...such a pretty heart...

Well, my day's been fun - bomb threat at Bay and Bloor anyone? Oh yes, this Toronto has her share of crazies. Make's work interesting, on a sluggish Saturday afternoon.

I feel like I've discovered a new breed of man. The one who calls the next day. THE NEXT DAY! What was it Sepi once wrote about the ones right in front of you the whole time? Oh baby.

...hanaie...

Re: The title of this post - I don't actually know what Hanaie means in English, but it is the title of the CD resting beside my hand at the moment, and because this is one of the usual manners in which I find titles, I used it anyway. But it doesn't (or rather, might not) pertain to anything following.

Also, presents to whoever tells me what the word means.

Wasn't anyone watching left field?!

Oh, boy.

...i can give you life [i can take it away]...

Note to public transport users: If at all possible, when you are looking for someone of whom to ask directions, find someone who is not listening to music on their iPod (or other media system). Chances are they are listening to a favorite song, and your interruption will annoy them by stopping the flow.

This happened tonight during Positive Tension (Bloc Party) and I was rather put out.

Rachel says that's crazy talk. Rachel can kiss my ass.

...jumping jacks [ask why]...

Hiding in her room studying in her gray hoodie all the time, lights low, Martha missed out on something integral to every life - the ebaum's world videos, including my ever favourite End of the World, and the Numa Numa dance. Both were acquainted with her tonight.

Earlier tonight and at the premiere of the Enron documentary. It was incredible and fascinating - although stylistically as a film some things frustrated me, especially the music and cliched subheadings - to see how the company progressed, and the level of callous disregard for the lives of others that not only the executives but the traders had, as well as the extent of the fraud and the number of reputed organizations and companies and governments and banks involved. The questions it raises are enormous, and the entire story was shocking.

Bioethics notes were done tonight; anthropology's will be done tomorrow and then revision of both. Hurrah!

...the view is arama...

From Phil Booth: "Our society is fascinated by the material, but befuddled by the appeal of spirit. Whatever you may lack now, there is one thing you have in abundance — the ability to turn a dream into the strength of a mountain."

What the fuck? Clearly this abstract bullshit is not what I needed today. So unbearably disappointed - now what can I do? Without the HFTS wisdom of Phil Booth, my capabilities are as nothing.

In other news, I am throwing in a towel. The kind of towel that makes me sad in the doing, but it needs to be done. For my own sanity and for my own strength. So hurrah to that. Melancholy but a little bit more free, a little bit more stable in myself.

...the body leech...

I was berated today by someone I don't even know for the most understandable of reactions on my part. Observe the following story, then discuss.

The other day someone added me to their MSN list, by the nickname of "daddy long legs". I asked them where they knew me from because I didn't recognize the email and they said they didn't know. I asked how they got my email, where did they find it, did they have it on a little piece of paper somewhere? They just said they didn't know. Becoming cautious at this point, I ask this person some things about themselves, I get no direct answers. I do get a name, but I'm pretty sure it's not their real name.

Citing the increasing creepiness of this exchange I tell this individual that I am deleting them, and leave, doing so. Today I find them on my list again messaging me saying "hey it's unfair to delete someone just coz you think they are creepy". After some other pointless chatting wherein they tell me they work in the IT department of a bank, I say pointedly "who the fuck are you". To which they protest my language. When I ask why this person is even talking to me, and telling me these things, they have the balls to say "man you are creepy".

Christ.

Oh, and it appears (by which I mean, he/she said) they found me from this blog. So if you are happening to be reading this, crazy person, I am not being paranoid and mean, merely paranoid and cautious. Don't take it personally, but also don't talk to me again.

...the russians are coming!...

From Pitchfork, to my entertainment, re: the release of Colin Meloy's early work: "Neither a date nor a full tracklist is available. That said, here are the tracklists from the aforementioned LP and EP."

Thursday I will be seeing Leanne's house - one of her roommates moved out, and I'm thrilling inside because the house really is that beautiful. If there's anyway I can shuffle finances around to make this work, and find someone to take my room early (actually I think that last was just solved), then it will be perfect. It's a tough decision though: stay downtown but with considerable expense in a gorgeous house with a big room + more privacy or move home to Thornhill for free and a place of my own just me but with the caveat of being shut off from downtown until I get my car in 5 months (!).

