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.     

written yesterday, posted today+ tips on how to survive the storm.

I've been living off apples and buttertarts all morning. Or at least for the last three hours. And I'm only eating apples because I've over indulged in buttertarts and I'm trying to lie to myself, that because I've chose to eat more fruit, that everything will be alright.

So while I cut off pieces of apples, and set it down on this cookbook called "The Borowski Cookbook", I'll tell you about some really exciting things.
We;ve finished the presskit (more or less). All that is left is the cd, we need to copy, slip it and include a tiny list of the songs included on it. We need to get some new business cards, that include the logo. I need to finish the master list of festivals, and we all need to finish labeling the manila envelopes to be sent out. That was how my day was spent yesterday. I woke up in a blanket fort. I woke up too early as usual. I couldn't get the wifi to work on my netbook, so I decided to spend the majority texting cyrus back and forth and reading the rest of this book. I finished the book.

The night before all that, I went on my first clubbing experience. It wasn't even though. It was to see the competition for this talent show, and feel a eerie vibe while men who were way to old to even be in the place try to catch your eye, while you look around trying to find something to look at. It dragged on, and we ended up at a&w after midnight. I owe Forrest or Carmanagh 3 dollars.

Now it's remembrance day. It's cold, and the services are going to be happening in less then an hour. I haven't decided whether I want to participate or not. i'll tell you eventually.  I started reading "Homage to Catalonia" by George Orwell. I started reading it before the house woke up this morning, and I ended up reading the first chapter outloud. I ended up talking to myself when I had no clue what the definition of the word was. I had this old pencil in one hand and the book in the other, while i paced the room, repeating words that made no sense ( the sense of it in a dictionary someplace else). Words like "Servile", "Proletarians"(well, this word rings a bell, but i still have no clue what it is), "bugle-calls" and "Porron" (george explained this one in the text, but i would love to see a picture of one) left me without a state of clear mind.

I started reading this book to spite cyrus in a way that doesnt really matter, and I doubt he would ever know. He brought up the last book I was reading(a small history of tractors in the ukraine) was very "feminist" (nothing wrong with that, except it totally wasn't) and the fact he thinks that, really bugs me. The book did focus on woman, but only in the way the narrator of the story was a lady. the bad guy was a lady. and there was a mending of relationships through sisters. All because of this ukrainian blond, twink who wanted to steal the millions (not really) of their widowed father. The family acted. And coincidently the family was female.

So I chose george orwell (eric arthur blair) as something very far away form feminism.

.... as for the update from the storm, I survived it. with a bbq, a roaring fireplace and various candles displaced all over the place. the radio was playing loud and clear too. it was one of the moments where i wish i had the love of my current life in my arms <3 ...Maybe next year.

Too Dressed Up For YOUR FACE

I need a brain break. Been writing about Leonardo (cue the di Caprio jokes, someone on the bus did.) and flowers and locus amoenus and reading about breasts in cookery, in stupas, in cushions, in bowls, in childbirth, in Thailand.
May have totally forgotten the respectful half of today's biz-ness. Saw a pal on the bus all dressed up. She and her boyfriend were all decked out in wool formal wear and gum boots and going home after the canon ceremonies downtown. We talked about school work, about that new video game that everyone's raging on. Skygrim? Skytrain?  Anyway sounds a little freaky to me. I won't explain it cuz I'll get it wrong.
Anyway on the sched for tonight is non-stop incredible reading-writing combo act. Tomorrow I am cooking breakfast for 11, and serving it, and prepping it. By myself. A little nervous in here.
Oh, last night I saw Dan Mangan. Something about that guy makes me want to climb into his lap and give him a  lingering hug. Maybe because a lot of his songs are about rejection. And then he does something like climb the speakers to the highest point  on stage and thrash around a bit.
This song. Is the kind of song that makes ME want to climb something tall and thrash around. Or throw paint and tear off my clothes. Or mud wrestle.
You'll see.

Too dressed up for the library

Today, this university campus is silent beyond belief. However, this didn't stop one girl from wandering up to the third floor and loudly discussing billing options on her cell phone, distracting the few occupants of the SILENT study area. Sheesh.

Enough negativity. Last night, the roommate and I went to see a movie, but got distracted and ended up playing pool downtown. We are both equally bad, so it was quite fun. Overheard the cashier/guy behind the counter complaining about his other job at Bluenotes, which is apparently located underneath a gym. "And when all those big strong guys are lifting weights and shit, I swear someday they're going to drop right through the ceiling!" That would be amusing, but it's unlikely. Can you imagine pairs of frightened eyes peering over stacks of plaster-covered clothing, while large, muscled men picked themselves up, bewildered, dumbbells still in hand? That's where exercise gets you, it's a dangerous thing.