Marathon Post… about a marathon

08 Aug

Hour pre-0: Roll over, look at the clock—guh. I’m getting up in 3 minutes to subject myself to 12+ hours of a photo marathon with real photographers. So excited! But nervous, too. Grab my 9th grade film camera, grab my current digital camera, grab a semi-comfortable pair of shoes (damn you worn-in shoes for dying a few days previous to this event!), and head out the door. No turning back now.

Hour 0: After bus confusion and wandering around lost downtown for a bit wondering what direction Nelson Street is, I finally caught the cushy community bus and headed toward Comox & Denman, to the Urban Rush Cafe—the official headquarters of this year’s Vancouver 12×12 Photo Marathon. I register. Am ecstatic to see that I am lucky number 7! Glancing around I feel a bit intimidated by the amount of GIGANTIC lenses there are, and fancy-schmancy cameras attached to them. Tripods, crazy compartmentalized bags, and every other photographic implement of destruction imaginable is present. Humbled. I struggle to remember how to even load film into my crappy Canon Rebel. Man, this is going to be a long day! Briefly consider running away unnoticed;  instead decide that although I have none of the expensive equipment, nor knowledge on how to use it, at least I have a relatively quick trigger finger in order to be the 7th person registered. I drink congratulatory coffee and celebrate small miracles.

First theme announced: Your Entry Number/Different Angle

And we’re off! Feeling refueled by the caffeine and excited by the process, I head out in search of 7 of *something* with which to photograph. I’m hoping for a parade of frolicking ponies pulling wagons of adorable babies but realize this is probably pushing it. Settle instead for standing under a string of seven balloons tied to a stop sign, and wait… ever… so… patiently for them all to line up perfectly. They do, and SNAP – commitment! Not at all sure if I caught the shot. Am suddenly painfully aware of how dependent I am upon the LCD screen preview on my digital camera.

Hour 2: Back at the cafe, excitement in the air. I wish that I had a chance to go to the previous week’s meet-up because everyone seems super friendly and familiar to each other. Feel a momentary pang of shyness. Decide to drink more coffee.

Second theme announced: The Usual Suspects

I head out again in the same direction – back down alleyways and through the residential areas. I think it might be cool to try to locate some pigeons and crows for this shot. Cannot find a single bird to save my life. Finally, I stop a homeless man who tells me a Canucks joke and chats to me about being a camera repair person in his former life. He is fascinating and so very sweet; he tells me I should go to the beach for birds— they like the garbage down there. I wish him well, and am off again. Finally spot two crows on top of a power line. Look through my pitifully small lens and wish that I had thought to rent something better. Wait again patiently for the bird’s heads to line up to show their beak profiles. In the split second between me pressing the shutter and it catching the shot, the birds move. This is ruined shot #1. This is the first of many. This game is harder than it looks.

Hour 3 – Feeling a little sad about my missed shot, I start thinking about how we take for granted the ability to curate our work. How often people don’t understand that out of the 30 great shots that you post on Flickr or Facebook, there may have been 300 others that weren’t. quite. right. It’s a strange feeling thinking that people will be able to see your glory and all your mistakes in this project. No retakes. No trash bin. I’m again humbled when I think of the giant lenses and professional photographers no doubt currently taking masterpiece shots of prancing pony parades and flocks of choreographed seagulls.

Third theme announced: Human Nature

After the bird fiasco, I’m feeling the pressure to do something better with this particular theme—it can be interpreted in so many ways! This is where the challenge lies. I just have to carefully decide what direction I want to take it. I remember seeing a bunch of shoes hanging from wires in a back alley about an hour back, but cannot remember where, for the life of me. Spend the next 45 minutes wandering aimlessly looking for shoes, unable to shake the idea to see other possibilities. Funny how your brain will sometimes fixate. Finally locate them… thankfully they do not move at the last second.

Forth theme announced: Reliable

By this time, my feet are really beginning to ache. I contemplate taking off my shoes and just walking barefoot. Decide instead to stop at Shoppers Drug Mart for emergency Band-Aide triage kit. Oh, good god there is still 8 more hours left. What have I signed myself up for?? I take a picture of my feet. At least they are still attached to my body.

Fifth theme announced: My Greatest Wish

My greatest wish… ? I wish for a shopping cart and someone to push me around in it. And a popsicle made of Strongbow. The odds of this combination happening also seem slim, so I decide instead to find something simple. It feels a little like a cop out, but my feet are killing me, so when I spot the fluffiest cat I’ve ever seen hiding under a bush, I think he would make a perfect wish (No Pets building for me, boo!). He sits patiently waiting for me to compose the shot (an obvious pro photographic subject) ready, set… press the shutter, cat MOVES. Mother$*#@er!!! Curse out loud, in manner similar to sailor. Pet adorable cat to console myself, despite his obvious leanings toward sabotage.

Six theme announced: Odour

After grabbing a bite to eat and a couple of beers, everyone seems refreshed. Odour seems like a great theme—everywhere I look today I’ve seen fragrant things: flowers, dumpsters, porta-potties atop flatbed trucks. Decide in the end to shoot some people crossing the ‘Finish’ line of a bike marathon. Wonder if any of these things will make any sense once printed without the aid of artistic explanation? Decide to risk it anyway.

Seventh theme announced: Echo

Man, these themes are getting tough! My creative brain is throbbing much like my feet, although the beer and band-aids helped immensely for at least one of those issues. My friend Craig talks about his idea which admittedly is pretty awesome, and rides off to capture it. I wonder if it’s possible for me to finish the rest of this marathon without actually moving from my chair? Curse you, footwear. I think of all the cool shots that might visually echo… reflective surfaces repeating, over and over. Head back to Shoppers Drug Mart to see if I can find a hand mirror. I buy it, but am used to knowing how a shot will work on my D80, with the 18-135mm lens. Through the film camera, the shot doesn’t seem nearly as good, but I do my best, anyway. Not sure if this one will come through. Drink more beer. Congratulate myself on strenuous tasks already completed today, like breathing and walking upright.

Eighth theme announced: Trapped

I’ve gotten a chance to talk to a few more of the participants. Funny how you see the Photo Marathon lanyards from across the street and nod and smile knowingly at each other. They understand your pain. They know your exhaustion. Fellow troops in the trenches. By this time Denman is starting to get insane with the amount of people heading downtown for the fireworks. I take my picture and then wander down to the beach. We couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful day! On the way back to the cafe I see another marathoner taking the same picture that I did for this theme. I wonder how many duplicates of any given subject there will be?? It’s kind of great to know that similar things catch your eye. It will be interesting to see the different takes on the same idea.

What’s this? A beer? Don’t mind if I do. No longer feel quite so glum about my inadequacies in the lens-department, due largely in part to being slightly tipsy and mentally exhausted.

Ninth theme announced: Take it to the Grave

After sitting on a park bench in the sun with my friends Ryan and Ruwan, eating burgers and bitching about first world problems, we discuss the day’s events thus far. I love how clever my friends are. They were organized and brought props. PROPS! I didn’t even think to bring a tripod… or shoes that actually fit my feet. Clever. Lessons learned for next year.

Beer time?

Tenth theme announced: Second Chance

I debate trying to recreate the echo shot, hopefully get it right this time, but the light is waning, and I know that pretty soon I’m going to be screwed. So I tried instead to find one more street subject. I locate a tattered couch in an alley. My already shaky hands are generally adept at messing up shots in the sunniest of conditions; henceforth, it’s unlikely that I will get a steady picture, sans-tripod. I wish I could shoot “Second Chance” tomorrow, with a new roll of film and a better camera. Again, unlikely… I’m now imagining difficulty moving my limbs in the morning.

Coming into the home stretch!

People galore, downtown! Seriously, I am normally claustrophobic, so the steady and constant stream of bodies down Denman Street is starting to make my heart pound and my hands sweat. Then I see some policemen ride down the street on giant, gorgeous Clydesdale horses, and the Hare Krishna’s following — dancing exuberantly with trumpets and tambourines. This is the best. day. EVER. Is there always this much cool stuff happening around here?

Eleventh theme announced: Not for Sale

By this time all I can think about is my limited light options and lack of tripod. I head into the thick of the crowd at the beach just to try to catch the last shred of sunlight. Line up the shot beautifully. This might actually work! I realize after the fact that I set it on the wrong shutter speed. Dammit. This one is bound to be insanely overexposed. Oh, hello camera— have we met before? I apparently have no idea how you operate. I silently vow to teach myself better photography skills, and hope that my roll of film mysteriously goes missing during the developing process.

Twelfth theme announced: Expectation

We are all rejuvenated knowing that the torture adventure will soon be ending. This has been one of the most interesting experiences I have had in a long time. It’s been so amazing to come together with a great group of creative people, of all levels and backgrounds: from film novices like me, to seasoned professionals—bound together by the appreciation of the photographic medium. I can only imagine what goes into organizing an event like this; everyone did an incredible job! Although we are all tired from today, I can only imagine that this is just one of several really long days that have been put in by the entire 12×12 Vancouver team. Bravo, you guys!!

The final exhibit is in a month. I’m both excited and nervous to see it. I realized after this weekend how much I depend upon automatic settings and trial-and-error in my own work. I’m not sure what the final result will look like, but even if I get 2 decent shots from the film I’ll be thrilled. I can’t wait to practice over the next year, and *fingers crossed*— I’ll get a chance to participate in this event again in the future. Vancouver is a special city, and to have an opportunity to meet amazing people, drink beer together, and be collectively creative? You can’t really ask for anything better. (Except maybe ponies).

 

 

 

By Chrissy Posted in Creativity, Daily Life, Embarassment Diaries, Random Thoughts, Vancouver Life, Wanderful Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , Comments (3)

3 Responses to “Marathon Post… about a marathon”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

Manifesto

19 Jul

Life is good. It’s uncertain, but I still feel strangely content. I’m not sure if that is some sort of emergency mental autopilot that takes over in times of stress, or if truly I just know inside it will all work out. I have no idea how, but I’m trusting it will. It’s the best I can do at the moment.

With all this busing around in my spare time I’ve gotten a chance to do a lot of thinking. Looking back on where I was, and where I am now, and honestly – it’s all pretty great. If I go back only 6 months, I am so far ahead of where I was. If you are ever feeling shitty about life, just look back a few years. Inevitably you will probably be able to say “Thank god _______ happened to me, because if it didn’t, I never would have found __________!” (I hope you fill in those blanks with: I inherited that marshmallow factory, and, how good I am at tap dancing!).

A friend remarked to me recently that I seem like an eternal optimist. Which is only partly true. I think in the back of my mind when I am most worried about how scary life can be sometimes, that is when the optimist switch gets flicked, and I start to look at ridiculously small wonderful things all around me, as a reminder that despite it all – life is pretty outstanding.

I’ve begun to write down a bit of a personal manifesto for myself. Loose rules of thumb that work for me and ultimately help me to become a better, happier person (especially when I’m feeling like a mediocre, negative person). I write it all down in my Wonder Woman sketch book. What started as just a few statements has now descended down the page and around the corner. Here are a few snippets:

  1. Enjoy what you already have – get to know it before you move on.
  2. Use it up (toothpaste, shoes, and ideas).
  3. Listen. Really.
  4. Have very specific dreams.
  5. Reevaluate often.
  6. Always have something to bring to the table – if not creativity, cookies.
  7. Take care of what you own (mind, body, spirit).
  8. Do your best. In everything you do, no exceptions (love, life & laundry)
  9. STOP MARKING TIME.
  10. Go outside.
  11. Stop living life wishing things were different… change, or change your thinking.
  12. Always have a jar of pens. Sketch often; jot things down.
  13. Never trust your memory.
  14. Nothing exists until it needs to.
  15. If you don’t have anyone to go with, go anyway.
  16. Drink water.
  17. Guilt causes resentment; avoid both at all costs.
  18. Give people the benefit of the doubt.
  19. Don’t be afraid to fuck up. Don’t be so hard on yourself when you do (and you will)
  20. Talk to as many people as possible. It’s good practice for making friends.
  21. Make opportunities for yourself.
  22. Notice the details, they are what make life interesting.
  23. Try.
  24. Baby steps will lead you there eventually, no matter how daunting the journey.
  25. Be kind.

Where am I going to be in a month? Will I have found a new amazing job? Will I be working at an in-between position until my dream one comes along? Will I have met some new friends? What new music will I have discovered that I now cannot live without? Time will tell…

26. Time = Perspective.

By Chrissy Posted in Daily Life, Home, Random Thoughts, Vancouver Life, Wanderful Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , Comments Off

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These Wanderful Days

07 Jul

Hurray for long summer nights and t-shirts after 10pm! Although it’s only sporadically been like this lately, I’m enjoying it the days that the sun pops her head out. The quick-change cycling in weather makes it somewhat difficult to effectively wardrobe plan— unless one leans toward carrying a steamer trunk around with them constantly (which obviously makes WAY more sense than an average backpack).

My little North facing apartment gets bright, but never sunny, so I’ve been spending a lot of time recently in the back garden when it’s nice out, or down the street at Douglas Park. I’ve been sketching and brainstorming and reading books on successful job hunting techniques (currently their successful-ness has yet to be effectively tested, but I haven’t given up hope… yet). Also, the Game of Thrones series – SO GOOD.

I try not to dwell on my lack of employment all that much, because truth be told, it could crush me, self esteem wise. Postings are pretty few and far between, and the inundation of graphic designers in this city doesn’t help either. So each time something IS posted, there are 200 people competing for the same job (and if we are talking about Craigslist, it’s likely a $14/hr job that involves design, cake decorating, marine welding, and general accounting. Oh, and animation. Never forget the animation).

One thing that has been a sparkling beacon of glee for me lately is my working to develop an ongoing feature with fantastic local blog www.vancouverisawesome.com (which I will henceforth refer to as VIA, mostly because I’m lazy about typing sometimes). Originally when I contacted the website, it was with the intention of inquiring about volunteer opportunities. I figured, if I’m not finding work I love (that pays me), I might as well help out where I can. And VIA is a great non-profit that has done wonders with bringing together people who want to focus on the positive aspects of this city. I’ve loved the premise since I first discovered it a long time ago, and it has just continued to get better and better. Art reviews, community events, pictures of pets, music suggestions, and just general amazing-ness, allthewayaround. Check it out, if you haven’t. It’s got something for everyone, literally.

Anyway, long story short, when I contacted the blog to see if they needed help manning tables at events, or doing general office help, I explained a little about myself and then at the end of the email added a link to my blog. And from there, Bob Kronbauer (who is so incredibly nice and well, awesome) checked out my portfolio, and the Bittersweets and contacted me, asking if I would be interested in doing something for VIA. Uh, heck yes?! The project is pretty much what I’ve been doing already (documenting details in the city) – but now it will be exposed to a wider audience (gulp). Since I got back from Banff I’ve realized there is so much of Vancouver I have never seen. My unemployment combined with boredom has encouraged me to hop on random buses and see where I end up. It’s mostly to spark my imagination for potential jobs (Art Galleries? Manufacturers? Subway Sandwich Artist?) but sometimes it was just for the adventure. Now, I can take a bit more methodical approach to consistently getting out there, whilst still being creative in my own way. But it still feels scary, vulnerable.

I haven’t been blogging here as much lately; trying to plan the VIA project combined with my desire to keep this personal blog as upbeat as possible (it’s a downer bitching about the discouraging nature of job hunting), I just haven’t had much of a chance to write. But I’ve been taking a ton of photos. Hundreds and hundreds. And now that the Wanderful feature (which is the name of it, btw) goes live today, I don’t have to keep quiet about it anymore, for extreme superstitious fear of jinxing myself. So hopefully my choosing random neighborhoods in Vancouver, exploring the shit out of them, and documenting via pictures will inspire me to write more, all the way around :)

On other cool, yet unrelated fronts – I snagged a ticket to the Vancouver 12×12 Photo Marathon event that is coming up on August 6. I’m pretty excited about it. Film (gulp, x2)! 12 frames. 12 themes. 12 HOURS. There are 60 people who compete in the event, and it’s a huge range of photogs – hardcore professionals, to hobbyists like myself. Once the day is over, they develop the film, and then everyone gets together for an evening where the shots are displayed and awards for specific categories are given. I myself have not shot film since my Emily Carr days, so if they award a “Only took 7 hours to load her camera” prize, I’m totally going to SCORE!

Also, Summer Live happens this weekend, which is a cornucopia of free concerts and events taking place in Stanley Park to celebrate Vancouver’s birthday. Dan Mangan, Neko Case, The Zolas, New Pornographers, and about 9000 other incredible artists are going to be there. So that’s something to look forward to, as well. Did I mention it’s free? FREE.

All around, so much fantastic stuff going on! I have a feeling this is going to be a pretty productive summer. Now fingers crossed for continued beautiful weather and good thoughts for happy, gainful (soon, please) employment!

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Media Riot; also — Vancouver is Awesome!

16 Jun

I love Vancouver. I’ve never said much to the contrary, but over the last couple of days, my love for her has grown by leaps and bounds – so much so that it feels like it could burst out of my chest.

The media is of course having their usual exploitative heyday with the Vancouver Riots. I don’t even really want to acknowledge the whole thing, because frankly, it’s all been done. It’s be said. Over and over until we want to collectively cry. And yes, it was horrible. But out of that dark again, Vancouver proved herself to be comprised of some of the most inspiring, caring and selfless people around. This is what that post is about. This is a post where I talk about how I came to the realization tonight that since moving into this little apartment, the best possible thing could have happened: my extreme lack of space forced my hand into not having a TV. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love watching HBO series and documentaries as much as the next person. But I found that when I had an actual TV in my possession, i often ended up watching a lot of News. Under the guise of educating myself, I was in actuality poisoning my psyche, one day after the next with the endless constant negativity. Now yes, i understand this sounds all very dramatic, but there was a definite downward slump in my mood when I was watching the news 2 hours a day. The sometimes subtle sad or hostile undertones, well – we’ve become so accustomed to them in our daily lives that we don’t question them anymore. But undoubtedly, they are toxic.

Now, because I don’t have my own TV, but have still become quite the hockey watcher during the playoffs, I ended up at my best friend Tara and her husband Jim’s place for Game 7. We understandably we all super excited, and drinking beer and having fun. And then we lost. Disappointing? Yes. Of course. The end of the world? Not in the slightest.

Then we got a call saying that the downtown core had begun the rioting. So we switched the station, and then we watched, stunned. Horrified. And for a few wordless minutes, heartbroken. Despondent. Those pictures – those Molotov cocktail throwing testosterone enraged psychos… this couldn’t be our city? Admittedly, i was in a tipsy state of denial. A friend and I walked home together, and overhead you could hear the helicopters circling, and the endless drone of ambulance sirens taking load after load of casualties to nearby Vancouver General Hospital. What is one to do in this situation?? Well, obviously – the only thing that made any sense to my mind in that moment: go find some swings, and swing the hell out of them. So we did. Then, after the swinging had concluded, it only made sense to further continue the tipsy party in the back courtyard, sipping Granville Island Raspberry beer, and laying in lounge chairs under the stars. Listening to our city, which had in the course of a handful of hours resembled a war zone.

Had this been my old apartment, I would have rushed right home, plunked myself in front of the TV and stayed up until 4am watching in horror as the police struggled in vain against a bunch of hoodlum assholes hell bent on creating destruction. But, because I didn’t, I brushed my teeth, got into bed, and fell asleep.

When I woke up this morning, I felt melancholy. I wasn’t bummed out about the game loss. The Canucks played a great series. Bruins played a better one. It’s ok to admit that your opponent is good. I kept reading Facebook posts about a clean-up that was going to start happening early in the morning downtown – people would be heading there with bags and brooms and dustpans, ready to put the city back to right. Back to normal.

I grabbed my camera and hopped on a bus, preparing myself for a few hours of documenting the carnage, and perhaps lending a hand, if I was needed. But when I got there, my heart almost burst at the weight of it all. The sheer number of smashed windows, the burnt dumpsters, the blood on the ground. BUT… and here is a very large BUT – I was absolutely blown away by how many people were out already, making the city sparkle. People from all walks of life were there – children, teenagers with mohawks, seniors in wheelchairs, businessmen in expensive suits, women in high heels. And they were all working together. And they were all doing it with smiles on their faces. There was no hand-wringing; there was no endless bitching about how the city has failed us, and all the things that could have gone wrong. It was just people in love; bursting with pride for their little city, protecting her and shining her up. Not quite brand new, but almost. And it brought tears to my eyes, several times.

Tonight I realized – I’m so much better off without the TV. I’m better off surrounding myself with things that inspire me, or restore my faith in people who care to do good for those around them, and the place they call home. You can look elsewhere for scathing commentary on the downfall of humanity and the ineptitude of whoever the fuck you think dropped the ball. Personally, I think that the Vancouver Police Department did a bang up job. I think the paramedics and firefighters and civilians who threw themselves in harm’s way on behalf of a city we all love so dearly— you were all amazing — and words cannot thank you enough. So instead, I will do what comes easy to me – I will tell the story of my day through pictures. And I hope that the positivity comes through. The optimism and gratitude. Vancouver, don’t let this get you down. You’ll shake this off just as you have before. You really have no other choice – there are too many of us here, cheering you on.

 

By Chrissy Posted in Daily Life, Home, Random Thoughts, Vancouver Life Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Comments Off

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An era, ending

27 May

It was usually a Tuesday or Wednesday. I would hop on the #9 Alma… it dropped off right in front of the doors, which was convenient for me, as I was generally cutting it pretty close, for catching the early show. And I never, never miss previews.

You usually bought your ticket from a sweet senior sitting in the tiny booth,  the smell of popcorn already wafting out the open front door. The huge lit-up sign out front was old and shabby, but had a certain nostalgic charm about it; you could certainly envision how in years past, she must have been gorgeous… state-of-the-art for her time. Even her name was regal: Hollywood.

Every time they took my money I felt a slight pang of guilt and excitement at the price. When I first discovered this art deco theatre in my early twenties, I had just moved to Vancouver. It was $5 for a double bill. At that time (and still, currently) regular theatres might charge you slightly less for the ticket, and then gouge you on snacks. But not the Hollywood. It was cheap to get in, and cheap to eat popcorn for dinner. And I did both—regularly.

I would always choose the same seat. Sneak up the dark curtain-draped side staircase into the balcony. It had super threadbare 70′s (60′s?) carpet—a remnant of many years past—but it all added to the charm. The mystique. Besides, it was so dark up there you couldn’t really see the details (which, in the end, was probably in the best interest of everyone).

Although I have ridiculously long legs, I always sat in the front row of the balcony. There I could kick off my shoes and perch my feet along the well-worn wooden ledge. It was never comfortable. But it was tradition. There were no railed barriers in this theatre, like you see in newer lawsuit-paranoid multiplexes (ones that prevent small children or drunken teenagers from dropping 30 ft. onto their heads). Here we were free to place feet or sit upon the ledge, or fall to our deaths. It was a throw-back to a time of user self-responsibility, and I loved it. I loved it like only a 5’11 pretzel jammed tightly into the front row of the balcony, could.

Although she was old, but she had beautiful bones. I sat among ghosts in that balcony. While waiting for the first film to begin, or during intermission, I liked to imagine all the people who had sat in these horrifically uncomfortable seats. In my mind’s eye I could see a time-lapse movie of 75 years worth of comings-and-goings. Dapper suits to scrappy kids, teenagers throughout the ages who came to drink beer and make-out in the privacy of the balcony—hippies to hipsters. We have loved you, all of us. A common thread to tie us together.

I saw Garden State there 4 times. This was a feat in of itself, being that each double bill only has a run of 1 week. But that was during a particularly rough and lonely time in my life, and I found comfort and solace in that film. It gave me hope, it broke my heart, it made me happy.

I formed nightly crushes during each of my adventures to the Hollywood. To pass the time I would choose who would get to be my unsuspecting movie-boyfriend for the evening. He would be cute and solo, the only prerequisites (although depending on how many patrons there were that evening, ‘cute’ might be used in the loosest possible sense). We would never actually interact of course, but I would imagine that solo-movie-watching-him would see solo-movie-watching-me, and we would come together and bond over the coolness and liberation that comes from watching movies alone. Generally speaking, when given a chance, I will choose to watch movies alone. Without question.

People who go to the movies alone are awesome. There is a quiet coolness about it. A certain self-assured “I don’t give a shit if I don’t have a sidekick” confidence. Often I wouldn’t even care what the films were, I would just go to be out in public; I would go and stare at the screen, basking in the glow of it all and just have time to think. When you are a tiny speck in a rickety balcony, regardless of what’s going on in your life, problems feel smaller. You get lost in the darkened distraction.