Blah.

The tough questions are pressing.

Sitting in the lounge, three well dressed members of the (no word of a lie) Russian mafioso junior just entered. I think they are trying to drive me out because they have started talking reeaaaallly loudly with obnoxious vocal calisthenics and are playing eurodance from one of their blackberries. Little do they know that I have my headphones and my ibook, with the last Weakerthans album. And a heart of stone, will be unmoved.

...long-shot! jump-cut!...

In the face of the wind tunnels, my teal peasant skirt and I lost the battle. Never having learned from mistakes, I will just resign myself to the fact that most everybody who habitually walks in the following neighbourhoods is well acquainted with the sight of my bare legs: Bay/Bloor, Sheppard East, College West, and Baldwin.

To do:

- all anthropology readings, if possible
- revision of notes to incorporate notes
- notes on Bioethics, preparation for revision
- buy Get Fuzzy books
- shower, make pretty pretty

The reason I cried yesterday is because I'm afraid this will all just become nothing more than box office history.

...slung-lo...

The tile on the walls of the station had a chip in it shaped like a moth in flight - I wanted to be on its back, soaring.

This day has been nearly as bad as it gets. So much frustrations filling me to bursting, sitting on the train crying. Even the schizophrenic across the way was staring at me with bemusement. Entertaining the crazies - good for something at least.

I want this song-writing fool to be my body-musician.

I lack the escapist fantasies I'm dying for. I might find it at a drag show tonight, but if I can't get there I'll make myself a cocktail - the prescription kind to be sure, less calories that way but it'll do what it does - and read some Foer, laugh to happy instead.

...the evening was love long...

You are such a pussy.

How can you still be afraid of women?

Cut.

...foolproof foolish...

Bahahahahah.

Oh boy - beaten by the monster, the consumer whore in me outwitted, outdone. Unknowing victim of vanity sizing - I knew it didn't make any sense.

There's a Laiah in Toronto today all the way from Californ-I-Ay. I will seek and find and play. Tonight is work then maybe-baby finger crossing about a boy.

I meant what I said: I need a muse. Or, you know, a personality. Stat.

...the evening was love...

This might be goodbye.

To the blog I mean. Maybe.

Maybe?

...the limp...

i) I <3 Melinda and Melinda. It was so wonderful, I really enjoyed it. Except Jonny Lee Miller, who failed to impress me. Strangely, the boy disliked Will Farrell's performance, and I totally dug that.

ii) Friday night at the G, whee! Not thinking about the fact that I have two exams in the next two weeks, and haven't started studying for either. Too many distractions right now, what to do?

iii) Let's discuss size zero at the Gap - hurrah! Ladies and Gentlemen, my work here is done.

...almost completely...

Six weeks!

I heard his voice from behind me, and the air was so charged. The world froze, went into slow motion when he walked into that room, and still I didn't turn around until I felt his hands on my shoulders pulling me slightly backwards. As I lean so briefly against his chest, he says the first words of the day "Hey, how're you doing?"

Oh I must be fine, because my heart's still beating

I feel vulnerable, exposed now to the outside. Bare and self-conscious and tiny. Burrowing down small in an arm chair at Second Cup, sipping my coffee as I stare outside at the rain pouring in sheets and the walkers caught in the storm. Noticing how sometimes they hop as if trying to dodge the raindrops (do they know this doesn't work?). This is so very odd. I feel so very very odd.

Small as I am feeling, there's a compulsive desire in me to stand on a table, right here in the coffee shop and shout out to everyone here. No words needed, no fancy speeches. Just a giant whoop of joy and the smile that comes unbidden and unforced. Trying to convey with my ineffectual words the exact sensation of his fingers trailing down the side of my neck.

These small moments are everything.

...head shake in the doorway...

Who is this Monique Lassan, and why is she calling herself the female 007? Private investigators following cheating husbands for a living cannot really claim to have anything significant in common with James Bond. I mean, come on.

I don't know why that article in the Persian Mirror annoyed me so much. Maybe because the whole magazine annoys me - I find it to be such a joke. So, so poorly written oh brother.

