I Will Follow

Setlists from the first two U2 concerts in San Diego (what a city!) are starting to pop up on the internet and although neither of them are particularily surprising, all sources indicate that when they finally make they way to Toronto this September, we're going to be seeing one hell of a show. The setlists didn't change very much between the two San Diego shows - I would imagine that fans who bought tickets for both nights didn't get the variation they were hoping for (but honestly, it's not like we're talking about Pearl Jam here). Here's the setlist for the second show (last week):

City Of Blinding Lights
Vertigo / Stories For Boys (Snippet)
The Cry / The Electric Co. / Send In The Clowns (Snippet) / I Can See For Miles (Snippet)
Gloria
Beautiful Day
With Or Without You
New Year's Day
Miracle Drug
Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own / No Regrets (Snippet)
Love And Peace Or Else
Sunday Bloody Sunday
Bullet The Blue Sky / The Hands That Built America (Snippet) / When Johnny Comes Marching Home (Snippet)
Running To Stand Still

Human Rights Video:
Zoo Station
The Fly
Elevation

Encores:
Pride (In The Name Of Love)
Where The Streets Have No Name
One
All Because Of You
Yahweh
'40'

A couple of things I've got an opinion on:

1. "City of Blinding Lights" is NOT a fantastic opening song. If you want to open from the new album, at least give the audience what they paid 190.00 US to see: Vertigo. I'm not saying that it's the best U2 song (by far), but as an opener it can hold its own. I personally would die happy if I heard the 90 second build to the first line of "Where the Streets Have No Name", maybe in the dark, charging the entire stadium with crazy energy... but I don't ask for much. They haven't opened with that song, since, like the 1980's.

2. I'm REALLY excited to hear the band play around with some covers. For me, the best parts of going to a concert are a)the covers (some of which have blown my mind) and b)hearing the band play around/experiment with their songs. Knowing that U2 may-or-may-not be playing around with the Gershwin classic "Send in the Clowns" (also my favorite musical theatre song, like, ever) is actually THRILLING. Add to it "I Can See for Miles" (an homage to Steve's favorite band, the Who), and I've got something to look forward to. As a side note, in Montreal in 1985, they played "Amazing Grace", 'Ruby Tuesday" and "Sympathy for the Devil". This band covers and they cover really freaking well. In fact, they once ended a show - like, ENDED ended, with "I Can't Help Falling in Love With You". *sigh*

3. My favorite song of the new album (I'm obsessed with it) is "Original of the Species". I am pretty bummed that they probably won't be pulling it out for the tour. 'Cause let's be honest - it's a LOT better than "Miracle Drug". In addition, it looks like I am AGAIN going to be denied hearing my favorite U2 song ever in concert - that is, "The Ground Beneath Her Feet". It was played in Calgary on April 10th, 2001. I went to see them with Adam on April 9th, 2001. Go figure.

4. The wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am finale of Pride, Where the Streets Have No Name, One, All Because of You, Yahweh (??) and '40' is ALMOST legendary. Almost. Throw "Hold Me Thrill Me Kiss Me Kill Me" in there, and finish with Beautiful Day, (which can be replaced with "One Tree Hill" earlier in the set, or "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For", which was mysteriously not included), and replace "All Because of You" with "All I WANT is You" and I'd be happy. Again, I don't ask for much.

5. When U2 came to Toronto in 1984 and played Massey Hall, they closed the show with '40'. They did it in 1987 on the Joshua Tree tour as well. This song goes a LONG way back in terms of U2 encore history. They played '40' in '01, but placed it second-to-last, as you can see below.

When I saw the show in Calgary on April 9th, 2001, they played the following setlist:

Elevation
Beautiful Day
Until The End Of The World
New Year's Day
Stuck In A Moment You Can't Get Out Of
Gone
Discothèque / Staring At The Sun (Snippet)
New York
I Will Follow
Sunday Bloody Sunday
Sweetest Thing
In A Little While
Desire
Bad
Where The Streets Have No Name
Mysterious Ways
The Fly

Zugabe(n):
Bullet The Blue Sky
With Or Without You
One / '40' / The Ocean (Snippet)
Walk On

I just wanted to point out that "Desire" was a HELL of a song to see live - not great on the CD, but fantastic in concert. In addition, finishing with the song "Walk On" was a hell of a decision. We left the Saddledome literally FLOATING. It's weird, I think now, that I saw that show pre-9/11 (and that Walk On and Stuck in a Moment became unofficial anthyms for the american spirit). So much has changed in the world, hey?