The Hollywood Theatre has been owned by the same  family for 75 years. They have quietly opened her doors night after night, despite lack-lustre sales and ridiculous corporate competition. They have only reluctantly raised prices in the last couple of years, but even when it topped out at $8, it was still an insanely good deal. But for the longest time, it stayed at  just $5. I always wondered how they could afford to do it, being in Kitsilano—one of the most expensive neighborhoods in Vancouver. The cinema itself was rarely busy, and there were nights I would sit through 4 hours in the balcony, completely alone (which admittedly always kicked ass). It was out of love they did it, I’m sure. Certainly not fame or money. But I suppose there is an end to everything.

The Hollywood Theatre is closing this weekend. Or rather, she is “changing hands”, which NEVER bodes well for beloved established businesses. I’m sure if she remains a cinema, she will be gutted and renovated; stripped of charm and fitted with dolby surround sound and top of the line technology. The movies will become first-run, and the tickets will become $13. That is if they don’t decide to bulldoze her to the ground to build condos. She was an institution. She was a Vancouver landmark. She was mine.

I wonder what they will do with her glorious tattered sign? With the incredible old architectural details like the seats and deco fixtures and signage in the powder room (which was always much fancier than a regular bathroom, on account of the chandelier).

Originally when I heard the news of her closing this weekend, and I checked the double bill, it was disappointing. A shitty movie with Dwayne “the Rock” Johnson, and some animated movie I’d never heard of. It seemed extra sad to see that she was going out with a whimper rather than a bang. But when I checked a minute ago, I see they have added CINEMA PARADISO as the first film… which seems a rather more fitting goodbye.

I will go this weekend, and sit solo in the balcony. Breathe in the sights and smells and back-wrenchingly uncomfortable seats one. final. time. I hope for once she is packed to the gills. I hope that everyone who ever laughed or cried or made-out or had terrible or awesome first dates will go and pay respects. I hope that the Fairleigh family will see how much she was loved and how empty that spot on Broadway will be without her. She will be sorely, surely missed.

 

By Chrissy Posted in Daily Life, Home, Random Thoughts, Vancouver Life Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Comments Off

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This girl’s life

24 May

The picture continues to unfold. Box by box, one bubble-wrapped bundle at a time. The apartment is almost done (well, in the sense that everything almost has a place, and everything is almost in it). And I love it more each and every day. I love it more than I was willing to imagine. It was everything I knew I wanted, and some things it took me experiencing to fully appreciate.

I have built a ridiculous amount of Ikea furniture in the last 2 weeks, during which it was necessary to utilize both the accompanying allen key, as well as a case of Strongbow to help to decipher the universally confusing instructions. There are no words (well, except for the occasional copious profanity from me) to explain the process — only seemingly easy, yet-always-confusingly-ambiguous diagrams. I like to imagine the Ikea Informational Designers laughing heartedly at the millions of North American dopes swearing profusely while trying to patch together the Lerberg shelving unit. Frustration ensues (as does more Strongbow). Everything ultimately ends up working out fine, albeit slightly considerably off kilter. My friend Meghan lent a hand with the large Expedit room divider thingamajig, and if she hadn’t, I might not be here typing this right now. I would instead be visibly twitching in a corner muttering about wooden dowels not fitting into too many holes. Why are there holes if nothing fits into them?? Why, also apparently confused Ikea Instruction Man, why??? At times I was concerned about my mental desire to punch an illustration in the face. But, it all worked out in the end.

There are subtle differences to my feelings for this apartment vs. the last. I love the hardwood floors. I dis-love the lack of counter space. I love the brightness. I dis-love the fact that sometimes I feel like I’m living in a fishbowl. I love the fact that I can walk from one end of my place to the other in roughly 3.2 seconds. I dis-love the fact that I can walk from one end of my place to the other in roughly 3.2 seconds. The windowbox of course, goes without saying.

For once in the history of me I have far too many shelves for books, and not enough volumes to put upon them. Over time, one builds a substantial collection. Bit by bit, your personal library expands to fill the space, to tell the story of your literary life, your tastes and trends as you get older. But books are tedious to move, and being that I knew I would be coercing my put-upon friends to help me move again at some undetermined time in the future, it seemed only right that I cut my collection in half… in quarters. So I gave them all away. And now my shelves look alarmingly empty. I never realized how much I felt my book collection somehow reflected my intelligence or ability to be interesting. Funny how those ideas seem to develop all on their own, in the back of your mind. So I’m beginning again. At least now I can been more choosy, and can do arty things like color-coordinate them, as opposed to my tried-and-true ‘lining them up in terms of height’ method before.

Here is some photographic proof that despite me not having any sort of cohesive style, it still sort of works, in all it’s randomness. (It also proves that I, like the rest of the city have fallen into NHL playoff watching fever). I love color. I love texture. I love vintage ceramics that involve anthropomorphic cats wearing hats and smiling mischievously. I love out of date technology like cameras and typewriters. Although mildly alarming sidenote: my typewriters are currently M.I.A. (which when you think about it, is it a feat it itself, being that they weigh about 20lbs each, and there are 4 of them).

I have managed to separate the space with the shelving unit, which actually ends up making a pretty sweet little bed nook. I hung paper lanterns overhead and curtains at the foot of the bed to close off the space a little. Which ends up making it feel really cozy when I’m tucked inside.

I was afraid that if I moved into a bachelor suite that I would end up feeling like I never left my bedroom. I was worried that people would come over to visit me and it would feel awkwardly small, but the opposite has been true. I think the mirrors and giant windows lend themselves well to opening it up in here.

Plus, the times I feel like I need to get away from these walls, I can slip out into the back garden, which is absolutely gorgeous right now. There are bluebells strewn about, and people have staked out tiny garden plots and filled them with vegetables and soon-to-be-flowering plants. There are chairs to laze around and read books in. Trees to lay under, and quiet enough to forget that I am living in the city (well, except when I am actually inside the apartment, when there is no way in hell I could ever forget that I live in the city, and more accurately, on the side of a highway). Thank god for earplugs.

So here I am – feeling pretty damn good about life in general. It’s nice to tick one thing off my life list. Having a home base that I feel excited to be in makes for a pretty contented me. I’m still on the job search, but it will come soon enough. In the meantime it’s officially dress and t-shirt weather, and the days stretch past 9:30. Hurray for Spring (and very shortly, Summer)!

 

 

By Chrissy Posted in apartment, Daily Life, Decorating, Home, Random Thoughts, Vancouver Life Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Comments (1)

One Response to “This girl’s life”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

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Life, In a Nutshell

02 May

The past 2 months has been what I can only now classify as creative atrophy. Looking for a new home has taken much longer than I anticipated. I was unwilling to settle for something that didn’t feel right. After all — hadn’t I  just gotten myself out of several situations that really didn’t feel right? It seemed ridiculous to settle now. At first I had a laundry list of what I wanted in a place, with “clawfoot tub” of course sitting occupying spot #1, followed by a ridiculous amount of other traits (including randomness like “kitchen window to look out while dish-doing” and “ability to have garden windowboxes, preferably South facing”). Admittedly, I was aiming high. Essentially I was searching for my last place, embodied in different walls. But as time progressed, I began to understand that not only are clawfoot tubs next to impossible to find, all the other things I had added to the list were also seeming pretty unobtainable. Frustration ensued. Depression. More regret. Living at my parents house in Maple Ridge (which sans-car felt about as removed from civilization as Nunavut, comparatively) didn’t help matters. I love and appreciate them like crazy, but it was their life I found myself in, not mine. It became abundantly clear that I needed to compromise… and although I felt I had compromised everything in the last 5 months, as long as I had the tub, I reasoned, it really didn’t really matter about the rest. Anything else would be a bonus.

I had kept in contact with the manager of my old building and asked him to keep me posted on vacancies. He had mentioned that a large suite would be opening mid-July, and it would be almost identical to the place my cousin was currently living in. I didn’t think I could wait that long, I said. Although he knew I was looking for a 1-bedroom, he mentioned that they had just evicted a man who had lived in a bachelor suite for 11 years. But he had been both a recluse and a chain smoker, so the place was in pretty rough shape. Although I had no desire to live in a bachelor suite, my curiosity to look at the bachelor suite won. So I agreed to check it out.

Holy hell, was I unprepared for the state of the apartment when I walked into it — despite the landlord’s forewarning of the disgusting condition. I discovered that not only was smoking his favorite hobby, but he was also an expert at avoiding cleaning and not taking out the garbage… FOR ELEVEN YEARS. Without a word of exaggeration, this man could not have cleaned that apartment a single time that he lived there. It was like a scene from “Hoarders”. There was garbage piled everywhere, and this was apparently after the they had already trucked out 4 gigantic bins to the dumpster, including a pretty impressive collection of porn VHS tapes from the 80′s. Cobwebs clung to every wall, and the smell of stale smoke hung so thick that I had to cover my mouth with my jacket sleeve to quell the urge to throw up. It was horrendous. Instantly, it was confirmed: not only did I not want to live in a bachelor suite, there was no way in hell I could ever live in that bachelor suite.

In the meantime, living in Maple Ridge became increasingly more stifling, creatively speaking. I had not written, taken photos or done much of anything aside from sleep, eat, job-hunt, and dream of a new life since I got here. My wheels were spinning.

Long story somewhat shorter: I imagined this amazing life in this end-of-July, large 1-bedroom upstairs apartment without actually seeing it. When I finally did see it, it left a lot to be desired. The interior bones were different from my cousin’s suite that I was basing my image upon. And honestly, it just didn’t feel… mine.

One heart, sank.

I was so conflicted. This is the problem that arises when you live much of your life in your mind before it tangibly unfolds in reality. Back to the drawing board. I went to ask the landlord to continue to keep me posted about future vacancies. He was deep in the midst of reinventing the Hoarder’s Den.  I was absolutely astonished by it’s transformation. It’s pretty incredible what a few coats of paint, ripping out of hideous filthy carpet, trucking out 2 tons of toxic garbage, several weeks of fumigation, and complete gutted renovation can do. It was beginning to shape up beautifully! The inlaid floors were in gorgeous shape (that was one thing I always longed for in my old place… hardwoods). The black & white tiles were laid in the kitchen, the clawfoot was in the living room, waiting to be reglazed. The windows, beyond repair, are set to be replaced with double paned ones to keep out the street noise from 12th. The new appliances ordered. It was a work-in-progress — but still, all of a sudden, I realized…

This was my little apartment.

I would end up paying substantially more than I would if I chose to take another bachelor suite down the hall, due to all the cost incurred while renovating the Hoarder’s Den. But it seemed worth it because this would be new and clean and quaint and wonderful. It had the tub, the tiles, the high coved ceilings, the floors, heritage built-ins, a kitchen window! This apartment had everything I was looking for… only bite-sized. This apartment was giving me the vibe that I had been waiting for from all the other larger places I had been checking out. This little place was giving me the sense that I could live within her walls quite happily, despite her small stature. I was as surprised as anyone to realize this.

This was my new home.

Now realistically — I know myself, and I have lived in bachelor suites at previous stages in my life. It’s tough. I like having space to create, and make a mess, and lay on the floor in the middle of the living room listening to records and drinking wine. But this apartment didn’t have a living room. Or rather, it had one LARGE living room, and no bedroom. Admittedly, it was going to be a huge challenge condensing all my stuff into one minuscule space. I would need to be more organized. I began taking a lot of inspiration from Apartment Therapy’s website, and it’s “Small Cool” contest — where people who live in small apartments send in photos of their homes and discuss how they deal with the challenges of condensed living… (some with only 200-300 sq ft, which make this bachelor suite’s 430 sq. ft. seem spacious!).

I understand that it’s unlikely I will live in this place for much longer than 6 months… ultimately I want to have a place that is not right on 12th — a place I can actually put roots down in. Luckily, I will have first dibs on any other apartment that may come up in the building, so I can continue to be choosy, IN VANCOUVER. But for now, I am prepared to take a beautiful tiny apartment for an undetermined amount of time. For now, I’m prepared to think of this place as my home and make it amazing, as best as I can. For now, I’m really just excited about the thought of picking up my life and getting on with things, already. I’m hoping once the reno’s are done (mid-May) and I’m settled in, I’ll be able to carve out a space that’s all my own, and my currently-on-life-support creativity will be revived.

Next up, just a few other small details: new job, finding a boyfriend, financial stability, general grown-up-edness, dinner parties hosted in a teeny apartment. Baby steps… one square foot at a time.

By Chrissy Posted in apartment, Bittersweets, Daily Life, Home, Random Thoughts, Vancouver Life Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Comments (2)

2 Responses to “Life, In a Nutshell”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

Leave a Reply

Oh, Hello Beautiful

23 Mar

Spring and Autumn. The months of change. I love watching things begin, and eventually come to an end. After being in the cold of Alberta for a little while, this jacket optional weather in B.C. is making it feel like Summer!

No news to report on the apartment hunt. I’ve gotten a chance to check out a few places, and I’ve gotta say – the whole writing-letters tactic generally works quite well for this. I would recommend it to anyone (especially those who are maybe living abroad and thinking about moving here for school) because it just gives landlords a chance to get to know you. Unless of course you are an ax murderer or have horrible grammar. Perhaps then it’s better to just keep that to yourself. Looking for places is always stressful, regardless. Craigslist is always a mad dash, crazy competition, gong show. The rental listings on there are usually quite a bit higher than they are if you just wander around the neighborhood looking for signs. And when you are going up against lots of others who are looking, you feel rushed to make decisions. Settle for places under pressure. I don’t want to do this. For once, I actually have the luxury of being a little choosy with this situation, so I’m holding out for just a little longer. Mostly for that damn bathtub. Curse you, clawfoot (kidding, I love you). Plus, there are cats here, which somehow make the situation quite a bit more tolerable.

In the meantime, I’ve hung out with many friends lately. Gone to dinner parties. Consumed a bit of wine. Walked over the Cambie Street Bridge with Meghan to watch the SUPERMOON! Enjoyed watching the blooms come out… even in the rain. Been pretty contented with life in general.

Vancouver, you couldn’t get more beautiful if you tried.

Unrelated side note: Despite being (somewhat) homeless, and living out of various boxes and bags, I took the plunge and bought even more crap that I can’t momentarily use… a set of cooking pots! Some of you may be questioning if I’ve suffered a mild concussion recently. But it’s true! I couldn’t resist. I’m envisioning my dream kitchen, in which I’m homey and inclined to cook things… in beautiful turquoise pots. They are almost too pretty to use:

By Chrissy Posted in Daily Life, Random Thoughts, Uncategorized, Vancouver Life Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Comments Off

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Of Loves Lost

10 Mar

It would not be unlike the final scenes in It’s a Wonderful Life: I envisioned me, running through the town, blessing everyone and everything with warmth and good tidings—remembering all the tiny details that made me love this place, and living in it. When the plane got close enough to Abbotsford for me to see the patchwork quilt of green farms below, the snaking rivers and suburban sprawl of backyard pools and yards neatly landscaped… and I started to cry. No racked sobbing (which would not be unlike me), but smiling-through-tears rolling down my face. Home. No more snow. No more blistering frigid cold. Goodbye elk. Hello instant Spring.

The plane ride was super turbulent, due to a heavy wind storm that had started earlier in the day. I am a mixed flier. Most of me is excited by the turbulence—it’s similar to an amusement park ride, where all of a sudden your stomach drops out from under you. It’s fun. Then I get flashbacks to the plane crash scenes in every stranded-on-a-desert-island movie ever made, where backs of planes are suddenly ripped off, and people are sucked out in screaming fiery explosions. I momentarily get a little nervous and white knuckle the armrest until the plane rights itself. Then, all is well. The green of the land and that intense grey-lavender that comes after a storm here in BC, coupled with the ability to walk around in a hoodie… you’d be hard pressed to find a happier girl at that moment. Instant comfort.

It’s been 1 week. 1 week of running the gamut of emotion: Happy, scared, worried, disappointed, excited, discouraged, sad, comfortable, happy again. Wash.rinse.repeat. I’m ecstatic to be back, but also feeling at a bit of a loss of where to start to rebuild. It’s like I hit the “reset” button on my life, and now I’m back trying to find a house I adore, find work I love, reestablish me in this place, all.over.again. Funny how everything can be knocked down to zero in the course of just under 6 weeks. Instant regrowth.

I’ve realized the hardest part about what I will now refer to as “the experiment” in Banff, was letting go of my apartment. When I moved away, I said my goodbyes as I was scrubbing her black and white checkered floor. I lovingly removed every scrap of myself from within her walls, whispering reassurances of adoration as I worked. When I locked the door for the final time, I felt like I had closure. I knew I would get over the loss. Sure, it might take awhile, but I would be better from the experience. But because I cut the experiment short, I didn’t have enough time to feel like I had moved on. So here I am back, feeling as though I could just walk right into my old building, open the door and find all my things—my studio, my bathtub, my life. Start from where I left off. Obviously, it’s been a tough break-up, me and that apartment. A lot of sleepless nights, a lot of regrets. I just hope that I can eventually move on. I just hope that I don’t spend the next 5 years reminiscing about all the good times we had, she and I. Holding a ruler up to all the new apartments, forlorn if they don’t quite measure up. But she will be a tough one to live up to—with her high ceilings, beautiful kitchen, decorative mantle, clawfoot bathtub, windowed office, southwest facing, cheap(relatively speaking, for the Westside of Vancouver). She was pretty special. I daydream about the property managers calling me up, telling me the new occupant had to take a job in a foreign country unexpectedly, the suite suddenly available again. These are the fantasies that live in my thoughts now. Instant longing.

I realized that looking for a new place is not unlike online dating. You get a super brief description, and then show up hoping to hell that it all works out. Sometimes you are amazed at the diamond in the rough that came from a few descriptors: one bedroom, 2nd floor, non-smoking, no pets. And then it ends up gorgeous and amazing. Other times, no matter how much they try to spruce it up by using words like “spacious” (380 sq ft bachelor apartment), and “bright” (as bright as an underground basement suite can be), and “cozy” (read: 6.5′ ceilings), there is just no prettying it up. I like to imagine who ends up taking those places. Midgets? Vampires? Hobbits? Not girls with long legs who like to collect things… not me.

Rental pricing in Vancouver is atrocious. I knew this before, but some of the rent is ridiculously laughable. All this “Vancouver is the Best Place on Earth to Live” is hurting us. $1200 for a teeny tiny bachelor suite? I don’t care if you do have an elevator (which, by the sounds of it, is larger than the apartment itself), or in-suite laundry. Having the convenience of washing your shirts at 2 a.m. pales in comparison to being able to stand upright in ones own living room.

I’ve approached the process in baby steps (much like everything else in my life as of late). I’ve slept on the floor of my best friend’s apartment so I can be in Vancouver, searching. I’ve wandered around, writing down addresses of buildings that seem like they would have character—be somewhere I would like to call home. I’ve drafted a letter, and sent out many envelopes, explaining my situation. Pleading my case. Hoping that a vacancy will come up and they will take a chance on me. Fingers crossed.

In the meantime, I’ve enjoyed hanging out with my folks. Playing with their cats. Eating home-cooked meals. Catching up with dear friends. Taking in all the signs of Spring—the yellow and purple crocuses, the tiny fragile paperwhites, the cherry blossoms just beginning to bloom, the light out until 6:37 pm.

I don’t regret the experiment. I had to do it in order to know. But at this moment it’s hard not to look back regretfully on what once was. It is with this experience that I hope comes something new—something even better. In the midst of uncertainty, it can be tough not to dwell. Only when you’ve had some space and time to reflect do you truly understand that that situation was necessary to get where you now stand. That rough patch was necessary in order to move forward. That’s what I just keep trying to remember. It will all work out in the end— it always does. Instant faith.

If anyone hears of a great one bedroom character apartment in Fairview, Cambie, Main Street, or the WestEnd, please let me know. I’m responsible, quiet, and love places as though they were my own. Because I suppose for a short time, in my mind, they actually are.

By Chrissy Posted in Banff, Bittersweets, Daily Life, Random Thoughts, Vancouver Life Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Comments Off

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Realizations for Spring

26 Feb

Admittedly, it’s been a pretty stressful week. But also a pretty wonderful week as well..

It’s easy to say now that a huge boulder-sized weight was lifted off my shoulders since my last entry. It was a tough one to write, but necessary, vulnerable. I was afraid if I admitted those feelings out loud, wrote them down on paper, it would crush me. It would push me into a downward spiral and consume me. But, I’m here—happier than ever.

Coming here has been one of the best things I’ve ever done. For a myriad of reasons—most totally unexpected. But over the course of 5 weeks, I have grown so much. I learned I can be the type of person to throw caution to the wind and uproot my life to take a chance on the unknown. I learned that shyness and loneliness are things that travel with you—often despite efforts to lose them in transit. I realized that other people can relate.

I learned how much I love the outdoors, and simultaneously how much I hate snow. Well, hate is a strong word—I love snow when it’s falling, I love it when it’s pristine for as far as you can see, I love it when it caps the mountains. But I hate the cold—how it breaks you down, and makes you wish for green; makes you long for the buds just beginning to peek up in Vancouver, the cherry blossoms and magnolias that will be growing there shortly. Most of all, I learned so much about who I am. I know that sounds cheesy and cliché, but also, true. I learned that -36 weather freezes ice to your eyelashes, and makes cold feel like you’re pressing your skin to a hot burner. Curious, opposite.

I learned it’s OK to change my mind.

I’m ecstatic to admit that I’m heading back to Vancouver. In a self-propelled, determined-to-continue-to-make-this-year-what-I want-it-to-be way.

A few months ago I spoke to the fact that this being my 32nd year, I felt a lot of pressure to really DO something with it. And in the weeks after getting to Banff and feeling disheartened and failing, it was hard to see the idea of me not continuing here anything but admitting defeat. But nothing could be further from the truth. I made the choice to come here, and in that process, got to spend 5 weeks in the mountains, meet a handful of really amazing people, grow internally by leaps and bounds, be inspired, and solidify that not only do I know more than ever what I want out of life, I’m strong enough to recognize when I’m not getting it, and take the steps necessary to change.

I’m not advocating giving up on things when they get tough. I’m advocating looking inside and knowing what is best for you, regardless of other people’s opinions, or self imposed obligation. I realized this last week that life shouldn’t feel like a prison sentence where you are counting down the days until you can do something different—be somewhere else. If that is what life feels like, regardless of place or circumstance, it’s time to change. If you are staying at a job you despise because you are terrified of what you will do after it, or if you continue in a relationship that is not fulfilling because you are scared of being alone. You’re not going to win a “I Toughed Out an Intolerable Situation for a Ridiculous Amount of Time” award. Or if you do, it will be ugly and won’t match your decor.

So I’m advocating the ‘Reassessment Pass’. The ‘It’s-OK-to-Change-Your-Mind Pass’. It’s like a ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card, except smaller and more liberating.

In my 32nd year so far, I’ve moved forward from a job that wasn’t creatively fulfilling, despite paying me very well. I packed up my life that was comfortable and familiar and moved to another province to try to advance my career. Understood that in the situation I put myself in, there was no way that was going to happen. Made it ok to change. Taken about 3000 photos so far, created about 10 new pieces of art. Written. Read books. Designed. Made new friends. Been true to myself. Understood where my heart lies.  That in of itself is huge—noteworthy. Enough.

I’m heading back to B.C. on Wednesday. I’m determined to continue my search for a great job. I’m thrilled and excited at the prospect of discovering my new home. I have a hazy idea in my mind’s-eye of what she looks like, but will know her when I see her. I hope she has a clawfoot tub. Windowboxes. Maybe a new neighborhood that I can explore.

I think the most important lesson for me has been this: Never, never settle for anything less than what brings you happiness. Screw what other people think. Screw preconceived notions and expectations placed on yourself. If you’re not getting what you need, take steps to change it. Life shouldn’t be about marking time.

Spring, here I come.

By Chrissy Posted in Banff, Banff Centre, Daily Life, Mountain Life, Random Thoughts Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Comments Off

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Truth, setting you free (mostly)

21 Feb

Today marks the 1 month point of me arriving here. In some ways it has felt both like it’s flown by, and like it’s been the longest time of my life. Good and bad, up and down, an unrelenting roller coaster.

I struggle on a daily basis with not feeling like I’m getting the “proper” experience out of being here. Preconceived notions of what I believe something is supposed to look like before I do it, and then ending up feeling disappointed when it turns out differently. Not letting myself just experience something for what it actually is. It’s a recipe for disaster.