...halls--ls...

People. Stop calling me in the middle of the N-I-G-H-T. That time is sacred. It is for S-L-E-E-P-I-N-G. It is not for any other reason that you could possibly devise. After last night's 2am call, I couldn't fall back asleep. Here, then, is an account and commentary on the duration of the night and it's other highlights.

i) What is the deal with all the horrible music on Much and MuchMoreMusic respectively? I cite Jakalope, Sugacane, Natalie, Fefe Dobson, Shawn Desman, Lisa Marie, the new Rob Thomas, the new Avril Lavigne... all this horribly written crap.

Now, I like Avril Lavigne, I really do. She's cute as a button, and somehow endearing even if she can't be taken seriously. But this song is too much, even for me. So badly written - every line rhymes, such simplistic structures. No poetry, no meaning. Nails, fails, bail, stale -

ii) Antony Dodd's condo in New York is completely gorgeous. I went through my mother's design magazines and one had a spread on his new apartment, and he had done it up so gorgeously. I want, I want.

iii)Watching a rerun of Popcultured, circa 3am and Jian is on talking to Elvira Kurt about how uber-cool George Stromb-etc. is and he wishes he was. And I'm thinking hey, with all respect to George, he isn't the one I want to make a million babies with. So no self-bashing okay? Okay.

...till it became ours...

Running into my aunt coming out of the subway, she tells me I'm getting too small, I'm starting to look like the 15 year olds. Which is disconcerting to say the least, because the idea is for me to like 5 years *older* than I am, not younger.

(I didn't study at all today, not one word).

...laugh, here I come...

Replete in ironies that succeed in amusing me, yes, but in that joyful way wherein I could enthusiastically slaughter things.

i) The house became disgusting to the extent it did because the swiffer mop was stuck through a hole in the cieling, instead of being used. (That's the simplistic answer: the more truthful has links to laziness and sheer self-absorption, insensitivity to others' spaces).

ii) We never had a problem finding the remote control when the house was a mess, but now that I went apeshit and cleaned everything, it is nowhere in sight.

Life is unfair children.

With careful foresight, I refrained from blogging last night worried that I would spew venom instead of words. Never angrier in my life, never so offended, I ranted to a California-child in Oklahoma, then to a suburban Jew with pretty hair. Hung out on the porch - smoked, cried and ate M&M's. The passing police officer from parking enforcement who patrols the street at night stopped to see if I was alright: hurrah for comfort as well as security. I wanted to give her a hug. Barring that, donuts for life. Or something.

This random man offered me a hit of hash, which I turned down. Then he offered me a piece of gum, which I accepted. My neighbourhood is nothing if not interesting.

I almost want to tell you what I did yesterday before The Flip Out, but I am not going into - I don't want it to make light of a day that was made horrible. Thank you for that, by the way. For your help, for your insensitivity to my personal space, for being a great friend.

Err...

Today is running to be studious, lazing in the sun. Finishing these reviews, if I can get with it.

...the last! the happy!...

Every chocolatey-goodness best friend bone in me wants to be supremely happy for Rachel, and I am. But I am simultaneously and in equal measure sad for me, and for parallel situations that loved her better than me.

Which doesn't surprise me. During all her bouts of insecurity, it was almost hard to be as sympathetic as I could be because I *knew* she was a golden goddess, and that obviously this would be realized, and clearly she had nothing to worry about. And I was right, she didn't.

On that note, I leave you. In the hopes that buying cowboy boots, and body butter from Body Shop, and French movies with les filles + Aimable will make me a happier camper on a gorgeous afternoon.

...bagatelle [you do so well]...

The biggest sign that I am so not a grown up yet: the highlight of my day was the apple-green lollipop that came after my dimner at Casey's with Iman and Natalee.

...any more...

i) At the risk of sounding like a really big brat... will someone come to Hot Hot Heat with me? Please? Pleeeezzeeee?! It's next Saturday and I will love you forever.

ii) There was a big spider in my room and Alex failed to kill it. Useless. Great, now it's going to run around all night crawling on me, and creeping me out.

iii) Before I went into my room tonight I saw the flash of a spider in my mind and the word "spider". Walked in, turned the light on, saw it on the wall. Earlier this morning getting on the subway, I saw the word "Kate" on a billboard and my mind embossed it and made it stand out. Two hours later around noon, I got a call from Kate, saying would I like to have lunch? Kate, who I haven't seen in almost a year, and haven't spoken to since February.

