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.

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!

…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.

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…

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.

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!

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.