I feel like since I got here, although I have been writing everyday, I have felt very limited in what I can truthfully share. It’s pretty much been a self-imposed publication ban. And after a month, I feel like that’s done a disservice to myself, and maybe to others who might be reading it. Even now, on the verge of clicking “publish” I feel torn about whether I should wait. People might think I’m being too hasty, too negative, too _________. [Guts churning]

Why am I feeling largely incapable of enjoying my experience here so far? Even though it’s almost nothing like what I was led to believe it would be? Still—what’s wrong with me? Everyone I talk to seems to think if they were in the same position they wouldn’t be worrying about it, they’d be snowboarding every day and having the time of their lives.

God. There must be something wrong with me. [Stomach knotted]

I was talking to a friend on Facebook about my experience today, mentioning that I felt like it wasn’t the quite the career opportunity I had hoped it would be. He asked if I was at least getting a chance to get out and take pictures? I said that yes, I had taken a fair amount of pictures, but I wasn’t feeling super motivated to get outside as much as I felt I should. Maybe, it was on account of the cold? And he said “yeah, I was sort of wondering how many pictures you would be taking… it doesn’t really seem to be your style”.

And a light bulb went off in my head.

Not my style. I had thought that internally a few times since I’ve been here, but was forcing myself to get out there because “It’s so beautiful here!” “I really should be wanting to take pictures!” But I’ve never rarely been drawn to landscape photography in the entire time I’ve been interested in shooting pictures. Truth be told, I find the majority of landscape photography fairly boring (unless you yourself are the one there to witness it firsthand, anyway). The most inspired with my camera I’ve felt here is in the middle of a cemetery. [Inner turmoil] I should be trying to find photo opportunities (contrary to the fact I feel a bit like I’m just going through the motions). I should want to go outside and enjoy the winter (contrary to the fact I’m chilled to the bone and can’t seem to shake it the entire day). I should… contrary to this being (me).

Why do I feel like I must apologize for who I am? To somehow gloss over my true feelings about this experience thus far? There are some people who just don’t enjoy sports, or who don’t like broccoli. And no matter how many times you explain that sports are really wonderful and broccoli is really tasty, it might not make it any truer to them. And that’s ok. It seems a ridiculous waste of energy to keep trying and trying to make myself like something that I just (mostly) don’t. To pretend like I’m having a blast when I’m really (mostly) not. How many times must you do something before you can safely say “no, I think I’m good”? How much sports must I watch? How much broccoli must I eat? How many days must I spend? 30? 60? 90? 500? I’ve spent days fighting off depression because I feel like there is something wrong with me for being disappointed about the situation—despite it being almost nothing like what I understood it was supposed to be. I’ve been beating myself up about having a hard time meeting people, when I have been shy my entire life. So much of life’s unrest comes from feeling one way, and wanting it to be different. [More turmoil]

You know how sometimes you get invited to a party, but you don’t really feel like going–but you go anyway, and ultimately end up really glad that you went? I feel like I keep waiting for this to get to the part where I’m glad I went to the party. Because so far, I sort of wish I had stayed home, washed my hair and just reveled in other people telling me how great the party was. Because at the moment, I feel like I thought it was going to be black tie, and I got there only to realize that it was being hosted by that creepy guy in IT that incessantly talks about his cat. Yes, it’s still a party – it’s just maybe not my kind of party. And (maybe) that’s ok. [Less turmoil]

Which brings me to the topic of this post: Being true to myself, and my experience. I feel like so much of my life has been spent living in the shadow of who I think other people want me to be, rather than who I am. This unbalance makes for so much internal tension and unhappiness. I’m not throwing in the towel yet and going home, but unless I start to be honest with myself about how I truly feel in this moment, this experience is going to be more damaging to my well-being than positive. Life is comprised of many different lessons, and maybe my lesson is this:  Be open enough to take the step, and wise enough to be true to yourself once you do.

[free]



Which brings me to the topic of this post. Being true to yourself, and your experience. I feel like so much of my life has been spent living in the shadow of who I think other people want me to be, rather than who I am. This unbalance makes for so much internal tension and unhappiness.
By Chrissy Posted in Banff, Daily Life, Mountain Life, Random Thoughts, Uncategorized Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , Comments (1)

One Response to “Truth, setting you free (mostly)”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

Leave a Reply

Ideas in Cursive

20 Feb

I went to a Meet & Greet last week with some writers who are in residency at the Banff Centre. It was casual, a roomful of people standing around, wine cupped in tiny glasses, anxiously making small talk with strangers. Writers are an interesting bunch, and this group in particular seems pretty eclectic, both in age and topic. Many have published numerous times before, and I have to check myself as not to gush openly to them about their profession. Not so much who they are, or their books specifically, but I had to stop myself from asking if they wake up every single day, do a fist pump of joy and think “YES! I get paid to WRITE BOOKS!”  It seems like a pretty awesome career. In my mind this constant reminder seems reasonable, but in practice I’m sure it would be annoying. “Oh, hello grocer-who-sells-me-bananas, did you know I WRITE BOOKS FOR A LIVING?”.  This is why I could never be a writer. No restraint.

I got into an interesting conversation with a girl from New York, and we were talking about technology and our inability to keep up with it. I confessed that if given a choice, I would much prefer to write everything down, old-school style with a good pen and a crisp sheet of paper. She looked at my incredulously, like I had suggested chiseling text on stone or cave painting. I tried to explain myself; I felt like handwriting says so much about a person, and how likely in 5 years, with our ever-increasing dependence on email and text messaging—that no one will have unique penmanship anymore. It’s a sad thought. We will all be reduced to a handful of typefaces, the sentiment lost in the generic uniformity that comes with perfectly typeset notes.

This idea came to me a few weeks ago. As a compulsive list-maker, I’m alarmed by my own budding reliance on the ‘Notes’ feature on my Ipod, whereas I used to jot everything down in a moleskin journal. I find ridiculous amounts of pleasure in flipping though those books now, trying to figure out a) my poor handwriting, b) my horrendous lack of spelling and proper grammar, and c) half defined thoughts, ended midway—with no context whatsoever. It makes for a bit of a game. As artists and designers, so much of the creative process can begin through the act of bringing pen to paper. One doesn’t often go to the trouble of starting Word to jot down a quick note to themselves, or opening Illustrator to do a small sketch. Or, at least I don’t. I rely on memory, which fails me every.single.time. I think technology hinders experience in those instances; I believe a certain amount of art and idea may be lost to this, in future generations. I suppose we are the lucky ones, sitting comfortably on the cusp of both methods. We can operate computers, but we still had to labor over cursive in 5th grade (although few of us still use it). I can’t imagine how many projects would have never been realized, if not begun as a whim, jotted down onto paper.

I was feeling a bit stifled in my apartment yesterday, having not left the house the entire day previously. So I bundled up, braved the -29 cold and headed up to the Centre to have breakfast. Saturday it turns out, is the perfect day to go, because the campus is almost completely empty. I was able to camp out on a cushy overstuffed chair by the wall of mountain-view windows, bust out my Wonder Woman sketchbook and write. Write and write until my hand was cramping and the words were almost indecipherable.

I feel like I’m on the verge of having a breakthrough with my project—with the theme of my book, and the direction I would like to take it in. Much like my life, I’m trying to break it into babysteps. Manageable chunks, so I don’t choke on the enormity of it all. Creating a book from scratch is an undertaking, but if I look at it page by page, section by section, chapter by chapter, it’s not quite so daunting. Besides, it won’t be a proper book—requiring formula, sense and continuity (thank god). It is a book about details, with small written blurbs,  photographs, sketches, maps, recipes, ephemera… and white space.

I realized this week that essentially, if you are not getting the project you want within the context of your job, you must make that project yourself. For the longest time I’ve waited to find a position that I could be fully creative in, which is difficult because I consider myself equal parts designer, photographer, writer, maker. I don’t imagine myself as an expert in any of them, but I find if I neglect one for any length of time, I feel unfulfilled. I suppose that makes me a bit high maintenance, creatively speaking? So until I find my niche in the world, I will try to build my dream project in the meantime, on my own terms. Find my own direction.

Unrelated awesome sidenote: I finally hit the houseplant JACKPOT. So far it’s the only thing that makes this place feel like home.

By Chrissy Posted in Banff, Banff Centre, Bittersweets, Daily Life, Mountain Life, Random Thoughts Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Comments (2)

2 Responses to “Ideas in Cursive”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

Leave a Reply

Snow trudging for angel wings

11 Feb

I love Friday. I have always loved Fridays, but now, living in Banff, I enjoy it even more. From here on in, Friday will now be called CreativeDay in Chrissy-speak, just so everyone is clear. To actually have a day fully devoted to creative endeavors is pretty fantastic.

I was feeling horribly lonely yesterday during the day. In fact, I wrote a pretty raw blog post explaining my head space while on my lunch break. I saved it in my ipod, with the intention of posting it online when I got home. Work was pretty normal, but in the evening, I was able to attend my first actual event at the Banff Centre. It was called “Artists Crossing” and it allowed employees and workstudies to give presentations about their work. A girl I work with, Leanne, who is a writer, showed a video and spoken word piece, which was really moving. Also there was a sculptor, a sound engineer/composer, and a videographer. The turnout was surprisingly big—it was held in the Maclab bistro in the Kinnear Centre, which was the perfect space for the event. Imagine a modern restaurant combined with the laidbackness of a pub—all windows and gorgeous mountain views. Plus, they serve beer, and what likely was the most incredible burger that I have ever consumed in my lifetime. So I shook off the loneliness, got a chance to talk to some new people, drink a lot of beer, and observe the insanely inspiring talent that seems to inhabit every inch of this place. Needless to say, I didn’t post my raw blog post when I got home. I’ll save it for another day, because I think it deserves a place, too.

Despite not getting to sleep until 2 a.m., I awoke this morning at 9:12 (a totally respectable time in my option, under the circumstances). So I’m up, showered, gulping down a mediocre cup of coffee, surprisingly functional, and ready to go by 10:09. I’m impressed with myself. I grab my camera and head out the door.

Today is wonderful for a lot of reasons. 1, (as stated) it’s CreativeDay! 2, it’s three degrees outside! THREE! And for the first time in weeks I have been able to leave the house sans toque and scarf. I kept the mittens, as I knew I would likely be crawling around in the snow, but the temperature was perfect. The temperature reminded me of home.

I headed to this tiny cemetery that I pass each day on my way up the mountain. It’s so small, and serene. I’ve had my eye on it since the first day I arrived, mentally counting down the days until I got to wander around in it. Added bonus—on route, in the yard of the instrument maker, were two beautiful deer. And for the first time I was able to capture them with my camera. It was shaping up to be a good day already.

A strange thing about this cemetery, apparently no one goes there, aside from the deer… and girls stupid enough to try to wade through almost 3 feet of snow in the name of photographic exploration. I know this because of the dainty deer tracks mapping their way around the tombstones, and my clunky gigantic footprints messing up the pristine snow everywhere else. At times, I felt like I was treading water trying to make my way through it all. This was the stuff of parent’s stories meant to evoke guilt in children (unsuccessfully, I might add). This was “Don’t you complain about that, because I HAD TO WALK TO SCHOOL IN 3ft OF SNOW UPHILL, BOTH WAYS” snow. And admittedly, it was pretty tough to walk through.

I had intended on trying to get about 150 shots today, and ended up getting 349. I’m shocked by that number, but I did take a ridiculous amount in the graveyard trying to capture mossy tombstones and old decaying statues. I’m a sucker for the angel wings. If I get 20 solid shots from that 349, I’ll be thrilled. The secret to good photography? Take stupid amounts of photos.

Tired of snow trekking and picture taking, I decided to loop around the downtown core to grab a couple of things at the store. Did I mention that I only had a cup of coffee on my way out the door? So understandably, I was ravenous by the time I got to Safeway—which, as we all know, is a recipe for spending insane amounts of money on things that you would never purchase under normal circumstances—like Fig Newtons and Kraft Singles. I almost went for Cheez Whiz, but mustered up the willpower at the last minute to restrain myself. Lesson to myself: eat before you adventure.

Two gigantic shopping bags later, I’m toting the groceries down the street mentally wishing for a wagon, and accompanying dog with which to pull it. No such luck. I stopped at the liquor store to buy a bottle of wine, and reasoned that since I was already lugging 42lbs of groceries, my super heavy camera, a bottle of wine, and my enormous purse full of crap I never use, why not go all out and stop at the library? Two hardcover books added to the pile. Sled-dog, where are you when I need you? Good-for-nothing, lazy imaginary dog.

A word about the library in Banff—it has provided so much pleasure while I’ve been here. I always forget about how wonderful the library concept is, with their ridiculously unprofitable business model. Most of the time I stare at the clerk incredulously, still expecting them to say “That will be $37.91, please”. And yet, they never do. They just stamp the inside cover card (old school style!) and push the books across the counter. Done and done. This town is great.

(Trust me, I do appreciate the irony of the bag of Hershey’s kisses laying atop the 0-calorie Coke Zero)

Funny the difference a day makes. Yesterday morning I was feeling hollow, desperate; Today, I feel inspired and content… slightly stronger from the grocery lugging, considerably poorer from the grocery buying. Home by 1:47. A very successful CreativeDay, indeed.

By Chrissy Posted in Banff, Banff Centre, Daily Life, Mountain Life, Random Thoughts Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Comments (3)

3 Responses to “Snow trudging for angel wings”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

Leave a Reply

Life, in the Details

07 Feb

I’ve been here for just a little over two weeks now. It still feels a bit surreal, like I’m just on some snowy extended vacation, bound to wake up in Vancouver any day now. I’m sure in a few more weeks it will begin to feel more like home. Or perhaps it won’t ever feel like home, but rather more like a freezing cold version of going to camp. With less planned activities. And more elk.

I wake up every morning and get excited to open the curtains. You never really know what the weather is going to be like here. So far, -26 has been the coldest, which was excruciating. That was painful, eyelashes-fusing-to-your-skin cold. Then, two days later, it’s 4 degrees. I’ve realized that Banff is not a town to look pretty in. Regardless of how much time you spend getting ready, inevitably by the time you get to where you are going, you are either red faced and runny nosed, sweating your ass off, or just generally looking 25lbs heavier from all the layers. I’ve given up trying, which may hinder my ability to attract mountain men while I’m here.

Walking through this town is pretty amazing. Before I came, I had a picture in my minds-eye of what I thought it would be like, and in many ways it was both everything and nothing like that. It is quaint, and yet strangely corporate at the same time. The main street is littered with tiny shops (many of which are touting the usual “I Heart Banff” tourist sweatshirts and shot glasses with bears on them, stamped “Made in China” on the bottom). There are a ridiculous (read: AWESOME) amount of candy stores in this town. And liquor. Banffians (Banffittes? Citizens of Banff?) love their booze and sugar, apparently. As you walk down the street the rich smell of dark maple hits you in the face like a hammer… fudge. It’s like crack for the nostrils, and it’s been all I can do to avoid it thus far – I’m afraid if I falter and give in even once, I’ll spend the rest of my days here strung out under a snowy bridge, in a sugar induced coma. But the smell is intoxicating, and so very “Canadian” at the same time. These are the types of places that I expected of Banff, and yet unexpectedly, an even larger portion of this town seems to replicate big city landscape – Lululemon, Gap, Foot Locker, Lush, Louie Vuitton, Benetton, Mcdonald’s, Indigo… on and on and on. In some ways it seems to rob the place of personality, from a tourist perspective. However, from a local perspective, it’s been hugely handy to be able to pop in and pick up some mass-produced necessity I forgot (surely packed in box #47, now buried deep in the trenches of my parent’s basement). I think Banff Ave. is the main tourist street, while it appears that most locals try avoid it like the plague, sticking instead to side streets and back routes. Many places here offer a “local discount” which makes me feel like I’m part of a top secret club, and rather than perks like decoder rings and complicated handshakes, you mostly just get 10% off of wine purchases and cheap breakfast.

I’ve been incredibly creative since I’ve gotten here. I guess my lack of internet largely contributed to that, combined with my desire to get out and explore the city. I’ve taken a bunch of photos and written quite a bit. While I’m here at the Banff Centre, as a work study I am in the Banff Centre Press 4 days a week, the other day is set aside to work on my own creative project. I doubt I will get a chance to do much design at this position, so I’ve made it my creative project to do a book layout. Similar to my “City Within” project, only set in the mountains. I’m going to try to incorporate some of my journal entries into it, just so it can involve a bit more typography than the first one. But it feels good to have something to work toward. Something that is entirely self directed, and something that I will be forced to find focus in, if for no other reason than distraction, because I still don’t know many people here yet.

In the mornings I walk over a frozen river to get to work. I was terrified the first few days I was here to even brave the river path, which as been worn down from all the people who live in the housing co-op that use it as a shortcut, so I would take the long way around, over a bridge. Eventually though, my laziness won out over my fear of death. It does make things much quicker. Plus, there is something so beautiful and serene about standing in the middle of the snow covered river, surrounded by trees and mountains. The landscape has not lost one shred of it’s novelty yet. I don’t know if it ever would. Several times a day I feel fortunate to be getting a chance to have this opportunity. To live in this snowy town, to be attending one of the most prestigious artist centres in Canada. I’ll delve more into the Banff Centre in the coming days, but I just wanted to write another entry fairly soon after the first. Try to keep on top of it all.

There is so much to say, and I’m still formulating the order in which I want to write about it. Countless unseen stars, the tenacity of magpies, being able to call oneself an artist, the glory of libraries, tiny graveyard squirrels, life in the co-op, the nature of loneliness,  church bells heard ringing throughout the town on Sundays. So many incredible details to talk about. I hope that you will continue to come back and visit… and it’s always much appreciated if you leave a comment. It lets me know that you are out there, and makes it feel a tiny bit less cold here.

By Chrissy Posted in Banff, Banff Centre, Daily Life, Mountain Life, Random Thoughts Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , Comments (10)

10 Responses to “Life, in the Details”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

Leave a Reply

Wander through the Wilderness

05 Feb

Over two weeks I have been building a new life, in a new place. And it’s been a rollercoaster of thoughts and emotions and discoveries. It’s been great, and difficult, and intense.

I am at a bit of a loss on where to begin. So much has happened since I got here, and I’ve been writing like crazy, but my inability to access the internet for any length of time has hindered all updates to this blog. Which means now I’m struggling to try to figure out what to explain as important story foundation, and what to let slide.

During that two week period I was largely without either a phone and/or the internet for a good part of the time. Initially not having an internet connection was kind of awesome, as it forced me to don scarves and toques and mittens and trudge my way through the town of Banff to the Starbucks, which has far as I could tell, was the only place that a) had free wifi and b) could not care less how long you sat there, nursing a $1.87 cup of coffee while sucking up all the free internet you could handle. I’m sure in the town of Banff there are countless tiny cafes that have wifi, but I always feel a certain obligation in places like that. I find I end up feeling there is some twisted ratio of guilt-purchasing necessary, wherein every 30 minutes I must buy something else, to make up for my ass taking up real estate in their establishment. (My ass at which rate, which was sure to be twice the size it was when I arrived, what with all the cookies, pastries and caramel apple ciders that would inevitably be consumed if my home internet situation wasn’t soon rectified). As of Thursday, it finally was.

But I guess I really should start with my arrival…

*******

I had bundled up before I got on the plane, both to be prepared for the bone chilling temperatures, as well as to give me that much needed space in my luggage to pack as many comforts of home that I might need over the next 6 months, as possible. By the time the plane touched down in Calgary I was sweating like a pig—what with the weather being a balmy 3 degrees—almost identical to that of Vancouver. The snow lay on the ground in huge drifts, but the sidewalks were almost completely bare. This fact was both disappointing and yet somewhat reassuring. Thanks for easing me in slowly, Alberta, I appreciate it.

Before I left Vancouver I had what some would call a bit of a (read: major) emotional meltdown. The mental preparation involved with moving to a new place is huge and stressful, but until that point, I was doing surprisingly well. Being that it’s my nature to be terrified of change, I found solace in the fact that once I got to Banff—although I would be sharing an apartment with someone else—I would have my own room, my own space… with a door that could close, with privacy.  A few days before I was set to go, I got an email telling me that there were no single rooms available, and I would be sharing a room with someone else. A panic attack so immense hit me, it was hard to keep it in check. So, reasonably, I lost my shit. I could handle the thought of leaving a place I loved to move to a place I’d only heard of. I could handle the idea of leaving my family and everyone in the world I knew. I could however not handle the thought of immediately being thrust into the space of a stranger, with less than 3 feet of space between single beds. Oh god—had I made a huge mistake?? I probably never would have agreed to this scenario, had I known that was the rooming situation. And yet, my Vancouver apartment was almost empty, bags were packed, the ticket was booked. What could I do? Cry, that’s what. And cry I did. And then take deep breaths, regain composure. I would figure it out. I would make it work. I had no other choice.

*******

Cut to: Arriving in Banff after a breathtaking 1 hour flight over the mountains and a 2 hour shuttle bus ride, I was sweltering under the weight of multiple coats and countless layers. I had informed the bus driver that I would be going to the Rocky Mountain Housing Co-op. He knew where it was, he assured me. I had made plans to meet up with the housing coordinator at 2:30pm, and she would check me in. If I got to the co-op, I was told, and she wasn’t there right away, just buzz 100 on the intercom and she would come and let me in. Easy enough.

We arrive at the building, and I struggled to get my two ENORMOUS suitcases, a backpack, a ridiculously packed gigantic purse, and the pile of clothing I had peeled off, over the snowdrifts onto the front sidewalk of the building. As I approached, a helpful girl held the door for me, so I squeaked “oh, thank you!” greatfully, and clumsily jammed myself through the front doors into the main foyer. I was early by 30 minutes. Thank god there were couches.

*******

2:10pm, I’m passed numerous times by people coming in and out of the building. I’m not sure how to say this without sounding snobby, but the building was, uh… a bit shabby. The furniture in the foyer was old and mismatched, the carpets were stained, and it smelled kind of musty. [Deep breaths]. Each time someone walked through, I perked up, wondering if this was the housing coordinator. Then, each time, it wasn’t.

2:25pm I left my bags in the lobby and by jamming my foot in the front doorway, I managed to keep it propped open, knowing I’d be screwed if the door shut closed behind me, leaving all my stuff in the hall. Awkwardly leaning halfway out the door, and halfway in, I  punched ’100′ on the intercom. The steady green display of “input suite number” flashed on the screen. Again. Nothing. Alright, no worries, I’ll just wait. It’s almost 2:30, she would be here any minute.

2:35 Still, nothing. The worry begins to set in—what would I do if she didn’t show up? I didn’t have a cell phone, and there was no way in hell I would be able to haul all this stuff back into town to try to find a pay phone, I could barely get it the 10 feet to the building. Not to mention I have zero sense of direction and couldn’t remember what road we took to get here, let alone where I would need to go to get back to it.

2:45pm Awesome—I’m now in Banff and will be forced to spend the weekend camped out in the foyer of my somewhat sketchy new apartment building, without actually owning an apartment. Anxious butterflies begin to flit around in my stomach; I feel a bit like I might throw up. Behind a potted plant. Because my apartment is nonexistent, as is the bathroom inside of it.

2:50 Finally, a guy walked by on his way outside to smoke, and I asked him “Excuse me, do you know where I might find Kim, the housing coordinator? I was supposed to meet her here at 2:30, but I can’t figure out how to work the intercom”. A head shaken, no.

3:00 OhshitOhshitOhshit. Ohgod, this was a mistake—and setting up to be a horrible start to my Banff experience. I mentally made a list of all the things I could sacrifice to someone stealing, if I had to leave it in the foyer and hike back into town. I had everything – two laptops, a camera, hard drives, sketchbooks, photos—all valuable, all important. Fuck.

3:10 More people walk by. Finally, in desperation, I say “EXCUSE ME, can you help me? I need help. I don’t know where I am, and where I’m supposed to be going, who I’m meeting, and apparently how to work simple technology. Can you please, please help me?”. Taking pity on me, a guy stops and tries to help me work the intercom.

“There is no option for 100 – are you sure it was 100?”.
“Yes, it’s in the email, 100″.
“I don’t know then—I’ve never heard of a Kim—are you sure it wasn’t Larry?”.
“No, definitely Kim. Is there any other buildings that are part of this complex? I’m starting work at the Banff Centre, and this is supposed to be for their housing”.
“Oh, the Banff Centre has people here now? Huh, they sure are expanding”.
[Blank stare from me] I look out the back window, point. “That building there, is that a part of this complex?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t think so”.
“Look, I don’t have a cell phone, I need to go and see if there is any possibility I’m in the wrong place. Can you please just watch my bags? I don’t want to try to lug them through the snow drifts if it’s not the right building”.
[He looked down at the unlit smoke in his hand, then back to my pitiful, desperate face, then back to the smoke again.]

