Friends and Friends of Friends' Friends.

Hey kids. I survived Christmas. Did you? It's all downhill grubbing from here.
My aunt and uncle are staying at this wahoo little cabin on the shoreline, not far from here. Christmas Eve they suggested we all go on this carriage ride thing, through the cabin company. So halfway through this carriage ride packed with cabin dwellers and a few couples staying at Tigh Na Mara in their ritzy family jewels the horses start trotting a little too quickly for comfort. Suddenly the wagon is banging along full tilt and the larger of the horses is sticking out sideways from the hitching or whatever. Suddenly we have gone over the curb into the shallow ditch full of big rocks and the half the ladies (including my mother) are sitting on the floor sucking air through their teeth. The women driving the wagon said they steered the horses toward something that they couldn't run through (in this case a big black hedge) so that they would be forced to stop. All this in about 4 minutes.And somebody's grandmother gets off immediately and starts hiking back to her resort, swearing and shaking all over. Good appetite after that.
Here's a pair of pilleated woodpeckers. They take turns

I was poor in love, I was poor in wealth, I was rich in evrything else

I think I'm beginning the slow descent into obesity, more like. Doesn't help that my mom made like 7 batches of cookies and then hid them. Periodically she pulls them out and says "ALLLLLLRIIIIIIGHT who wants a cookie??" (that woman is small but man can she project) and then we all grab a few.

Also been going for a minor hike everyday. Today we went to the old Morecroft camp, which used to be a Church-run kids camp and is now a regional park. Which means that they had to take out the massive cross that used to be right on the cliff face. Place still spooks me right out though. All these ancient cabins with the same curtains that they had 10 years ago. All looking at you through the trees, leery. I feel like something really bad happened there in the past. Even though all those ideas probably come from the ghost stories Abby's older sister told us when we were camping there in grade 3, in our mildewed sleeping bags in a cabin with no actual windows, just these canvas flap things that you closed up at night. That's a photo I took up there.
Tomorrow is Top Bridge. Former site of an actual bridge at sometime in the settlement era. Now lieu of a crappy metal suspension bridge and a pile of empties. In the summer, 14 year olds do back flips off the nose into Englishman River. That's probably how the English- man died, hey?

Mankind soon disposed of the large, the slow, and the tasty

Courtesy of Campaign Staff: Ryan Gosling.

A VERY IMPORTANT E-MAIL got moved into my junk folder, for some inexplicable reason. Luckily, a crisis was averted through Facebook. As addicting as social media is, it can occasionally come through in spades.

Um. Life continues on in The Great White North. My brother, mother, and myself all went snowshoeing today and found a gigantic spruce tree to shed needles all over our floor. I plan on topping it with a dead squirrel, no joke. Tomorrow, I'll be skiing with a grumpy 70-something Czech man, who was once a X-country coach. There will be yelling. There will be expletives, and some "Laura! You ski like a...like a...you ski like a STUPID!" So much for any silent, healing communion with nature. Also, I'll be looking after upwards of 30 sled dogs come Boxing Day. Excellent.

I know how you feel about the sleep thing. I'm just beginning to come out of hibernation, it's crazy. When I'm back in Vic and have a Dog, hopefully, we should begin running again. If I don't bump up the level of physical activity this semester, I'll slowly descend into some mild form of insanity.

For those of you intrigued by the photo up top, here is another Ryan Gosling Campaign Quote. If you happen to be under the age of 18, or are just naturally prudish, stop reading now.

"Hey, girl. I wish you were this three-week old data, so I could spend all night entering you."

Update on my Inner Workings.

Slept 12 hours last night. And then today I had an hour long nap. Somethings up with my body. I think its hibernation time. Plus its been hurting me.



Sold My Only Guitar

The photographer that took this is 20 years old, living in Brooklyn. Haven't been doing much of anything really. Been bloated and looking on picture blogs and all that. reading books. made soup for dinner this evening. took a picture of a woodpecker yesterday. Finished reading Fight Club. Ate a crap lot of chocolate at the Sabo residence, patted her dog. Found this. 

Which is Roald Dahl and Ernest Heminway. I'm feeling antisocial but my house is small and full. So.

And Laura you are listening to the Zolas. WE KISSED IN THE SNOOOOOoooOOOOOW. right?

