in that area, but I will admit that light has been much brighter these days and the air feels much lighter.

Last Thursday night, after Ryan and I had a long talk about my future and my foray into advertising, I asked "god" for a sign. I asked Good Fortune to show me the way. And immediately, the following day, I found what I was looking for: PR. Public Relations. If there was any profession out there more suited for me, I have yet to hear of it. I love "communicating" - and I find it easy to talk to most people. Old people, young people, short people, tall people... the only people I can't talk to are people who are so narrow minded that they won't talk to you unless it's about one of the things in their short list of conversation topics (i.e. the OC and shopping - yes I've discovered that people like that really exist and that they are completely oblivious to the fact that they are retarded). For the most part though, people enjoy talking to me as much as I enjoy talking to them. And I'm a great listener. Not that many people are, but I can listen quite intently for hours. I will take the information that I've absorbed and ask pertinent questions and consequently get pertinent answers. It's not an easy task, but my mom's a real talker, so I've got some good experience under my belt in that area already.

PR is all about two-way communication. It's to understand what A public wants and offering THAT public the answers in a Language that THAT public understands. I'm good with Languages. If you want legalese, I can put on my lawyer hat and tell you exactly what your legal position is in almost any situation. If you want artsy, I can talk to you about lines and shapes and colours and movement. If you want scientific facts, I can draw a diagram with a list of points and only give you the details you asked for. If you want philisophical - well, as you already know I can wax philisophical til the proverbial cows come . If you wanted dance - fuck I'll pull out my giant piece of cardboard and act it out for you. Bottom line, whether it's written or verbal, I can carry on a pretty good dialogue even in the toughest of situations. Ever have to sit through a lawyer's session with a to-be divorcee? Emotional, intense, touchy. But divorcees were my specialty when I worked in the law firm. The women became quite attached to me, always called to speak to me, usually just to get something off their chest. I was an 19 year old girl with the problems of a 38 year old on my mind. That definately had something to do with my premature aging (OK Cupid says I've got a 38 year old inside me - bah!), but instead of letting it turn me into an old lady, I'm trying to be a wise young woman.

I got to see Datura and Corey today at work. I walked back and forth from Dominion and The Roastery twice. But it's worth it because they are two of my closest friends now and I want to make every effort in keeping our friendships strong. Datura especially has made a big difference in my life. She brings out all the good things in me, my artsy-ness and my spirituality, and she does it so naturally because it's so much a part of her. I think we groove on each others creative vibes and she inspires me endlessly. She's so intense and sensitive, I think of her as a little bird that you have to show her different heights to fly and once she gets there she soars. And that caging her doesn't break her spirit it only makes it stronger and more volatile. Perhaps it's wrong of me to talk about her like this as a lot of people who read this blog know her personally. But this is what I think of my BFF Kellie, and I love her for those very reasons and there's no point in hiding it.

Corey is like no one I've ever met. To the outsider, he's just another stoner graphic artist. But he is one of the smartest, wisest people I've ever met. He embodies a clarity that allows him to know himself and see through others around him. Though we are different, he allows me to be who I am without making me feel like a square. He's like a big brother to me in some ways and I really miss our daily coffee runs when we can share ideas and experiences. Since the first day I met Corey, I knew I liked him despite the fact that he is a Leo.

I've never had a lot of friends, and I never understood why. I'm not unattractive and I have a decent personality, but for some reason, I've never been good at making real friends. And now that I've made some, I'm so grateful that I met them that I'm not going to take them for granted. Friends are too rare and too precious to neglect. Like everything else in life, friendships need to be nurtured with time and attention, and that's definately not too much to ask for the kind of special relationship you get in return.

Sleeping with the Devil

It didn't take me very long to remember what I dreaded about going back to college. After my so very enlightening summer, where I took leaps and bounds in terms of self-improvement, I found myself once again at the pit of human nature.

