yoga serene

Karen showcasing her yoga instructing skills at Westmount Park, Montreal.

More photos here.

parallel lives

One of my closest childhood friends is now a mama. She just had a baby girl. A baby. I haven't seen this friend in years, but a new baby (and her new state as a mom) seems to be a damn good reason to plan a visit.

I just find it weird and wonderful how two women who grew up together--she and I--can be at such different places in our lives right now. I vividly remember building cardboard maze haunted houses for the neighbourhood, reading Sweet Valley Twins books, and watching YTV's Are You Afraid of the Dark together. Then I moved away from our shared neighbourhood, and we both went through our respective adolescences (very different ones for that matter). Jump to now, maybe 8 years since I've seen her, when she has a baby. And a husband. And a house.

And this is so weird and fantastic. Time shapes things so quickly. I keep wondering how I went so quickly from 16 to 24. How things went from me doing her makeup for her first modelling headshots, and listening to stories of her life that was so different even then from my life, to me wondering how she was getting along, to me having my fingers crossed for her, to me hearing that she giving public speeches to at-risk youth and urging them not to take the same paths she did, to me hearing she was doing so much better than before, to now...when she has a baby.

And I (at least immediately) have reading to do, a disc of episodes of Ghost Whisperer to watch, and more photo shoots lined up. Oh, and a post-grad school future to plan.

Series of events like this certainly stand as gauges for the sneaking passage of time. But what a scary and nerve-wracking and yet fantastic time this is, for both of us.

swaparama

I am trying to find room in my very small closet for dozens of new items I recently accrued after hip-checking gaggles of Montreal fashion scavengers.

Allow me to explain: A local clothing shop, Marche MTL held a fundraising event called Swaparama which was described by the store owners as "a clothing swap in which the Montreal Fashionistas and Hipsters explore creative reuse through the recycling of used clothing."

Although I shudder at being grouped in with Hipsters, the event concept was really quite cool and eco-friendly. Essentially, if one made a clothing donation, the cost of the event was $5. This money entitled one to a 20 minute spree of filling bags with any clothing that seems appealing. Despite being mostly on the lookout for costumes for subjects of future photo and painting projects, I did manage to find some very wearable day-to-day stuff as well. The majority of the clothes were nice, good quality items.

It was a lot different that browsing endlessly through Christmas sweaters to find a decent cardigan at Value Village. In fact, I even found a raspberry hued American Apparel dress, a pair of perfectly fitting, stonewashed jeans, a chocolate brown satin blouse, and a cropped biker style jacket. This might have been the farthest I've stretched five bucks in a long time.

late summer sun

More photos here.

another goodbye

I walked away from the bus station, and left her in line for the airport bus. She's on her way to London now--the London, not the Ontario version where we first met and subsequently lived together for 4 years.

After sharing rooms and houses with a person for that long, having her stay in my apartment was just like moving back in together. We have become such efficient friends--talking, cooking, walking, shopping, drinking at blinding speeds--all habits we developed well between our class schedules and extra-curricular activities at Western. During her visit it really struck me how easy it is to feel at home with someone with whom you have made a home in the past.

Unfortunately, I have also become all too used to saying goodbye to her every holiday break, and a big scary goodbye as we moved out of our last house.

This isn't her first trip alone. In fact, since we graduated she has lived in 4 different countries, and backpacked through many more. My adventurer friend, and a lady after my own heart. She is going to start her masters at King's College. It may not be long before her and I are swapping complaints about endless hours of reading, and mocking our more pompous colleagues together, albeit over the internet.

Best of luck, Gill. I may not see you in person for a while, but we will do our best with what technology has to offer us.

sunset over griffintown

Last week I attended a thesis defense by a woman named Lisa Gasior, who has just completed some really interesting historical and sound studies work on Griffintown, a historic Montreal neighbourhood. From the mid nineteenth century until the 1970s, Griffintown was a predominantly Irish, working-class community in between downtown Montreal and the Lachine Canal. After the seventies, however, it was zoned industrial and people began to move away. Its impressive St. Ann's cathedral was torn down as it gradually lost its patrons. Now, in the cathedral's place lies St. Ann's park: a stone outline of the base of the former church, with public benches set up facing what used to be the altar.

It's very ghostly, walking through the remains of what was once a thriving community gathering place. Being from Canada, I haven't seen many stone ruins sinking into the ground. Most of our buildings are too new to have made it to that stage of decomposition. But, as I have said often since moving here, you never know what you will find if you take the time to explore this city's nooks.