Listening to The Zoolas on CBC, singing about snow. Check out this cabin roof.

There is a moose roast in the oven, and a husky wandering around the room, sniffing hopefully at the oven door. My brother is trying to feed her pistachio nuts. Snow has been falling steadily here all day, and everything is blanketed in a soft white layer. Went X-country skiing yesterday and took an epic tumble into a snowbank, ended up with my feet in the air, totally buried. This town makes me feel odd. A little uncomfortable. I got your letter, Sarah C., and appreciated the anecdote about Tiffany and her feline friends. She is a lucky bunny. I hope that all of you are drinking copious amounts of tea and have time to take the occasional nap.

When I Was 25.

So there they are... as far as I can think of anyway. Top ten albums of 2011. T'was a very good year for blue blooded girls of independent means (they ride in limousines... their chauffeurs drive.) As frank would say. Anyway I got home last night. I am currently watching the sun slowly illuminate the field. My dad built this weird pole thing in the backyard with a wooden platform on top for bird food. Little guys love it. there's even a rope dangling down in case they fall off or something. Plans for the day: unpack/ reposition my furniture because my room feels big and empty. Figure out a way to make my bed feel less like a sheet of ply wood and more like something you would want to sleep on. Wash my hair. Pay my phone bill (maybe). Go to a Christmas party and invariably listen to Michael Buble's Christmas, then James Taylor, then something from the 80s. Cluster around the food table with my friends and discuss how drunk our parents are acting. Go home and sleep.

Last day in Victoria and I'm dragging my heels. We were supposed to go for breakfast but I feel like considering it is now ten thirty and the roommates are still snoozing... its not gonna happen. So I'mma go ahead and pour myself a yoghurt and granola. Had a man named George in my room a couple of nights ago, examining every surface. He invited me to write for his culture 'zine that he's starting up with some cross-continental friends. I feel like he may be the type of person to implement that kind of thing, for real.

Here is an embroidered face. It is by a man named Daniel Kornrumpf. They are having a CD blowout at the library. Then I went to ditch. I returned home with two books and ten CDs in my bag. Anyway. Gotta move.

One Leaves a World Behind.

When I was at Witty's Lagoon with the fire and the dog, we were sitting hunched in this little nook created by tree roots and erosion, trying to warm ourselves around the fire. Marketa commented on how humans used to live. Keeping the fire going all day and waiting for the return of the men after the hunt. I groaned and said something like "that would have sucked." and she said that it was better than before we had fire. Eating raw meat all the time, for every meal. Being cold and scurvied. I guess we have come a long way to carpet and central heating.
Sabo drank a bottle and a half of wine last night and has spent the day watching all 17 hours or so of My Fair Lady on VHS. I drank 2 beers and was only slightly less drunk, shows what giving blood does to a person. Someone's boyfriend kept touching my arm, my back, my ribcage. Saying things like "We gingers have to stick together." while I replied with things like, "the thing about gingers dating is that everyone always thinks they are related." Which is true. No way am I dating someone who looks like my Kissing Cousin, especially if he is shorter than me and someone else's boyfriend. Especially if he makes me touch his facial hair.
Despite popular belief theatre parties are not fun. Everyone is relatively antisocial and just wants to yell things and take showers with no one noticing.

So right now I am overdue typing up a paper about plants in the artwork of Leonardo da Vinci. Back when the artists were the scientists. If you type" Leda and the Swan" into google images you come up with some prettynasty sex. This is the one that I am talking about though.  

they got the skill and the talent

Spent the afternoon in Witty's Lagoon today. That's what it looked like. We hiked past the Sitting Lady waterfall, with a quick pause to play poo sticks on the bridge. We crossed a flattened log bridge and made it to the beach.

Once we got there we spent about an hour trying to light a fire, taking regular swigs from our water bottles filled with homemade wine, and to pat the dog. We roasted hot dogs and put a baguette on some hot stones. We added swiss cheese which we ate in front of a jealous dog, eyes only seeing swiss. On the way out of our nook I bounced around, trying to return feeling to my frozen and sleeping toes. I looked up and saw

In the car on the way home, we passed  by another lagoon, this one filled with swans and ducks. I haven't seen a swan in a few year and here was more than ten. Marketa talked about Romance and seagulls and her dog snuffled with satisfaction, wiping the sand out of his eyes.
Kat is making spaghetti squash the proper way. And rum and hot apple cider.
I feel like reading books and chewing on something warm.

