I'd really like to be a creative person. Not creative imaginative, but creative artistic. However, I hold on to this inane notion that those who create must either be talented, or believe that they are talented. I currently fall into neither of the aforementioned categories. Sure, I dabble in clay and yarn and marginalia doodling and occasionally pull out a solid jazz hand.
But I don't write. I don't dance. I don't paint. I don't sing, or act (anymore), or direct. I've tried, and fortunately I believe that not succeeding in artistic ambitions does not equal failing, but it gets frustrating. I keep trying to start writing...but then I lose faith in myself and what I'm producing and the questionable originality of it all.
After all, who wants to read an offensively navel-gazing tome about an angsty 20something working for pennies and screwing up in love and life?
As some Albertans may know (ew. I think that was the first time I referred to myself as an "Albertan"), the provincial leadership vote fast approaches. To vote for the head of the Conservative party, who will without a shade of doubt become the next Premier of the province, one has to be a member of the conservative party.
This means shelling out $5 for a membership, and selling out completely if you disagree with the PC's. I'm really conflicted- one of the dudes in the running promises to increase support to the Arts- the industry in which I am employed, and where my passions really lie- and every vote would make a difference.
But to vote, one has to buy a membership. Thusly going against all I stand for. For the love of lawnchairs, I once ended a relationship because the other party was a to-the-core, absolute Conservative.
What to do? Sell out and make my priorities heard- or don't, and stick with what I believe in?
I spend my days talking about things that other people do well. It's pretty easy for all of us to identify the things our friends, family members, and co-workers do well: One of my friends is a fantastic dancer, my aunt makes great cheesecake, my Dad a guitar wizard, my coworker has the keenest eye for detail I've ever seen. What's more difficult? Identifying what we, ourselves, do well.
Therefore, I challenge all you regular bloggers- even those of you who seem to have lost the blog-spirit (Laurel, Carmens, Erin, Kirsten...hint!) to list at least one thing you think you are particularly good at.
Okay. For the OFFICIAL Record. I hate the Tragically Hip. Breanne and I were discussing just today the secret shame of disliking Canadian rockers such as the Hip and Nickleback. Heaven forbid one voice their preference to not listen to the ear-numbing angry hick-rock and naggingly waxing-poetic blathering of these Canuck musicians!
But I hate the Hip.
I have to say, however, that their newest single, "In View", is pretty catchy. And get-stuck-in-my-headable. Therefore, I downloaded it. And, that song about David Milgaard, too. Because c'mon, it's got loons in it. And I do love me some loons.
The actual purpose of this post was to brag about my mad html-teaching skills. I taught Snowflake and Senor Ping over there to the Right Hand sidebar to add a new link to their blog template last night- over the phone. Props to them for blogging, and props to us for figuring it out.
This does not mean, Bre, that I will do the coding for the website. Just wanted to make that clear.
So tonight I'm attending a special advance screening of the movie Dreamgirls, a month before it is released. Reviews are embargoed until late December, so I don't know if I'll be able to legally comment here, but I'm sort of excited- Beyonce, enough sequins to smother a drag queen, Motown, Jamie Foxx? What more could a girl want?
Popcorn. Or a grilled cheese sandy. I'll never forget the epic grilled ham and cheese sandwich I ate in late August at the all-night Husky House following the Catties. I could go for one of those sandies right now.
Ever feel like your life is playing out in loop? That you keep making the same choices, saying the same things, meeting the same people? Like perpetual déja vu?
I cannot, for the life of me, figure out why I keep making variations of the same damn mistakes. Why am I not learning from my experiences? How many times do I have to tell myself so? When is it going to sink in?!
It doesn't really matter what it is, use your own imagination and experience and make it your own, but just let me make the following statement:
Last night, I strolled home in the balmy chinook weather, with no agenda and no plans other than an intimate evening at home with the four food groups. I lit a few candles, put on the HiFi, slipped into something more comfortable (yes, fuzzy slippers are pretty damn comfortable). I started making dinner, when I realized that the chicken I was using was freezer burnt beyond all repair.
So were the 3 beautiful steaks I had. And the ground beef. And the edamame.
Damn you, modern technology! Grandma's icebox never would have betrayed me in such a horrible way!
My evening at home with a satisfying meal obviously ruined, I turned to the solace of McDreamy Patrick Dempsey, on a 13 inch screen. Plain pasta and steamed veggies do nothing to fill the void.
You could be driving in your car, down crowchild trail. You could be standing in line at the grocery store. Or on hold with the cable company. Maybe even commuting to work on the train.
It sneaks in, creeping through the dark corners of your mind. Slowly, maybe, with a subtle hint of the horror to come. The next thing you know, you're hurling cans of chunky chicken noodle soup across the produce section; swerving through traffic, frantically pushing buttons! You slam the phone down, cursing, holding the sides of your head, muttering to yourself words that shouldn't be heard in polite company! You want to turn around, screaming, as people on the bus try not to make eye contact while they stare and whisper to their coworkers.
Hungry Like A Wolf. It never goes away. Never. Lurking around every corner is horrific memories of the atrocity that was That Theatrical Experience, The Duran Duran Rock Opera.
Whoa. WHOA. I just found out that they are making a sequel to the classic film, War Games. Called War Games 2.
I am so psyched, despite a complete lack of originality in movie titles. This ranks up there with the Jon and Amanda produced 4th project in the Fast and Furious franchise, "Slow and Sort of Angry: Calgary Drift". So very excited.