Finally, “Uh… fine. Ok, sure”.

So, this stranger—this incredibly friendly, disheveled stranger, agreed to watch my stuff while I tromped through the snow to the back building. As I approached the door, a woman came to unlock it…
“Kim?”
“Yes”.
“OhmygodI’msosorryI’msolatethedriverleftmeoffatthewrongbuildingandagirlletmein
Ididn’tknowhowtocontactyougodI’msosorry”.

I hurried back to the first building, slightly relieved at the situation, totally annoyed at the bus driver, absolutely grateful to this stranger who helped without robbing me blind. I thanked that man no less than 50 times as he graciously assisted in carrying my stuff through the snow and parking lot to this other building—this much newer, cleaner, nicer, better building.

Kim sat me down, and checked me in. She explained the no drugs policy, took my $100 damage deposit, pointed out on a map where in town I could find everything—groceries, library, coffee shops. She handed me the keys and as we walked to the suite she explained that I was lucky, at the last minute a suite opened up, and it was completely empty. For the time being, I would have no roommates. I almost burst into tears right then and there. This was better than Christmas! Within 1 hour I went from thinking this was the worst decision I had ever made in my life, to feeling like I had just inexplicably won the lottery. Funny how life is like that sometimes.

I walked into the suite, dropped my bags, said goodbye to Kim and shut the door. The apartment itself was pretty plain, but tastefully decorated and not too bad at all (compared with sleeping in the foyer of building #1).
When I walked into the living room, through the window I saw this view:

And all at once, I was again reassured—absolutely—that this wasn’t a mistake after all, but was exactly where I needed to be.

By Chrissy Posted in Banff, Banff Centre, Daily Life, Embarassment Diaries, Mountain Life, Random Thoughts Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , Comments (3)

3 Responses to “Wander through the Wilderness”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

Leave a Reply

Thinking Inside the Box

10 Jan

A whirlwind of commotion is my life at the moment. Normally this even-keeled (“even-keeled” is in the eye of the beholder, remember) girl who writes countless lists and scrutinizes every teensy decision has made a giant, impulsive leap forward—an incredible jump into the unknown. After a series of seemingly unrelated, depressing, and frustrating events led me to a crossroad, I have decided to move to Banff. Pack up everything in boxes—these things, this home, this life.

I have mentioned previously that since I was a kid, I had this feeling that 32 was going to be a big year. And since my birthday in August, that tiny voice at the back of my head has been a constant loud reminder “are you really doing everything you can to make this the year?”. And the answer was no. Not yet. Soon. I was spinning my wheels. It was time to take drastic measures.

I had applied to a few publishing jobs, with no response. It is always hard job hunting, it steadily chips away at your self esteem. It’s easy to get sucked into feeling rejected. After a few months of looking, I came across a Literary Arts Work Study program at the Banff Centre listed on the Emily Carr job board. 5 years ago I would never have considered applying to something like that. After all, my friends were all here. My amazing apartment. Everything I had grown comfortable with. But that series of disappointments and setbacks made me want to flee this life. Get as far away from where I am as possible. So I applied—on a whim. Weeks later, I was shortlisted for an interview. It was quite an emotional roller coaster ride in the interim, and I went back and forth about the decision. They called for a phone interview, which was the first one that I had ever done. It felt awkward, mediocre. I’m terrible on the phone at the best of times, but throw in a rather stressful conference-call interview situation, and it’s intensified by 1000%. Generally speaking, I think I interview pretty well in-person. I would like to think I can be charming, eloquent, interesting—capable of using words to form coherent sentences. On the phone, not so much. Suffice to say, I didn’t expect to receive a callback. In fact, over the next 24 hours, I started looking on craigslist for new apartments in Vancouver, perusing job postings in Victoria, formulating a plan to reinvent my life, here.

And then the phone rang.

I looked at the call display and was perplexed to see the Banff Centre listed. Wow,  to actually call me in person to tell me that I wasn’t accepted—classy. I was expecting the basic form-letter email rejection.

Then they offered me the position. My mind was racing. Holy shit! What felt like 2 hours of rapid back and forth internal deliberation, (realistically it was only about 2 seconds) after the woman said “We are delighted to offer you the position” I opened my mouth and said “yes. YES, absolutely—yes.” Life changed. Done and done.

Have you ever had that happen in a restuarant? Where you toil over 2 dishes, both seeming equally delicious but completely different? Did I want steak or pasta? Back and forth. Up and down. And then when the waitress comes, you open your mouth and out pops your answer: chicken. Definitively, chicken. Your brain didn’t know what you wanted, but your heart did. That was what happened with Banff. I opened my mouth and said “yes” to the opportunity. I got off the phone and jumped up and down squealing and crying and laughing hysterically. This was it. That was exactly where I needed to be.

Fast-forward 3 weeks. Through a flurry of Christmas unwrapping, and New Years wine drinking and crab feasting. My mind distracted by my mental “to-do” list… (which is considerable when moving to somewhere you’ve never been). Scary. Exciting. Right. I’m giving away no less than 1/3rd of my stuff. All these objects I’ve surrounded myself with to fill this wonderful little apartment… but when the prospect of having to move everything comes up again, it becomes easier to let things go. It’s not unlike cutting one’s hair after a breakup. Let it go, start fresh, it will grow back, healthier in the long run.

I’ve bought winter boots and long underwear. I’ve grown accustomed to 6-degree rainy Vancouver, and will be now be transplanted into the -25 snowy mountains of Banff. I’m super excited to begin my position, which sounds like it will involve working on an online magazine within the publishing department. It just feels so great to get my foot back in the door, and to be creative in an industry I wholeheartedly have interest in. This is a place where hundreds of artists are dedicated to working on their craft (not like art school where 1/2 of the people are there just screwing around, trying to figure stuff out). Apparently I will get free tickets to concerts and theatre happening at the Banff Centre. There is a huge fitness centre with a pool and rock climbing wall, restaurants, pubs… specific warnings about one’s interactions with elk.

Over the next 6 months I intend on documenting this Banff adventure with my camera and through writing. Perhaps in the end I will put together a book similar to my grad project, where I examine the tiny details that make up a new city. Stay tuned…

My life is in boxes, which I suppose is much better than “my life is in shambles”.

Things have never felt so right.

By Chrissy Posted in Banff, Daily Life, Random Thoughts, Vancouver Life Tagged , , , , , , , , Comments Off

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Embarassment Diaries – Volume 3

09 Dec

When asked to review movies, the normal rating system traditionally operates in terms of stars, percentages, or thumbs up. However, henceforth I will be trying to instate a new system, in which a movie’s merit is judged solely upon it’s ability to make me faint whilst watching it.

This fainting thing is not a new occurrence. In fact, it’s been happening for most of my life, and in recent years has gotten so much better that I was almost convinced I’d been cured of it. I used to pass out at the sight of needles. Then, after having to get jabbed about 1000x, I eventually got over it. Worse though, it used to happen when people would be simply talking about graphic things that happened to them. They were cutting things and sliced their finger; they fell on a broken bottle and required stitches. You know, normal things that happen to people. I used to try to warn people beforehand, but then people went out of their way to see if I was kidding by telling me in minutely gruesome detail about awful accidents that happened. It became necessary to develop coping mechanisms, where at the moment I identify what’s happening, I stare intently at anything other than the person telling the story. Sidenote: Have you noticed how many cracks are in the sidewalk? Or how flaky the paint is on buildings on Granville Island? Or how truly awful the color beige is? Good god they could use some maintenance work in this city! But, I’ve gotten better. I haven’t fainted in public for a few years.

My movie review of a film I saw last night: 127 Hours. It was excellent. It was vibrant. James Franco is an incredible actor. Danny Boyle is a stellar filmmaker. I passed out. Badly.

Luckily my cousin had chosen seats at the very back of the theatre, so the embarrassing lack of control over my own body wasn’t noticed by quite as many people as could have witnessed it, had we gone to the Scotiabank Theatre or Tinsletown. The sad (read: stupid) thing is, I understood the story going in. It wasn’t like the guy cutting off his own arm (pinned under a boulder) came out of the blue. But I guess I underestimated how it was going to be told. And how all-consuming the environment is in a small theatre (tiny, really) with loud flashing graphic visuals and intensely disturbing sounds that you can’t really get away from. It’s never actually the visuals that do me in. 100% of the time the mere implication of what’s happening. My mind fills in the blanks. Overactive imagination, I suppose. My body goes into full on shut-down mode. My heart races, My hands turn to ice. I start sweating buckets. Then, the stars come—not so much the cartoon stars that have become popularized in cartoons—but more hundreds of flashing white and black dots, rushing toward the front of my vision. Simultaneously it makes a sound inside my head, slowly at first, than spedupupup—whooooOOOOOOOSH. Annnnd, I’m done. I only remain passed out for about 5 seconds—tops—but the all-consuming body weakness lasts for about 15 minutes. I find it’s a nice time to kick back and reflect on the state of the world, really. Take some well deserved me-time.

It’s only happened to me during movies in theatres 3 times. The first one isn’t even worth mentioning. The second was in the moments leading up to the achilles heel slicing scene in “Kill Bill”, which was ridiculous, because it showed nothing. (Thanks a lot for the pre-emptive shutdown, body, but it was pretty unnecessary that time.) I’m like a friggin’ opossum. Aren’t those the animals when faced with a dangerous situation just keel over in a dead faint? It literally is the stupidest auto-pilot function ever devised. It would be similar to if a boat started to take on water and rather than calmly alert you to the issue, decided to blow itself up instead. Or, if a car sensing it was going to be in a collision, would not deploy airbags, but would instead press the gas and run you full tilt into a brick wall. Hurray for evolution!

I would wholeheartedly recommend this movie, despite this. The recent trailers for the film really played up the inspirational, heart rending aspect of the story. You know how trailers sometimes have the ability to take a movie and skew it in a slightly different light? The trailers for 127 Hours did this a little. They accidentally forget to mention the horrific amputation scene, which lasts five minutes, and instead make it look like a touching adventure movie about a cyclist in the desert. [CUT TO] A close-up of James Franco smashing the shit of of his arm and then clipping through flesh with a blunt utility tool—tendon cutting fully depicted. (Or, so I’ve heard… I wasn’t conscious to actually witness it firsthand, but the descriptions I read afterward made it sound riveting!) 127 Hours: 4.5 stars. 2 thumbs up! 93%! Faintworthy!

By Chrissy Posted in Daily Life, Embarassment Diaries, Random Thoughts, Vancouver Life Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Comments Off

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You Can’t Force Creativity

16 Nov

If you just were walking down the street in front of my apartment (I’m talking to you, lady in the yellow jacket) you might have just witnessed a pretty bizarre spectacle. It was me simultaneously jumping up and down, pumping my fists and squealing “YEESSSS!”. It was both awkward and awesome all at the same time, if I do say so myself.

I couldn’t help it. I had all this pent up energy inside of myself that I have been supressing for the last week. I’ve been anguishing over a couple of letters that I needed to write, and kept second guessing my writing style. It was one of those horrible times where I would write 5 words, erase 3, write 2 more, etc—and absolutely nothing felt right. This happens to me about 50% of the time, and it’s frustrating because so often I’m faced with an endless monologue in my mind of things that I wish I could be writing down—generally when I am sans writing utensil. Yet when I have 3 computers and a myriad of pens at my disposable, nothing. Writer’s block is terrible, but forcing it is worse. I find it a difficult balance between trying to sound professional and yet having my own voice and personality still come through in the writing. Nothing is worse than trying to write stodgy business-style letters (I’m sure as painful to read as they are to write). With any artistic endeavour, it is always best to put it down and do something else if I’m just not feeling it. Ultimately the product that comes out of these trying times is generally sub-par anyway, and it takes most of the fun out of the process. Sometimes it’s necessary though, an inevitable part of trying to be creative for a living.

But my dance signaled the end of the anguish. I can breathe a sigh of relief to know that another thing has been crossed of my List of Things to Do that Terrify Me. This time it was more completing the process that I tried to find comfort in, rather than being hung up on the end result. Woohoo! Done and done. Now I can go outside and enjoy the incredibly blustery day that has hit us here in Vancouver. Yesterday was dismal torrential downpours. Today is bright and lovely and autumn, which we all must enjoy while it lasts—it sounds like snow and mitten weather will be arriving soon enough!

By Chrissy Posted in Daily Life, Random Thoughts, Vancouver Life Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Comments Off

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Moving along…

12 Nov

I was hanging out with a dear friend the other night and we were discussing the directions that life sometimes takes us in. It’s easy to get comfortable with your circumstances, and easier to get stuck in the safety of how things are and not take risks. Risks are scary. What if I fail? What if I close one door and find myself in a room without an exit? What if I jump and just free fall into nothing? I’m scared of rejection, I’m scared of failing. I’m scared of giving up things that I’ve grown comfortable with, with just a blind hope that once I pass on this something else will come along. It’s a trust thing…

I have this clawfoot tub in my apartment. It’s quite honestly my favorite place to be. I’ve been spending a lot of time in this bathtub lately, because I find I can just tune things out in there and just think, already. Quiet the voice in my head and just figure stuff out. This is what I was doing last night. I put earplugs in, and turned on the faucet so it was just almost unbearably hot. Then I turned out all the lights. It’s a strange experience—sensory deprivation. My eyes try to adjust to the blackness, and I can hear nothing but the sound of my own heartbeat and breathing. It’s both comforting and suffocating at the same time, but it helps me to really focus. I have a hard time doing that sometimes. I’m always flitting off in 10 directions, thinking about all the things I need to be doing, everything except what is happening right now.

I got to thinking about all the decisions I’ve made in my life. All the times I’ve succeeded, how far I’ve come. How many times I’ve failed, got my heart broken, been incredibly disappointed or devastated—and yet, learned. Grew from the experiences, as terrible as they may have felt at the time. And a switch flipped in my mind. Why am I being so protective of my ideas? Of myself? It’s like never eating off the good plates—those are for special occasions. And yet, I could get hit by a bus tomorrow having eaten off shitty dishes for the last 4 years, what a waste. I feel like I have so many creative projects in my head, and an exact idea of where I want to be with my life and career. I’ve been taking teeny steps hoping that they would lead to something. But teeny steps (although better than none) don’t make for big changes. This being scared thing isn’t getting me where I want to be, and I think it’s time to break the pattern.

(from my friend Georgina, not sure who the original quote was from):

I’ve decided to apply for a Literary Arts Work Study Program at the Banff Centre. It’s a 6 month program. I realize that although I have built my life here, in this apartment, in this city – I need to take drastic measures to move forward. So perhaps applying to jobs out of the city (in Victoria) or out of province would force me to change EVERY aspect of myself at one time. Frightening? Hell yeah. Exhilarating? Definitely. I want to work in publishing. I want to design children’s books. I want to live on the island in an fantastic character apartment downtown with an amazing bathtub and a short walk to the ocean. I want to take photos more than ever and build a website for them, I want to take the Bittersweets to the next level and market myself as a craft illustrator. I have this view in my head of who I want to be, and it’s starting to come into focus. I’m not exactly sure of when this will all happen, but if I keep it in my mind it will…  eventually.

“There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to bloom.” -Anais Nin


By Chrissy Posted in Bittersweets, Daily Life, Random Thoughts, Uncategorized, Vancouver Life Tagged , , , , , , , , , Comments (4)

4 Responses to “Moving along…”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

Leave a Reply

Changing seasons, changing paths

08 Nov

It’s difficult not to get bogged down by the day-to-day hemming and hawing about the economy. And while yes, I think it is important to keep current about events that effect us, I think there comes a time where it’s safe to just take it in, and understand that it is beyond our reach to change it, and let it go. I think it’s like that with this job market. It’s like this with life in general.

I am back on the hunt, in search of a job where I feel like I can stretch my creative reach and do a myriad of different things. Although I’m trained as a Graphic Designer, this is just my title. A name I went after to somehow fit my artistic drive into something that could be translated to a bonafide career. But my passions are divided. I love photography as much, if not more than design. However, I would be equally excited about a position that would actually allow me to use my hands. The Bittersweets are an outlet that helps me make something tangible away from a computer. It is a challenge I made out of boredom, but I enjoy the act of bringing sketches to life. Tiny stitches creating personalities… It’s pretty amazing. But I also adore plants, and nature, and watching things grow. I am not above organizing files or fetching coffee. To be honest, it is the variety I crave, a chance to dabble in something different every.single.day. Or perhaps this is indecision, clouding my judgement.

Does this job exist? Because for the life of me I cannot think of it. I’ve poured over employment websites, and books on career changing. Although some suggestions are helpful, none have pointed me toward a position where I truly could do something different every day. Design. Photography. Building. Organizing. Writing. Making. What would it be called?

I’m hoping I’ll just stumble upon it one of these days. Like I will awaken from a dream and exclaim “YES! I was destined to do __________ as my dream job! Who knew?!?” I feel like I’m meant to do something more than this. Something more out of the ordinary that I don’t know the name for. I would love to travel. To document things. To be a historian. An artist. A planner. Again I ask myself, where do I need to be? I’m still awaiting a response.

Until then, I’ve made it my project to have one eye on the job market, and another on personal creative endevours. Have you been enjoying the leaves this year? Remember when you were a kid and you would collect them scattered on the ground and make rubbings with crayons? Remember the smoky smell of autumn, a new box of crayons, wax rolling over newsprint? I do. So that has been my project—although amped up a bit, grown-up style. The project, as well as my life at the moment, is a work in progress.

By Chrissy Posted in Uncategorized Comments (1)

One Response to “Changing seasons, changing paths”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

Leave a Reply

Embarrassment Diaries – Volume 2

29 Aug

You can’t make friends with inanimate objects. I’ve tried. I’m officially giving up the gun and admitting defeat. Some of you may have read in previous posts that I’m really not a big homemaker. Although I aspire to be more creative in a culinary sense, I’m lazy. And broke. And incapable of understanding common ingredients that like to play together without fistfighting (nutmeg? parsley? curry? raisins? sardines?). I’m clueless. Having said this though, I do have about 6 dishes that I understand how to make fairly well, and so I stick to these… they are relatively fail safe. Or so I thought…

…so I thought until my beautiful vintage stove, with whom I have shown nothing but serious love and devotion from the moment I laid eyes on her, set me on fire. FINE! Fuck you, stove. And believe me, this had absolutely nothing to do with my inability to utilize basic brain function enough to recall that lighting flame when you smell gas is a bad idea, and everything to do with the fact that my stove obviously has some innate desire to violently snuff out my life.

Last week I had decided that because of my recent unemployment situation and lack of food in my pantry, I should think of things I could cook that could last me a few meals. This is a responsible, adult-like concept, right? I thought tuna casserole would be a good choice:  Cheap. Filling. Delicious. Plus, I remembered what all the ingredients were, and even more importantly, had them all in my possession. Clearly, the universe thought it would be a good idea to cook. Everyone loves comfort food, right?

Not my stove. My stove thinks comfort food is like a small puppy that it would like to punt down a stairwell. My stove finds amusement in torturing 3-legged baby goats and frail grandmas. My stove thinks it is funny to set girls on fire when they are only trying to cook tasty casseroles. My stove, apparently, is a real bastard.

I think we take for granted that most modern appliances have been safety tested with idiots in mind. There is very little harm generally that  can come from them, save for perhaps hacking off your fingers with a spinning rotary blade, or death from asphyxiation by getting your tie stuck in a mixmaster. But because this stove is from the 40′s, there aren’t the same safety standards we have today. Back in the 40′s kids were allowed to juggle knives blindfolded, and shower in DDT in the backyard. Back then, you had to manually light the stove with a long match, and touch it to a little hole that spews gas at the front of the open oven. This takes some getting used to. Normally when you light it, it makes this slight “whoooooosh” sound when it catches; once I hear that sound, I wait for 10 minutes and the stove is good to go. This time I’m dancing around to Broken Bells, hands covered in casseroley goodness, juggling pyrex dishes and grating cheese like a culinary master. I hear the “whoosh”, and yet – 1.5 minutes later I can smell gas. My stove sometimes has a horrible habit of blowing out the pilot light if I have windows open… a strange backdraft type situation which has happened 25 times at least- it’s no biggy. Normally I just open the top of the stove and relight the pilot. This time, when I pick up the top, the little pilot flame is still going… but my kitchen smells increasingly more like gas. Confusion ensues. So I open the door to the oven, instinctively grab the long lighter, and click the flame to the gas hole. All of these steps take place over a matter of maybe 1.7 seconds…

It is at this point a raging fireball bursts! forward from the oven, igniting all the hair on my arms, my eyebrows, and front hair on my head, and burning the shit out of my arm, lips and chest. I can see the fire on my skin, feel the burning, and smell the god awful smell of burnt hair EVERYWHERE. I’m flailing my arms around, running from the kitchen to the living room, frantically slapping my hands over my melting arm hair, and smoking hairline. My skin hurts, but I’m incapable of understanding what the hell just happened?? Was I really burned, or just in shock that a fireball  just attacked me? It was a surreal situation. This could be the calm that is felt if one loses a limb and yet still manages to drives themselves to the hospital. Aside from a fair chunk of body hair gone, did I need to go to the emergency room? I couldn’t tell. Strangely, I was so embarrassed at the idiocy necessary to touch open flame in a tiny chamber that had been filling up with gas for 2 minutes, that I couldn’t think straight. I imagined how silly Michael Jackson must have felt when he set his entire head on fire while shooting that Pepsi commercial in the 80′s. I dreaded the reaction that my good friend Meghan would have at her wedding in 2 weeks, when she saw that I, as a bridesmaid, was in possession of only 1.5 eyebrows. Of all the times in my life I felt truly stupid, I think this might have taken top prize. Nice work!

I’m fine now. I spent the evening in quite a bit of pain, slathering my entire right arm from wrist to armpit with aloe. It hurt like a son of a bitch but in the end wasn’t serious enough to wait in line for 5 hours to get in to see a doctor. My hair will grow back. I was so lucky. I think I may have used up another of my 9 lives now… I’m fairly certain I only have 4 left at this point.

Stove, we are no longer friends. As you sit there, silently smug and mocking, I’m reminded of who is the boss of this apartment and the reason why cooking should be avoided at all costs.

Fire: 1. Chrissy: 0.

By Chrissy Posted in Daily Life, Embarassment Diaries, Random Thoughts, Vancouver Life Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , Comments (5)

5 Responses to “Embarrassment Diaries – Volume 2”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

Leave a Reply

I don’t do well with real time

21 Aug

And voila! It only took me 72 hours longer than I imagined. Probably best that I stick to the pull-the-completed-project-from-under-the-table method, afterall! It’s much less anticlimactic that way :)

And here is the long view:

*All photographs and designs copyright of  Bittersweet Friends and may not be used without permission from the artist.

By Chrissy Posted in Bittersweets Tagged , , , , , , , , , , Comments (3)

3 Responses to “I don’t do well with real time”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

Leave a Reply

The Anatomy of a Project

15 Aug

It’s strange – I find it difficult to strike a balance between my work creativity, and my personal creativity. So generally speaking, when I am working full time, my ideas become entirely devoted to graphic design, and any desire to do anything in my spare time that doesn’t involve camping on my couch or binging on popsicles evaporates. My contract at my former job ended a week and a half ago. Within 3 days I was having so many ideas that I had to start writing them down (see ‘My Shitty Memory’, as referenced in the previous post). If only I could mesh the two together and find something I find creativity stimulating that I got paid for then I would be set! Money is good, and so is eating. So far my plan has stalled. I will persevere one day, mark my words.

I’ve decided to guide you through a process of making a new Bittersweet. I went to see Cirque de Soleil the other day and the popcorn consumption was everywhere. I was inspired by their old timey packaging, plus I always like sewing pieces that have multiple faces. So here goes nothing. I apologize for the time you are about to waste reading what follows.

I start with the idea. I generally do not sketch them first, as I’m lazy; I like to whip out the scissors, throw caution to the wind and just start a’cutting. 9 times out of 10 I fail miserably, as puzzles, mathematics, and perspective have always been just out of my intellectual reach. I go through a lot of felt this way, but patterns are for pussies! Pussies I say! (Or rather just people far more methodical and able to follow directions than I am). Whatever.