All the Money I Had Is Gone

Literally boys.
Successfully solved an electrical- related problem today. Would have done my daddy proud. It involved a television that was inexplicably hooked through the wall. Otherwise I have been attempting to edit this cursed paper. It has literally been two months since I started writing this thing and it is still wanting.
Still reading Eugenides.
Got any movies to recommend?

I Laid Eyes on What I'd Found

So there is this Thai artist named Chalermchai Kositpipat who became fed up with not being internationally famous so he started to build this thing called The White Temple in his home town of Wat Rong Khun in the Northwester. Thing is, the town has the population of 350 and he "bought" (or was given by the landlord) a huge swath of farmland to house this place. It is now a number one tourist destination. As a Buddhist he is getting exceptional merit for this and no one is complaining.

He started this is 1997 and is still not finished. He has planned it out so that it will not be finished until after he has died (he is in his late 40s...). The buildings are white stucco on a metal frame, nothing at all organic. The stucco has bits of mirror fragments so that the whole place sparkles in the sunlight.

These are the bathrooms.
Chalermchai has described this as the only place on Earth that the Buddha would want to return to .

Some Boys Are Singing the Blues

Thought I should add an update-o.
Spent the morning putting up fake tree boughs and real pointsettas and Christmas lights at work, while watching children's movies. I often wonder why I am paid.
It just dawned on me that I have an exam tomorrow and there's a pretty good chance that I won't be ace-ing it, seeing as it's one of those exams that you actually have to know things for, you know? Today Youtube got about 8 times more complicated. I liked it back when I knew what I was doing, you know?
Either way-here is a video that is cheery without being too Christmas-y. Enjoy it while it lasts.

either that or this

Everyone in this house is cranky and typing. Thought I'd join on

save cbc? Seems reasonable.

I'm Like Stevie Wonder Only I Can See Things

This is a metaphor for my life. I'm wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Nobody has washed dishes in this house for over a week. Last night I wrote a paper, tonight I'm writing a paper, tomorrow night I'm writing a paper and after that I'm free.

I know you know just what you like, and I am really not your thing.

That really sucks Chez. Basically sounds like nature and you aren't so much getting along up there. There is a shit ton of bugs in my house, that's about the extent of my argument with "nature."
As I am mildly obsessive I just assembled all of the titles of books that I want to read/ have been recommended to me. I figured out that at the rate that I am reading (approx. two books a month) I will finish all of the books on this list in 12.5 years. Talk about long term plan. Means I can't make my own book decisions until I am 32. But think of the books that will be added to the list in the meantime...
Anyway. Listening to a band called Kisses, which I think is a stupid name for a band but they make peppy music, which is alright.
Downtown there are carolers and horse drawn buggies, and a parade for St.Nick tonight. Just waiting on the snow, Oh Great Sky God. You know what to do.  

smc update! fuck this shit.

Nothing new on my front has been happening. Life is going slow, the house smells of the remnants of pancakes and I've left with this gigantic list of  chores, errands and everything to do. From where I'm sitting in the dinning room I can see the ocean acting up and it just adds to the pure excitement i have for walking into town to play marimba at kriskringle. It's the third day in the row we've been doing an hour a day. To be honest, I've been pretty horrible at the christmas carols. I've practiced, but when it comes to playing the simple, simple leads to jingle bells or let it snow, my mind goes blank and I'm stuck looking like a fool. Maybe I'm not meant to be super musically inclined.  I think I'm going to make a thankyou note for fahlon, and give her some nice chocolates, just as a thankyou for putting up with me, and being this ultimate teacher in the process.

How are things going for you guys? I have a story of wind and water for you guys. Check it.