One mug that says, "I TOLD YOU SO", to remind me that the advice of others is often, in fact, the voice of reason and logic and that I should listen not to the neurotic voice chirping in the back of my brain but to the sensical, sage words coming from the loved and trusted.
One mug that says, "Hey, Pottery Instructor, How's About You And Me?"
Something nice that might actually be of giftable quality. That's right, my pottery skills have advanced, almost to the mad pottin' skillz of Lady Rose. But not quite.
well, I'm out of blog materials, and I've still got 4 minutes on this ridiculous face mask to waste. Damn, how we suffer for beauty.
Okay, so this morning, I finally took Breanne's advice and ordered a Vanilla Earl Grey Tea Misto at our friendly local in the Mariott Starbucks. Shock! It was fantastic.
First, anything that's less than $3 for the venti size at ye ol' starbukus is a good thing in my books. I was starting to get particularly irked at my $6 coffees...and trying to quit proved near impossible. Mind over matter, you say? Pregnant women do it all the time, you say? Plain coffee is the same thing, make it at home, you say?
I'm still getting over the hilarious genius of the Pajama Men In Fine Form playing in the Big Secret Theatre. Seriously. I beseech you. GO TO THIS PLAY. You have 5 days left to catch the fricking hilarity that will become secret inside jokes amongst those in the know forever.
Other theatrical ambitiousness I'm looking forward to this season:
Jihad Me at Hello, a fringe hit I missed because I was bitter and anti-fringey. Thank god for second chances...
Dough, The Politics of Martha Stewart Long-time blog readers will remember me gushing and then having a mini-quarter-life-crisis after seeing this show. I'm definitely up for round deux, to see if the show has grown or changed, and of course, to remind me why I burst out laughing every time I hear that Josh Grobin song.
Shear Madness at Vertigo.
The Rabbits' High Performance Rodeo, particularily that piece about Hockey Erotica, the name escapes me...Five Hole, maybe? I could check my arts guide, but I'm a lazy blogger.
I am also really looking forward to Christmas, this year spent in Calgary with the Baileys. I'm excited about my convocation, because I get to wear a ridiculous hat that looks equally ridiculous on everyone, not just me, because we all know I look absurd in hats... and, I'm pretty pumped to rub it in to Jon that the RIDERS WON ON SUNDAY.
And one more thing that keeps me from jumping off a cliff: Doogathon 2: Revenge of the Doog Season 2, which I think needs to occur soon, in honour of Neil Patrick Harris' coming out and all.
Last year, I made this iTunes playlist of sad, mopey, wintery songs. You know, the pre-christmas, i hate bing crosby and i wish he would go holly jolly straight to hell music. Lots of Ben Folds, Counting Crows, no Celine Dion in sight. I titled it A Song For November and it got a lot of play. Well, it's November again, and the playlist has returned for round deux. I'd like to update it, thought, so if you blogreaders have any suggestions, I'd muchly appreciate it.
This is the downside of this blog being so linked to my real-life person. It was definitely my decision to have my full name and the details of my life visible, and I think it's pretty cool that if someone wants to google me, they can find these ranting rambles. I like being found. I try my best not to write things that will come back and bite me in the ass, I don't vent about people using their names, and I have yet to rant on and on about the minutiae that slowly drives me REALLY crazy- because I love my job and my friends and my apartment and reputation (well, what remains of it) and don't want to lose those things.
But the problem becomes quite apparent when I want to ramble on and on about the angst that drives my life. When I really want to cut into someone, but know I can't, because if that someone ever decides to play the procrastinator's favourite game of "I'm gonna google everyone I know! Including me!"...voila. Angsty tirade revealed. I can't go into intimate details about my 'ghost moment' last night, or the anger that is waiting for my phone to ring, or the fact that I can no longer listen to that song Comfortable because I have realized that I am playing the part of the less desirable ladyfriend, and have played it, many a time.
Oh wait. I just did rant angst about those things. Oh, well. Wounds heal faster if you don't cover them up and hide in starbucks all weekend, wishing you were dead. Right?
Guys. This is serious. If you're blogging in real-time, and have cable, quickly. QUICKLY! Turn to Much More Music in Canada.
Here's a quick rundown of the musical visual treat I'm experiencing...
Fame Eps: 048 - Fame Looks At Music '83 This musical retrospective features the cast of Fame together with special guest star Irene Cara and the "Fame" Dancers performing before capacity audiences in their first U.S. concert, for a special edition of MGM-TV's "Fame." Ms. Cara, who starred in and sang the Academy Award-winning title song from the movie, "Fame," is featured. Also included in the 1983 musical retrospective is a medley of best- loved motion picture songs as well as a special tribute to Michael Jackson. The concert was taped December 27, 1983 before a live audience at the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium in Santa Monica, California.
Can everyone say Pat Benetar Glam-Rock Disco Karaoke?!
If it's not appropriate to test out all the ringtones your cell phone posesses on the bus or train (heads up, pretweens, it's NOT), it is SO not kosher to do it in the office. On that note, it's also SO WAY NOT COOL to have top 40 hits as your ringtone.
I'm going to go all Schlenker, of Econ 203, and dig that damn phone out of your bag that you were forced to leave at the front of Science Theatre 148 with all the other bags so you couldn't cheat during the midterm and answer it and tell your bff to f right off.