So I choose the color scheme, in this case I’m going to go traditional red, white and beige. Beige? What color is popcorn usually? Felt really doesn’t come in that many colors, unfortunately. I should probably go the route of the stuff that they sell at movie theatres that is fluorescent yellow and likely leaching chemicals into our systems as we speak causing birth defects to future generations. I might go beige and sew it all together with yellow thread.

Figure out the base piece first. It’s usually the large foundation that I will build the rest of it on. If I screw up this part (which I often do) I will either have to unpick everything and redo it, or what usually happens – is I pitch a fit and throw the piece behind the couch in a fit of frustration and a slew of obscenities. Then I eat some ice cream to console myself. I’m going to be more careful this time. I think It’s going to be the base, the stripes, and then the popcorn. In total, it will probably be about 25 separate bits. Although I have no less than 17 pairs of scissors in my apartment, I’m convinced the little bastards corroborate during the night and play a game of hide and seek just to piss me off. Do you think I can find any at the moment? I’m contemplating using my teeth, or gardening shears. Either might end up with a interesting final effect.

Scissors located! Let the cutting commence. Have I mentioned that despite 5 years of art school I can’t draw a straight line? Thrust a sharp cutting too in my hand and it’s even worse. It’s a miracle all my digits are in tact. I will knock on wood to undo the inevitability of me now snipping off my thumb tip by making that comment.

Dear Perspective, why are you such an asshole? I’ll give you a minute to think about it and get back to you. The red stripes look like half bitten hot dogs. Because I’m trying to do this step by step in front of an imaginary audience, I’m screwing everything up more than usual. Stop pressuring me, people who don’t exist, and who are currently scrutinizing my inability to have basic motor skills. I’d like to see you do better! Actually, I wouldn’t, as it would make me feel even more inadequate about my craftiness on account of being one-upped by a fictitious person. Alsoplus, I’m not doing this as a video, but rather still frames and half-assed descriptions, so it will be tough to piece together what I’m doing anyway. It’s more like those annoying cooking shows that take you half-way through the recipe, then put the batter under the counter, and magically 2 seconds later, pull out a fully formed cake. That’s this, only slightly less organized, and much less tasty. I’m sorry in advance. Shit. I just slipped and cut off too much felt, and now I’ll have to redo the base. It’s ok, we’ll put more icing on it later, no one will be any the wiser.

OMG, I’m embarrassed at my momentary lack of sewing skills. Perhaps it’s just performance anxiety? Or just poor judgment. It’s not unlike a drunk deciding it would be a good idea to take up chainsaw carving in the midst of a bender. Speaking of drunk, maybe wine might improve this situation? It certainly couldn’t hurt at this point.

The funny this about this whole thing is that this is not a tutorial, and no one will  actually see this, and it’s going to take me 4 hours to sew the damn thing together anyway. I don’t know why I’ve put so much undue pressure on myself.  I should also refrain from typing while I do that because it will turn into a 9000 word rambling essay about my lack of hand-eye coordination and repeatedly jabbing myself with needles and drinking wine. Which is helpful for no one at any time.

The popcorn heads are drastically disproportionate, and lopsided. Which when I sew the faces on it will be interesting, but for the sake of picture taking, just look pitiful. Poor mutant popcorns. I’m sorry I did so much drinking while conceiving you.

The popcorns are now starting to look like malformed jellyfish or ghosties with glandular issues. I no longer care.

I also just ate a substantial piece of felt. It almost went unnoticed until it got caught on my esophagus. Wine helped washed it down. Thanks wine, for your always appreciated help in these situations.

Wait, why do I sew angry foods again? I always get to this point, where I’m super stoked about my great new idea, and cut it all out, and get ready to sew it, and then it occurs to me how the majority of the population does not understand what I’m doing, and just thinks it’s bizarre. In my mind I think I’m clever, but most people just smile politely and look away, and then I never get invited to dinner parties anymore.

This is taking too long, and I’m fairly impatient and want to have a nap after all that wine drinking and thumb jabbing, so I’m just going to post what I have already, and add the finished pictures later…

To be continued…

By Chrissy Posted in Bittersweets, Daily Life, Random Thoughts, Vancouver Life Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Comments (2)

2 Responses to “The Anatomy of a Project”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

Leave a Reply

Time Capsule Monologues

13 Aug

I’ve always been fascinated with history. Mostly just the mundane parts about history like what people wore, things they kept in their kitchens, things they did for entertainment. I used to pour over this old facsimile Hudson’s Bay catalog my parents used to have in their basement. It would list things from the turn of the century, when you could buy corsets for $1.25, kitchen tables for $19.00, flour 10lbs for $.20 . It was just so interesting to imagine how people lived back then, these items and details of their lives. They were just regular people. This is what I’m obsessed with. I just love the idea that each one of us, in our own way, has a story to tell – and the things we surround ourselves with and use on a daily basis, end up making a patchwork quilt of what ultimately makes us who we are. This is the back story of our lives. This is the stage that we are standing upon. I like to thing that 50 years from now, some random girl (or me, on my deathbed) will be looking at historical artifacts (while in a spaceship, no doubt) also fascinated by how simple things were back in 2010; how quaint, and unhindered life was! Free of all the troubles and issues of current life. This is progress. This is history.

Since I was 13, each year on my birthday I sit down, pen in hand and write an extensive summary of what has happened to me during that year. Objects I love, friends I hang out with, boys I have crushes on, troubles I’m experiencing, music I’m listening to. Issues of the day. I imagine that one day I will enjoy opening all these tiny envelopes and reading about these things I will no doubt forget along the way. There is no way the brain could ever hold onto it all, and my memory is particularly terrible.

I’m so very easily distract…
what’s that? a squirrel?
I’m hungry.
I wonder when the next episode of True Blood is coming out?…
huh? Where was I?…

…oh yes, my lack of focus and inability to remember anything. I think that so many people claim A.D.D. these days that it doesn’t even mean anything anymore. Although I don’t think I have ADD, however I definitely have something that hinders my ability to keep my mind focused on anything for more than 2 minutes. Over stimulus by everything in my environment. Colours! Shiny Objects! Flashing Lights! Cupcakes! This is why I have 10 projects going at any given time, 5 books I’m absorbed in, 3 songs I can’t shake out of my mind. I’ve learned to deal with it after all these years though, I’ve adapted. Mostly by writing things down. Hence this blog, a hard copy journal, and these yearly time capsule monologues. It’s become exceedingly more important to me as time goes on that I preserve at least a tiny bit of my life, no matter how ordinary it might seem. I imagine I will appreciate the description of each apartment I’ve ever lived in, a favorite pair of jeans, the cushy slate blue couch I love to read on, the perfume I wear daily that smells of vanilla cookies. Because I will outgrow all these things. The years will pass by, and I will get new couches, new jeans, new apartments. I will reinvent myself a few times over slowly morphing into a person I can’t yet quite imagine, but who is slowly coming into focus with each new birthday. It’s exciting. And it’s interesting to imagine the future, while relishing each moment of the present.

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Songs of my life

25 Jul

There are few things I like more than discovering new music. And by new music, I mostly just mean new-to-me music, as often the stuff I stumble upon is from years ago, decades ago. I’m one of those people who can only get to know a few bands at a time, and then love them insatiably for a few months on endless repeat through my ipod, then get so sick of them that I can’t bear to hear that song one more time for at least 2 years. I operate much the same way with many aspects of my life, case in point- ice cream sandwiches, Phillip Seymour Hoffman movies, and wiener dogs.

I mostly listen to the radio in my apartment – since Vancouver got a decent radio station (the Peak 100.5 fm), I can pretty much leave it on non-stop for hours and only hear one or two songs that I don’t like. This ratio is pretty incredible, considering the rampant crap that is normally played on the air, for pretty much as long as I can remember. The Peak plays a lot of old stuff that reminds me of my teen years – Violent Femmes, the Smiths, the Cure, Bad Religion, Talking Heads; they also introduce me to a bunch of music I might not otherwise have found myself – Dan Mangan, Vampire Weekend, Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, Black Keys. They play a lot of Canadian bands, which I think is pretty great – there are so many mind blowing local musicians, it’s about time they got some exposure. Those guys have got to stop slinging coffee somehow, right?

I also really love vinyl, despite it being somewhat inconvenient to have to get up and turn the records after 20 minutes. I love the weight of an album in my hand, the extra artwork, the delicate texture as I run my fingers lightly over the grooves (yes, I know I’m not supposed to do this, but it’s a tactile compulsion I have). I love heading to Red Cat Records on Main street and perusing the stacks to find something new. I recently bought Bob Dylan’s Nashville Skyline album which I have been looking for, for ages. It’s short as hell, but so, so amazingly awesome. I have a thing for the Beach Boy’s Pet Sounds, Broken Bells, and Rolling Stones Hot Rocks. I also discovered a great compilation of black soul country music from the 60′s called Dirty Laundry, which is outstanding. I dance a lot in my apartment – with soapy hands and pruning shears, doing chores with music just makes them seem less tedious. I would be embarrassed to know just how many people have witnessed my flailing limbs and off-tune voice during these times, but ignorance is bliss, and frankly I don’t really care. In my mind I’m totally alone, so that’s all that matters, right?  My friends think I don’t dance – but I love to dance. Just not in front of anyone :)

Check out these tracks, I’m enjoying them very much right now:

  1. Band of Horses: Our Swords
  2. Black Keys: Next Girl
  3. Blitzen Trapper: Furr
  4. Bob Dylan: Tonight I’ll be Staying here with You
  5. Elliot Brood: Write it all Down for You
  6. Mumford and Sons: The Cave
  7. Sarah Harmer: New Loneliness
  8. Vampire Weekend: California English
  9. Hawksley Workman: Dance to Yesterday
  10. Otis Redding: You left the Water Running

I would love to hear of any new suggestions of great music that you’ve come across lately. It would be nice to hear from someone who isn’t leaving me comments about erectile stimulants or get-rich-without-getting-off-your-ass opportunities (which, in retrospect, might not be a bad idea considering my upcoming unemployment situation, coupled with my inherent laziness). Also, the people who leave comments like “I enjoyed reading your article very much, and would love to hear more” with links sending me to a prescription drug company websites – I appreciate you taking the time to read my blog during what I can only imagine is a grueling work schedule – your thoughtful feedback means the world to me, really. I will continue to write “articles” and cherish your spam comments forevermore.

On an unrelated note, I just wanted to add this photo because this artist blew me away – he was drawing a gigantic Mona Lisa on the pavement on Robson street – and the detail was immaculate. Incredible, and inspiring as hell. I think stumbling across art in unexpected places is one of my most favorite things in the whole world. Vancouver is awesome.

By Chrissy Posted in Daily Life, Random Thoughts, Vancouver Life Tagged , , , , , , , , , Comments (2)

2 Responses to “Songs of my life”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

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The times they are a’changing

24 Jul

In 12 days I will be 32. Twelve. Days. This fact is simultaneously awesome and terrifying at the same time. I feel like 32 is going to be a big year. Of drastic change and interesting opportunities. I know this. Deep down inside, since I was a teenager, I looked toward the future and just understood that the universe was going to be good to me during my 32nd year. Does this make me flaky? Likely. But, any other time I’ve ever had these feelings – (inklings? premonitions? instincts? hallucinations?) they’ve turned out to be right. So I’m going to kick start this change- on August 3rd my graphic design/photography position is up with my current company, which basically forces me to delve into the deep end of the unknown. Exciting. Nerve racking. Wonderful. I can’t wait to see how my life turns out in the coming months.

Currently I’m listening to the Talking Heads “psycho killer”. It’s a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and I’ve got nothing to do – but in a good way. In a lazy, wander-around-enjoying-my-space sort of way. A loving houseplants, reading old letters, drinking amazing coffee, windows-open, contented sort of way. Life is good.

A couple of weeks ago I decided to document the current state of my apartment. I feel like around the year and a half mark is when you really come into where you live. It becomes homey, yours. It doesn’t hurt to bake cookies in it, utilizing the vintage stove (how does this appliance work after 60 years?? It’s baffling. I’m currently knocking on wood as not to jinx myself), or stuff green, flowering plants in every corner. I love this time of year – the sun flows through my apartment for no less than 10 hours a day. It gets a little hot, but I still love it.

What will this year bring me? Will I find a new place to live? What job will I discover? Will I meet new friends? Discover a new inspiring project? Time will tell. Hurray for newness!

Incidentally, make these Oatmeal Raisin Cookies – they are probably the most amazing thing that has ever fallen into my mouth. Repeatedly. Beth’s Spicy Oatmeal Raisin Cookies

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A retraction of previous statements…

11 Mar

I admit it. I was wrong.

I was cynical, and flip and smug and negative. And I was so, so wrong. I have thus been absent in a beer-clouded haze of wandering and cheering and high-fiving perfect strangers. This in of itself shows the extent of the celebrations that took place during the Olympics, as I personally equate the high-five somewhere up there with university beer-bongs and riding mechanical bulls in redneck bars;  I tend to avoid it more due to public humiliation as I always either grossly over or underestimate the distance of hands and inevitably it turns into an awkward half-arm-slap where both parties are forced to pretend that it never happened.

So yes – over the course of 2 weeks I had possibly the most fun of my life. I started waking up at 5:30 a.m. to avoid the commuting congestion, and in the process laughed more than I have in ages. I witnessed more incredible sunrises than I have ever seen before.

I made amazing new friends, watched the sky light up with a million fireworks and bright art installations, and the twinkle of lights on the mountains. There was live music on every corner, street entertainers and massive t.v. screens all over the place so thousands of people could stop their meandering and join into impromptu renditions of “Oh Canada” when we took yet another gold. I cried on several occasions, out of tragedy and pride for our athletes. The patriotism that filled this little city was overwhelming. It was thick in the air and everyone was just on their best behavior – helpful and friendly and ecstatic and wonderfully amazing.

I watched undoubtedly the most exciting hockey game in the history of hockey games (or rather in the history of *my* hockey games as I’m fairly new to it in the past few years). I ate no less then 284 pieces of pizza and consumed 681 pints of beer* (*numbers are approximate due to my inability to count when tipsy). On the last day, when Canada scored that unbelievable goal in overtime to win gold and the yell of an entire nation went off simultaneously we were so overjoyed that we dropped our aversion to the giant crowds and headed downtown. We bought Strongbow tallcans which we sneakily placed in paper bags and walked over the Granville Street Bridge. The people so thick, it was like nothing I have ever witnessed. Laughing and dancing on bus shelters and rooftops of hostels, celebrating in the streets, hugging  policemen and the aforementioned high-fiving happening EVERYWHERE. Top that off with a sunset on the beach, more Strongbow, delicious burgers, and still more beer, and it was arguably the best party Vancouver ever witnessed. Suck on that, you “No Fun City” naysayers.

The snow didn’t really make much of an appearance (until today, mid-March once everyone has planted their flowers), but we made due as best as possible. We wooed the media and travelers from all over the world with our gorgeous views and million cherry blossoms and huge magnolias on every street corner,  already in bloom. Yes, we will undoubtedly be paying for this party for a long, long time – but the collective well-being, and the unbelievable ability to stir up excitement in Canadians who are often known for their indifference, it was worth every penny. You did good Vancouver, and proved us all wrong in the end – we are more proud than you will ever know.

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Vancouver, I love you

30 Jan

Hi.

Dear Vancouver,

I am writing this letter to you because I need to get something off my chest. It has been bothering me for about 4 years now, and I tried my best to bite my tongue and let you do your thing. But seriously – it’s getting a little out of hand.  You are allowing your new friends to walk all over you. What about those of us who support you and have been around for years? We cheer for your achievements, and stand up for you when things aren’t going so well. Even though we may not understand the choices that you make sometimes, we still adore you anyway. I’m sorry to have to be the one to break it to you, but you should know – some of those people don’t treat you very well. They trash talk you behind your back. I knew they were assholes when they started that rumor about you being a ”no fun city”. Don’t listen to them, Vancouver; they are just obnoxious, materialistic jerks who want to use you for your stuff. That 14-day house party that’s happening – although super prestigious, I hope you understand that you’ll be paying for it for years to come! And you don’t really make that much money, Vancouver. I don’t know why you felt the need to buy everyone sirloin steaks and truffles anyway? They are EXPENSIVE and so impractical! I know you just want to impress everyone with your worldliness, but seriously – what are you going to do with the leftovers?

I’m a bit concerned about your place. It’s really nice.  I hope they don’t ruin your stuff. I know they said they weren’t going to invite all that many people, but I think your friends invited their friends, and all of a sudden you may find yourself with so many people packed in your place you might have to call the cops. Are you prepared for that? Do you really even know these people? Admittedly, I was surprised when they shoved you out of the way and started putting random stuff around that doesn’t suit the vibe of your space at all. None of this new stuff really goes together. You know that cool Art Gallery that you were so proud of? Sure it’s an antique, but it was really striking! But they went and threw this giant floral art installation over the whole thing, and now no one will be able to see how neat it was. I also think it was a little audacious that they used your money to pay for all these expensive decorations. Sure, some of them are really pretty -  but can you afford them? I mean seriously, you could have just tidied up, threw on a bit of paint here and there, and arranged for some transportation to get people to the party… maybe put out some chips and beer. Isn’t that what you’re about? You are laid back! You are low key! That’s what we love about you!

Some of those people that are coming over look a little shady, Vancouver; I think they might be looking to take advantage of your good nature. Did you know that they are selling tickets to get in? I know originally you wanted to host this great party that was accessible to everyone – but now those tickets are so ridiculously expensive that most of the people who love you the most won’t even be able to get in the door. How did things get so out of hand?

Truthfully, the whole thing makes me a little sad. I’m feeling hurt and a bit betrayed. Don’t get me wrong – I’m still happy for you. I’m happy that you are finally getting your chance to shine, and meet some new people. Maybe I’m just being overprotective, but I just love you so much and don’t want you to see you hurt. You are fantastic just the way you are – you don’t need to put on that horrible dress – it’s not flattering at all, and you look really uncomfortable. When the party is over, and everyone goes home, what sort of impression of you will they come away with? Will your amazing personality have shone through? Did you really need all that shitty costume jewelry? You have incredibly breathtaking natural beauty, Vancouver! You could have just put on some lip gloss and brushed your hair, and people would have been smitten by your witty charm and wicked sense of humor. You look like you are trying to be someone that you’re not. If people wanted that, they would have gone and partied in Las Vegas, or New York. Honestly, if those people keep telling you to need to change to fit in, are they really your friends? I’m sorry that they told you that you weren’t good enough the way you were, Vancouver. But mostly I’m sorry that you believed them. I hope one day you will get some self confidence and stop letting people push you around.

I’m sure most of them are great people, who just want to come, hang out and get to know you. It will be fun! But don’t let all this attention go to your head; being humble is one of your most endearing features. Putting up pretensions – it doesn’t suit you. Just be yourself, and people will notice how amazing you are, don’t worry. I know you are feeling self conscious about the not having enough snow thing, but what can you do? You can’t control everything.

We think you are wonderful and amazing, just the way you are – even if we are feeling a bit pissed off at you at the moment. We’re not trying to prevent you from having a good time; we are just trying to look out for your best interest. After all, we’ll still be here long after the party is over… when you are exhausted, hung-over and feeling a bit used and regretful for spending all that money you didn’t have. We will stand by you regardless, Vancouver, and try our best to look out for you when your place is packed with people stepping all over your carpet with dirty shoes and stealing stuff out of your medicine cabinet. Don’t fret, in a month this will all be behind us and you can take off all that garish makeup and just go back to being you – natural, mountainous, incredible, you.

Love, Vancouverites

PS – GOOD LUCK CANADA!

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Spring has Sprung! (kinda. sorta. I hope.)

23 Jan

The weather in Vancouver is uncharacteristically gorgeous right now. I hope that I am not jinxing it by writing about it here (or even thinking it!), but I can’t help it. I am not a winter girl. In fact, the day that we turn our clocks backward in late autumn, when everyone else I know is cheering for an extra hour of sleep – I cry a little, then drag out the calender to start marking off with big red “X’s” the days of dismal winter that must be endured until Spring arrives. I’m not trying to be super over-dramatic here, but I always get a pretty hefty case of seasonal affective disorder every year when the days turn dark. Living on the West Coast, though beautiful and lush and incredibly green and temperate, it really doesn’t give us Vancouverites much light in the Winter. But this year seems different… warmer. Brighter. Springy-er.

Lately it’s been bust-out-the-light-jacket weather. I can only assume that this has to do with the fact that we are hosting the 2010 Winter Olympics in 3 weeks.  This makes me secretly smile a little on the inside, because although this is an exciting opportunity for a city, it simultaneously creates a lot of chaos and disruption and cost for those who regularly call Vancouver home. But that is an entry for another day. Currently there is hardly any snow on the normally white covered mountains… funny how the universe is, sometimes.

Today I decided to go on an adventure to Home Depot. I love hardware stores. There is a particular smell about them that makes me feel rather more handy and helpful when I walk through the electric doors. Like cedar and drill bits and sweaty domestic improvement. I like it. I went today to check out the plant section, because I have managed to kill about 1/3 of all my plants this winter, and needed to restock the troops. My problem is I love them to death.  Mostly the orchids – who try as I might to ignore them like I’m supposed to, I can’t help but stroke their tiny blossoms adoringly whenever I walk into the room (they are  smooth and warm and soft – like suede!). They despise this, and prove it to me by dropping their blossomed heads onto the floor in the middle of the night – a suicidal gesture of their hatred and solidarity. I keep hoping with enough perseverance I will find a particularly hearty one – a botanical masochist that enjoys being manhandled. It has not happened yet, and I have the 7 bare-stemmed plants staring me down to prove it. But I can’t help by try… I just love having flowers in my life.

In Home Depot I managed to ignore the magnetic pull toward the orchids and went instead to the outdoor plant section. Rows of metal orange racks, exploding with rainbows of coloured flowery goodness. I picked out several vibrant daffodils, tulips, and primroses in shades of reds, burgundy, yellow. I know it’s only 9 degrees out (for winter, that’s awesome) but as I stand in the aisles I couldn’t resist temptation. I made the rash decision that today- TODAY- was going to be window-box day.

I planted them in the middle of my living room – a dirty, messy endeavor that I always secretly savor because it reminds me that as an adult living alone, paying fairly high rent – this is one of the perks. It would have been easier to do it in the courtyard… certainly more clean and responsible, with less to messy aftermath. But then my apartment wouldn’t smell like rich soil for the next few days. No, no air freshener could ever replicate this scent.

If I have jinxed myself by trying to rush into Spring, I’m sure the universe will punish me with frost and flurries – a reminder to be patient and allow Winter to take it’s course.  If that happens, the Vancouver Olympic Committee can thank me for doing my patriotic part in aiding in the success of the 2010 Winter Games. Either way, it’s a win-win situation.

By Chrissy Posted in Daily Life, Random Thoughts, Vancouver Life Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , Comments Off

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Promises, promises

06 Jan

‘Tis the season… of renewed promises and lofty ideas about improving one’s life in all sorts of ways that under normal circumstances even Martha Stewart and her team of 592 anal retentive staff members could never reasonably pull off in a year’s time. But there is something a little bit wonderful about the prospect of a clean slate. The idea that no matter what terrible choices you’ve made up until this point, that with the chime of midnight it can all be forgotten (or at least pushed down into the deepest darkest recesses of your brain only to be pried out by extensive hours of counseling or torturous duress).

For example, of all the countless things I regret over the last year, so numerous to detail that I could write an epic novel about the blunders I have made, the opportunities I’ve missed, the things I’ve forgotten, the times I’ve fallen, and the things I’ve lost, I won’t mention even one. I won’t waste your time. I won’t waste my time dwelling for another embarrassing, sad moment on any of it (this is not to say that over the next year you won’t be subjected to multiple train wreck posts detailing my NEW blunders). It’s the 6th day of the year, and here I am – sitting on the floor of my darkened kitchen, drinking a sweet glass of white wine (out of a wine glass only slightly smaller than a giant fishbowl) and listening to fleet foxes. And I realized that this will be my new blogging habit (god help you all). Now I know that up until this point, “habit” could be one of the last things to describe my blogging (right up there with “coherent” and “remotely  interesting”), but I’m not dwelling on it. I’m going to try my best to do better. Not necessarily more coherent, or interesting, but hopefully a little more often. Because I remembered how much I love writing. And how much I love wine. It’s not a New Year’s resolution, as this year it’s been my resolution not to make resolutions in January, but I do want to take advantage of the beginning of the year and start now. Birthdays make for much better times to make promises to yourself anyway.

newclock

Incoherent side note: Have you sat on the floor of your kitchen lately? It’s marvelous! It helps immensely that my kitchen is AWESOME (albeit dirty… lalala *notdwelling*). There are no lights on at the moment, only the soft (obnoxious) glow of my laptop screen scarring my tender retinas (it’s ok, the wine will make them feel better) and illuminating the black and white checker pattern of the floor. There is a dark chocolate candle that is burning, giving the slight illusion to anyone who may enter my apartment in the next couple of days that I was actually being domestic and cooking something uncharacteristically luxurious of me, like truffles or Jello pudding. This mixed with the mello goodness that is the harmonies of the Fleet Foxes, and it makes for a pretty great Wednesday night; a night that I can’t help but be stoked for my life – exactly as it is – no changes or resolutions necessary.

newfridge

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Holiday Past and Presents

30 Dec

Winterale. Mulled wine, pumpkin spice lattes, rum and eggnog, gingerbread men, reindeers, mittens–oh mittens! Rosy cheeks, hustle and bustle, It’s a Wonderful Life at 2 a.m.

