refined, yet durable

it's the little things

2009-03-20T13:38:00.000-07:00

I could listen to her say "croco-deel" all day.

2008-11-14T15:40:00.001-08:00

The best story ever!

Once upon a time... from Capucha on Vimeo.

there are no words.

2008-10-30T19:21:00.000-07:00

Dear Internets,

2008-10-29T20:30:00.000-07:00

Yeah, life is good.

Not Dead (yet)

2008-07-31T10:23:00.000-07:00

I have a history of abandoning blogs.

But I won't let this die.

The time I meter out for myself these days comes in rather small doses. Maintaining a balance between work, planning a wedding, supporting a partner through grad school and sleep doesn't leave much wiggle room. When I have it, I hoard it. I cocoon with books and magazines and red wine and just take life in. This balance will shift soon, Avi will be done school in September and the wedding will be done with and we'll be married people, grown-fuckin'-ups. This is slightly insane.

To be continued... Post Mrs.

how hard we love

2008-05-20T18:38:00.000-07:00

I love living with a musician. I love watching him, like this. Peering from around the wing of the couch as he sits at his keyboard playing silence and hollow plonks, the secret music feeds into headphones and he's inside himself and in front of me at once. Tonight, he is wearing his favourite brown sweater and blue jeans. Mismatched socks ("there's another pair just like this in the drawer"). Newly acquired (read: required. The week before his 30th birthday, natch) spectacles are slipping south as he bends to make a note on the chart papers in front of him. He looks handsome and noble.

We both hammer away at our keys. I solve problems and ease minds, he poses questions in sonata form. Sometimes I try to type rhythmically along with him and we sound good together.

lolcats

2008-04-29T12:39:00.001-07:00

see more crazy cat pics

lucian freud

2008-04-21T15:39:00.000-07:00

the meeting of the clans

2008-04-14T16:51:00.000-07:00

I had nothing to worry about.

unstoppable force/immovable object

2008-04-12T07:51:00.000-07:00

So...... Our parents are meeting tonight for the first time. "Our" being Avi and My. Being that we're engaged and have been for over a year, dating for three before that.. Being that our parents haven't been in the same room together and have had very little communication in that time... Yeah, so, a bit tense. This is normal right? I just want everyone (myself included) to feel connected and relaxed and to enjoy one another's company. No pressure, right? Will I drink myself confidant and stray into sloppy territory? Will everyone stare at their menus too long? Awkward silences? Dads keeping quiet, moms chatting nervously? This event cannot possibly go worse than it's gone in my head a million times over.

He's got some moves....

2008-04-07T19:48:00.000-07:00

From the Cute or Sad files...

2008-04-07T14:41:00.000-07:00

the greater good

2008-03-20T07:00:00.000-07:00

I dropped out of high school in '99. Truant for so long, it seemed embarrassing to call what little school I did attend, actual enrollment. Misguided youth. Full of angst and chaos. Okay, italics aside, I wasn't *that* bad. Confused? Yes. Angry? Yes. Forced to contend with multiple situations involving devastation, grief, sexual maturity, mental illness and substance abuse long before I was emotionally prepared to do so? Hells to the Yes. But this is all merely hedgerow along my long and winding path to a point...

I spent the rest of that year attempting to sell matched luggage sets of questionable quality to economically disenfranchised suburbanites in a shopping plaza solely supported by the neighboring monolithic WalMart which had recently occupied the space voided by K-Mart and originally built for Woolworths. That summer at an REM concert at the Ampitheatre at Ontario Place, loitering by the usual outdoor festival marketing booths while my slightly older friend purchased our beer, I absently accepted a flyer for Katimavik ("Canada's Youth-Volunteer Service Program!") while crushing from afar on some dude with killer sideburns and a 'Free Tibet' t-shirt. Said flyer rested at the bottom of my canvas bag with loose tobacco, bobby-pins, pennies and Dr. Pepper Lipsmacker gloss for several weeks post-show. Somehow that glossy cardstock, creased into quarters, smudged with a summers worth of sun-tan and hash oils, ended up tacked to the dresser mirror well. Seasons changed. The new century was born. Briefly dated a born-again Christian named Jason- a beautiful, soft-spoken Jamaican-Canadian who spent his days trying to get into the Toronto Police Force and not my pants. Orange background with large white American Typewriter font and the dark silhouettes of a dozen young Canadians linked by shoulders and arms. Heads thrown back in laughter. United. A pose so reassuringly and uniformly uninteresting it could ONLY be the official graphic of what is essentially a domestic Peace Corps operating under the pillowy-soft budget of the Federal Heritage Department. Nothing controversial about it. Nothing. Just fresh air and earnestness and the greater good. I wanted in.

I received the acceptance call six minutes after quitting the luggage store. Nine days later, boarding a Via train bound for Dorval, Quebec to be collected by the Project Leader and driven north to Ste. Scholastique, I waved goodbye to the family I loved but didn't understand and braced myself for the thundering rush of Experience. Life. In my seat, luggage crammed into the appropriate compartment, jacket off, magazine open, lurching through the fields of Durham along the lake. A slash of track through arable land, watching out the windows for the shapes of home, seeing them slip away. Slowly recognizing nothing outside the window. Nothing inside either.

log-off/restart/shut-down

2008-03-19T16:15:00.000-07:00

Laying awake knowing nothing, feeling everything... akimbo? Is that right? Askew. The smallest injustice, the faint suggestion of misery, the inevitable failures yet wrought wash over me in nauseating wave after nauseating wave.... Why is worry so infinite? I'm having trouble sleeping soundly. Sleeping, yes. Finethankyou. In the sense that I am in the dark, eyes closed and drifting. But it's not rest, pal. Oh no. It's processing, computing, filing, defragmenting my day, my week, my year, my life. Sweettittyfuckingmary, I'm (nearly)27. So much for the Oscar by thirty. No Diablo am I (less quirky-sexy-genius-capable of insufferably witty dialog).....

Time to man up. Or, uh, blog up. Or something....

I feel like this sounds:

The Silverhearts- Bad Road.

why do today what you could put off till tomorrow?

2008-02-16T06:18:00.000-08:00

Between the crippling disease of procrastination and the much less serious business of consuming far too much television, Starbucks and marijuana, I've been.. Adrift. With my intent paving the road to hell, I'd better make good on this effort before we reach the on-ramp... .

I'm a blog slut.....

I first blogged here.

And then here.

And then finally here.

every little thing she does is magic

2007-11-09T09:34:00.000-08:00

Um, hi.

s'up?

and so it begins......