I guess, regardless of my hangups, I'm obviously pumped. I have an essay to get back to (like, I'm REALLY procrastinating here), but I'm sure you'll here more on U2 in the months to come!

every day I'm learning

I have had a recurring dream over the past few nights about getting my grad school letter. In the dream, the letter from the university of Toronto is sitting on my kitchen table (where my housemates keep the mail). I run over, excitedly open it up and start to scan the paper, but the entire thing is written in gibberish, or else is completly blank. It's such a frustrating feeling. Am I dwelling on it? Perhaps. But I feel as though I don't have any waiting left in me. There is so much resting on that one stupid piece of mail. And so, at 11:30 tomorrow morning, I try my luck again.

I just got back from an 8-hour rehearsal with my drama 100 class. I'm exhausted but exhilerated -- after running the show countless times, we did a final stumble through and everything felt as though it finally fell into place. That's what I'm addicted to about being in this business -- the incredible high that comes from 16 people synthesizing something completly new, creating energy together. That's the acting bug, the feeling when you work and work and work a scene and it finally becomes RIGHT.

I cried at the end, out of pride and exhaustion and pent up emotion that has nothing to do with drama, but came out anyway. And maybe, I thought to myself, just maybe, we can pull this off. By four pm tomorrow, I'll have a seminar finished, my kids will be done their play, and hopefully (hopefully!) I'll know exactly what I'm doing next year. One can only hope for so many days until they get what they're wishing for, right?

I'm a wreck. Someone put me to bed, please :D

Lyrics of the Day:
Maybe when the room is empty,
Maybe when the bottle's full.
Maybe when the door gets broke down,
Love can break in.

Maybe when I'm done with thinking,
Maybe you can think me whole.
Maybe when I'm done with endings
This can begin, this can begin
This can begin. -- Something Corporate

You can Fly!

Part of me really likes flying and part of me detests it. This is a typical Bri statement - I love and hate everything, weigh things back and forth, change my mind one hundred times a day and always have a new favorite, a new idea, a new project or plan or future or choice.

But flying really is ambiguous. One one hand, airports are really cool places. You share a room, or a building with people you may never encounter again in your life, everyone's stories going in completely different directions, all intersecting for one brief moment in time, as though a thousand strings were gathered together and then pulled apart. I feel safe in an airport. Pulling my little Roots bag on wheels is fun - I could be going anywhere! I like to think to myself that I'm off for a week in Paris, or returning from a trek in the Amazon, or even going down to New York City. I like taking off, and watching the houses and streets get smaller and smaller until they disappear -- the new perspective gives me such a fresh feeling! I like the sesame snacks and the shortbread cookies and the gingerale. I like the little pamphlets and magazines and the barf bag that I put my Cadbury Creme Egg into after I hollowed out all of the good stuff. I like knowing that I am thousands of feet above the earth, away from my problems and anxieties and deadlines. I like the THUMP of landing, and watching the tires spring into action when they hit the runway.

But I don't like being scared of crashing and dying. At least once, every time I fly, I think about death. I think about what would happen if the plane crashed -- would they find my stuff? Would someone start to worry about me? Would it hurt? I can't help it. I'm not morbid, just shaky. I don't like the line ups -lining up for everything! I don't like going through security, and having strange men dig through my make up bag, tossing aside tampons and hair clips to ensure that my tweezers aren't point-tipped. I don't like having to take a cab home and make small talk with a driver for 15 minutes. Most of all, though, I don't like saying goodbye. And there is always goodbye, it seems. I hate hate hate hate it -- how do you really walk away from someone? How many times do you look back before you have to start walking forward? It's still not something that I'm used to.

So the airplane experience is a balance for me. If I could I would drive back and forth - something that I love to do. Over the next 21 days, I'm sure I'll be looking forward to the next time I get on a plane, 'cause it'll be the next time I see Steve again - tipping the scales favorably in the direction of 'amazing'.

bri 101

A brief conversation with Steve about movie quotes tonight -- I was interested in what he would come up with if I asked him for the first three movie quotes that he could think of. I would actually be interested in anyone's top three movie quotes; why do we keep some in our heads and not others?