Christmas has crept up on me again, the sneaky bastard. I have this terrible habit of buying calenders and then not turning the pages until 3 days before the next month arrives. I never know the date. I am stuck back around December 6th, and here it is, not a week left until Christmas A WEEK AFTER CHRISTMAS (thank you wordpress for allowing this procrastinator to save a draft!). This year, my family decided to put a $15 buying limit on gifts, but with a strong suggestion to hand-make presents. I’m thrilled beyond belief at this idea, not because I myself have any shred of creative ideas on what to make people, but rather because I’m secretly hoping that my parents are going to make me things. My parents are the most creative, talented people around, and although I largely took it for granted growing up, as the years pass my awe for them grows. With each new guy I meet who can’t change a tire, doesn’t own a screwdriver, and can’t singlehandedly construct a car  from steel and fiberglass (seriously, he’s doing this), doesn’t whittle tiny gnomes out of driftwood, or  who can’t build a robot out of nothing but string and bubblegum (ok, this wasn’t my dad, but rather MacGyver, but still…) I get increasingly more discouraged. Where are all the people who can DO stuff? Like real, hands-on stuff? This creates an awfully high bar, unfortunately and likely the reason why I’m 31 and still single, but those things are still very impressive, and important! Particularly if my desire to run away to a deserted cabin continues.  And I know, I know – I am just as capable of learning to do these things myself, and I am the slightest bit intimidated by power tools or getting dirty,but there are other things I ALSO would like to learn how to do, like cook properly, handsew quilts, sail a boat, become a beekeeper, tend a lighthouse, tie knots, grow a gigantic garden, crack safes, and solve world peace. You know, the simple things in life.

Christmas was quiet and homey. I love that my folks live here in BC, and that there are members of our extended family who also share the holidays with us. My dad made me a gorgeous jewelry box out of cedar, with lovely red lining – sanded until it’s surface is so smooth it is everything I can do to not sit with it in my lap and pet it like a kitten. My mom gave me an awesome book with all her favorite recipes printed in it, including those passed down from my grandmother who died several years ago. Although I don’t regularly cook (unless you consider opening the yogurt container and spooning it into my mouth while standing at the counter, cooking) I ASPIRE to cook more. I aspire to try to be a little bit more like my parents and learn how to do things the proper (old-fashioned?) way. The non out-of-a-box way. The non just-add-water way, the non confusing-swedish-diagram-deciphering way. I could come up with a gigantic list of things I would like to do this coming year, and I’m sure I will talk about that a little in the coming weeks, but until then I wanted to finish up this Christmas post. I raise my glass to you.

chrissywine_crop

I hope everyone is having amazing holidays – whether they involve trees, candles, fat men, dradles, stockings, reindeer, eggnog lattes, babies in barns, or a combination of all of the above (fat men in stockings?). The best to you in 2010! A new decade begins!

By Chrissy Posted in Daily Life, Random Thoughts, Vancouver Life Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , Comments (1)

One Response to “Holiday Past and Presents”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

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Making Faces

11 Nov

I have problems with my face. I have noticed this most of my life, but never quite as much as I have since I started commuting on a daily basis. Since I was a little kid, I was asked constantly “What’s wrong?? Why are you always so grumpy?”. I’m generally not grumpy. As a matter of fact, I’m one of the cheerier people you might come across, but my face – my face decides that I should have a perpetual look of pissed-off-edness. So while riding public transit for 2.5 hours a day, in the most crushed, close confines one could imagine, apart from maybe falling down a well or trying to read a book in a mosh pit, I am forced to attempt to try to not look like I’m glaring directly at people, despite my face being about 8″ away from theirs. This is actually a harder feat to do than you might imagine. I always am amazed by those people who promptly fall asleep on the bus, their heads lolling to and fro with the abrupt jerks and stops of the bus. Don’t they get worried that someone is going to steal their bag? Or draw obscene words on their faces? Or that they might start simultaneously drooling and snoring and have the entire bus openly mock them? Clearly not, as I run into them day after day. Hey, I’m tired too, but I’m pretty sure I would need about 6 days of sleep deprivation before my body would relax enough for me to be comfortable sleeping in front of 58 random strangers.

Hard as I may try to make it otherwise, my face makes me look like I’m on the verge of lunging across the aisle, grabbing your baby and throwing it out the open bus doors. Or perhaps shank you when you were considering getting off at a stop to pick up some bananas. I KNOW this. But I can’t help it!  My normal “not-thinking-about-anything” face has a natural downturn that just makes me look pissed off. I am so painfully aware of this now, that I spend much of my time consciously trying to look convincingly like I’m not agro. This involves a lot of awkward half smiling and wide-eye opening. Which when written down like THAT makes me sound like I’m in dire need of some medication. But you know when you are thrust in front of a camera and ordered to smile – nine times out of ten, that smile looks forced and contrived (which is why I like to be on the OTHER SIDE of the camera). But I fear this is how I look all the time, unless I can scour my memory and try to recall things that have recently made me laugh (like me trying to act casual when falling up stairs, or seeing a pigeon eating a cinnamon donut) and in this case I’m able to actually smile my REAL smile – my dimpled, eye squinty, genuine, ridiculous smile. But on days when the rain won’t quit, and I’m feeling a bit lonely, this is hard to do. I have thought more than once that I wish I could wear a full face covering balaclava, or perhaps a brown bag on my head.  Neither of these options work well in aiding me to look more friendly and approachable, however…  more psychotic, yes – but at least my facial muscles wouldn’t ache from trying to appear cheery and helpful. Cheery and helpful – this is the look I’m going for. Unfortunately, pained and confused (and mildly constipated)  is likely more the look I’m pulling off. The whole thing is just so tiring – perhaps this is the same issue the sleeping people have had to deal with, and after 7 weeks of attempting to look like they enjoy being forced into the armpit of someone who hasn’t showered in five days, they are just so exhausted they can’t help it. Maybe this is their coping mechanism? I guess having my eyes closed and drooling slightly is  a better alternative than potentially getting my ass kicked because my mind has wandered off and I’ve been caught glaring at some gansta girl for the last 2 minutes, appearing to challenge her to a duel – Fight Club style – at the corner of Broadway and Granville. So if you should happen to see me out and about, and it looks like I’m about to haul off and shin kick the grandma in front of me, please know that inside I’m likely thinking about picking up yogurt at the store, or if I have enough quarters for laundry. I can’t help it. It’s just my face! (I need to get that put onto a shirt, I think).

pigeonsdonuts

By Chrissy Posted in Uncategorized Comments (3)

3 Responses to “Making Faces”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

Leave a Reply

Sick of the sickness

03 Nov

If you haven’t been shot already, it’s too late – you’re already dead.

die02

I’m sorry to have to be the one to break it to you, but the SWINE FLU has taken over the world, and here in Vancouver the delirium has reached a fevered pitch (literally). Every day the headlines get 30pt larger and bolder on the front cover–warnings to the ones who aren’t sick yet–it’s only a matter of time. Warnings to get your flu shot RIGHT NOW – except oops, there aren’t enough – sorry, you’re a goner. What, you aren’t dead yet? Any minute now, it’s coming – trust us. It’s probably best just to self diagnose any pain that you might have henceforth as the SWINE FLU just to be cautious. Knee hurt? It’s quite obviously the beginning joint aches of the SWINE FLU. Stomach sore? It’s not at all to do with the fact that you drank a flat of beer last night, smoked 2 packs of cigerettes and have eaten nothing but cheetos for 3 days, it’s the SWINE FLU (the fact you managed to pry yourself from your death bed long enough to type this – congratulations, you must be one of the heartier (temporary) survivors of the EPIDEMIC. Hell, epidemic doesn’t sound scary enough anymore – let’s try PANDEMIC on for size. That’s better… speaking of which, are your clothes feeling too tight? Yikes… you’re in the final stages my friend – your swollen extremities are an indication that you have but mere hours to live (so please spend those last remaining hours leisurely perusing the pages of our trustworthy and accurate newspaper). Coughing? It couldn’t at all be that  exotic mystery illness that rarely  descends the city in the winter months (yes, you know the one I’m talking about – the one that requires the stringent remedy of laying on the couch watching 80′s brat pack movies and drinking Nyquil by the gallon?). No, it’s undoubtedly and absolutely the SWINE FLU – best to make sure that all your worldly affairs are in order, like finishing your last will and testament and eating the rest of that 4-gallon tub of Rocky Road you bought on sale last week at Safeway. No one will care if you can’t fit into your pants in a few days anyway – it’s in poor taste to mock those who have passed on. Yes, you may have seen in the fine print on the 97th page of the paper (underneath the classified listings for farm machinery) that admits that far (FAR) (FAAAAR) more people die every year from the regular strain of the flu. But those people (those… scientists) they are underestimating the body count that is about to befall our city. It’s the best to sit here and give yourself a bleeding ulcer worrying about it, rather than to say, wash your hands like a civilized person and not hack phlegm directly into the faces of those who are sitting next to you on the bus. (SERIOUSLY – were you raised by goats? Where and when has it ever been socially acceptable to openly cough into a crowd of people in a confined space? To not even attempt to pretend like you are being courteous enough to care if those around you get infected and DIE?  The answer? Nowhere. Notime. It’s the polite thing here in North America ON EARTH to at least FEIGN that you give a shit enough about those around you to keep your diseases to yourself. No one cares if you secretly lick your hands and wipe them furiously on the bus poles AFTER you have politely covered your mouth and coughed gently into it like a dignified human being. Pretend. If nothing else than to quiet the mass hysteria that is about to bust out from the stampede of people who while attempting to flee this death pit of infectious germs will instead crush each other to death on their way out the door. But never, never forget – the SWINE FLU is lurking in the shadows waiting to overtake us all at any moment. In fact, just today in the paper “they” are predicting it’s going to be back… next year (but we’ll all be dead, so no need to worry about that).

My vision has become blurry while typing this post, and rather than assume that it has to do with the fact that I have repeatedly been pounding my own head into the brick fireplace mantle, I’m just going to go ahead and give my final word of advice to my loyal reader…

Wash your hands.
Don’t spit in strange people’s mouths.
Picking up gum off the ground may seem like a delicious and financially frugal way of saving a few bucks, but don’t.  It won’t have any flavour left, anyway.
… and most important of all – the most surefire way of keeping healthy?

Stop buying newspapers.

PS
**I feel truly sorry for anyone who has lost a loved on to this outbreak (or ANY outbreak of that matter) of the flu (or any other reason, death = terrible). It’s horrible, absolutely – and I’m not trying to make light of that fact. But this media hype is getting insane. At what point does the newsmedia step back and admit that they are contributing CREATING absolute terror among the general public, that is completely encouraging people to stop living life normally? When children are not allowed to trick or treat on Halloween, people are fist fighting in flu annoculation line ups, and paper masks are becoming more of a fashion accessory than tiny dogs in handbags, that’s when. It’s time to re-evaluate our priorities here in this city. Get your flu shots, by all means – but please, for the love of god, use common sense. If it sounds too sensational and tabloid-esque, well – it’s likely your brain rotting out from the SWINE FLU. Goodbye, reader – it was nice throwing words nonsensically in your direction.

By Chrissy Posted in Uncategorized Comments (6)

6 Responses to “Sick of the sickness”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

Leave a Reply

THE SCARIEST POST EVER WRITTEN!

31 Oct

Happy Halloween! It was supposed to rain today, but to my surprise and delight, the sun has been out all day. I took the opportunity to get outside as quickly as possible,  as my eyes have been turning mole-like from all the dreary darkness lately. I imagined that people watching today of all days, would be impressive – being Halloween and all. But there was nothing! Out of almost 3 hours spent out and about, I think I saw 3 costumes. And two of those were questionable as to whether or not they were actually costumes, or just merely just flamboyant hipsters sporting fedoras and striped prison pants. I was hoping for zombies, fake blood, eyepatches. There weren’t even any girls dressed up as slutty cops or nurses to chuckle at. Overall, pretty disappointing.

I do however love the sudden splashes of orange that dot the landscape during October.  Last night I went to a small get-together with friends, where we drank wine and carved pumpkins while watching the original Nightmare on Elm Street. I don’t remember that movie being so ridiculous the first time I saw it. It borderlines more comedy than horror – although I must confess, it’s usage of 80′s synthesizer sound effects may have been the scariest thing I’ve witnessed in weeks.

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I don’t really have Halloween plans tonight, which make me feel a little bummed out. What it is about the “fun” holidays that make being single feel extra lonely? Carving pumpkins, dying Easter eggs or beating pinatas senseless are just so much better when you have a sidekick. I’m trying not to dwell on it too much, but sometimes it still gets the better of me. This city makes it so difficult to meet people. I’m thoroughly convinced that there are 50 single girls to every one single boy. And that single boy is hiding under a rock right now, playing WOW in his mom’s basement. In all seriousness, though – how does a girl compete when there are so many attractive, talented, wonderful, intelligent single girls out there? It’s like being lost in a sea of  faces… the invisibility of it all so much worse than anything.  Today it’s made me feel pretty empty inside, and although I would rather be out in public enjoying the Halloween festivities, it’s making me feel more alone being around people then when I’m at home solo. I’m not entirely sure what I will feel like doing later tonight – maybe I will be inspired to venture downtown to the art gallery steps to check out the action, (sneaky wine-bottle concealed under my coat) but more likely than not I will just stay in and eat popcorn and Strongbow dinner, praying desperately for some horror-movie marathon on TV.

Speaking of horror movies, I’ve been fortunate enough to take in a few movies recently… both Where the Wild Things Are and Paranormal Activity in the last week. I had high hopes for Paranormal Activity, what with all the “THIS IS THE SCARIEST MOVE EVER MADE!!!!!!” hype on the internet and people mentioning “I had a friend who said he didn’t really need to sleep  for the next couple of weeks, anyway”. I could hardly turn down the opportunity to see a horror film THAT good – so I shelled out the $13 to see it in the theatre. My first mistake however, was going on a Friday night – to the Scotia theater downtown, arguably the busiest theater in all of Vancouver. In retrospect, I can’t believe I would have considered this as being a good idea, but I’m so accustomed to seeing movies alone, in cheap and crappy old theaters with decrepit balconies that usually contain only 5 other patrons, that I imagined it wouldn’t be that busy. But this movie was PACKED.
Full of teenagers.
Any sort of suspension of disbelief that could have happened during this movie was immediately quashed by the adolescent high-pitched screeching of girls throughout the audience, faces pressed tightly into the shoulders of their dates. Each time I found myself getting drawn into the heightened creepiness of the movie, the girl beside me would GASP and jump 1 foot out of her seat, squealing “OHMYGOD!!!” Seriously? This was during the scene that involved the understandably bone chilling and terrifying sequence of a door. OPENING… TWO INCHES. Yes, I said it – a door moved slightly open, and the audience of teenage girls went APESHIT. Which mostly just made me laugh out loud, destroying any feeling of dread that might have been building. I would imagine that if I was at home, in the dark, watching this movie with headphones on, it would have scared the living shit out of me. However, under these conditions, Johnny Depp’s hair from Nightmare on Elm Street was far more frightening than being in that theatre. Which is disappointing because unlike many horror movies, this film really is mostly scary in it’s frantic, inital unknown– and once you know what will happen, it’s unlikely that you will ever experience the same fright once you know what will happen. Curse you, teenage girls! But I imagine it was those very girls who gave it the headline of being the SCARIEST MOVIE EVER MADE… EVER. SERIOUSLY. Jesus, if a door opening has you peeing your pants I can only imagine what would happen if someone busted out a chainsaw…

… which reminds me – I also was fortunate enough to get to see Evil Dead the Musical recently! It was amazing, and hilarious. And there was copious amounts of blood. SPRAYING FROM THE CEILING! And singing! And sex! And self-arm-amputation! It was so great, I really can’t recommend it enough, despite it’s pricey ticket cost, it is really worth every penny.

pumpkin01

Have a terrifyingly awesome Halloween, everyone! Watch out for the eardrum rupturing shrieking teenage girls who have desended upon the city… let’s just hope they have been considerate enough to do it while wearing costumes. And remember, the tiny nature of those little chocolate bars makes any caloric intake virtually nil, so feel free to eat at least 36 of them in a sitting.

By Chrissy Posted in Uncategorized Comments (2)

2 Responses to “THE SCARIEST POST EVER WRITTEN!”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

Leave a Reply

The Embarrassment Diaries, Volume 1

18 Oct

My unparalleled dorkiness often puts me in embarrassing situations, despite my admirable effort to the contrary. Case in point, the skinny jeans.

I know that I’ve made countless snide teasing remarks regarding Main Street and the skinny-jean clad hipsters, and I’ve always, ALWAYS vowed I would never succumb to the mass delusional hysteria that is the extremely tapered skinny jean. Part of  the (entire) reason for this is, unless you are 6’2 & 107 lbs, skinny jeans just look well – BAD. Even on skinny people.

But then the boots came into my life. The gorgeous, work of art, make me drool, incredibly tall and sexy John Fluevog boots. Although I am a fan of shoes in general, I don’t usually get so hot and bothered over them. But with these, it was love at first sight, uncontrollable, insatiable, obsessive love… it was dangerous love.

Now, I’m a tall girl. I often tower over a lot of people in line-standing situations (guys included). So pair one 5’10ish girl with 2.5″ giant boots, and watch out! It’s like attack of the 50ft woman all over again.

50ftwoman

But there was a problem looming with the boots. Try as I might, I could not force my regular boot-cut jeans into them without a billowing cloud of unsightly denim seeping out the top. Oh, and trust me – I tried. I tucked, I folded, I (shudder) power rolled (only children of the 80′s are likely going to get that reference). But it was all in vain. What is a habitually cold girl to do as winter approaches?

Should I? Do I dare? … really? Damn.

Ok, I reasoned, it’s not going to hurt anyone to try on some jeans in the safety of a dressing room, right? No one will know my dirty little secret except me. So I gathered up 5 different pairs of skinny jeans, and then casually placed an unassuming sweater on top to disguise my shame.  I assume that this is what happens when teenagers end up buying pretzels and boxes of kleenex when they purchase condoms. I felt equally exposed. I must admit though, the dressing room attendant did a valiant job of looking unphased at the horror that was the pile of skinny jeans draped over my arm. In fact, he may have been an aspiring thespian, as he didn’t even blink as he passed me my number ’6′. A plastic reminder of just how much I was faltering in my beliefs.

I chose the dressing room furthest from the front. It’s larger and I have this superstitious hunch that when I step inside I magically become 8lbs lighter. Unfortunately this only remains true while in the confines of that particular room, but I will take it when I can get it. Once inside I gave my head one more shake as I unhooked the first pair of jeans from the hanger. It was difficult not to snicker as I pulled them up over my feet. Goddamn, these were tight… not don’t-fit tight, but snug-almost-cutting-off-the-blood-flow-to-my-lower-extremities tight. How do these hipsters do it? Oh yeah, they are generally too busy scouring the earth for undiscovered music to remember to eat. Perhaps this is why they often have that glazed over look that I always mistook as them suffering from ennui? But no. NO! It was the pants slowly blocking off the central blood circulation to their brains. Poor, poor hipsters. I’m so sorry for judging you.

So I button them up and they are every bit as horrible as I first imagined. I was actually fairly surprised that they buttoned up at all, being that I’m an averaged sized girl with some curves to her. Sigh. Skinny jeans make me look like I have a pair of chicken drumsticks for legs, dipped in blue paint.

Damn you, beautiful boots, you are contributing the the slow disintegration of any shred of self esteem I once had. The things we do while in the smoky haze of love.

I begin to dejectedly peel the pants from my legs, and they roll down slightly – but get a bit tricky when I try to dislodge my feet from their clutches. I try to stomp the jeans off – using one foot to push the pants off of the other foot, all while gracefully balanced on one leg (look, no hands!). But then I misjudge (underestimate?) their hold on me and I fall forward, legs a massively long and awkward tangle, and smash my head into the fitting room door. Smash may be a strong word, really, as the room itself is only 4′ square. Bump? Hit? Greet enthusiastically? The impact of the hit shook the entire row of rooms. Although there were other people trying on things in the rooms beside me, no one acknowledged the earth shaking, wall vibrating thud. Thank god I didn’t knock myself unconscious, as I would have been found 5 hours later by the nonplussed, aspiring-actor fitting room attendant, in my polka dotted underwear with my pants around my ankles, bleeding from a head wound. (Ok, I’m totally lying about that part, there was no head wound at all, but blood always makes for a much better story, don’t you think?). I started to quietly laugh (again, these embarrassing displays of uncoordination happen on a regular enough basis that I mostly get surprisingly amused (and secretly impressed) at their ability to unexpectedly catch me off guard. Curses! Foiled again! The saddest thing about it is this is a very similar situation to what happened to me on a bus a few weeks ago. Except not involving head wounds and pants around ankles (I have some transit stories, but none quite THAT good).

After a bit of pulling (read: a lot of yanking and peeling and swearing) I managed while sitting on the floor (tongue stuck out in concentrated effort) to extract myself from the skin tight torture glove of denim.

Did I quit while I was ahead? Walk away with the smug satisfaction that I was right – SKINNY JEANS WERE THE DEVIL? No. I would not have this ego crushing experience ruin me. I had to persevere for the sake of the boots. Forge ahead girl, FORGE AHEAD!  So I did. And 3 pairs later, I switched teams.

I made friends with a pair of skinny jeans.

Now rather than seeing them as vicious, leg eating death pants I view them (cautiously) as fairly acceptable, fitting-snugly-into-the-beautiful-boots, not reminding me of blue-paint-dipped-chicken-drumstick-legs pants.

blackboots04

I’m still keeping them at an arm’s distance. If you don’t hear from me again, they’ve likely silently strangled me while I was sleeping…

Or, I’ve just continued the long standing tradition of sporadic posting. Or died of an internal injury head wound while wearing tight pants and beautiful boots.

By Chrissy Posted in Daily Life, Embarassment Diaries, Random Thoughts, Vancouver Life Tagged , , , , Comments (4)

4 Responses to “The Embarrassment Diaries, Volume 1”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

Leave a Reply

In case you missed it the first time…

12 Oct

I feel like I could write an epic novel about fall here, and although I devoted the last entire post to how much I love it (well, that and my unique talent for procrastinating and yammering on nonsensically about virtually nothing) I just needed to try to show a few photos to prove my point.

falltrees01

I never take landscape photos. I feel like I’m completely unable to do the scene justice, certainly not more than just holding the memory inside my mind. Sometimes being behind the camera is amazing and I can capture tiny moments for later. Sometimes it’s best to just experience the tiny moments and enjoy them for what they are. But my neighborhood is better than I’ve ever seen before, so I was hoping to post some pictures. They still cannot do the trees justice – but I tried.

treelinedstreet

A couple of blocks down the street are tree canopies that span over the road. Currently the sunlight bursts through those trees, lighting up the changing colors, making them glow. And if you stand in the middle of the road the leaves fall all around you, like snow. It’s pretty magical. Last year I literally cried because just as the trees were turning gorgeous, a gigantic windstorm came along and blew all the leaves off of them – in one night. So I’m enjoying it doubly this year. Tripley. (Is tripley even a word? Tripeliciously!)

falltrees02

I wandered to the nearby bakery yesterday to pick up a pumpkin pie for an urban family dinner I was going to (urban family being my close friends, and my actual family dinner is today). I could have attempted to bake a pie, but I lacked the proper ingredients to prepare it… like flour, pumpkin, patience, and remote understanding of reading recipes. Aside from those things, I would have made the BEST PIE EVER. But, the bakery pie was decent and it gave me the excuse to walk through the trees. I picked out a tiny pumpkin (they are running quite the pumpkin extortion racket over at the little market – $3 for a teeny tiny pumpkin? Way to gouge the kids and girls (me) who find small gourds irresistible, y’bastards ). Also I’ve discovered another excellent pleasure to add to my fall addiction – Happy Planet apple cider. Words cannot properly convey it’s awesomeness! I keep telling myself that because it’s apples it’s absolutely acceptable that I’ve consumed three 1 litre bottles of it. In 2 days. Vitamin C, right?

cider

It’s getting cold at night here, and I’ve tried as hard as I could to keep the windows open as long as possible in my apartment. But sitting in my overstuffed chair at night by the open window (even with big mug of sweet steaming cider) it’s now necessary to wrap up in a blanket. But combine those things with Iron and Wine playing softly on the stereo, and autumn air coming in, I’m trying to hold onto it for a few more days before the windows get shut in preparation for frost, and winter.

