True Confessions of a Popcorn Addict

Tomorrow, I return to reality. After a month of doing what amounted to basically nothing (because really, in the 21st century, 'job hunting' and 'hitting the pavement' amounts to sending your resume via email to loads of companies and hoping it doesn't end up in the junk mail box) I start work tomorrow morning at 8:00am sharp. I hate the feeling of a new job -- one that I liken to the feeling of the first day of school, where you're nervous and excited and worried and have more questions than answers. Yes, I know that I'm looking after toddlers -it's not rocket science- but I'm also going to be in the delicate position of assuming the child rearing responsibilities of someone else's children. And I can bet you that they will want their children reared THEIR way. This means that everything from discipline to baby mozart to frying eggs must be done in particular a fashion. I'll also be taking responsibility for the family groceries, the family dogs, the pre-school activities (music, art, etc) and preparing dinner each night.

I'm exhausted just thinking about it. But thinking about money perks me up, just a bit.

So wish me luck - this is my life for the next 12 months! Let's all hope that in 12 months I don't reduce myself to talking in baby speak and walking around with a bit of spit up on my shirt without realizing it.

This Time All The Stars Were Real

(this will become a real review of Billy Crystal's show "700 Sundays", sometime tomorrow when it's not 2:30 in the morning!)

-b

The Nanny Diaries

Well, I did it. I got myself a job. More importantly, I got myself a job that I swore I wasn't going to get myself. I took a nannying position today, caring for a 2 year old and a 4 year old, the parents of two very busy and rather wealthy lawyers. I'll be making a little more than 1600.00 a month after taxes, which (although less than a corporate position) is fine by me, since I figure that I won't be spending more than 1100 dollars in any given month. Perks? All of my meals are paid for, I get to wear sweatpants to work, and I don't have to deal with office politics, high heels, or any sort of job stress. Drawbacks? I start at 7:45 in the morning, and don't finish until 6 at night. Yeah - long days. But it's not as though I have anything else to do with my time this year, and anything that I would be doing while I was at home (reading, watching TV, going on the internet) I will have ample time to do there -- the kids are in school in the mornings, and take naps in the afternoons.

So this is it - I'm a working girl! I start next tuesday, and although i'm a little bit unsure, in that "what the hell am I getting myself into" sort of way, I'm also excited that I'll be making money. For the first time in years, I am never going to be worried about money -- about having enough to buy groceries or pay the bills. And that, my friends, is a fantastic feeling. Just call me Nanny Bri

Go-Go-Gadget Google(ism)

I've stumbled across a fantastic site (and I'm sure -please don't rub it in- that I'm absolutely the last to know, but I digress) Googlism (www.googlism.com) is a website that searches all of the websites on google for reference to a person, place or thing. Basically, it looks for judgement sentences or phrases involving a word of your choice.

So I went there, and typed in "Brianna". And here, in no particular order, are some of the things that people think and have wrote about Brianna, world wide:

brianna is a modern feminine form of brian

brianna is 100% dependant on me

brianna is the proprietress of blackthorne cottage

brianna is the kind of heroine i doubt existed in the twelfth century

brianna is too proud to ask labelle for help and instead sells most of her possessions at a yard sale

brianna is 3 years 10 months old

brianna is in therapy so she can learn to use her right eye again

brianna is the one with the attitude?

brianna is from arizona state and has just the right personality to work at the fries concession

And my personal favorite: "brianna is the result of an experiment involving science and technology"

But nothing could be so good as the following (after typing in "Stephen Johns") stephen johns is scheduled to be executed by the state of missouri on october 24th

There you have it, folks. Go and googlism yourself, and let me know if people think so positively about YOU!

Face to Face at Last

The underwater ocean world is a scary place -- ever since I was stung by a jelly fish in the pacific ocean in grade 5, I've been rightfully wary of the sharks, plants, fish and other oddities that live under the water. Like, it's INCREDBLE how little we know about what goes on there -- apparently deep sea has been dubbed the "real final frontier"; we know more about our galexy and solar system than we do about some places on our own planet. Case in point: today, for the first time in history, scientists captured live footage of the elusive giant squid, more than a kilometer beneath the ocean off the shores of japan. And this thing is huge - the average giant squid is significantly larger than a city bus ... could you imagine? After hours of struggling, when the squid broke free from the trap, it left behind a 5 meter long tentacle that was STILL FUNCTIONAL when they pulled it up on board the ship, suctioning itself to people and flopping around. And you wonder why I don't ACTUALLY surf. That's messed up. The coolest part is? We have no idea what else is down there.