Mine are, for the record:

"You had me at hello"

"truth, beauty, freedom, and above all else, love"

"I'd rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special"

(from Jerry Maguire, Moulin Rouge and Steel Magnolias, respectively)


But if you want a quote that really defines me, or helps you to understand who I am in some small way, it's this one, lifted from "Dead Poet's Society"

We don't read and write poety because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race; and the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering -- these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life, but poetry, beauty, romance, love -- these are what we stay alive for"

The Lake Isle of Innisfree

I WILL arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

This poem, by Yeats, was mentioned in the movie that I saw tonight (Million Dollar Baby), and it reminded me of the first time that I read it – I was in grade ten and was asked to write a short essay on the –what now seems obvious- imagery. I ended up spending hours with the poem, sliding it off of my tongue and onto my fingers, playing it and pulling it and letting it move lazily around in my mouth, trying to find out where it lived and what it could have meant. I was enthralled. It was a particularly tough time in my life and I often pulled out the poem, carefully copied onto the inside cover of my English notebook, to help recall my own paradise. And when things become too difficult for me, I still make a point to remember Yeat’s Innisfree, now by memory, and am reminded that even just taking the time to think about peacefulness can be powerfully calming.

It also made me remember, for no special reason, how much I like being read to. I think the last time that anyone read to me was in grade 4, when my stepdad Gord used to come into my room every night before bed and read to me from the book Tuck Everlasting. I loved this time with him, letting his voice populate the text, giving it meaning and life and depth. If I were to design my ideal date, it would end with someone reading to me – poetry, a novel, from the back of a cereal box… doesn’t sharing something out loud like that seem like a wholly romantic thing to do? Or writing poetry, maybe? I was never very good at it. My poetry was young and self-indulgent, and probably would remain so if I still wrote it. The urge hasn’t struck me in a long, long time. I guess with the awareness that you’re not very good at something comes a complete lack of motivation to keep pursuing it. Maybe one day I’ll open up the old journals and try again – if only for my own eyes.

Today I am grateful for:
1. Perfectly toasted peanut butter and banana sandwiches. Eating one makes me feel like heaven took up residence in my life
2. The people in my life who are all safe. News that shakes the ground close to home always reminds you of how lucky you are to have everything that you do
3. The use of my body. Seeing the movie tonight made me feel incredibly fortunate for the ability to run, walk, make love, dance, or even just to hold someone’s hand. It’s so easy to take everything for granted – sometimes I need a wake up call

taking time to be gracious

Gratitude is one of the most important qualities that we can develop in ourselves, and probably one of the easiest. If we take time, it's not hard to think of a few things each day that make us really, really happy. The funny thing is, when we take time to notice and feel genuinely grateful for the blessings and wonderful things in our lives, however small, WE are the ones that benefit.

I started a gratitude journal a few years ago, but it tapered off as other, novel projects picked up. Every night I would write three things that I was grateful for that day. Sometimes it was as small as "I'm grateful I made it through the day", or "I'm grateful the day is over", but other times I found myself feeling more perceptive, picking up on the blessings that were around me. Over time, I started to become a more positive person. I began looking for the good in situations - for that which I could be grateful. The gratitude journal came around the same time as my big self-transformation ... when I decided to take control of myself and my happiness. It's wonderful now, to look back over a year of things that I was genuinely thankful for. What a great way to remember our lives - not by tragedy and stress, but by all of the things that have touched us!

And so, I am going to try to reinstate it. I want to recapture that sense of calm, that ability to find the positive.

Today I am grateful for:
- spring coats ... everyone has put the parka away, and it makes me feel as though spring really might be on its way
- an understanding professor who actually took the time to listen to me (a.k.a: second chances)
- the freedom to be me! ...driving with my favorite song blasting, singing along as loud as I can, not worrying about anything but me

breaking up is hard to do

My friend Talia (well, Steve's friend Talia, but her and I really hit it off) got a letter today from who is now her ex-boyfriend, saying that their long-distance relationship is now officially over. He's just not that into her. The funny thing is, she wasn't really sure if he was into her or not -or even if he was still her BOYFRIEND- because he had neglected to talk to her for two weeks, claiming that things had been a bit 'off', while she was left to sit and ponder the state of a relationship where "I love you"s had only recently been gifted. And at first I thought my whole heart was gonna break for her, but now I'm just plain mad.

Before I go off on some feminist rant about how "all men are jerks" (and really - who am I kidding? I myself am madly in love with one), I just want to say that I really hope that there are more good people out there than bad ones. I don't know how any of us trust each other anymore, when everyone pretty much has the capability and apparently the will to destroy each other. Why trust at all? It's a non-issue for me -- I trust people pretty implicitly, I tend to think, but it does make me question the world, when someone can tell you that they love you and then completly destroy you one week later. Does something not make sense there to anyone else? Or maybe love, like marriage has gone the way of ICQ -- somewhere deep in our collective memory, but ceasing to *really* exist.

Look at how cynical I can be! It all just makes me so disappointed. I am more resolved today to treat the people that I care about, nay - even the people that I don't much like, with the respect and consideration that they deserve.

Which means no more gossip. *Sigh*.