In design class, we were given an assignment to design a logo for ourselves, so I drew a fish that's shaped like a J with wings. Pretty simple to understand - I'm a Pisces, my name is Jasmin and I can fly. I'm showing this to my design teacher, Richard Slaven, a real character with a Hulk Hogan mustache, and I'm explaining my rationale to him and this girl, Courtney, sticks her stupid head in and says, "It looks like a logo for a seafood restaurant." I'm not going to rant, but needless to say, I was hurt and angry because this isn't a girl I fight with, she's just someone in my class that I usually ignore. We have nothing in common, we don't speak to each other, I can't for the life of me understand what made her say what she did.

And that's that.

Otherwise, it's already starting to seem like a stressful year. We only have 3 months to do a giant campaign for a social cause (mine will be teenage homelessness in Toronto) that includes everything from research to execution, a portfolio, a complete personal stationary package, a self-promotion poster, a bunch of little assignments and tests, and this has only been the second day of class.

Tomorrow is my first break-dancing class with Ryan. Hope he's ready!!! It's gonna be hilarious. Oh, it's also been my second day sober, and I think I might keep it that way. Kellie and I went to see an open mic show yesterday at Oasis on College and I paid a lady named Maria $20 for a cd she made at home drunk because I loved her song Sleeping with the Devil so very very much. It's blues-y and she's got an amazing deep rumbly voice that breaks out into the clearest soprano you've ever heard. It's quite amazing.

Anyway, I'm sorry this isn't a real post. =( I'll write more when I can...

The Night I Fell in Love with Interpol

I arrived at Olivier's gallery at around 10:30/11 and I don't recognize anyone. Not a single person. This doesn't happen very often and I when I do go out on my own I usually go to Zen or Velvet where there are bound to be a few familiar faces, but last night there was no one. After my first reaction which was panic, I tried to chill and I knew I couldn't leave without at least saying hi to Olivier first. Furthermore, it was my last night out before I go back to school, and after Benito's much appreciated words of encouragement, I really wanted to make a night of it.

They had a small bar and only one bathroom where the toilet didn't flush properly. The DJ played Indian, African and reggae jazz (he gets records sent to him from India and Africa), and at first there were two people dancing. Then there were three, four, six, ten, the dance floor filled up faster than any I've ever seen at a private party. And these people could really dance - there was an equal number of boys and girls and they grooved together to the music. Some were obviously professional dancers, but the rest were just really cool dancers. They danced with abandon and flair, and there was no crowd of catty people laughing at anyone. The vibes were so good and strong it was palpable, and soon I was groovin' along with them.

For most of the night, Olivier was running around keeping things cool. He watched the front entrance a lot and made sure no one was out there with drinks or drawing unnecessary attention to this underground, private affair. He also brought out a small film projector that played a black and white snippet of some African women dancing. His studio was cleaned out - all his paints and equipment, all those half finished pieces and unstretched canvases were tucked away somewhere, and the place was lit up with beautiful red lanterns that the DJ made himself.

I met so many people last night - a guy named Ryan was doing "security" at the door watching the smokers and he rapped some of his rhymes to me some of which were like pick-up lines for chicks, and others were witty social commentaries; Bruce was a day-time paper pusher at some investment firm, and at night composed musical scores for movies, he was a good dancer and a really sweet gentlemen - I forgot that they still existed out there; a guy with shaggy hair I can't remember his name, but he introduced me to "everyone" and he told me where he and his friends all hang out and invited me to go see them soon in Kensington Market - I really wish I hadn't forgotten his name!!!; a girl named Yazmin who used to be an artist, who became a biologist and then started teaching English in different countries and is now trying to get back in touch with her creative side - she didn't believe in coincidences and now neither do I; a girl named Dina or Tina who kind of runs the parties in Kensington who has the sweetest face in the world I even drew a picture of her when I got home with a big black curly almost-afro but fluffier and dimples and black eyes who told me I was beautiful; Yohedha was there again all decked out in an old British paper-boy hat (it has a real name, but I can't remember) with a brown suit and a one of those pastel plaid ties that only a handful of people on earth can get away with tied in a Windsor knot, and he drew a picture of me while we shared the joint I brought; and then there were people I just danced with who are smiling shadows in my memory who twisted and grooved to the music in that hot humid dance floor.