I was walking from town the other day along the beach, and it was storming right. I thought it would be a adventure in the process of this simple walk. The socks in my shoes were already wet, and my care for keeping them from getting any wetter went flying off to the wind. So I went out for the hike. It was alright for a while. But that while ended the moment it was nearly impossible to cross this rushing replica of a river flowing down to the sea. I swear it was a depth of at least 3 feet.  I stood there for moments wondering my new course of plan, and decided to backtrack it a bit and climb a incline where the rushing water could be jumped easily.  I jumped and I thought the worst was over. I starter climbing the mossy, damp hill up to the path. My shoes had no grip, and I kept sliding. The only things i was worrying about was the brand new pretty stamps I have just bought from the post office and my laptop turning into this soggy mess. But I continued. I was nearly at the tip top of the hill, when all the sudden, the earth underneath my slippery shoes gave out, and I slide down to the rushing water, 20 seconds it took to fall to my ultimate soggy death.  I landed with a dump, and a black mud cover from my shoulders down to my ankles. it was gross. It reminded me of the time I slipped on the dead salmon (the leftovers of a bear) while hiking in the first nations reserve.  The smell of that fall still haunts me.

ANYWAYS. Point is, I ended up climbing up a wall during this adventure, and this gigantic wave attacked me, and surrounded me. Covering me with it's cold, salty water, my gloves still taste of salt. At that point, I started to think whether it would be super horrible if I just floated off to sea at that moment there, died you know? I'd feel bad for my mom. Not so much for cyrus, mostly because  I'm starting to really hate long distant relationships lately. And him. Does that make me a horrible girlfriend? Upset with her long distant boyfriend? In my mind, and heart sort of, I'm not really allowed to be upset with anything. Just because of the distance. It feels really unfair.

I ended up walking through a old folks home, soking wet and covered in mud. I got home, and pleaded to my mom that she'd make me a cup of tea while I run a bath. You know how your hands get red from no gloves? The aftermath of the cold? My entire body was like that. I looked like a lobster.

thats that.

Rivers of Gold.

I'm reading Beatrice and Virgil, Yann Martel's newest. Can you believe that guy lives in Saskatoon? It seems strange. Anyway the book is clearly autobiographical, about a writer named Henry (although he admits right away that Henry is a pseudonym) who has given up writing when faced with a complete shut- down by his editors. Luckily though he has one best seller under his belt (about wild animals no less) so he is able to live off the royalties and what he makes at a part time job. Henry gets a letter from a reader that has a manuscript for a script in which a character named Virgil describes a pear for a character named Beatrice, who has never heard of one. Anyway Virgil's description of the pear is so technical and philiosophical at the same time. How would you describe a fruit's shape/ taste/ consistency to someone who has not only never seen one put never tasted one or held one at all? It's like describing colour to the blind. Maybe easier.
Kat is watching Tintin in the living room. I am laying on the floor of my room.
There is a terrible smell in my kitchen and I can't for the life of me find its source.
And no Laura, I did not listen to the link you posted. Jeez.

"They are not artists, because nobody can play the guitar."

Ok, ok, ok. EVEN IF this isn't really your thing, you have to admit that going to one of his shows looks as if it would be one big, sweaty, dancing, strobe-light filled blast.

The more I listen to Skrillex, the more I like him, even though he is apparently unkind and also very short (no offense to short people who are not unkind). Note the Deadmau5 action goin' on in there.

PS. For awhile, the artist's description on Wikipedia was "Skrillex pressing 'Play' on his Macbook", until disgruntled fans changed it.

I really really love turkeys. wow do I ever

Bahahahahahaha. Remember this night?

Got a great message from a newfound friend, and an e-mail from my uncle. The friend talked about his aunt, and how her aversion to technology basically lands her in the dark ages and makes her irrelevant in today's society. This sprang from an argument we had about the usefulness of books vs. e-readers. I am firmly on the side of the paper and pen. Also, a girl in French CANADIAN HISTORY was going out with a guy last year who lived out in Sooke. He used the school computers to type up assignments; otherwise, he used a typewriter. And apparently, this guy called her up once and asked if she had room in her fridge for a huge glass jar of unpasteurized milk, as he had "milked the cow this morning and didn't have time to bring it home."

My uncle sent me a list of sources for an essay, booyah. The THUGS society is starting up a new journal; if I polish this up enough, it may be publication-worthy. How cool would that be?

Listening to the Deep Dark Woods in preparation for Friday's bonanza, oooooohhhhhh yes. Smooooooth vooooooices...