Here's a picture of a dead giant flying squid ... it's 1/2 the size of the one they found today. Put that in your calamari and chew it!

The photographs that we don't see

her
Originally uploaded by Rosie O'Donnell.

In preparation for a scalding entry tonight on celebrity blogs, I was perusing Rosie O'Donnell's photos on her blog, which lead me to her flickr collection (online photo album, for those of us who aren't blog saavy). And there, within pictures of her getting dressed for her stint on Fiddler on the Roof and shots of her kids going to school, were a collection of pictures of New Orleans. Whether these were sent to her or taken by Rosie herself, it's hard to say.

It's hard to say a lot about this, actually. And graphic as it might be, I think it's really important to know that it exists. The death toll today rose above 1000 people and as more staff are hired to sweep the waters and check each and every attic, closet and basement, more are going to be found. I'd like to reccommend that this photograph, in particular, be used for the 2008 Republican Campaign. Pity the man (or woman, fingers crossed) who has to inherit this backwards, confused and war-hungry administration. This girl didn't get to go to her first day of school this year. There's not a lot that anyone can do to fix that.

Dick Cheney mentioned in an interview that George Bush was "lucky" to have Hurricane Rita roaring towards the Texas coast, because it gave him a second chance to repair his damaged relationship with the american public by providing faster emergency services. But a hurricane, and 1000 ensuing deaths, isn't something that you get a practice shot at. That's why you were hired for the job - for the one-shot deals. The world is watching, and I sincerely hope that after the storm passes this weekend, there won't be any photographs like this one for us to bear.

-b

3 Concerts in Review

And just like that, the era of my life that I like to call "touring steve and frantically trying to secure tickets at the last moment Bri" has come to an end. As much as I've neglected my blog this summer, I feel like it deserves a second chance. Something about the semi-publicness of this space kind of got to me; I couldn't decide whether to take the "fuck-it" attitude and write whatever I felt like writing, or try to please the throng of admirers (usually telling me that they like my blog, keep up the good work, and have I been to their travel site recently?) and write something that might actually be worth reading. THEN, I realized that unlike my word-slut boyfriend, I'm not a writer. Not for other people, anyway, and attempting to write something worthwhile and failing is much more embarrassing than pretending like I don't care.

Where does that leave me? 2 weeks into the new year and 4 concert reviews behind! The blog must go on, if only because I promised myself that it would, and it really has become an exercise in self-discovery. And while I may only aspire to the likes of the blog-greats, I still want to hope that my words could mean something ... even if only to myself ... in 50 years. I constantly think about Ann Frank, who my best friend bears a striking resemblance to; she had NO idea her diary was going to be published in 36 different languages and read by millions of people. Shouldn't I at least be considerate of the possibility?

Right - the concerts. I won't attempt to write an intellectual and well-constructed review, but I do have a few notes about seeing Pearl Jam 3 times on their cross-Canadian tour, and U2 wedged inbetween for good measure. Most of them are positive. My first PJ experience, in particular, was extraordinary. The London venue was gorgeous, small, intimate and packed with genuine die-hards who had an energetic wave going before the show started. It was electric. At that point, not having ever seen the band in concert, everything that I heard was a treat. Seeing the show with Steve made it 100% more meaningful to me -- knowing how excited he was to be there was something that I fed off of. in a strange way, I was really proud of him. He was surrounded by people who claimed to be PJ's biggest fans and he held his own. I was proud to tell the couple sitting next to us that he was sitting 7th row at the Thunder Bay show. I was proud when he knew the names of obscure Bruce Springsteen and Dead Kennedy covers that I had never heard before. I was proud that he knew all of the hand signals to the song Animal. Like, he just glew. Couple that with a blistering set-list, including oft sought after but rarely played "Hard To Imagine" and I was TOTALLY satisfied.

Being satisfied didn't stop Michael and I from being complete idiots, however. He came home from work the following night and asked me how the concert was. After gushing about it to him, I casually mentioned that the Hamilton show that night hadn't quite sold out yet. He eyed me cautiously. "We should go", he said. I tried to gage if he was serious. "Could you imagine how crazy that would be?" I replied. And we looked at each other. After a drawn out silence, he suggested, "do you want to?"

And that was it. We got Alana, who probably could name two Pearl Jam songs, tops, to drive us to Hamilton, picked up 40 dollar scalpers tickets and took it in from the back of Copps coliseum. The set list was solid, I heard a TON of songs I hadn't heard the night before and I was totally fucking proud of myself for being such a bad-ass.