It was like I stepped into a dream. When I woke up this morning, sprawled on the couch with Peaches in my robe, I thought how easily it really could have just been a dream. The people were so nice and friendly and generous and beautiful and unique, they couldn't be real, not in this harsh, judgemental world of ours. There were a lot of Signs last night - Signs that I'm on the right path, that I'm making the good life choices. Ever since I decided to dedicate some of my time to my creativity, life has been sweeter that I could have possibly imagined. Even as I write, there is a protest/parade for the CBC locked out workers who have the drums going and the music blaring and it's like the party hasn't ended. Maybe it never has to end?

Everything that happened last night seemed to be like part of a well-planned movie. I got there, and it was scary. I overcame my fear and was welcomed into a circle of friends. It would have been a little too lovey dovey if it weren't for when I was trying to say goodnight to Olivier that things got interesting.

I approached him as he was talking intimately to a girl sitting on the bar. She was beautiful with big mermaid eyes and a scarf wrapped over her hair. I said something like, "Hey, I just wanted to say bye and..." and he said something like, "Meet blahblahblah..." I can't remember that girls name and he was mumbling anyway so I have no idea. She kind of pulled a switcheroo on me where she grabbed me by the shoulders and said, "Stay here and I'll entertain you til he comes back." He ran away without even meeting my eye! It was very bizarre and I was getting bad vibes from this chick. I told her I just wanted to say goodnight, and she said, "Oh" and started going on about how much she loved a particular one of Olivier's painting - a paint mosaic of a woman's face on a long flat piece of wood - and she said, "I love it. I'm going to buy it." So I said, "OK..." as in What else do you want me to say? And then she just suddenly turned around and started talking with the bartender like I wasn't there. I literally backed away and the whole encounter left me so baffled, I didn't even say goodbye to "everyone" because I was still trying to work out what had happened.

Maybe I watch too many movies, but she was acting like the jealous girlfriend. And Olivier was acting sketchy too because he usually has excellent manners, it wasn't like him (not that I know him THAT well, but manners are something you can tell about a person right off the bat) to just run off like that when I was trying to talk to him. Anyway, whatever it was she thought, she was totally intimidating and it was so perfect because I think I could have walked out that party with an inflated ego and a naive optimism that life was perfect, but instead I was very bluntly reminded that there are still people out there who are petty and catty and that there are still girls out there who can make me feel like a teeny tiny insect begging not to get stepped on.

Whatever fears that girl had about me and Olivier are totally unfounded anyway. So far I've only really seen him as a mentor. We vibe off things he knew back when and the things I know now. When I look at him, I see someone who has been my age twice, which doesn't mean anything except that he's had twice as much experience as me. Besides, as soon as I got home, I started to miss Ryan a lot and wished that he had been with me to this great party. I looked for Piper at the Gates of Dawn to put on while I winded down for the evening (at 3:20 a.m.), but Ryan didn't have it on his computer and I didn't want to listen to our LP without him, so I put on - Interpol.

I do have an Interpol t-shirt that I got at their last show in Toronto, but I mostly bought it because it's a great t-shirt (albeit small!). I liked their music, but something in it always eluded me. Last night, as I sat there alone with Peaches in the middle of the night after having had more fun than I've ever had sober (well, except for pot), Interpol was like angel's music. The lead singer's voice is so awesome a little like a lounge singer and the music is so so good and I felt like I could listen to it forever. The whole evening had this timeless feeling to it with the red lantern light and the trippy jazz and everyone dressed in everything from hippie to vintage, and people lounging on sofas sipping drinks and laughing and people dancing without restraint. Alone with a dog and Interpol after all of that gave me a second wind. It also made me realise that if it weren't for Ryan, I wouldn't have any of it.

I wouldn't have the computer hooked up to the TV, I never would have gone to see Interpol, I wouldn't have a dog, I wouldn't have this cozy apartment to go home to, I wouldn't have had the confidence to take dance lessons, and I never would have had the inspiration to start painting. Well, I might have gotten some of those things eventually, but the difference between my life now and my life before I met Ryan is so vast. He supports me in all my little whims and he keeps me safe. I owe my beautiful life to him and isn't that a sobering thought?

