A Million Little Pieces of a Blog Entry

I literally have had a million things a day race through my mind: things that are interesting and thoughtful and perhaps have the possibility to change a small part of the world. So I think to myself all the time "I am definitely going to blog about this". But here I am at 1:50 in the morning, winding down from a long shift at the restaurant, sitting at my computer with nothing to say. I almost feel like the drive to be perfect or to have the 'perfect entry' is stopping me from saying anything at all.

Here were some of the things I wanted to tell you about, but now can't be bothered to get into:
1. I think I'm going to be a canadian bobsledder. At 22 years of age, I don't think there's any other way I'm going to make it into the Olympics. There's a girl who goes to U of T, got recruited to the bobsled team in OCTOBER, and is now in Turin. I need this hook up! I mean, I've got nice strong legs. I could push a sled 50 meters and hop in. I could take the bumping around. This is the Olympic mentality!
(just in care you think my reasons aren't legit, I have a friend named Adam Say who is pictured below, who wants to be an Olympic speedskater just so that he can wear the skintight wind cutting body suit that highlights his weiner. So there)


2. Our kitchen counter (which I am excited about because it's from Ikea) is elevated off the floor by little legs so that the cupboards don't scrape the tile when we open them. Underneath the counter, therefore, there is a 2-inch high dark space that we like to call "THE OUBLIETTE" (the name, of course, taken from the movie "Labrinyth" with Davie Bowie, where there is an Oubliette for prisoners -or a 'hole of forgetting'- with the only entrance in the ceiling. Fine. Oubliette at 83 Borden comes into play because I obviously have bad housekeeping karma, and instead of putting my dust into a dust bin, I sweep it into the Oubliette. The Oubliette is now filthy, smelly, and poofs big piles of dust into the air whenever we move our kitchen rug. Our house therefore, is never really clean, and the next person who moves in and dares to shift those Ikea counters around is going to have to deal with the wrath of David Bowie from the 1980s.

Well, with those pearls of wisdom, I officially sign off for the night. Who knows? Maybe I'll be smarter and less awkward tomorrow.

You Learn Something New Every Day

It's funny - I don't think that adults like to be bad at things. When you're a kid, you are learning something new virtually every day. Over my childhood career, I took lessons in piano, gymnastics, singing, dance, figure skating, soccer, swimming, track and field - and I was horrible at all of them when I started out. This didn't bother me. But getting an adult to try a new sport is almost impossible; we like to be good at things as soon as we begin them and are likely to quit something if we experience frustration with it.

I wonder what we're so scared of. I have decided to take up new skills - not being in school has made me feel as though I need to coordinate my own learning, even if it is less academic in nature. It's been a long time since I've been brave enough to take up a new sport or learn a new skill, so this year, my goal is to learn how to do 5 new things. So far (and remember, it is only February!) I've learned how to knit. In fact, my first project is done: I knit a small blue and white scarf for Steve's stuffed monkey Fat Guts:

Now, I'm starting to read up on web design. I have rudimentary HTML knowledge (enough to tweak this page to my liking, for example), but I'd like to become more comfortable with writing CSS (cascading style sheet) code, instead of simple HTML tags. After that, I want to learn how to garden, how to cook (properly), how to play squash and how to run properly - it would be great to train for a 5K. I want to learn how to do calligraphy and how to snowboard (maybe next winter). In short, I don't want to stop learning. I have such a huge capacity for new skils and experiences - all I have to do is be prepared to suck at first. If I'm okay with my own total mediocracy, the only thing I can do is improve. I just keep reminding myself, if a four-year-old can keep on getting back up after he falls off his bike, I certainly can too.