The third show, in Toronto, I managed to get a ticket to from Alana, who decided after the Hamilton show that PJ wasn't her groove. I was more than happy to agree, if not persuade her that she was right. Again, an awesome performance, an awesome setlist, an awesome crowd.

HIGHLIGHTS:
- hearing "Small Town" for the first time live
- seeing Stone, who had been asked to sing, approach the mic and say, "What I really want to do is dance" ... with sexy butt-shaking to follow
- Bono and Eddie, along with a trio of tambourines, ripping up "Keep On Rocking in the Free World" together during the second encore in Toronto
- All of the solid, friendly and gracious PJ fans that I met and had wild conversations with
- Phone calls from Steve from each of the 4 venues that I didn't go to, with his cell held up toward the stage so that I could hear whatever was playing
- Hearing "Hard to Imagine", "Thumbing My Way", "Oceans", "You Are", "In My Tree", "I Am Mine" and "Present Tense"

DISAPPOINTMENTS:
- sitting up in the 300s was a lot different and a lot less special than being on the floor
- not hearing "Long Road", "Baba O'Reilly" or "Last Kiss"

So I guess, in the end, I completed a little tour of my own! More on the U2 concerts later (well, concert singular). I'm off to sleep.

Random Photo #4

The lovely Alex and I on a walk-home shift. As to his head-dress, your guess is as good as mine!

I Can Hear The Bells

There is no feeling quite so giddy as having that 'underwater' effect in your ears post concert, where everyone sounds like they're yelling at you while submerged in a bathtub. The shock of the normal decibel range sounds almost foreign, as though the concert was in technicolour and the rest of the world in shades of grey. That's how you know you had a good night -- if you've damaged your hearing. More than an hour after Bono and Eddie Vedder brought down the ACC tonight during a passionate cover of "Rockin' in the Free World", my ears are ringing and I have blisters on the bottom (yes, bottom) of my feet, either from walking from my house to the ACC (in a cool 47 minutes) or from standing in section 321 for a solid 2.5 hours straight.

It was a strange and unexpected way to end what was already a strange and unexpected day for me. Beyond the fact that I was somehow able to catch the Pearl Jam craze before it moved east to the lovely city of Quebec ... City (and ending my lovely boyfriend's obsessive, 2-week string of PJ shows in 7 different cities, thus returning to me a much more normal, if slightly exhausted Steve), today was also notably the day that I dropped out of graduate school.

It was such an easy thing to do. And I feel like a bit of a biter to be writing about it here today, because Steve and I actually resigned from our respective University of Toronto programs within hours of each other, but it was a legitimate decision for each of us. And yes, we're probably going to start picking out matching outfits and power walking in the mall together, now that we have all of this time on our hands and have evidently decided to make all of our decisions jointly, but I digress. I am no longer registered as a masters student at the Graduate Centre for the Study of Drama and I feel as though I maybe never was -- as though it was merely a typo on a long list of good decisions with positive repercussions. Coming to Toronto was a good decision. Deciding to enlist in higher education was a good decision. But drama, for me, was no longer a good decision. Part of me applied for the program because there was nothing else that I could see myself doing this year. Part of me applied just for the excitement and honor of getting in. I like challenges. I like to see how far I can take myself. I was proud to tell people that I was going to graduate school - it was something that very few people in my family (2, that I can think of ... My dad and a great-uncle) would be able to say. But I never really made the distinction between being passionate about getting a grad degree and being passionate about committing myself to 5 full credits of graduate drama.

Right away, I think, as soon as I went to my first class (which happened to be taught primarily IN Italian) I knew that I was in the wrong place. The things that I wanted to study in detail and the way I wanted to contribute my knowledge and passion no longer had any real connection to this community. I don't care about dramaturgy or directing or women in 20th century theatre or Canadian history ... or anything. I felt so indifferent that I debated attending my second class, and my third. I was in the wrong place. I want to teach and work with children and make decisions about curriculum and get people excited about art. So I went in today, explained this to my graduate co-ordinator (who sent me on my way with a big hug and a promise to stay in touch, bless her) and I'm done.