Lisa's project is a listening guide to Griffintown. To take her audio journey, all one needs is 45 minutes, an mp3 player with decent headphones, and an interest in learning more about part of this amazing city. To learn more about her project, or to try the walk with her guide, check out Sounding Griffintown.

Georgia

This time around, Northeastern Georgia still smelled like pine needles and summer flowers. Record-breaking temperatures scorched the streets until they shimmered at a heady 110 degrees fahrenheit.

It's incredible how much faster family vacations go by once one is grown-up. Now that I'm older, I enjoy antiquing instead of dreading being dragged out by my parents. If nothing else, antiquing in rural Georgia makes for fantastic people watching. Nothing beats browsing through old hats, while listening to an old man with a deep drawl (and shoes kicked up on his desk) comment on what he is hearing on his illegal police dispatch radio. That's entertainment--for him and me.

My grandparents are Ontarians turned southern gentlefolk. Their lifestyle was nice to step into: slowness and luxury in contrast to mine of business and penny pinching. They certainly set an example of what a lifetime of hard work can earn a person.

The last time I went, I was just about to start first year at Western. It feels like half my life has passed since then. It's weird that I'm not sure when I will be back next, but I hope it isn't 5 years again. So much changes over 5 years, and it makes me feel old!

Speaking of old, a homecoming trip is in the works, so please email me if you're interested in coming too.

back to school

School is in, students such as myself are once again clogging up the streets, and creepy old men in cowboy hats have re-assumed their prime ogling positions at every streetside patio in the city. It's a tradition that I don't think will ever disappear, despite the ever-increasing age difference between university students and their voyeurs. I know I've dressed as a cougar for a theme party before, but lord help me if I ever end up biding the day away, craning my old neck to check out the fresh student meat, or peering "surreptitiously" through opaque sunglasses at young boys.

What I can't seem to stop staring at these days, however, are the mass amounts of terrible t-shirts on young guys who appear to be first-year McGill or Concordia students.

I really don't get how a sweaty frat boy imagines himself suave by wearing a shirt that reads:
.






Those who are a little more bold, and go for the assertive approach, tend to favour this beauty:







And, I can't forget this one, which I spotted yesterday afternoon outside a strip club:







Doesn't American Apparel make it easy enough for the fashion careless to dress themeselves? It's basically a paint-by-numbers for the wardrobe. Somehow, guys who favour t-shirts such as those above have completely ignored generic clothing that would let their personalities make first impressions, instead of forcing obnoxious shirts to do the honours. At least wearing plain tees would help these guys mask their intentions for a little bit when meeting new girls. Hasn't any girl told these guys that wearing dirtbag t-shirts just announces one's douchebagness right off the bat? Maybe I'm missing something here; maybe there is a hidden demographic of women who find it hard to resist a guy who essentially has "All women are bitches and hoes" splashed across his chest. Hmmmm.

Mind you, come to think of it, I believe these guys have unknowingly made first-year girls' lives a lot easier. When I think of my cousin starting her first year at university this fall, I take comfort in the trend of certain guys wearing "Swallow, or it's going in your eye" shirts. It will make it a lot easier for girls my cousin's age to spot the creeps right away.

Happy Birthday, Brian

The old bf turns 24 today.

A few days ago, I was telling Brian about how when I was 16, I had a huge collage on my bedroom walls featuring skethes, paintings, photographs and cut-and-paste pieces. I was very proud of this wall treatment, and really felt it reflected my different hobbies and passions.

During the same summer that I completed this collage, I dated a guy who would later break up with me for being "too artsy." Frustrated and hurt by his explanation, I promptly removed my treasured artwork. I packed all of my favourite work away under my bed. I tried to give my room a more pared-down and "normal" look to it, lest I lose any more boyfriends to excessive artsiness.

Years later, it seems ridiculous that I was so affected by this guy (whose room was way artsier--with spray painted walls--than mine, might I add). Looking back, it seems downright stupid to be affected by those who are so clearly not right for us. Now my room, and the apartment I share with Brian, is full of art--not just mine, but also his. I sometimes take for granted how great it feels to be myself around a partner, but right now I realize with gratitude Brian's tolerance for my messiness, my forgetfulness ... and my artsiness.

Any guy who is out buying his own birthday cake because his girlfriend spent all her money on wine and crab dip, is a guy worth keeping.