Toronto

Toronto, a lot of the time, makes me sad. Although it's promoted as a model city and an international point of comparison, my short trip home from work, which takes me west on Queen Street and north on Bathurst, gives me a lot to be sad for. I see people who are cold and unhappy. I see people throwing garbage into the streets. I see grafitti and neglect and sidewalks that are crumbling into the gutter and the skeletons of bicycles that have had their seats and tires stolen, and faded signs for concerts covering more faded signs for concerts, plastered onto windows. I have become almost blissfully ignorant, carefully donning my headphones as I leave my safe, tree-lined street each day. But today, I took the headphones off and tried to absorb some of the environment around me. I noticed for the first time the thead-bare seats of the streetcar, and wondered how many people had sat on them this week, this month. I wondered what their stories were, and who cared about them. I watched traffic race by me. I don't think they notice me, watching them in their cars. Sometimes I wonder, if it were 50 below outside and blizzarding and I was standing waiting for the street car, would someone in Toronto offer to stop and drive me where I needed to go? If I were driving in Toronto, I would probably be stopping all too often. This is my best and my worst quality.

I saw homeless people. In fact, I saw a homeless man deep in conversation with a well-dressed business man. The homeless man was perched on top of a garbage can, wrapped in shards of material and torn clothing. He had a small dog with mangy hair and bits of a garbage bag tied around his feet like shoes. The business man was talking with him about the weather. They were both laughing, which I found incredibly humane. I wanted to see what they were laughing about.

I saw a couple try to board the streetcar that I was travelling on. The man looked like he hadn't showered in years, and the woman was shaking and muttering to herself. After trying to convince the driver that they were part of the "Homeless Ride for Free" program and obviously being denied a ride, the woman started to scream obscenities at the driver, really foul things. This made me sad. I didn't even know how to look at her. I find that I have been keeping my eyes down more now that I've moved here. I think that cities probably aren't for me. I don't like the crowds. I don't like how impersonal a block of buildings can feel. I don't like the transience. It's important for me to feel like I belong, but I'm not sure if anyone really belongs in Toronto, or if we are all just passing through it on our way to something more personal. The city is full of people but nothing familiar to me.

Billy Joel wrote love song to a city called "New York State of Mind", and it ended up being one of the most empathetic and emotional songs that was never written for another person. I wish I could feel my feet on the ground here, could find beauty in the chaos, patterns in the traffic, feelings in the small places that haven't been covered in posters of Telus Bunnies. I might wear my headphones again tomorrow. Hopefully soon, I can start looking for signs of spring, and stop writing about the sadness of the dirty, cold street corners. How do people survive without beauty around them? Without feeling like they're known and understood? A city girl at heart, I certainly am not. Give me crickets and uneventful country life any day.

A Personal History of Valentine's Day

Today is, by far, my favorite holiday of the year. I am, by definition, a lover - a romantic, sappy, wimpy, love-lover. I decided in high school that if I was going to be remembered for anything in my life, it would be for loving people completely. This holiday, therefore, plays to all of my sensitivities and secret desires to be adored, and has thus drove every boyfriend I've ever had totally crazy.

I've had valentines in my life since grade four, when Ross Adams wrote me a card and put it in the shoe box on my desk. On everyone else's card, he wrote "From Ross", but on mine, he wrote "Love Ross!". The front had a picture of Moose from the Archie comics on it, scratching his head and thinking in a little thought bubble, "I like you so much, I'm confused!" I remember blushing when I pulled it out among the 28 other Valentines, comparing it to the ones he gave my friends. I don't think that Ross and I ever actually exchanged more than a few words in the entire time we knew each other, but I taped that Valentine to the inside of my desk and kept it there for the rest of the year. My love affair with Valentine's Day had begun.