Spirit of Idea Sharing

I didn't get a chance to go to the Island or go watch March of the Penguins yesterday. I stopped by a friend's art gallery/studio/home yesterday, Olivier, and I got caught up talking with the people who were there: Allan, an older British gentleman hair stylist, and Yehodha, a Jewish painter who looks a LOT like Adrien Brody but he wears thick black round rim glasses and when we talks to you, his mind moves so fast that you feel like you're being taken on a mental ride because he's throwing all kinds of information at you and everything makes sense, but he does it so fast you don't even have time to digest what he says, you just follow him around and when he's finished, he looks at you through those big circle glasses and you agree. That's all you can do. Allan is a sweet old guy with all this wonderful British charm that you just want to take him out for a pint and let him entertain you all night. Olivier does not seem his age, he seems completely ageless with this boundless energy that keeps him moving from place to place, he likes to fiddle with things like his turn table and play psytrance in the middle of the night and loud but he can because he doesn't live in a residential neighbourhood. And you kind of have to listen to psytrance loud, I think, to feel the vibrations of the bass. He's got this cat that's a psycat because she doesn't run away from the music as you'd think a cat might do because it is rather overwhelming, even to human ears, but she loved it. She would just lie there and you can watch her eyes glaze over and her tail switch just off beat to the music and next thing you know, she's on her back with her little feet up in the air and she's tripping out so luxuriously, I couldn't help but wish that I could be her just for the night and be a psycat too.

Anyway, I was there pretty much all night, surrounded by paintings and art people, who don't really talk a lot about art, but they never stop talking about ideas. Everything becomes a subject and every subject is worth at least a 10 minute discussion. I guess some people would call it mindless, but after a night of pretty intense talking, my mind feels so relaxed. I feel like I don't have to think about anything at all except what I'm going to have for breakfast. I think the mind needs to be exercised by this kind of stimulation, at least every once in awhile. These people don't talk about books or movies or TV, they talk about how things work, they talk about society, different societies, and cause and effect and proportion and behaviour and all these things that maybe we're too busy to think about let alone talk about, but they make time for it. And it may not have a lot of relevance to every day life, but it does because it's stuff we see around us all the time.

I guess I'm a little infected by it, just from the way I'm writing, I can tell I've been swept up in the whole spirit of idea sharing. It will die down after awhile, and I'll be back to my old self, not to say I don't like that self, because I do, but it's nice to feel a little different once in awhile. I feel like my brain has been charged up and I can take on any kind of mental and physical task because it's all just energy. This afternoon, after I've had some exercise and eaten something, I will start painting. And if I'm done before 10 p.m. tonight, I'll be going back to the gallery for a real artsy fartsy party where I'll be surrounded by artists and god knows what I'll do or say, but it's terribly exciting for me because this may be my last chance to be around really creative people before I go back to school and have to deal with those so-called "creative advertising" assholes who think they can think outside the box, but really they just invented themselves an even bigger box to think inside.

The SOUND of Silence

I survived the first night without Ryan. Not without its costs, though. When I got home, my restlessness inspired me to mop the floor at the door and in the kitchen. I did all the dishes. I cleaned the coffee table. The only thing that was going to help me relax and sit down was pot. I know this from experience. And so, I smoked and smoked and smoked, watched The Wedding Crashers and Alfie (both movies I know Ryan wouldn't mind missing). I ate a lot of garbage including 3 soft boiled eggs over the course of the evening because in my pot-induced stupor, that sounded really tasty. I slept on and off throughout the night and finally crawled into bed at 6:45 a.m. I woke up with a sore stomach from the eggs and now I'm waiting it out til I make myself some breakfast and go out for the day. There's Bedouin Sound Clash in the background and my dog is under my chair licking my foot.