'till death do us part (or at least until someone better comes along?)

I'm young, I'm somewhat of an idealist and my friends have called me a romantic. I don't claim to be an expert on relationships, and I'm not that easy to get along with sometimes. But I do know what I believe in. One thing that I can depend on, in all of the crazy upheaval that has defined my life this year, are my values.

In a recent survey of more than 15,000 high-school aged children in the united states, only 58% were reported to believe that they would stay married to one person for their entire lives. 58%. It's obvious that the divorce revolution of the 1990's is affecting the children whose families it has involved - how can we believe in something if we've never been shown that it works?

As a child of multiple divorces, I have the unique perspective (or maybe not so unique any more) of knowing what happens when your foundation gets rocked to the core. I guess, therefore, I could be just as jaded as anyone else. And when I see my mom, now in her mid-fourties, growing and changing and finding new love and discovering new passions -- I can see the argument. As we move through the varied stages of life, how can we expect someone to grow and change and reinvent love and develop new passions along with us? It's a convincing thought, and freeing, I would guess, for people who feel as though the idea of forever is a bit too much to ask.

But in my heart I know that when I get married, it's going to be to my best friend my lover and my life partner, and when I say "until death do us part, I'm only going to say it once and I'm going to say it with all of my heart. This isn't me being idealistic or sappy - it's probably one of the most realistic things that I know about myself. I guess my whole hearted belief in the institution of marriage now puts me in the minority of people my age, which is really saddening. My parent's divorce didn't teach me that it's easy to leave a relationship that's not working -- it DID teach me the importance of knowing from the bottom of your being that you're marrying your soulmate.

People treat marriage like dating, now. And I mean, I've dated and kissed and thought that I loved a LOT of people. And from each person who I've opened myself up to in that way, I've learned incredibly valuable things about what I want in a partner, and about how to treat someone properly. That's what dating is about, right? Figuring out what you want and don't want, so that when the right person walks into your life you don't let them get away. And one day I know that when I tell someone that they're not getting away, I am going to mean it for the rest of my life.

It's just shocking that only 42% of my peers would agree.

ballad of a sea star

My favorite animal (sometimes in rotation with the Orangutang and the pot bellied pig) is the sea star, or common star fish. It's not a claim that I take lightly - I'm not one of those people (yes, THOSE people) who see a sea star and say, "hey, a sea star", and then continue on my journey down the beach. I actually really care about those little guys. What more, I'm absolutly fascinated with them. Watching a sea star could keep me occupied for hours. The following are things that I especially like about sea stars (I feel like I'm writing a grade three report, but bear with me here)

- the way their bodies are soft and mushy when they're attached to a rock, but firm up if you peel them off
- the way their feelers drift over your fingers when you pick them up
- how peaceful and non-confrontational they are
- how beautiful they are
- how they slowly hug your hand if you hold them still enough
- how nice they are to spend time with

Yes, I'm being dead serious. I actually love them. A few summers ago when Marcus and I were at my grandmother's house on Vancouver Island for a few weeks, we piggy-backed the girls (my sisters, then 9 and 7) down to the beach, climbed down the cliff, and made it to the ocean just as the tide was starting to go out. We all rolled up the cuffs to our pants and spent the entire afternoon 'saving' sea stars that were stranded on rocks when the tide left. We named each one that we found, and made a wish as we threw it out to sea. It's one of my fondest memories ever.

The reason I bring it up is because it occured to me that it would be really nice to have a starfish necklace to wear. I'm not a big jewelery person --what I mean, I guess, is that I have two or three pieces that are really nice, to wear for important occasions, but I don't like to buy a lot of junky stuff-- but I would love to have something that I wore every day, and something that was MEANINGFUL to me. And although Steve said it wouldn't exist, I found this:


It costs more money than I will ever, ever be able to afford, but I feel good just thinking about it. I can put it on my "ultimate wish list", where it will trump both my desire to get braces and to own an ipod (look at how materialistic Queen's has made me!)

I guess this all came up because I saw a stuffed animal of a starfish at Shoppers Drug Mart today and against my better judgement, I didn't buy it for myself. But I thought to myself, all the way home, that it would be nice to have a star fish of my own. For now, the pictures that I keep on my desk top, like this one, will have to do.

the fast and the furious

I completly forgot to mention - I got hit by a car today! I was trying to cross University Ave from the library to the JDUC, and did the whole 'look both ways: safey deal. But no one tells you to look for cars driving in reverse, do they? Specifically, there was a car parked on the side of the road and as I went to cross behind it (assuming he would either remain parked or drive forward), he shot it into reverse and ran into me. Not only was I shocked, the suddeness of the impact knocked me off of my feet and I slipped on the ice and under the back of the car, as he was backing up, slamming my hand down on the lid to try to get him to stop. Breaks sqealed, the idiot jumped out and apologized, I lay onI my back on University and union for a minute, and then life resumed as usual.