What next? I have no idea. I also, as of today, have no child support, no more interest-free student loans, no disability income from my mom's pension, no health insurance, no flight benefits, no money in my bank account and no job. And yes, I did happen to have a bit of a breakdown yesterday. But I'm so excited about the idea of spending a year on ME: making money (soon, soon), exercising, reconnecting with friends, volunteering for a group that I care about, getting to know Toronto, and most of all - NOT going to school, that my positives seem to brightly outshine any obstacles that I'm going to have to overcome. I have nothing but choices and therefore nothing but opportunities, all of which I can't wait to be a part of. I'm reminded of my favorite Jann Arden line, which I come back to every time I feel lost:

"feet on ground/heart in hand/facing forward/be yourself"

and I think to myself that I can really do it. It has been a REALLY big day for me, but like Steve told me last night, maybe it was the day AFTER I dropped out that I was really scared about. Hopefully tomorrow, when things are inevitably tough again, I won't forget how 'right' I feel right now.

Look ahead in the distance

I don't know why I've put this off for so long. I've been waiting to find a punctuation point over what has quickly become the chaos of the last two weeks here in Toronto; I need a moment where I feel like I've achieved enough to be able to comment objectively, or even subjectively, about anything. But everything feels like it keeps looping over itself -days, nights, to-do lists, worries, excitement, change- and I can't get far enough away from my life, disentangled maybe, to be able to write about it.

So here I am. The current scene doesn't appear, to the casual observer, any different from the previous two weeks. My music is playing (softly, because Michael's asleep), I've got a bowl of dry cheerios in front of me (the milk went sour), I've cleaned my room and wrote some emails and made a couple of phone calls and checked for text messages from my boy friend (there were none), and worried a bit about bills and people and other things that are really hard to worry about because you can never really make things right. But the difference tonight, the big difference and the reason why I'm able to sit down and spill my guts, is that I've found my punctuation mark, as it were. I'm coming up for air. Today, I pretty much made the decision to drop out of grad school.

But saying "dropping out" sounds so ugly. It makes it seem as though I've failed somehow, when I truly believe that it was the program that failed me. Okay, maybe it didn't FAIL me, but it certainly didn't live up to my expectations. And honestly, when I give it enough serious thought, I'm not even that emotionally invested in it. Like, it doesn't bother me that I won't be going, don't want to be going. I kind of just feel numb, really.

I tried to explain it to someone tonight by likening it to sexual attraction. When you meet someone with whom you have chemistry, you want to get to know them more. They excite you and intrigue you and make you nervous and you want to get to know them better. Sure, they may turn out to be a horrible match for you, and you end up burning pictures of them over a garbage can, but at least you gave them a chance. At least there was that spark. But with me and grad school, it was like there was no spark at all. As soon as I became a part of the graduate program, I realized that it and I didn't have a future together. There was no attraction, no interest; I was even somewhat repulsed. I think that it might be better for both grad school and I to end things now while we're still able to be amicable, rather than delaying an inevitably messy and expensive divorce down the road. No hard feelings, Drama Centre et al. ... I'm just not that into you. It's not you, it's me. I'm sure you'll make someone very happy one day. I'm also sure that one day I'll be able to love school again - I just need a little bit of time right now to figure out who I am.

Speaking of which (or not, really, but a segue of some sort seemed necessary), have you ever met someone with a defeatist attitude when it comes to relationships? Their attitude is, "every relationship that I will ever have, with the possible exception of one, will end in a break-up" ... so why bother at all, right? I always hated when I was in junior high and high school and would have to field comments from people about my relationships like "you know you're not going to get married, right?" Of course I knew. But eventually, you find the person that you ARE going to get married to, ergo you have to treat each relationship as though it might be the one. I mean, we have no idea, do we.

Just some vague and rambling observations, I guess. I'm trying not to get into the gritty detail of my life in the past few weeks, because it's just as boring as it is complex to me. I moved to Toronto, painted my bedroom, bought a bunch of Ikea furniture, drove a UHaul around for a day with Steve-as-wingman, got organized for school, started school, hated school. I dunno. It all seems so average and uneventful and meaningless. I feel homesick, but I'm not sure what for. Queen's? No - I was ready to leave by the time I was finished, excited to move on to new things. Vancouver? Vancouver isn't really home for me. I dunno. I guess I just want something that makes me feel secure. I act as though I can easily accomodate change, but the truth is that it throws me into a spiral that I struggle to get out of. I like constancy. I like knowing. I like security. I like routine. I don't like feeling scared and lonely, and I dislike writing about it even more.