Happy Thanksgiving, Canada!

pumpkintable

By Chrissy Posted in Daily Life, Random Thoughts, Uncategorized, Vancouver Life Comments (2)

2 Responses to “In case you missed it the first time…”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

Leave a Reply

The Inevitability of Seasons

11 Oct

I always start out things with the best of intentions. Like this blog for example – I have wanted to have this blog up and running for no less than 3 years now, which although I’m not a math expert, is about 3817 days (give or take a day) in Chrissy-land. Needless to say, I’m enamored with the IDEA of having a blog and religiously writing away (despite the firm belief that I’m the only one that actually checks in here, aside from the countless friends who considerately come to send me thoughtful comments about erectile stimulants and pyramid schemes). But in all seriousness, I have gotten a few really amazing  people who have stopped in here, and left gracious comments and I appreciate them so very much. They also make me feel somewhat guilty for so rarely updating. Because I really WANT to be updating this more often… and I would like to say that I have a good excuse like I was recruited for secret service missions or won the Pillsbury bake-off and was touring the nation making pot pies for adoring fans, but alas, this is not the case. I’m mostly just tired lately. And lazy. And not even remotely funny, or clever or witty. But I’ll try harder to be more consistent in my randomness in the future.

What was I saying?

leavessign01

Autumn. The most glorious and amazing of all seasons here in Vancouver. The green turning to lemon yellow and burnt orange and shades of russet red (then falling crisply brown and dead to the ground… but we’re not acknowledging that fact at this moment). The crispness in the air and that smell – that smell of autumn that simultaneously reminds me of campfires and soft mittens and mulled wine. I’m in love with autumn,  despite knowing it signals a quick turn toward winter here (which incidentally is not the most glorious and amazing season here in Vancouver, but rather soggy and grey and dismal and mildly insanely soul crushing). But the summer and spring and autumn in Vancouver are enough to make us all forget the fact we want to curl up in a fetal position and cry uncontrollably once all the leaves fall from the trees. So we are pretty much in a constant state of denial here. But it is a cozy, delightful, colour filled month of denial. Hurray for fall! Pumpkin pie and feather duvets and Granville Island Winter Ale (preferably all at the same time, please.)

puzzleleaves

So aside from the leaves changing and finally digging out the dozen of scarves from the deep and dark recesses of my closet, I’m just really trying to enjoy the season as much as possible. I have not yet mentioned that I have in the last couple months found gainful employment doing both graphic design and photography (although product photography – I have not yet found someone independently wealthy who wants to pay me to take pictures of abandoned buildings and alleys – yet, but I’m sure it’s any day now. If you’ve lost my mailing address for sending copious amounts of money, please let me know and I’ll get that to you ASAP). But the ability to pay one’s rent is a fantastic thing. So ultimately all the perseverance paid off, and I have heard that the job market is opening up a bit more, so hopefully much of the struggle is over for many people. Now we must all instead draw our worried attention to our imminent demise from the swine flu, or lead poisoning from ingesting paint used to decorate Hanna Montana lamps. But aside from that, everything is peachy. Or pumpkiny?

angrypumpkin

The Bittersweets must have gotten some mysterious press recently because I got 6 orders in one day. Up until this point I hadn’t sold a single thing for about 2 months. So it’s nice that it’s moving again. I had intended on designing a new line around fall with various pumpkins and gourds and angry cupcakes dressed in costumes. But what with my intensely busy schedule of procrastination and laziness, I just haven’t gotten around to it. But you have to admit, cupcakes? Costumes? I think I’m onto something. Think cupcakes with eyepatches. Or horrifically monsterous Frankenpickles.  Look away kids, it’s not a pretty sight.

frankenpickle

The Plush You show is currently on at Schmancy in Seattle, and although I’m not a part of that side of it, my flower bracelets and brooches are available for sale in the Plush Jewels part of the show which takes place next door at Fancy. If you are in Seattle (which is an incredible city, also glorious in autumn) please drop in and check it out. I doubt I will be able to make it myself, so if you do, please let me know how it looks :)

Pumpkin carving very soon – I can hardly wait! Beer! Pumpkin seeds! Sharp knives! Mutilating innocent vegetables! Who can resist that action? Not I my friend, not I.

This last picture really has nothing to do with pumpkin carving, autumn, my lack of mathmatical prowess, the Pillsbury pot pie bake-off, monsterous cucumbers or my inability to remember to update regularly. It’s just a cool picture that I took a couple of weeks ago on Main Street – I think she’s pretty haunting.

hauntingwoman

By Chrissy Posted in Bittersweets, Daily Life, Vancouver Life Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Comments (8)

8 Responses to “The Inevitability of Seasons”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

Leave a Reply

Treasure Stealing Vampire Bats

13 Sep

As an adult, it’s tough to make new friends. It’s not as though one can just sidle up to someone on the bus and ask what they’re doing. Or pull up next to someone and see if they want to go ride bikes together. Well, I suppose you COULD, but no one ever does that. Or rather, I never do that, as I’m afraid that people will back anxiously away like I have the swine flu. Or as if I licked the safety glass beside the bus bench.

Marbles

Until last night. I was having a rather lonely Saturday evening, as plans had fallen through, and I decided that rather than hang out solo in my apartment I would head on down to Main Street and sit in the window at JJ Bean and people watch while writing in my journal. I love JJ Bean. While there is really no shortage of decent places to grab coffee in my neighborhood, JJ Bean on Main St. just has this vibrancy to it. There are always a ton of people wandering around, and the ordinary americano ends up being several hours of observing hipsters in their natural environment. The concentration of skinny jeans and 80′s resurgence off-the-shoulder dresses and ray ban sunglasses is unbelievable. Every other time I’ve gone there during the day or weekday evening it is PACKED. The night I was hoping it was packed it was relatively dead, unfortunately…

Except for this 6 year old kid that dragged a stool over to mine in the deserted windowfront.
“Hi” he said.
“Hi” I smiled.
“My name is Kyle”
“Hi Kyle, my name is Chrissy”.

This turned into the most epic, thrilling conversation I’ve had in ages. He was showing me his meteorite (read: rock) and his fossilized dinosaur tooth (read: rock) and then his pocketful of vampire bat jewels (read: plethora of rocks). He was telling me about this symbol that was burned into the skin of his upper arm that when the moon summoned him he would turn into a vicious dragon. Not a fire breathing dragon I found out through extensive questioning, but instead a dragon that shoots fire AND ice AND lava. Lava! Then he proceeded to pull up the sleeve on his shirt to show me his muscles and challenge me to an arm wrestling match. This entire time I wondered where his parents were? He had been sitting beside me for a good 20 minutes by this time.  He didn’t appear disheveled or unkept – just very articulate and imaginative.

Did his parents want their child arm wrestling with a strange woman in the front window of JJ Bean? I could see no one around, but reasoned there was no other time I really got the opportunity to arm wrestle a 6 year old kid. So we did. And being the chivalrous girl that I am, I let him win (read: barely) twice! Then he challenged me to a thumb wrestling match. AND I KICKED THAT KID’S ASS! You can’t let them build up too much false confidence, right? If you do they turn into cocky, self indulgent teenagers (read: as I have learned through my own personal experience, sob).

So yeah, my lonely night was made slightly less so by the company of a 6 year old. This was both really entertaining and absolutely depressing at the same time. I can just see it now on Monday morning:

“Hey, what did you do this weekend?”
“I  had a heated discussion with a 6 year old in a coffee shop about vampire bats being immune to dragon’s lava fire breath because they have hoards of secret buried jewels back at their caves… then I thumb wrestled him and TOTALLY WON – how about you?”
Blank stare.

He was a super great kid, and after my attempt at trying to keep the conversation quiet and politely answering his questions as not to encourage him (so sad that we feel strange talking to other people’s kids these days), but then after awhile I realized our conversation must have been echoing throughout the entire place. I was arguing with him full volume about werewolves, and bats, and jewel heists. I was arguing with this kid as though debating politics and religion and Tim Hortons coffee. And then he told me about all his girlfriends, and said that if I wanted to, I could be in his secret dragon club.

I think this means that I now have a 6 year old boyfriend.

Progress on the dating front? I haven’t lost my feminine charms yet, apparently.

By Chrissy Posted in Uncategorized Comments (1)

One Response to “Treasure Stealing Vampire Bats”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

Leave a Reply

Chin up, Cupcake

15 Jul

Dear Job,

Don’t you know that I’ve been trying to contact you for some time? You are unavailable to have coffee. You never make time to go to the movies with me. And frankly, you aren’t returning my calls or my letters. I’m beginning to think that you are avoiding me. Are you just not that into me? Is it another girl who does photography, graphic design and sews angry foods? Perhaps we should get some counseling, because clearly, we aren’t communicating.

Love, Chrissy

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SERIOUSLY. I know the ever-constant bombardment of news that urges us to NOT PANIC, BUT THE ECONOMY IS COLLAPSING AND EVERYONE IS LOSING THEIR JOBS! but honestly, this is getting ridiculous. Shit, I’ve been looking for work solidly for about a month. I have been semi-looking for work for a couple of months. And the money is slowly dwindling. Ideally, I would like to put my$50,000 graphic design degree to some use, as at the moment it’s really just acting as a dust holder and decorative reminder of good times past. I’m trying not to lose hope. I really don’t want to go back to being a barista, or a customer service rep. Or a book shelver. But I’m getting desperate. How is it that only 1 year ago every shop in the lower mainland had signs in the window PLEADING for workers. For once, the minimum wage jobs were having to boost their wages in order to draw people to them. Now it seems that even university educated people are fighting for those jobs. I guess like the real estate market there are ups and downs.

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They have coined this the summer of “Funemployment” here in Vancouver. Which is partly true. One can hardly argue that spending one’s day in the sun, wandering around the city, swimming in the ocean and being creative isn’t the most terrible thing that could happen. I have been enjoying it immensely myself, but I *need* to be making money now. I may be able to scrape together rent for next month (which conveniently they are raising starting in August) but other than that, I have no idea. It’s scary as hell. And a bit exciting. I’ve been learning that I’m more adaptable than I originally thought… I’m open to fate taking me in different directions. Seemingly “bad” things in the past have led me to more interesting opportunities in the future. Maybe if I become a barista the creative director of a major publisher will come in and we’ll become friends – viola! Dream job. (I’m not holding my breath, but it is a lovely daydream).

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In the meantime I’ve been connecting with old friends who I’ve missed terribly, going fishing, cramming to get some more flower bracelets made for the upcoming Plush Jewels part of the Plush You show in October at Schmancy in Seattle. And drinking copious amounts of coffee. It’s a tough life, isn’t it? Chin up to all those also looking for jobs – we will find something eventually…

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By Chrissy Posted in Uncategorized Comments (2)

2 Responses to “Chin up, Cupcake”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

Lost in the Woods

28 Jun

Tis the season of camping. Heading out to the forest or beach, setting up a tent, building a gigantic bonfire and roasting marshmallows. The smell of the crackling wood, watching the stars come out, and for a couple of days not having to deal with phones, or computers, or real life. A friend and I were discussing the phenomenon of going to bed at 10 p.m. when you are camping (after you consume beer all day long, once the darkness hits you are pretty much done for the day!). At night there isn’t much to do but sit around and chat. Watch the fire and listen to the quiet of the forest. I miss that very much. As much as I love it, I haven’t been camping in years. I don’t have a tent myself – for good reason, being that it’s unlikely I could set up a tent without spending several hours swearing, poking myself with tent poles and ending up with 3 random left-over pieces… and figuring out at 2 a.m. exactly what the purpose of those pieces is when the tent collapses in the pitch black. Ahh, the outdoors. But the marshmallows!

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Being that I don’t own a cell phone myself, I find these excursions into the middle of nowhere not as hard to adjust to as some of my more tech-savvy counterparts. I sort of relish the fact that you’ve dropped off the face of the planet for a little while. Nothing is pressing, things slow down and you can just breathe.

The majority of friends I have wouldn’t set foot near the forest unless taken hostage by angry militants. The thought of dirt and sleeping on the ground and peeing in the woods doesn’t appeal to them. God knows why? But a few people I know have been camping lately quite a lot. Unfortunately I have not been a part of those trips, but I’m hoping a bit later in the summer to get out. Do some canoeing, play some drunken poker, eat marshmallow dinner, and go swimming in the lake. If it weren’t for the lack of car, tent, general sense of direction, and inability to read both a map and a compass, I would be out there in a minute. Just those few details. (Why oh why wasn’t I a girl scout? Damn you, flute lessons!). So I will wait patiently until I can find a camping buddy and then… well, at least I’ll bring the marshmallows.

By Chrissy Posted in Uncategorized Comments Off

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Inexplicable Lives of Squirrels

27 Jun

I have a serious problem. I get ecstatically, blissfully happy when I see squirrels. Baby squirrels, grey squirrels, hopping squirrels, squirrels hiding nuts. My heart skips a little when I see one. I often excitedly proclaim “Squirrel!!” when one crosses my path. My friends think it’s ridiculous, my parents shake their heads and wonder how they ever brought up a child who is fascinated by rodents. But I can’t help it. They are sneaky and mischievous, unpredictable and delightful.

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When I was photographing at Riverview I saw this little guy digging through a dumpster. I admired his tenacity, particularly when I saw he found a proverbial jackpot of popcorn (which you can see has adhered itself to his little nose). It’s stupid how happy it makes  me. But I can’t help loving them.

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Today I’m hanging out around the house… I had a little bit too much Strongbow last night, I think. My old roommate is moving in with another good friend we went to art school with tomorrow. I had intended to be helpful and help her pack her apartment last night, but instead ended up drinking tall cans on her floor and reminiscing about old times… oh, and directing her to mislabel boxes. Oops, I guess when she’s desperately wondering where her iron is and ends up discovering a rice cooker it will be a fun surprise – like Christmas! I sort of envy her for the moving process – the chance to access and pack up everything – get rid of all the stuff that’s keeping you down and start fresh. I love the chance to find new homes for things, rearrange the furniture so everything feels brand new. I often do this in my own apartment… again, the joys of living alone! If I want to move the couch so it faces the picture window I can. Or an easy chair in the kitchen.

I’ve decided to start a new font in my Letter Project. I know it’s incredibly geeky to be so fascinated by fonts and typography, but going to school taught me to look at them in a new way… they can absolutely convey feeling and tell a story (literally, I guess!). I’ve been working on a photographic version of this – capturing hundreds of random letters from everywhere… stop signs, restaurants, graffiti, packaging. I have absolutely no idea what I will eventually do with them. Compile them into a book maybe. A mosaic of letters and numbers in every possible colour, texture, size and shape. Currently I’m going to sew another typeface (Aharoni, I think it’s called?). The other one I worked on was Cooper Bold – not my favorite, but unfortunately I have to stick to letters that are fat… otherwise I don’t have much option for creative stitching.

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So there it is – the most random of Saturdays, relaxing and keeping my hands busy. Drinking far too much coffee and eating raspberries for breakfast, lunch, and potentially dinner. Looking out my window at squirrels looking far too productive for a weekend, and making me feel lazy. I hope you all (read: the one person who actually reads this blog) enjoy your weekend!

By Chrissy Posted in Daily Life, Random Thoughts, Uncategorized, Vancouver Life Comments Off

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Gone with the Wind

22 Jun

Sometimes when I’m feeling a bit small in this huge planet we live in, I wait until 1 a.m, open the windows in my living room, turn on Fleet Foxes and just blow bubbles. The street is absolutely quiet (unless of course I decide to do it on a weekend, in which case drunken people stumble down the road and are both perplexed and delighted by the bubbles). But I don’t like people to see me. It’s more just for me – a secret activity I like to do all alone. When I lived in the building 2 doors down, it had a lovely huge roof deck that I took advantage of regularly. I bought a bubble machine and sat slightly back from the front edge and just turned it on during rush hour. I figured that it would brighten up people’s day who were just stuck in the monotony of a routine. I think that I went through about 7 litres of bubble solution over a summer. That sucker pumped out about 500 bubbles a minute that would just drift out on the wind. It was pretty awesome. I miss that building for that one reason.

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Everything about this apartment now brings me joy – but I do miss my rooftop bubbles. I suppose I could get another bubble machine – I’m just always worried that people will be upset if the bubbles hit the cars… some people are sensitive about that sort of thing. Which is another reason why I relish the darkened street, it’s a bit more sneaky and incognito that way :) The bubbles don’t show up quite as vividly as they would in the sun, but when the moon is out they still sparkle, just in a different way. At any given time you can see about 3-4 bottles of bubble solution on my windowsill. Currently I have strawberry, banana and chocolate chip scented ones, and one standby old-school kind too, for those times I just want to get ‘er done.

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I’m trying to take baby steps to bringing some good new things into my life. I keep thinking if each day I do a few things to improve my circumstances – whether that be swimming, sending out resumes, working on new Bittersweets, or trying something new entirely, eventually things will just start falling into place.

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This Buddha used to be in a Chinese restaurant back in the 40′s or 50′s I think. My mom got it in an antique store, but decided after a couple of years (and much begging, pleading and coercion from me) that he just didn’t go with her decor anymore. So I very willingly adopted him. I think she believes that I’m merely storing him here until she decides she wants him back. She will have to pry him out of my cold dead hands, as he and I have become quite the team. Anytime I need a bit of luck I rub his shiny little head, or put found-on-the-street coins in the little dishes by his feet. It’s a bit like throwing pennies into fountains, except I’m throwing them at an inanimate jolly fat man instead who looks like he’s trying to impersonate a candy apple. An ECSTATIC candy apple.  He used to have a fan in his hand, but I thought it far more appropriate if he held onto a lollipop instead. Everyone can use a little bit more sweetness in their lives, right?

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The Ghosts of Lives Past

15 Jun

Have you taken your high school yearbook off the dusty shelf and flipped through that bad boy recently? All the mortifying, hilarious, unforgettable moments come flooding back, and all of a sudden you are sucked back in time and become that awkward 15 year old with terrible hair and bad fashion sense. Faces that you’ve forgotten, people you wish you forgot, teachers who appeared *so* old at the time, and now you realize you yourself are likely the same age NOW that they were at that time. It’s crazy how memories seem to tuck themselves into the deepest recesses of your mind, and come flooding back at the thought of a name, or the face of a guy you used to ride the bus with in 8th grade. And one mustn’t forget the awesomely awful write-ups we gave each other in the blank pages in between the those pictures; those often give far more insight into relationships we had. People we promised to be friends with forever and then promptly forgot a week after graduation. You can tell the people you didn’t really know who signed “Have a great summer, we should hang out some time”, to those epic entries that are riddled with inside jokes (often inside jokes you yourself can’t even recall the meaning to) alluding to pot smoking and secretive drinking behind the bleachers after school. Ahhh, we were all such badasses (in our own heads, if nowhere else). And those sacred few who we’ve still held onto after all this time:

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What has happened to all these people? I often think of certain people and wonder where life has taken them. The “popular” people who likely ended up getting married and having kids in their earlier twenties… and then likely divorced in their late twenties. How many stayed in the same tiny town, content to live and work in the same place that their parents put down roots? How many of us fled that same town, hoping only to make a new life for ourselves in the city, lost in the anonymity of faces. As far away from that preconceived persona we had established while growing up? Quite a few of us I’m sure. All the “losers” became the coolest, most successful, good looking people in the room. The assholes are likely still assholes – only now they’ve replaced the school hallways with sweaty bars and boardrooms.

Remember how life was *so* complicated, and every mortifying thing signaled the end of the world? Things now that are so cliche, so John Hughes-esque it’s funny. We never listened to adults who told us we had nothing to worry about, just wait until you’re a “REAL” adult when responsibility kicks in. And yet none of us (even today) can wrap our heads around that until we’ve experienced it ourselves.

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I still wonder about where people have gone. Are they in jail? Have they had 4 kids now and work in a mill? Have they died? Are they making hundreds of thousands of dollars laughing at how the best revenge is living well? I guess networks like Facebook allow us to glance inside where people have ended up without the awkward chit-chat when you run into someone in a grocery store lineup. But there are still those who are unaccounted for, those that you can’t help but wonder about.

What were the things that you thought you would have accomplished by the time you were 30? How have your plans changed? Here’s what I thought:

  1. Well, first off I never thought I would have survived to thirty!
  2. I thought I would have graduated from Emily Carr (check)
  3. That I would have traveled the world and ended up living in Europe (nope and nope)
  4. That I would be living with someone (nope)
  5. That I would be an artist (kind of)
  6. I would own a vintage VW bug (yes, in my early 20′s)
  7. That I would still have flaming red hair – and more piercings
  8. … and I would never be sick of the tattoos I chose

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Here’s what actually happened:

  1. I know even less now that I did then about what direction I’m heading in
  2. I live in a fantastic apartment solo (not even a cat) and this is totally O.K. with me
  3. I never got to travel, but it’s still up there on the list
  4. I don’t know if I will ever have kids
  5. Or get married
  6. I’m still working on finding a career that I’m thrilled to go to (I’ll find you one day, dream job – watch out!)
  7. I take a hell of a lot of photos. I never “seriously” picked up a camera really until I was 22
  8. The idea of mortgages and RRSP’s and investment banking scares the living shit out of me
  9. I still dream of running away
  10. I seriously hate the tattoos I chose when I was 17 – just like they warned me I would
  11. I doubt I will ever own a “responsible” car, but would rather buy another vintage VW bug in a second, even though the first one I had was a complete piece of crap

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It’s interesting where life takes us. And the choices that we make today DO end up steering down paths we never even dreamed existed. We can only hope that we end up with less cringe-worthy moments – although it’s not likely ;)

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By Chrissy Posted in Uncategorized Comments (1)

One Response to “The Ghosts of Lives Past”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

Leave a Reply

Where the waves hit you

06 Jun

If one must feel melancholy, they might as well do it near the ocean.

Yesterday was one of those days. A day where I felt nothing more like leaving my life, putting what I could in a backpack and just fleeing the city. Not for a day or a weekend, but for as far as my money would take me, as far from my life as I could get. Don’t get me wrong, my life seems pretty good most of the time. But sometimes the heavy sadness hits, and there is no place to turn – it is just best to acknowledge it’s there, and pray for distractions.

Distractions yesterday were few and far between. All my work-from-home friends were either out of the city or busy with deadlines. There were no tea dates to be had, no photo adventures to be found. And to be honest I think I was about as far away from creativity as I could get, anyway. As I sat in front of my computer looking at a gigantic wall of Bittersweets that I’ve spent the last 2 years of my life working on – which recently have almost ceased selling completely on Etsy, I just wanted to rip them all down and dispose of them. Set them on fire, run over them with my (borrowed) car, put them in a box and leave them on the side of the highway. Yesterday I was just tired of the reminder of my life standing still. THIS was the kind of day I was having. I just wanted to go to the beach. I *needed* to be near waves crashing so loudly that it drowned out my own thoughts – thoughts that were hell-bent yesterday on making me miserable.

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So I packed up every possible thing I might need for a plethora of scenarios. I had my camera and all my equipment. I brought a change of clothes, my bathing suit, credit cards. If I made it to the beach I would be set – if I ended up in the Yukon I also would be covered (at least for a couple of days). Sometimes the mind does not know what the body will do until it does it. So I got in the car and drove.

Normally being in the car, driving barefoot and listening to the radio (yay for Vancouver’s awesome new station 100.5 the Peak… although ironically enough, the first song I heard was the Cure – how fitting), drinking a slurpee, the wind in my hair – these things usually cheer me up. But even as I drove up the freeway toward White Rock it wasn’t fading. I looked at the signs that read Surrey 9, Seattle 190. I wish that I had brought my passport, because I wouldn’t have hesitated for a minute.