Aren't you creeped out? Isn't that creepy?! Aren't you just going "ooooooo"? My powers are vast.

Seriously though, that's madness. Can there be anything to this, or am I mad?

iv) Lizzy's going to the show on Sunday to witness my reasons for hot boy high; she came to visit me in the store today and made me so happy. I love visitors. They put me in the best mood, because my friends are the shiznits.

..he is set to self-destruct...

Listening to the Slits circa 1979, but in the new reissue, yay B-sides. Too much fun.

When my dad told me that Wolfgang Droege's shooting apparently was not political in nature and was the result of a romantic entanglement (he was dating the shooter's ex), I was disappointed. "You mean he wasn't assassinated, just murdered. Oh... I guess it doesn't really matter then". As if his death was only important when we thought he was killed for who he was.

I felt a little bit bad, because he was still a person after all and is no less dead, even if he was a horribly misguided person (I have my reservations calling him a "horrible" person, even despite everything he has done).

In something totally unrelated, I ran into Kamran in Queen's Park station tonight and it was disorienting because the last time I new anything of him, he was in Dubai. And now suddenly he's living a block away from me, and I'm distracted even at the thought. Brief chatting, kiss on the cheek. Couldn't have been more than 2 minutes, but it sent shockwaves through my entire evening and later, as I picked up my jaw from the floor and still drooling walked away, I thought "huh".

...like a starfish...

It makes me sad that the "random acts of kindness" feature in The Star is on hiatus. When feeling down that's a lovely way to feel better.

Although it sometimes both dismays and disappoints me to see that what some people consider "random acts of kindness" are really no more than random acts of courtesy. It's sad that this becomes a rare and random occasion in this day and age.

Speaking of things that are on hiatus though, my kidneys again (possibly - we are still awaiting the official results). But damned if it doesn't hurt about the same. And the keeling over clutching my side is durned familiar too. So, no dairy, no iron, no caffeine and no excessive exposure to sunlight. Again.

...the reckoning [something glorious is about to happen]!...

Can somebody else please go and read "Intimate Adventures of a London Call Girl" by Belle du Jour (remember her?) and tell me what you think. Specifically, tell me if I am wrong or not that the book sounds subtly mannish - sounding like a man's fantasy of a porn/violence/sadomasochistic/sex-loving woman. In some places the writing even sounds like it could have been written by a man. No lo se, but it's certainly interesting. Sometimes a little contrived, I have trouble buying into her now for some reason. As if there is no Belle, but a shadowy character behind the story writing what (s)he thinks we want to read.

I have been so patient and grown-up and non-whiney the past few weeks, it's amazing. Only a few more days... check me out, so mature and calm. Well. Outwardly calm, at any rate.

...moon shoes...

It is so *good* to have surprise visits, and see people you are thinking about when you had no anticipation that you would see them, and then suddenly there they are.

And they are there looking for you, all cute and blushy and shit. Oh boy.

...numa numa...

For your distraction and amusement: Numa Numa

...never misbehave...

Re: "You looked great by the way" - No, no I didn't. I mean, yes I did, I can't deny. But oh baby - you looked so much better. Like mmm mmm good in a Campbell's soup kinda way, and even hot like that.

So hurrah!

Verbal elation! Stimu- oh. Oh right, there it comes. The panic driven anxiety of the sosososlowly requited: romantic indigestion.

Wisdom notes: Glaring at the telephone will not, in fact, make it ring faster.

...pretend like it's the weekend now...

My new lovers: Wireless Bandit and cohorts

...playing house...

There's something about walking at night which I love. I think the days move too quickly in Toronto. I have trouble walking to work in the day time because everyone goes so quickly and I find it hard keeping up, following their actions with my thoughts. But at night, everything is slower. There are less people, and the people who are around have mellowed with the passing of the hours and they drift past me.

Or maybe I have mellowed and, drifting, let them pass me by.