I wonder if that counts as a brush with death. I didn't feel peaceful, or see stars or anything, so I guess not. I'm a bit disappointed - I always assumed that getting hit by a car would be a more dramatic story. It was definitely the scariest thing that's ever happened to me on a routine walk on campus, though.

I just wish that I could have dented the trunk of the guy's Lexus. Then it REALLY would have been a story.

bright lights, big city

Time:circa 1:20 pm, yesterday afternooon

Activity: spread out on my bed in the sun, enjoying an early afternoon nap

Inturruption: Steve on his cell phone, exile from class and calling from the bathroom somewhere on the university of Toronto campus. As I languidly plan a day that involves sleeping, wearing my pajamas until dinner and doing my laundry, he suggest that I come and visit him for the night.

Let's make a quick list:
Cons:
- 61.00 bus ticket
- essay due on Thursday morning
- soccer game at 9:40pm
- I would be skipping class
- laundry really, really needs to get done
- it would involve a lot of energy, of which I had little

Pros:
- the potential of being in Steve's commanding hug outside of the bus terminal in less than 5 hours

So I went to Toronto. And now, less than 24 hours (and a lot of lovin') later, I'm trying to sink myself back into some sort of schedule. School? Essays? Meetings? Teaching? All I know is that I feel soemthing right now that can only described as pretty freaking fantastic. I had a good meal, a couple of burning-hot games of crib, a late night and the confirmation of knowing that I am, in fact, dating the most amazing man to ever grace university avenue.

So the essays, the laundry and the general productiveness might have to wait -- in the words of Ella, "I've got my man, who could ask for anything more?"

on my mind

W. B. Yeats 

He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, 
Enwrought with golden and silver light, 
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths 
Of night and light and the half-light, 
I would spread the cloths under your feet: 
But I, being poor, have only my dreams; 
I have spread my dreams under your feet; 
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

how do your flowers grow?

I am in LOVE with this jacket, courtesy of Old Navy.

My housemate is standing behind me right now, telling me that it looks like a pair of gardening gloves. "But it's so fresh!" I tell her. "I would look so happy all the time, wearing it!".

I don't give it credit for being 'cool'. But I just get so warm inside looking at it. Isn't that good enough? And what's wrong with gardening gloves?

*sigh*

into the great wide open (learning how to photo blog)

Steve and I, at Charity Ball:


My Dogs, Polo and Waldo: (Polo, the big one, died in October of last year)


My Orientation Chairs and me, taken when the new chairs were hired:


My mom, my younger brother Regan and me

on letting it all hang out

My housemate's friends have been getting bent out of shape, she tells me, because of the fact that her boyfriend has seen her naked. Which leads me to a couple of conclusions:

1) She's in a long-term, monogomous relationship with someone who really cares about her
2) She's 23 years old. And sometimes when two people love each other very much ...
3) Her friends are horribly conservative. Or ugly. Or both.

You know what I really like? I like when you go to the beach in the summer, and you've got all those little kids (and I mean little - like when they're still in the wobbly stage), running around wearing nothing but a bonnet. They're running along the shore, they're digging for worms, they're showing their god-given goods to the world. And I like that there's something about that which hasn't managed to be corrupted. Like no matter how hard we try keep everything sterile and covered up, kids are still going to run around naked and eat dirt. I hope that we can remember to stay young, in some small way. Remember that there's something really organic about the body. You know what else I like? New mom's who have the confidence to breast feed in public. I will never get over how incredibly beautiful and organic it is. And no matter how many men tell them to go behind closed doors, or how many people stare blankly ... I mean, she's feeding her baby! I've seen a lot more disgusting things take place in the Toronto subway.

Back to the point. I'm not saying that nudity is something that I want to engage in on a public scale, but if you're sharing it with someone, it can be very intimate, very sweet and very loving. OR - if you're like my housemates and I last year who would walk into each other's rooms wearing next to nothing, or change in front of the living room window ... well, you just don't give a damn. And that can be fun too.

Bri and Adam

Bri and Adam on AJs bed
Originally uploaded by just bri.

I'm just experimenting - trying to figure out how photoblogging actually works! Once I get the hang of it, and find a way to download my pictures from my camera, I'll post pics from this weekend. For now, this is a pic of my best friend in high school (probably falls under 'friend' now .. the best spot being vacant) Adam, and I.