So I ended up in White Rock, solo. I stood in the water, the tide inching in wave by wave, and just felt the heavy sadness. I walked up to my chest, and cried a little. If one needs to cry, they might as well do it in the largest body of salted water possible… It’s more incognito that way. I felt hopeless and helpless, and lonely and unsure – the whole day. It didn’t lessen at all as the day went on. I just went with it. When the tide crept up as far as it would go, I laid on the beach for 4 hours. Despite heavy application of sunscreen, I still burnt the shit out of the backs of my legs. When I finally got in the car I felt slightly more calm… and really exhausted. It’s funny how much standing in the ocean seeing nothing but a zillion gallons of water as far as your eye will follow can make your problems feel slightly more insignificant. Despite my stinging, lobster coloured skin last night, I was glad I went.

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I woke up this morning feeling better. I’m still unemployed, and feeling lonely – but I feel much more equipped to deal with stuff… and not hankering to dispose of all my worldly possessions. Although I think that most people have been tempted by the thought of leaving it all behind and just starting fresh. I’m just really thankful I live in Vancouver, where I have the luxury of running to the mountains OR the ocean when my body takes me there. And that is something to be happy about.

By Chrissy Posted in Uncategorized Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , Comments (1)

One Response to “Where the waves hit you”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

Leave a Reply

Insanity, and the Paperwork Involved

03 Jun

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I have driven by Riverview Hospital countless times throughout my life. The front building is a lurking, menacing structure looming over the highway. Behind are a ton of smaller satellite buildings scattered around the humongous grounds. Up until around the 80′s I think it was a fully functioning city for the mentally ill – with things like bakeries, laundromats, auditorium, dentist – to name just a few. When the Canadian Government decided to cut back it seriously damaged the ability to run such a huge place and half of it was shut down, boarded up, and left largely empty except to film creepy horror movies and the X-Files.

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Some may consider shooting through fences a hinderence, but I think it adds to the photo sometimes.

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I decided a couple of months ago that I really needed a new photo adventure. Being that there are *zero* abandoned buildings anywhere in the city (that I’ve found anyway, that don’t involve scary drug addicts and squatters) I thought wandering around Riverview may be almost as good. It was a huge process, involving me first going there, being reprimanded by a security guard and told I wasn’t allowed to take pictures without permission, trying to figure out WHO I needed to get permission from (thank you google), writing to ask for it, being sent paperwork, filling out the paperwork, faxing it back, being sent MORE paperwork, printing it out – there, all set! Seriously, the ins and outs of government red tape blows my mind. I guess it keeps more people in jobs (and with the economy so terrible right now, jobs for people are a good thing) but it’s frustrating nonetheless.

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It was worth it though, and despite it being insanely hot I was able to get about 420 photos. Some of the buildings are incredible – I only wish that I could have gotten into the interior. I’m sure that will be the next project in which to fill out 300 pages of paperwork. And I also think that will end up costing me some money. I unfortunately wasn’t able to photograph the 1 building I wanted (the front one) because they were filming a movie there – I would say there must have been at least 20 trailers. The grounds are gorgeous, and apparently there is something like 1200 species of trees there. A botanists dream, really. I was hoping for more dark and dirty, but it’s still an operating hospital in certain buildings, so I suppose it can’t get too overrun. Most of the paperwork I filled out had to do with not taking photos of patients and staff, which is totally understandable. I always try to be respectful where ever I go – particularly in abandoned places. Leave no trace, and disturb nothing. Mental illness is such a debilitating sickness to have, and so I felt even more humble and quiet while wandering. During the 50′s I think it was a lot more horrible – my great grandmother was in one of the more strict wards because she suffered from “dementia”. God knows what that means, but my mom has told me how awful it was visiting her.

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Overall I was pleased with it. It was a good way to spend a Monday afternoon. I still have about 10 days if I want to go back. The security guards are EVERYWHERE, and I was asked by at least 4 different people about showing my permit). I feel like I got a good representation of what it is there. If there is a day where it’s stormy, but bright (photographers you know what I mean) I may go back. Bright and sunny hardly conveys the serious nature of the institution.

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Onward and upward to new places. I feel like I’m going to have to start expanding my photo interests to broader subjects… the disintegrating places are becoming more few and far between.

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By Chrissy Posted in Daily Life, Random Thoughts, Vancouver Life Comments (2)

2 Responses to “Insanity, and the Paperwork Involved”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

Leave a Reply

Upstaged by Seniors

19 May

Part of the rehabilitation for my back surgery is aquafit. I’ve been going to physio and religiously doing my exercises for it, but I just could not bring myself to go to the pool. Excuses aplenty… it’s funny how much cleaning and random organization I’ve been putting off that magically gets placed at the top of my “to do” list when I’m staring the necessity of wearing a bathing suit in public in the eye. Clean the grout under the tub with a toothbrush? Yes. Re-pot every plant in my apartment? Uh huh. Alphabetize and colorcode every CD, DVD, book and bill in my house? Check!

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This morning I had no more excuses. And the strangest part about it is – I love swimming. I LOVE IT. But I just feel really self conscious about being in public in a swimsuit. This is the curse of being a girl. And perhaps the fact that I lived near Kits Beach for 2 years. Where every person looks like they just stepped out of Fit Magazine. No pasty-ness. No jiggly bits. But I ended up going to the Percy Norman pool at Main & 30th. On a Tuesday morning. And it was FULL of seniors. I had absolutely nothing to fear, so with more confidence I slid into the pool in preparation for the class to begin. I thought it would be easy… the median age of everyone in the water was likely 60, after all.

And it slayed me. I totally could not keep up with the flailing arms and hippity hopping, and hand-eye coordinating happening. It made me laugh, and damn thankful that 3/4 of my body was hidden underneth the water so the embarrassing lack of coordination wasn’t totally apparent to everyone around me. Except when they started “running” forward… and I was trying to go to the side. Then I go forward and everyone else is flipping their arms up and down and spinning around. Sweet Jesus. I’ll get it eventually (I hope) . And I absolutely *loved* being in the water. I should maybe just start swimming laps instead of the aquafit (although I can see how one would build some pretty decent pipes at that class).  But a word of warning to any thugs that may be lurking in the bushes waiting to prey on poor, frail old people – those people could probably bench press 200 lbs (with one hand). And here I am having serious doubts that I will be able to lift my arms tomorrow. Grandmas and Grandpas, I love you – and you inspire the hell out of this girl :)

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Roadtripping Solo

17 May

There is something indescribably wonderful about a roadtrip on a sunny Saturday afternoon. There are countless hours to spend rediscovering songs from CDs you forgot you owned, reflecting on life and it’s unfolding directions, and getting lost – on purpose. I have always been a fan of the roadtrip – I love both trips with friends, and trips alone… each has it’s own perks. I was unsure of how long I would be able to drive yesterday because of my recent back surgery, but I planned for the day with the intention that I could go as long and as far as I wanted. No destination. No itinerary. Just me, the car, and my camera. I also was lucky enough to come across this incredible statue yard in Chilliwack along the highway – the people were super friendly about letting me take some pictures, which was awesome.

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Here are some noteable highlights:

  • Number of times I narrowly missed getting pulled over: 3
  • Blueberry cheesecake blizzards consumed for lunch: 3/4 of a small (then I wanted to puke)
  • Statue yards discovered: 1
  • Cute dogs eating cattle skulls: 1
  • Semi-angry people approaching me about taking pictures: 1 (a bonus of going into the middle of nowhere)
  • Photos taken: 89
  • Deer hanging out along the way: 5
  • Terrible songs enjoyed: too many to count
  • Vintage $3 cameras bought: 1 (although I considered a couple more)
  • Barefoot driving time: 9 hours
  • Kilometers travelled: approximately 650
  • Sunburn incurred: 1/2 of my face and chest. Half. LAME.
  • Number of times I listened to Michael Penn’s “No Myth (aka Romeo in Black Jeans)”: 3 (YES!)
  • Number of times I listened to the Pixies to make up for the above bad (awesome)  music choice: 2
  • Fun time had by all (me): YES!

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Overall it was a super fantastic time. I’m glad I got some time with just me and the open road. I can pull over at anytime and take photos of anything I want. I can sing at shrill volumes to horrible songs without embarrassment. I can drive as fast or as slow as I choose (being careful of speedtraps along the way, of course – the cops were out in full force this long weekend!). I feel like it refueled my desire to get out there and have more photo adventures… and take advantage of this car while I have it (another 4 weeks – yeow!)

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I can’t wait to go out again!!

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By Chrissy Posted in Uncategorized Tagged , , , , , , , , Comments (3)

3 Responses to “Roadtripping Solo”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

Leave a Reply

Single or Spinster – Eclectic or Eccentric?

15 May

I was at my folks house the other night, and I flipped through their million billion satellite TV stations and ended up on this HBO movie… not so much because I wanted to watch it, but mostly because my finger was arthritic and blistering from so much button pushing.

The movie I came upon was called “Grey Gardens” and it had Jessica Lang and Drew Barrymore in it. It was the strangest, most semi-annoying movie that I’ve seen in awhile, which means that similarly to a trainwreck, I couldn’t turn away. Why was Drew Barrymore using such a terrible accent? And why did she have that god-awful scarf on her head? But nonetheless, as most made-for-tv movies tend to do (really, who can resist a drug addicted teenage pregnancy, or a husband who’s a secret serial killer? Not I, my friend, not I) I was sucked in. And I unfortunately only caught it from the half way point. The movie told the true story of two East Hampton socialite relatives of Jackie Onassis who ended up becoming absolute recluses on their huge estate for over 30 years; And how eccentric and removed they became from social constraints (and sanitation, apparently). This movie was based on their lives of course, but also on the documentary film that was made of them in the 70′s, which became quite the cult classic. I got my hands on that film, as well as the HBO film in it’s entirety. Their story is moving, and really quite bittersweet. I don’t want to call it sad, because both women seemed to have quite a bond to each other, and had just gotten caught up in the rut of day to day life – but it was still a bit horrifying. Days blended into months, which eventually flew into years. And a lot of raccoons. And ingestion of cat food (which apparently when placed on crackers passes as a tasty and flavorful “pate”).

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I was really moved by this story. In a haunted, can’t-stop-thinking-about-it-days-later sort of way. I think because I really felt an affinity with the daughter of the story, Little Edie. Who essentially put her chances of a career on hold in order to go to her mother’s house “temporarily”. But then just never left. You could tell in the documentary how regretful she was about that, and how much potential she had to do really great things – it was more of a commentary of opportunities we are given and choices we make, and how one decision can leave us regretting things forever. HEAVY STUFF.

I wholeheartedly admit that I pleaded with the universe that night “please, PLEASE do not let me end up living in an abandoned, empty house (except of course for 300 cats and squirrels) eating pet food and forgetting to take out the trash – for 8 years. Living on the ocean would be alright though, we’ll keep that one on the horizon”. If nothing else, it got me inspired to actually appreciate my young(ish) adulthood, talents and aspirations – which for a movie, is pretty incredible.

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Check out the documentary: “Grey Gardens” by Albert and David Maysles. They are seriously 2 of the most interesting, unforgettable characters to ever be caught on film.

By Chrissy Posted in Random Thoughts Tagged , , , , Comments (2)

2 Responses to “Single or Spinster – Eclectic or Eccentric?”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

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When I grow up…

13 May

When I was young I was fairly consistent with the jobs that I wanted to be when I grew up. Mind you, these jobs were as far polar opposites as you can get, but at least I was considering a variety of options. Marine Biologist (play in the ocean with seal babies – yay!), firewoman (slide down the poles), Lawyer (god knows why), Writer (hole yourself up on some deserted coast and get paid to tell stories), girlfriend of an Ewok (for obvious reasons). I never wanted to be an artist, or a designer. Once you hit your teenage years your easily swayed mind is more receptive to the negative discouraging of your elders. Writing wasn’t a real job – no one got paid for that sort of thing, unless you were say, Stephen King or Danielle Steele. The same thing came when it was time to choose a major at Emily Carr. My heart secretly wanted to take photography, but again I was swayed by the countless opinions that it would make a great hobby, but probably not a profession. This may or may not have been true, who knows? Still my heart wonders sometimes.

Cabs

Now that I’m an adult at a bit of a crossroads in my life I’m still considering what I want to be when I grow up. A book designer, an illustrator, a photographer, a beekeeper, a writer, an ice cream scooper at Baskin Robbins (I’m obviously kidding about this one – there isn’t a Baskin Robbins anywhere remotely close to here)? Although I sometimes envy my friends who have established careers, and are married, have/having kids, houses. But on the other hand, I almost feel relieved that I don’t have that stuff hashed out. It seems a bit sad to me that you’d have all your major plans laid by the time you were 30… and then you’d have to live what, the next 50 years with the decisions you’ve made. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing – but for a girl who can rarely choose socks without sitting down and writing a list of pros & cons, the idea of definatively choosing “yes, this is what I want for the rest of my life” it’s a bit of a scary thought. Maybe I’m just gun shy after vehemently arguing that “absolutely, I am going to love having not one, but TWO faerie tattoos forever, there is NO WAY I’m going to change my mind” and then pretty much shaking my head while frantically combing the internet for potential laser-removal options not 5 years later… I think I’m understandably gun-shy. I guess that life will unfold as it does, and when things will come my direction when I’m ready for them. In the meantime, if anyone knows of a good tattoo removal option – please let me know (and no, Mr Clean Magic Erasers although super fantastic, are not a good choice – I already tried) :)

ferriswheel

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Turning off the Chatter

11 May

Recently I’ve been reading Eckhart Tolle’s “The Power of Now”. Never in my life have I wanted words to sink into my brain as much as from that man. While I’m not at all religious, I would say I lean heavily toward being a serendipitous fatalist. While I think that obviously we all have a huge part to play with free will and all, I do think that sometimes the universe brings us things that we need… good or bad. Some things, in my opinion, are just meant to be. We are given challenges when we need to learn lessons, and given rewards when we wish on enough stars, throw a million pennies into fountains, and remember to toss spilled salt over our shoulders. Sometimes I thumb my nose at fate, and wander under ladders and wholeheartedly call to black cats to cross my path, just for the hell of it.

But this year admittedly, I’m not quite sure the lessons I’m supposed to be learning. Patience maybe. (DAMN YOU PATIENCE!). I feel as though I was given the world, and then it was taken away. Not in such alarmist terms, mind you – but still given a taste of what I love, and then just as soon as it came, it was gone again. It has been a seesaw teetertotter roller coaster of a year, and I feel like I’m ready to get off. I’m ready to have *something* in my life that is predictable. I feel like I have lived over a year, inside my mind, wishing the daysweeksmonths to go by faster so I could just be over this hump and start living again dammit. This is one of my worst habits. Wishing the future to come sooner, and dwelling on the past too long. Hence my choosing “The Power of Now”. I had bought this book a couple of years ago after reading an extremely favorable review from a blogger whom I admire very much. The words “life changing” were even thrown around in reference to it. And yet, I could not get through it, no matter how hard I tried. I always got stuck in the same spot (I swear I must have read the first 3 chapters 20 times).

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This time however, it was different. I *still* could not get through it as the written world, but I decided it was something I needed to make work – so I found an audiobook version. Normally I’m not a huge fan of the audiobook, but in this case it was necessary. I felt like much of the content was so heavy that I was incapable of digesting it in my own voice (you know when you read, usually hear your own voice inside your head?). So I set aside an hour each night in the safety of my darkened bathroom, clawfoot tub filled with Lush cinnamon lime scented bubbles, eyes shut tightly despite the blackness – just listening. Trying with every fiber of myself to “get it”. But it was so fleeting…

The premise of the book is to stop living your life with the ever-constant chatter in your mind. To silence the often negative, repetitive, non stop voice-over that narrates every second of your life. I wish that I could fire my narrator, because quite frankly she’s a real mean spirited bitch who *never* shuts up. Much of the sadness in my life comes from this voice. From reliving painful stuff that happened in the past (who doesn’t occasionally wake up feeling stupid about something they did years ago? I feel like it’s an all too often occurrence for me, unfortunately). Or I anticipate conversations that I might have with people in my life (more times than not in negative ways) and just overall cause myself a whole hell of a lot of anguish. And I want it to stop. I want this ride to stop so I can get off. And start enjoying my life second-by-second, rather than 2 months in the past, or 5 years in the future.

And when the words fill my headphones I feel like I get it. And I feel calm and like I understand… but then sometime during the night habit creeps in and presses the “reset” button. And the vicious cycle starts again. I know that such deeply ingrained behavior will take time to undo, but because I’m aware of the problem, I just want the solution to happen NOW. That way, the interviews for new voice narrators may begin immediately. 2008_self05

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Another Creative Foray into Cooking

09 May

It’s Mother’s Day tomorrow. Not just any Mother’s day, but my mom’s 30th year of having 2 kids. She hasn’t mentioned anything about this herself, but it seems like a milestone worth celebrating to me, so I wanted to do something extra special for her. Most years, I have the best of intentions (what’s that old saying… “the road to hell is paved with good intentions?” Harsh, but probably true.) I wait for divine intervention in the form of an amazing gift idea – and then inevitably, the day before Mother’s Day, I’m scrambling around with the rest of the free North American World, buying jacked-up bouquets of flowers and random trinkets that no one ever remembers. But this year I’m trying out something a bit different.

I decided to make my mom a cake. I’m sure that you’ve stopped to question now whether I actually love my mother, or am attempting to poison her by giving her the always welcome gift of salmonella. I’m going to preservere, goddammit, if it’s the last thing I do. So I decided a couple of days ago I was going to check out Epicurious and see if I could find a recipe for lemon cake. I even was so prepared as to buy a bundt pan in preparation for the event (which I ended up not using, to the unfortunate fate of the aesthetics of the cake). At the last minute, all the recipes I found online involving bundt pans were total cop-outs made with pudding and cake mix. Screw that noise, yo – I’m making a cake from scratch. And not just a simple cake – oh noooo – likely one of the most complicated, 2 layer, lemon curd in the middle, frosted vanilla lemon buttercream icing on top cakes… Lemon Curd!

It sounds delicious, right? It looked delicious in the picture too. But what they don’t tell you on Epicurious is that you basically have to be Martha Stewart in order to pull off anything that even remotely resembles the picture. Thank god for graphic designers and food stylists, because otherwise the world would be a much uglier place.

Yes, my cake is ugly. And everything that could have gone wrong, did. I used every tool in my kitchen. I placed the oven racks too close and the bottom pan of cake rose so high that it stuck to the racks and when I tried to move it, it ripped off the top of the cake. Then the pilot light went out on my vintage oven. I didn’t notice until the kitchen smelled distinctly of burning lemon cake (this was the residue of the ripped-off-top part) and gas. This is ok, I tell myself – deep breaths. The lemon curd is cooking on low on the stovetop, and I must stir it constantly, while simultaneously trying to scrape the burning, smoking cake batter off the bottom of my oven. Poor Cake

At this point, the cake, while distinctly brown (blackish) around the edges is however totally runny on the inside. So I’m one handedly stirring and scraping and LAUGHING at the irony of the situation. I could be upset, but this is more of a regular occurrence than not for me, so I’m not particularly surprised. What’s the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. Check, check and check.

The lemon curd survived. The lemon vanilla buttercream icing is insanely good. The cake is the ugly stepchild that no one wants to acknowledge. After some fiddling with controls and relighting the stove, the cake has resumed baking (sort of), although needing to be in for 20 more minutes than the recipe calls for. Once finished, I take them out, let them cool, go to take them out of the pan, one pops out like a dream – the other falls clumsily out leaving half of itself sitting smugly in the pan. You little bastard. Martha Stewart would have banished me to the darkest depths of kitchen hell by now. WTF?

Sigh

I’ve decided I’m going to do a creative patch job with the icing. I did pay $50,000 for an art degree, after all. Icing can fix 98% of the world’s problems…  I can only hope that when the time comes to cut into the cake, it doesn’t disintegrate into a blobby gooey mess. I did get a chance to try some of the cake that adhered itself to the bottom of the pan, and it is *really* good. It just looks like it got run over by a tractor. Happy Mother’s Day Mom, at least it will be a memorable one.

Not half bad!

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Mmmmm Muffins!

08 May

I remember when I was a kid, I would go to my Aunt’s house, and she would make these *amazing* muffins, and we would drink sweet earl grey tea and eat warm muffins and play crib. It id definitely one of my fondest memories from back then. I don’t know what it was recently that made me remember the deliciousness of the

muffins out of the blue, but once I did, I had an insatiable craving that would not go away. I asked my mom what the recipe was, and then remembered that it was a GIANT 6-week muffin mix. Yes, a mix that

will last for 6 solid weeks in the fridge, and you can scoop it out and have fresh, hot, insanely delicious muffins at will.

Muffin Papers

Now, I live in a decent sized 1 bedroom apartment, but still – I totally underestimated the HUGENESS of this recipe. Oh, and the fact that I do not have one single bowl in my house that resembles something that could hold a vat of muffin batter. I of course didn’t remember this fact until I was elbow deep in the batter trenches. I think they should award me some insane cooking show that is not at all about being good at the sport, but rather how it is possible for one girl to screw up something so badly. It would likely be a cross between Jackass and America’s Funniest Home movies – only sadder. Needless to say various vessels not at all intended to hold muffin batter were utilized in the preparation. I’m creative like that.

I unfortunately was unable to document the disaster that was my kitchen during the process (I’m reckless with my camera, but not THAT reckless). But I’ll have you know the recipe turned out *so* well. The thought occurred to me at one point – “Oh shit, I hope I didn’t f*ck up this recipe (like I do to 98% of the other things I try to cook)… WTF would I do with like 2 gallons of nasty muffin mix”? Thankfully this topic never had to be addressed, as all is well in the world and the baking gods decided to take mercy on me. Here is the recipe for anyone who may want to attempt it in their own kitchens (I cannot be held responsible for any messes or injuries that may result from wildly swinging your arms around at how good these little guys are).

6 Week Bran Muffins (oven temp 400°F)

  • 2 cups boiling water
  • 2 cups 100% All Bran
  • 3 cups sugar
  • 1 cup shortening
  • 4 eggs
  • 1 quart buttermilk
  • 5 cups flour
  • 3 tbsp baking soda
  • 1 tbsp salt
  • 4 cups Bran Flakes
  • 2 cups raisins
  1. Pour boiling water over 100% Bran. Let stand while creaming sugar, shortening and eggs.
  2. Add buttermilk flour, soda and salt.
  3. Add Bran Flakes and fold in until moist.
  4. Add raisins and 100% Bran mixture.
  5. Bake in paper lined muffin tins at 400°F. for 15 to 20 minutes.
  6. Makes better and more muffins if let stand a couple of hours or overnight.
  7. Use batter as needed without mixing.
  8. Batter keeps 6 weeks in refrigerator.

I hope that you love them as much as I do! Excellent with lavender honey, and americanos :) Muffins!

By Chrissy Posted in Daily Life Tagged , , , , , , Comments (1)

One Response to “Mmmmm Muffins!”

  1. Anny Chih says:
    August 9, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    Awesome write-up Chrissy! Thanks for sharing your day. :)

  2. Tawcan says:
    August 9, 2011 at 7:30 pm

    Really enjoyed your writeup. :)

  3. Adam Heatlie says:
    August 10, 2011 at 12:32 pm

    What a fun adventure! Great pics as always!

Dreams in Springtime

07 May

I feel so fortunate to be living here in Vancouver, BC. This thought is particularly reinforced during Spring. Cherry blossom petals float around like pink snowflakes, magnolias look like something surreal out of Alice in Wonderland – and tulips, daffodils, dalias – every place you look. Because Vancouverites spend much of their time huddled soaked and freezing inside their homes (it rains what, 364 1/2 days of the year here?) when the sun does finally peek her head out, we are all throwing off our clothes and wandering about as though it was the middle of the summer. Goose bumps be damned, we will soak in every. single. second. of the beautiful weather. I imagine what it must be like for those across Canada who are still getting snow in May, and it makes this rain a little more tolerable.purpledaisy

I’ve been sewing Bittersweets like crazy – wasabi/ginger, stacks of pancakes and pin-back magnets and buttons are now added to the Etsy shop. Because of the media hype of the economy on verge of imminent collapse (PANIC PEOPLE, PANIC!) my shop has been almost totally dead recently. Literally crickets chirping and tumbleweeds a-plenty. I’m hoping that now the media has turned it’s sights upon the fact we will all likely die of the swine flu soon, people will begin spending money with reckless abandon. After all, if we only have 2 weeks to live, what better than to spend money on bitter felt foods?

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