I've been getting creative. I've been brave, I've put it out there. One more, just let me do this one more time. Oh please -

As I write this I'm having an online conversation (or lack thereof) with a girl I went to high school with. Only we aren't saying anything because somewhere along the way we used up all the words that we would ever say to each other. I'm making an effort to engage her, but to everything I say she only comes up with "lol awww" or "haha... awesome" and I'm wondering when we stopped knowing each other, and even more, when we stopped caring.

I'm wondering when we stopped existing.

...the anti-climax...

This won't mean anything to you unless you are a girl or a guy who knows about female psychology (and specifically, the treatment of boy-induced depression in girls) but the end of my night consisted of half a pint of Reese peanut butter ice cream, stuffed chocolate chip cookies, 3 cigarettes and two white russians.

So much build up, and nervousness, and panic for 32 seconds of stage time on your life - I definately picked the wrong night to go. There was family there, and I did not belong. And so, left.

Oh baby but he was so good, so so so good. I think my friend Dani is a little in love with him herself, but I forbid it because if both of us lose it, no one will be able to keep the other grounded. So until I happen to get over it, she is not allowed.

...i am delusion angel...

If the morning was any indication, the day will not be good. At the very least, it will be manic. Supposed to wake up early to meet Sara at Cinefranco around 9:30, I woke up at quarter to eleven having taken too many migraine pills last night. Thoroughly out of it, I slept through both alarms, had no recollection of ever hearing them. They were still on when I woke, and hadn't been switched off which makes me think they both rang through their 5 minute cycles and I had no awareness to that effect.

I performed such skilled body contortioning maneovres in the shower today, they should give me a medal. Or let me join the circus. Shaving and washing in a shower stall all without getting my hair wet - hurrah!

This afternoon is a mini skirt. Also flip-flops. Tonight will be heeled boots and new jewelery. With sexy hair.

...anything to please...

Can somebody please tell me why Feist seems to have something against performing in Toronto? Opening for British Sea Power for most of their spring tour, the only city for which she is not joining them is Toronto. I do NOT understand, and I am not resigned.

Slept through Kathleen Edwards, and then I was sad. Not fast enough to jump on Constantines tickets and was even more sad.

Further, if I do not get some action tomorrow night I will kill myself. There is a chance the boy will emerge after the show, and I will not be able to contain myself and might jump him. I look therefore to Miss Lizzy and the Janet to hold me back if need be. Please let me be cool and savvy - and not, you know, lame. Or young. Definately don't want to be young either.

Shunning the dramaturges, have been reading reviews. Erratic erratic, some are lovely. Others not so much. All of them commend his performance though, whatever the rest. So. Yay. YAY!

...notary public...

French exam was a complete disaster.

Somebody cheer me up. Quickly please.

...[but you are not with me]...

Determination to be unlazy means I have to buy advanced tickets to Rachael Yamagata avec Ryan Adams. Done and done.

My epiphany today is that I hate the boy. By which I mean, I love him. But will no longer speak of, or dramatize, or hyperventilate or obsess. Cross my heart. Because if he's not smart enough to like me, then I don't want him anyway. To the point that I don't even want to go see him, but I will because this is all a lie.

Aggravations:

i) A reviewer of the Junos raved about Feist and how much he loves her, and knew right from Monarch that she was stellar, and that her performance of "Mushroom" was incredible.

Significant because the song is called M-U-S-H-A-B-O-O-M and clearly he is just a poseymcposer.

ii) Unfriendly friends.

iii) An incredibly adorable sweet guy was in Blockbuster yesterday when I rented this week's distractions and directed me to foreign and we chatted briefly, and changed cute smiles. And then kept looking back at each other and pretending not to. And then my aunt and uncle came into the store and I was distracted then left and now I don't even know his name. Travesty, oh melodrama!

iv) For the record: I am not a ditz, or a princess, or a shallow whatever. I don't put on roles, consciously or otherwise. When I type hyper, I sound ditzy. When I talk stoned, I am poetic and occasionally brilliant (my only successes as a writer have been the result of narcotics). Other times I am sad and pathetic and it is blatantly obvious to everyone to what extent I use music and drugs and distraction and work and perpetual motion as a crutch to actually get from point A to point B. So maybe you think you know me, maybe you are aware you don't know me at all. But don't let this be the snapshot on which you make your analysis, because someone turned the light on before you clicked and I'm washed out washed out, so how could you make anything out anyway?