O brother, where art thou?

my brother, Regan Ellis Johnson, was born on June 4th, 1985. His nick name, when he was young, was Reegie-Beegie. Although my mom said that we were fast friends, I don't actually have any memories of him until I was about four or five years old, when we used to take a bath, get dressed in our polyester one-piece pajamas (with feet!) and climb into his bed, where I would read stories to him before bed. Since then, Regan has always been my best friend.

When I was younger, I always thought that everything came easily to my brother. In any family, kids quickly get categorized against their siblings -- in my family, I was always the 'smart' one and Regan was the 'creative' one. I was sensitive and he was outgoing. I was clean and he was a mess of plates and lego and micro-machines. I used to be really jealous of my brohter sometimes, because it seemed that the entire world would bend over backwards for his sandy blond hair and his easy smile. Regan was always the one who would be racing ahead to ride his bike over the jumps in the abandoned lot by our house in Calgary, while I ran after him yelling, "but it's not safe! What if we get caught? What if someone owns it? What if they come back and yell at us?" Regan was the one who would ride all of the roller-coasters when he was six years old, while I sat on the bench near the entrance, tugging the straps to my sundress, scared that someone would want to abduct me. Regan was the one who liked to bring the hose into the house when we were having a water fight, who would pull the heads off of my barbies and paint their faces blue and who used all of the good chairs and sheets when we were having fort-building competitions.

He was always my closest ally while we were growing up, though. We used to play a game for HOURS that we called "shop", where he would set up all of his toys for 'sale' and I would set up all of my toys for 'sale', and we would run back and forth with our monopoly money, trying to be shrewed consumers. We would put on "Jump" by Kris Kross and rollerblade in circles around our unfinished basement. When we were upset with our parents, we would hide out on his bunk bed, playing board games and talking about things we were scared of. In high school we did a musical theatre program together and he even ended up dating one of my best friends. Now, even though we are on opposite sides of the country, we stay in touch ... and I really miss him. No one has ever been able to make me laugh like my brother could - sometimes we have to pull over to the side of the road when we're driving because neither of us can breathe from laughing so hard at one of our stupid inside jokes.

I've learned that even though he has a nicer nose than I do and was always better at sports, life was never easier for Regan. He has struggled more at school and had a hard time staying with a close group of friends. I have realized that in most ways, we balance each other and I KNOW that in all ways, we need each other. He is always the first one to say "what a prick" when I get broken up with and the first one to be happy for me when I fall in love. I patiently edit his essays, and try to listen when I know that things aren't going his way.

I have a lot of things to be thankful for, but I don't know what life would be like without my brother. So much of who I am is tied up in who we are and I am grateful every day that there is someone in the world who is always going to know and understand me in the way that I need to be understood. I don't know what this post means ... just random, I didn't choose 'im, but I really couldn't have asked for a better person to be my brother.

Good Morning Sunshine!

6:53 am: I wake up with a start as the pipes in my building clank against my wall - my housemate is in the shower. I know this because she showers EVERY morning at 6:53. I quickly calculate that I have 17 minutes of sleep left. Before I have time to readjust the pile of blankets that I'm hidden under, I fall back asleep

7:10 am: I'm assuming that my alarm went off. Since I've mastered the art of hitting the snooze button in my sleep, I can't confirm anything

7:20 am: my peaceful dream involving building a roller coaster for pot-bellied pigs is rudely inturrupted, again. Snooze button.

7:30 am: snooze button

7:40 am: snooze button

7:50 am: a snap judgement is made that I can wear a touque to class and thus forgo the effort of taking a shower, granting me ten more minutes of sleep. All I need is ten more minutes and I can start my day. Snooze button

8:00 am: snooze button

8:10am: I decide that breakfast isn't that important. Snooze button.

8:11 am: guilt becomes her. I drag myself out of bed, throw on jeans and a hoodie, check my email, say good morning to my long distance boyfriend, hap-hazardly make my bed, briefly consider lying down for 5 more minutes, decide against it and head upstairs

8:23 am: 1 kilometer race for class (I could run a kilometer in 3 minutes and 2 seconds when I was in high school - how good are my legs now? Not that good)

8:34 am: in class, trying to actually OPEN my eyes

The point is, I'm not a morning person.I never have been a morning person and it's safe to say that I'm not going to start to enjoy this process any time soon. Lately I've been making a valient effort for the sake of my abnormally-chipper-at-7am-boyfriend Steve to adhere to a normal schedule; while I'll admit that going to bed at midnight makes my days more productive, I feel as though I am denying myself of my one true love: sleeping until 2pm every single day.