Swamp Water

I am a big fan of Miranda July. Saw her first at a small exhibition for Third Wave Feminism at MoMA, although to call her a feminist is to cut out a whole lot of other things. She is the writer for the film 'The Future,' remember? About two 30 somethings in the midst of breakdowns as they contemplate the adoption of a cat? Anyway she also writes short stories, solid gold. I would check out mirandajuly.com is I were you. I have come to the realization that the artists/ writers/ film makers that I appreciate the most are the ones who take their Art seriously, but not necessarily themselves. Here she is.

Anyway, been peer editing. Having the usual problem, which is I find it hard to see "strengths" in papers. I may or may not be really mean and nasty. 

 Listening to peppy teen music from a bunch o' locals.

"Outer Space", starring Mary Pickford from Miranda July on Vimeo. Anyway that's my distraction for the evening. Gonna watch some Leni Riefenstahl later, nothing like Nazism to enforce a good night's sleep.

Those dumbass stripe paintings.

You might understand my hate for Barnett Newman if you knew how much Canada paid for one of his pieces. I know I'm supposed to stand behind this kind of stuff but I can't. Especially not for a red canvas with a couple of purple stripes. Colourfield. Rothko did it so much better, all I'm saying.
Saw 3babes on bicycles earlier. One of them grinned at me from under his mustache as they wizzed by. Went to drop a few books off at the communal book shelf on Princess street earlier. Nothing but Westerns and Romances in there, sometimes I forget those things exist.
Last night Zoe's man friend told me that about 3 months ago he told his friend (who I met only breifly) that I thought he (the friend) was a racist when they were in line for the washroom together. Apparently this friend of his was torn up about it for months, that this stranger would think he was a racist. I thought this was a little strange and a little funny, that Cam would tell me this so long after the fact. Also at the opening: these gourds that were attached to strange plywood instruments and somehow amplified sound. The museum guard made me pick one of the instruments up, and tipsy 'ol me almost dropped it all over the place. This nervous woman standing next to me was grabbing at the air with a horrified look on her face. Reminds me of that time my mom's friend showed her this died silk hanging construction that she'd languished over for hours and my mom picked it up and the whole thing fell to pieces.
Saw some ceramic dishes from Chinese shipwrecks that had been at the bottom of the sea for literally hundreds of years but look like they just came out of the kiln. They had two identical bowls, one where the glaze had cracked and sea creatures had latched on in, and one in perfect green with a swirl composure. Revisited my favourite Varley. All in all, good day for art.

We Both Know Your Heart's Not in It

Does it say: find the BABE in that picture? Because that would make sense.
Had an intense day. Surprisingly, lightened up by my professors: first made Mussolini jokes and became giddy when discussing the cat sanctuary in the ruins of four ancient Roman temples in Rome (real deal). Talked about his childhood cat Blackie for a bit. I stared disbelieving.
Second put up slides of woodblock pornography circulated in the papal court of Renaissance Rome entitled 'I Modi' or 'The Ways.' Literally. Apparently this big shot architect did the original drawings for the booklets. She was trying to tie in his affinity for twisting bodies and "problem solving" through a variety of positions to his ability to combine architectural methods into new combinations (ie rusticated pediment, how exciting). Either way it all came down to her main point which was " The best architects are the best lovers.' She backed this up with a quote from Ovid.
And on my way home I got a hot chocolate and stopped to talk to our pal Jocelyn Cook, who was behind the counter. and who invited me to a show for Saturday night, featuring on drums our old friend Ray from Little Qualicum Cheese Works.
And tomorrow night is Urbanite at the Art Gallery of Greater Victoria. I'm going to paste the description here because it is too funny to be true. Keep in mind that the last opening I went to at this gallery featured what was essentially the furniture of the 1950s onward, crap your parents spent their entire lives slowly replacing. The place was packed though with swinging 30 somethings with cocktails and those two ubiquitous men who dress in metallic gold lame outfits and spin beats like Euro DJs.

Inspired by the contemporary South Asian exhibition Collected Resonance, this dynamic evening of music, cocktails and performance provides the perfect atmosphere to mix with friends and muse on visual culture. Enjoy the deep and danceable Electro-Latin sound of MicroBongo Sound System featuring live Indian Tabla, Santoor, and Dilruba performance and interactive visuals from Limbic Media, catch engaging curator’s tours introducing the trans-cultural art production of three contemporary artists exploring the South Asian diaspora, and mingle with friends over signature cocktails from Canoe Brewpub.