A couple of days ago while I was organizing my files, I came across a large stack of thank you letters, love letters and friendship letters that I had accumulated over the last 10 years or so - everything from a valentine that I got from a boy in grade 4, to a letter from Alana at the end of university that still puts a lump in my throat to read. Spreading out the cards and letters, looking through old professions of love from boys I had once kissed, christmas cards from junior high friends ... made me feel like if I could somehow wrap up the security and affection from them, I would know how to be happy. I love writing letters, although my letter writing project went a little bit astray. I am reminded of how important it is to tell other people that you appreciate them. My collection is now in a special box, ready to be pulled out any time I feel like no one knows I exist yet in this big city.

It's getting late ... almost two hours after I started (and after various inturruptions). I'm not sure if this is what my entry was supposed to be like, or if I meant to swing it towards sports and shows and concerts and other things that are a little less about me and a little more about my world. But this will have to do. Once I get things figured out, you'll be the first to know. Until then, thanks for listening.

-b

Animal Liberation

If you're looking for a really controversial topic to bring up around the water cooler in these last days of the summer job, take a look at PETA's "Animal Liberation" website, and try to understand the basis behind some of their arguments. Pictures of elephants in chains being compared to pictures of african slaves in chains. Get it? We're bad people. We chain up the animals and the animals deserve to be free. Pictures of animals being housed like cargo, likened to pictures of immigrants being housed like cargo. The insinuation that the lynchings of hundreds of thousands of black people are somehow equivelent to the slaughter of a bull for meat. And the message? Liberate the animals. The cows, chickens, Indians and African Americans alike. Love them all, and let's treat them all like they deserve to be treated. Just because they're animals doesn't mean they don't have feelings ...and get yourself a vegetarian starter kit while you're at it.

I don't know what to make of it, other than that while radical underground rumblings are usually heaving society in the right direction, sometimes they make me question how far we've really come.

Katrina lurking

I've had a hard time sitting down at my computer and writing a complete and coherent blog entry. I have at least three files on my desk top right now labelled "unfinished blog entry (1/2/3)", one dating as far back as my trip to Calgary and Thunder Bay in July, but I can't seem to construct an entry that reflects the emotional rollercoaster that I've been on lately. By the time I get half way through writing, my mood changes entirely, my thoughts invariably follow, and I have to start all over again.

So here I am at midnight, stuck on the North Saanich penninsula of Vancouver Island due to a ferry malfunction (which, admittedly, isn't a horrible place to be stuck) and I've been thinking about hurricanes and weddings. And the more I think about it, the less possible it seems to incorporate both of these thoughts into a blog entry that can really frame my state of mind. Like, I'm completly random.

But I thought you should know that although I've never been in a hurricane, I think that they're fascinating. I also get a little bit excited when one starts building in the Atlantic, the tiny low pressure centre spinning and becoming darker and darker in colour on the radar map. Is that morbid, to be excited about natural disasters? Sometimes when I'm walking on the beach --which, in BC, isn't the miles of white sand that you see on the Club Med brochure, but a rocky, wild, coastline-- and I imagine that the waves could crash down and pick me up, carrying me off. I like to think about how powerful they are. I used to let myself get tossed in the waves when I was younger, afraid and awed at the same time. Hurricanes, I suspect, are just bigger, more powerful and more awe inspiring. There's something extraordinary about a cloud, a mass of air that we can see on our radars but can't stop, inching towards a shoreline and systemically wiping out our carefully planned cities, our houses and our shopping malls and our climate controlled sports arenas and making everyone realize how trivial everything is. It just makes so much sense. I mean -- we've put people into space. We've cured diseases. We've conquered the living planet, but all that we can do when a hurricane rolls in is board up our windows and wait for it.

The knowing is the wildest part, to me. Earthquakes and tornadoes, fire ... these are all so unpredictable -- it seems more tragic somehow, in their randomness, that they can be so destructive. But everybody knows when a hurricane is coming. Meteorologists can predict, sometimes days ahead, almost the exact hour that the storm will make landfall. Unlike other disasters, this one seems calculated. Inevitable. People board up, pack up and ship out. The tragedy, therefore, is the people that we see on the news (and there's always a few of them out there) that look right into the camera and pronounce, "my grandpaw survived the hurricane of '48, he built this here mo-bile home with his two hands, and I gots me some good strong wire to secure her down. We ain't goin' nowhere. This is our home and it's my american right to stay.... sure, I been hearin' dem warnings. I'm not scared of no storm. God is with me, I'm saying. I don't need to pack up when I've got Jesus Christ"

And the mobile home gets shipped out to sea in pieces, three days later, along with the rest of the Florida panhandle. Nature asserts herself again, and I, from my vantage point in the interior of British Columbia, follow on my computer and feel both stunned and excited to be a part of it. Morbid, but true.