When I was young, I used to stay awake reading until long, long after my parents went to bed. I pulled my first all-nighter when I was 11 years old, sitting in a hot tub at my best friend's birthday party. In junior high I would stay on the phone with my 'boyfriends' ... Colin, then Alistair, then Mike, until 3am, having hushed conversations underneath the blankets so that I wouldn't get into trouble. In high school I would frequently go for drives with friends around Calgary, parking at the top of cemetery hill and having the long, looping, intelligent conversations about things that were bigger than us -- the kind of stuff that made us feel older and wiser than our 16 years. Adam and I would go for blueberry pie at 4 in the morning at Denny's, stuffing our pajama-clad selves into a booth. My best-friend Kerry and I would hold study parties the night before math tests, cramming away and calling in obscure radio requests in the Tim Horton's by her house until the sun came up the next day. Not sleeping has never been a problem for me.

So why is it a problem for the rest of the world when I list napping as my number one hobby? I try to explain it - this is the way that I function! Just like I am good at math and am physically unable to throw a ball .... I stay up late and sleep in late.
That being said - so does my brother. Maybe it's genetic? At any rate, I am going to make the most of the fact that Steve has me working on a semi-normal schedule, veto the hour long nap before class and try to get some work done.

Less than 5 weeks to go!

somehow, I knew you'd feel the same

Sometimes there are songs that seem to define a particular stage of my life and therefore become forever entwined to it. Like "Forever Young" reminds me of graduating high school, so does a new song take over my current mental soundtrack. Right now, with everything going through a quiet revolution, it's Ben Folds Five's "Still Fighting It" -- not my favorite BFF song (which would be .. oh wow, Fred Jones Part 2, or maybe One Angry Dwarf?). But it came on tonight and my heart sank into a comfortable little recess in my chest. It's a good feeling to hear a song put it better than you ever could. For that, I can offer my thanks.


Everybody knows
It hurts to grow up
And everybody does
It's so weird to be back here.
Let me tell you what
The years go on and
We're still fighting it, we're still fighting it

we all walk the long road

I really love road trips. There is something about sitting in the passenger seat of a car with my feet resting up on the dashboard, something about choosing music to create the soundtrack of the trip, something about holding a warm hand on top of my own, about the questions and conversations that develop on the 401, halfway between London and Detroit, that is really enchanted. I could be in a car forever, driving towards anything, which is new for me. I used to hate driving. It made me sick. It made me bored. I wanted to BE where I was going.

But now, I am learning how to enjoy the journey, how to really really love it.

Speaking of a journey – I’m on a bit of a life road right now, working towards a whole bunch of things. I am cautious, lately, of discovering and developing integrity. I’m not necessarily arguing that I haven’t been an honest or reliable person, rather, that I have been more aware this year of the need to solidify my core values. We all have things that we authentically believe in, things that we know are right or wrong. To a certain extent our values both connect and differentiate us; Steve and I, for example, share the same critical perspective on a lot of important things. We both believe that love comes before sex, that relationships and even breakups are based on respect, trust and compassion.

But I guess, then – so do a lot of people … we all want to believe in love, don’t we? The things that I share with Steve, I think, are much less tangible. But I do know that based on a series of painfully open and equally fascinating conversations with each other, we built a common ground for what has been a life-altering relationship.

There are a few things that I need to do in the next five weeks before my undergraduate career is over. I know what I believe – I can articulate my values, can understand how I want to guide myself, can stand up for the things that I truly believe in. I am coming to understand, however, that integrity is not in believing in something – it does not develop out of my self-righteous claim to be a virtuous person. I am no more good or bad than any one I have ever met, an understanding that I have struggled with. Integrity manifests itself through action. I can only become a reflection of my values if I actively use them, if I allow myself to be tested. I want to demystify the process for myself; I can think and think and think about things, but if I don’t start to act, I haven’t accomplished what I set out to do.

I want to figure out integrity and kindness through my behaviour. I can’t decide on the process of becoming a good person arbitrarily – it has to be there.

think of me fondly when you say goodbye

In an effort to conserve energy, this blog will be short, sweet and to the point - a teaser if you will, for more to come. Today: a four-hour drive to Detroit (that's right - of the Rock City variety), wandering around the burnt out buildings and abandoned warehouses, taking pictures whilst avoiding crack addicts. Seeing Phantom of the Opera live onstage for the first time (a statement which really doesn't belong with the ones that preceed it). Sitting in the Masonic Temple, watching the chandelier being hoisted to the ceiling, crying when Christine and the Phantom embraced, crying when the theatre of 4000 americans dutifully gave the show a standing ovation ... it's been a hell of a day. Team it up with a four-hour drive home to the tune of the cast recording of Les Miserables and I'm in heaven.