It'd be a shame to make believe, better to leave...

Wisdom, from a pink lady, verbatim: "Law of universe = Too good to be true".

...kids.lifestyle.magazine...

The official brand of the hipster scene is now Abercrombie and Fitch? Is that making a kind of sense that escapes me?

Now that they are telling us the way to run our lifestyles (see website for more), we can all rest easy. Because we'll be cool now, see? They even have pretty little music tabs with free downloads of the hippest songs. So we can even listen to the cool music!

My heart died a little inside when I saw both the Bloc Party and the Decemberists on their list. Oh good, so now every little music tourist can claim a place on that band wagon. Because the crowd at Saturday's show (says Lizzy) wasn't enough evidence of a faux-fan hostile takeover.

P.S. I secretly detest the term "hipster" because I don't understand it. Sometimes it's cool to be one, sometimes it isn't. Personally, when I hear hipster I think of the two self-professed in my acquaintance: a particular little blond girl and her accompanying chubster-come-journalist(?) whining perpetually drunken friend. Hence, the term obviously carries negative connotation for me.

Therefore, I will hereafter refuse to use hipster at all, and only speak of people who like music, and people who claim to because they heard that's what everyone is doing.

P.P.S. The server at the diner didn't deserve the tip I left her. But I am nice that way, every waitresses dream.

P.P.P.S. Eight sneezes on the way to Victoria College was the now-undeniable in your face announcement of spring approaching, loud with bells on. Hurrah for allergies!

...ne me quitte pas...

The blue house did commemorative crafts in honour of the pope. Drawings, statuettes, pink post-its throughout - and the following, written underneath one of the artistic endeavors: "Later that day, Timmy succumbed to his cancer. He did not go to heaven."

As suddenly as we were hit with a snow storm this weekend, today shines warm and bright. Excessive narcotics is the only thing to explain it.

So the world is changing leaves. Maybe it's time I did the same. It isn't arrogance or elitism speaking, but some people don't deserve to be friends with me. Tired of hurting for you, no more benefits of doubt. I'm just really tired of people not coming through, not living up, disappointing me.

...skip town. slow down...

The frustrating thing about email is when the people you want to email you don't. Same goes for phones, even with new voice mails. I got that voice mail for you goddammit. Where is the love, I ask you.

I'm starting to have hot boy anxiety. By starting I mean, for the past weeks continuously and getting worse. 6 days - be worth it. I don't want to be an afterthought. I want to see surprise maybe, but only the happy kind. Be glad to see me, that's an order.

Last night I wanted to be a rock star.

...nothing could beat complete...

How beautiful was Erin's wedding shower tonight, oh lord. I cried buckets. She is so glowingly happy and set for her life, that is what I want. I want glowingly happy.

I can't even articulate anything else tonight.

[Except that I looked ridiculously good, bohemian chick yay me].

Also, damn. Panorama is a pricey little venue, ooo-weee.

...marking...

i) I don't understand the one-piece denim jumpsuits with huge gold jewelery that those two *children* were wearing on the subway tonight.

ii) Reading the Acta front to back reminded me why I am not generally a fan of student publications. I want to write to that one girl, tell her what "ironic" actually means. I want to write to most of the rest, telling them complicated words don't make a good story.

I was impressed with two things off the bat: Lizzy's Migration, and Janice Chan's poems (except the ending of the second). There were other elements too which I really enjoyed.

At the credits I just laughed. Sometimes, for example reading about Lizzy's joke collection, because it was funny. Othertimes, like the girl searching for Margaret Atwood, because it was sad.

iii) I don't think it's hysterically funny that I believe in signs. I say this in response to Farnam earlier today, but really it's directed at everyone. Because there *can* be signs, and because today there were more - coincidences I like to call the hockey player incident and the Douglas Coupland factor.

iv) Earlier today was 15 and gorgeous, t-shirt weather in the Burwash quad where I spent the afternoon. Tonight there is a snow warning. The weather in this city is on crack.