Dolly Parton was amazing. We had middle-section seats next to a very old couple - the lady of which fell asleep near the beginning of the show, sleeping soundly on the boney old shoulder of her husband who undoubtedly only came because of is wife. It was a great show - Dolly is a gifted artist and a talented performer. She played everything from the banjo to the harpsichord and she sang a mix of her old classics as well as some covers from the 60s and 70s. She has such a beautiful voice that I seriously wanted to cry during her performance of I Will Always Love You. When you watch Whitney Houston sing the same song, you're expecting her to drop dead from the strain in her voice, but when Dolly does it, it's so effortless and pure. She ended her encore with a cover of John Lennon's Imagine in light of the world's current political and environmental situation. I know it's cheesey, but a. it's Dolly! and b. maybe there's a reason why so many artists feel the desire to cover that song. It's undeniable that it's a beautiful song. It's a song that has meaning and is essentially timeless. Maybe people want to sing that song because they want to continue to move people with that message. I hope in 30 years, I'll still hear new bands cover Imagine. Cheesey as it may be, it's one of my all-time favourite songs.

So today is my shopping day. I'm going to buy myself some new glasses and some school supplies. I'm going to sit at a café somewhere and read. I'm going to go to The Bloor Cinema to watch The March of the Penguins. I might even visit Olivier at his gallery. I'm looking forward to a day to myself, and really it's the night I dread when Ryan is not next to me while I sleep.

Island in the Sun

Laura is gone. Trashed, deleted, disappeared. Hopefully we will never see her again. I'm sure though, that there are other zip files out there containing similar content. A zip file named Mr. Oizo or Titanic that some unsuspecting downloader out there will open and find "lucy" or "sara" or "kate". Do pedophiles out there KNOW which zip files have the goods they want? Is there some kind of secret directory where they can be like, "Ohhhhhh... search for Season 4 of Rosie and get 500 pics of sweet little Angela..."?

I'm suspicious of people who say they get uninvited porn spam. I've had Internet access (and e-mail addresses) since I was 12 and I have never received a single piece of pornographic spam. I get them at work, but never in my private inboxes. I know that the chances of someone getting uninvited porn spam is pretty slim unless you're the kind of person who would sign up for fake contests and shit online or if you visit porn sites. And so when I see little church ladies in Kansas getting all outraged about their two year old seeing porn spam on their computers, well, that's their own fault for not protecting their e-mail addresses. Besides, what kind of two year old is checking e-mail anyway? (I didn't make up the 2 year old bit either, I really did get a spam complaint about that.)

That's why I never believed that there are any real unsuspecting victims out there. And maybe I'm just de-sensitized to porn, but e-mails about discount Viagra and penis enlargers are as easy to ignore (and just as annoying) as e-mails about investment banking and mortgage rates. Usually the porn doesn't pop up until you click the links in your e-mail, right? I'm not sure, I never open that shit. But my point is, I never believed in unsuspecting spam victims, but after finding "laura" in my Mr. Oizo zip file, I can understand why people get so upset. Ryan and I had a long rant about it last night in the kitchen, and I guess there are people out there who really are innocent victims of Internet porn.

There are advertisements downtown now for girls 18+ at "adult" massage parlors. The incentive: DAILY CASH! And this was seen on the side of one of our giant OMG garbage cans in billboard form. Since when did the city start encouraging adult massages? I'm not opposing the advertisements, after all, a girl's got to make a buck somehow... so I guess I'm really griping about how tacky it is. Why does the adult entertainment business have to be so damn tacky?

Anyway, enough about porno and all that shite. I've got a long weekend coming up and tomorrow is my last day of work! Which means I start school again on Monday, and I don't know how I feel about that. A really good friend of mine from school has decided not to go back (and in fact got a job at Saatchi & Saatchi) so class will become substantially less fun. I just want to get it all over with so I can have the certificate and start looking for a Real Job. I don't know what I want to do yet.

Tonight, Ryan and I are going to see Dolly Parton at the amphitheatre. I only recently started getting into Dolly after watching a bio on her on TV. I know that's cheesey, but her life has been an amazing journey, and I think it would be a shame to miss a legend like her.

Tomorrow, Ryan leaves for Regina and won't be back til Monday. I'm sad, but I know I'll have a good time by myself. I plan on going to The Island on Saturday (weather permitting) with a nice fat joint and my books and maybe a sketch pad. I wish I had an iPod! But I think the water, the sun, the trees and the distant gaggle of tourists will be music enough to my ears.