It's been a whirlwind of a weekend - warm and loving and too quick, as usual. I am overwhelmed but optimistic and will return to blog after a few night's rest to recover from what has been a truly wonderful three days with Steve.

the greatest gift

I have written, if I remember correctly, about some of the worst gifts I (or anyone) could imagine receiving. But recalling the best gift anyone has ever given me is a different story all together, and the winner isn't an obvious choice; however, there is something that I'd be inclined to attach the title of 'best' to.

It was July 15th, 1993 -- my tenth birthday. My dad bought me one thing that stands out above the baby-sitter's club books and clothing from Gap kids ... a huge book, entitled "The Fitzhenry and Whiteside Book of Quotations". I hated it, at first. I didn't even know what a quotation was. The book got stashed on a shelf in my room and I gave very little thought to it for a couple of years.

But as I got older, I started going back to it. I found quotations for essays, assignments and projects. I found quotations for birthday cards, for letters -- for celebrating successes and for comforting friends and for encouraging people I loved. I found quotations for diary entries, and quotations to help me focus my day, my month, my year. My 11 year old copy of the book is now tattered, ear-marked, high lighted and scribbled in. There are stars next to some entries, others are circled. A few pages are missing at the back, where I needed paper to write down a friend's phone number while I was on the bus in high school. And in retrospect (although I could have never predicted it at the time), it was the best present I've ever been given. My dad, for all that we struggle, must have known something that I couldn't have.

this I know is true

Sometimes someone else puts it better than you ever could. If I could create a document that I would use to guide my behaviour and shape my attitudes, I couldn't write a better one than Sark's "How to Be and Artist". Time after time, I come back to this for inspiration, comfort and a sense of direction. My personal mission statement (or one of many things that inspires me)



For me, many hours remain until sleep (like, 24). But with this in mind, I feel just a little bit better.

first impression of a good thing

I don't always remember my first impressions of people, however, the most important people in my life -Alana, Steve, Adam, for example- have all left me with first impressions that are as clear to me now as they were the day they were formed.

I met Steve when we were scheduled to work Walkhome together one night last May. I walked up to the kiosk from the Clergy Street Doors with my mp3 player on full-blast, coming from a long day at the core and oblivious to the fact that a very important person was about to be stepping into my life. After I signed in, Steve introduced himself to me. When I looked at him, REALLY looked at him for the first time, something happened inside of me. Tall, tanned, handsome, smiling confidently, eyes that had miles of depth - I fell. I remember worrying that someone might notice that I was blushing. I suggested that we put some music on, he told me to go ahead and pick out a cd, I picked Pearl Jam's "Ten" ... and our fate was sealed. That was it.

I don't remember how the rest of the night went. But we walked together a few times over the summer, the hours passing quickly over talks of musical theatre and good music; I quickly realized that I had found in Steve something that was missing in any other boy that I had ever met: a kindred spirit. What strikes me though is that first moment of recognition, that instant where he walked into my life - I remember it, can summon up the way that it made me feel, the way he looked in his red tee-shirt, how I became shy when I knew that he was going to be around.

I have a few memories of Steve from last summer, but none as special as this one. First impressions, as they say, do count.

they call me mellow yellow

A series of proudly productive days motivated me to pull out my tax file this afternoon and set myself to work filing not one, but two tax returns. Two and a half hours later, surrounded in small bits of paper and various receipts, forms and schedules, I'm happy to announce that the government of Canada owes me 276.52 in income tax refunds, 214.00 in retroactive GST rebates and a forthcoming 356.00 in the same.

"That's a lot of money", I'm thinking to myself. Almost enough to justify the future purchase of an ipod shuffe (the modest cousin of the all-mighty ipod senior). OR - enough to justify the fact that I am seeing Phantom of the Opera, Rent and Wicked in the next 6 weeks and yet don't have enough money in my bank account right now to purchase a loaf of bread. OR - enough to justify a new spring shirt from the Gap ... the possibilities are endless, really.

A better update is on its way, I'm sure. I've been lacking the motivation to sit down and really WRITE, maybe because I spend so much time talking with Steve about the biggest things on my mind. I'm rocking out to Roony's "I'm Shaking" right now (it's on repeat ... over and over and over again) and just wanted to send out an official "thanks" to the Canada Custom's and Revenue Agency; officially the generous sponsors of my insatiabe apetite for balcony seats to broadway shows and mp3 players smaller than a pack of gum.