First of all, only an art historian would italicize the names of all the artists and companies. I shouldn't be telling you this, but there has to be at least four italicized words per art historical passage.
Quote from the Dean of the faculty, from yesterday: "You may not make a million dollars as an art historian but boy, will you have fun!" (pointing out that Jesus is the biggest in The Last Supper)
*entire class rolls eyes* 

Needed: A Right-Brained Thinker

There's supposed to be a 'baby' hidden in this picture, and I can't find it. This is bothering me a lot. Help?

Well its happened to me.

Here is a video my cousin made. She and her friends regularly make really strange comedy sketches and post them on the internet. Something that I would probably do if I had a camera.

I am so over writing. Hate breasts, hate art. Hate missionaries, also hate the Inuit of Labrador. Mostly hate the pain that my posture is inflicting on me. Fill you in later.
Also, Laura, you are right. Speechlessly offended.

I was going to post this to your Facebook wall, but then I thought it was a little inappropriate, HAHAHAHAHA

and your little heart starts to go boom-boom

Funny Chez. I picked up that Orwell book in a store today because the cover was neat. Also talked to my parents who ALSO survived the storm with bbq (and wood stove, and probably a bath tub filled up just in case) and candles. Remember in grade 10 when the power was out in Coombs for at least a week and Jossy had to shower in the change room at school? My dad was commenting on how Jennifer or Shirley's house up the block still had power. And we laughed at him for mixing up the names Jennifer and Shirley.

And then he told us about this apprentice he used to have who always got into fights. One time he came to work with a broken hand from punching someone in the head. I remember this kid from when he was in elementary school with my bro. He was scrawny and had a lisp- obviously started over compensating. Anyway, now he works in Dawson Creek, which brought up a whole new conversation. My dad says he is growing a Guy Fawkes stache.
Last night I got tipsy off of two glasses of wine but I had no one to talk to so I watched Adaptation staring Nicolas Cage as Charlie and his twin brother Donald. I have never been so repulsed than to hear Donald make a reference to "pushing in the bush" and swivel his womanly hips suggestively. Recommended.

Too dressed up for YOUR MOM

I don't know who the guy is in this photo, but I really love that sky. Photo cred to Taylor.

Having snagged a cozy cubicle in the library, I'm just watching people straggle in with desperate faces and book lists, attempting to salvage something of their wasted Reading Break. Or maybe that's just me.

Last night I had the craziest dream, featuring prison time, running from the law, road blockades, underground houses, boys with white, painted faces, and a roommate who generously agreed to hide us. When my alarm went off, I realized that my blankets had been thrown clear across the room, and felt...dissatisfied, somehow. Almost as if there was an underlying message that I hadn't quite been able to grasp. But it was probably just the pizza before bedtime.

Yesterday morning was mostly spent in a small art store, re-framing some water damaged paintings with the help of a soft-spoken fellow named Rob? Andy? Anyway, a whole bunch of people came trouping in, each of them with 5-6 paintings under their arms, clamoring for help. The rain was a-pouring down, and most of us looked like drowned rats. Cue the older, perfectly coiffed lady in a cream-coloured suit and silk scarf. "Please, everyone, respect my workplace. You are dripping water, and that is dangerous!" Anyway, my paintings look great, I have a newfound respect for the colour plum. And a special raw wood frame has been ordered to fit an acrylic piece depicting a storm over Lake Laberge; all that remains to be found is a suitable varnish.

Got to talk to the folks in Revelstoke last night. It was one of those conversations that had to be finished by e-mail, as his cell phone died midway and all the important stuff was left until the end. Anyway, a mid-February trip there is in the works, and the excitement is running high, even if it is a good 3 months away. We all need something to look forward to.

Sarah, have you read 1984? It's one of those books that is a pain to get through, but once you finish it, you recognize references EVERYWHERE, it's crazy. Orwell at his finest, or worst, depending on how much you enjoy depression.

Also, for the more general public, if you have not yet read Thomas King's green grass, running water, get on it.