I dated boys in junior high and high school, and only spent one Valentine's day not 'with' someone, which I spent fitfully hoping that my best friend Adam would show up at my house with tulips and declare his undying love for me (this never happened, although I had dreampt about it for years). Otherwise, I would be happily embroiled in the drama of a teenaged relationship, exchanging carefully chosen Valentines that didn't actually say the word "love" in them (I didn't want to seem too desperate)

In university, I spent three Valentine's Days with a boyfriend who was so busy with his commerce midterms that he didn't even bother to leave Goodes Hall for food, much less to celebrate with me. The first year, this caused a fight so brutal that it almost ended our relationship; for the two years after that, we pretty much pretended that the day didn't exist. I think I was always disappointed, but never knew how to tell him so. It was hard to spend the day on campus, watching boys walking around with bunches of flowers in their hands and girls clutching little stuffed animals holding stuffed hearts in their stufffed hands. I felt like I wasn't special enough for him to want to put forth the effort on, but now I've come to realize that different people express themselves in different ways. I may love valentine's day, but most guys I know are terrified of it and feel a huge amount of pressure to live up to the expectations of their girlfriends. This year, I'm trying not to have expectations. Steve and I didn't really celebrate last year (I think I wrote him a card and took him out to dinner at Woodenheads) and hopefully this year, we can just spend time together. Isn't that the most important thing, anyway?

Anyway, for those of you who are interested, here are a few telling facts about Valentine's Day that I dug up from various sources last night, while unable to sleep :)

-There are 120 single men (i.e., never married, widowed or divorced) who are in their 20s for every 100 single women of the same ages

-The Canadian median ages at first marriage for women and men are 25.1 and 27.4 respectively, in 2004. The age for women and men were almost 5 years lower in the year that I was born (1983), where people got married at 21 and 23, respectively.

- In order of popularity, Valentine's Day cards are given to: teachers, children, mothers, wives, sweethearts, Koko the gorilla

- The expression "wearing your heart on your sleeve" comes from a Valentine's Day party tradition. Young women would write their names on slips of paper to be drawn by young men. A man would then wear a woman's name on his sleeve to claim her as his valentine

- About 15% of women in the US send themselves flowers on Valentines

- In the Middle Ages, they also believed that the first unmarried person of the opposite sex you met on the morning of St Valentine's Day, would become your spouse.

- In the Middle Ages, they also believed that the first unmarried person of the opposite sex you met on the morning of St Valentine's Day, would become your spouse.

- About 78% of Valentine's Day cards are purchased by women



Even if you're not with a special person today (and especially if you are!), take the time to tell someone that you love them. Send an online Valentine to your parents, your brother, your dog, or your best friend from university - there's someting about the spirit of this day that is still amazing, despite all of commercial hoopla that we all love to complain about.

-B

My Thoughts On Bettys

Snowboarders are undeniably very, very cool. When the snowboarders are girls, they're out of this world. I'll admit it - I'm totally useless on a snowboard and therefore jealous of anyone who can even make it down the bunny run without falling on their bum. The coolest girl in my high school was named Audrea - she had handwriting like a mom, so she always used to write us notes to get out of class for doctor's appointments. She was also a snowboarder, and seemed to carry her coolness around her without even trying. I was very, very jealous of Audrea.

Today, the US women devoured the competition, literally, in the half-pipe event, placing 1st, 2nd and 4th. The gold medal winner was a 17-year-old california poster girl named Hannah Tekes; blond, freckled and tearing up the half pipe. I'm such a loser that I could barely stand to watch it. But then (because I was watching NBC) Hannah gave an interview, and you'll never believe what came out of her mouth:

"Oh my god, that was wicked! I came here and the whole week has been totally chill, and then I just like had an awesome run and was way relaxed and, like, into my groove, y'know? That was, like, the most incredible rush. And my mom is here and she's like, beside herself and I'm just like totally out of it. Chill"

And then I was marginally less jealous. Becuase when she's 21 and retired from snowboarding with busted knees, who's going to teach her how to read?

Okay, that was mean. Hannah - I'm happy for you, genuinely. I just can't believe how stereotypical you are. I've learned two things from psychology this week: stereotypes exist for a reason, and there are no jokes in the unconscience (which I'll get to later).

It's 4:24am and I'm watching Olympic reruns. I don't know what else to say :D
-Bri