And my thoughts on weddings, you ask? Many, and complicated -- best saved for another entry. I managed to make this one work on its own, anyway.

My 200th Entry

It’s amazing to me how different each day can be. I am sitting at my desk, watching the branches of the tree outside my window sway, lifting up and down in rhythm as though propelled by a pair of lungs. The phone rings in the background, but since I’m not on reception today, I don’t have to answer it. There’s nothing wrong with today, per say. I’m not sick, or working at a horrible job. I have no reason to be feeling blue, and I’m not, exactly. I just don’t feel like I’m here. I’ve been sitting at my desk for two hours now, picking at a blueberry scone and trying not to watch the clock every time the minute hand clicks forward. It’s exhausting, being bored.

Yesterday, time flew by. I felt bright and cheery, got my work done on time and was surprised when Stephanie came over to remind me to lock up, surprised that it was 5pm and I had been happily occupied the entire afternoon. I was lucky to have a day like that. Today, on the other hand couldn’t go quickly enough. Time is a funny thing, isn’t it? When you’re looking forward to something, when you really want time to pass quickly, it drags on; however, if you’re enjoying yourself, relaxing or otherwise having a good time, time flies. I know that this isn’t some sort of epiphany. I just wish I could figure out a way to trick myself, so as to make the next week and a half of work feel like it was over in a flash. All of my energy right now is looking forward – I came to Vancouver, achieved what I needed to get done (which, essentially, was make as much money as I could while spending as little as possible) and I feel not only ready but also overdue for the next step. Part of me, therefore, feels like I’ve already left here; my body sits at my desk for 40 hours a week, but my mind is on September, on starting classes and new friends and on Steve.

No one ever really explained to me how hard a long distance relationship could be and I’m not sure I gave it any thought the first time Steve and I kissed, thereby cementing the crazy attraction between us and launching us into couple-ness. I had ‘done’ long distance before – my ex-boyfriend lived in Tennessee and I spent summers working in Kingston, so with the exception of one summer living together in Mississauga, we spent 8 months of our 3 years apart- but it always felt temporary. For Steve and I, distance has been the rule, not the exception. When you’re not actually ‘with’ somebody, a lot of what is so wonderful about a relationship is intrinsically lost; no cuddling, no doing Sunday crosswords together, no sitting on the front porch for late night talks, no making dinner or doing errands, no “I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by”, no meeting up for lunch between classes, and obviously no sex.. No one tells you how hard it is not to be able to have any intimacy like that. And it’s hard, we’ve found, to keep the sense of relationship intact when really, all we do is talk on the phone. I’m sick of it, and I’ve tried to be so patient with myself, I have. But the next … (counting) … 11 days couldn’t pass quickly enough. I’m so tired of waiting for it to get here.

11:17am. I’ve managed to pass 15 minutes. Someone needs to come and save me soon – I seriously don’t know how I’m gonna survive until 5:30 tonight.

Random Photo #3 -- "Sisters"

Sometimes we look really alike! These two girls are my heart and soul

to be yourself

To be nobody but yourself - in a world which is doing its best night and day, to make you everybody else-means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.

e. e. cummings

Random Photo #2

Taken from the deck of the BC ferry en route to visit my grandparents. Beautiful BC!

Is it love or infatuation?

This article was published in the Calgary Herald on Valentine's Day while I was in high school. I've often thought about it, either in passing or for my own good, and never could find it published on the internet. While cleaning out my mom's filing cabinet for her tonight, I found the original article, now posted here for the sake of longevity, and because I think in the age of "every single person I know is getting married RIGHT NOW" it's always important to know that above all things, love is enough.

Infatuation is fleeting desire - one body calling to another. It is marked by a feeling of insecurity. You are excited and eager and maybe even giddy, but not genuinely content.There are nagging doubts, unanswered questions, little bits and pieces about the relationship that you would just as soon not examine too closely. It might spoil the dream.

Love is friendship that has caught fire. It takes root and grows, one day at a time.

Love is quiet understanding and mature acceptance. It is real. It gives you strength and grows beyond you - love bolsters and nurtures your beloved. You are warmed by their presence, even when they are away.

Miles do not separate you. You have so many wonderful films in your head that you keep replaying. Near or far, you know that your love is yours, and you can wait.

Infatuation says, "we must get married right away. I can't risk losing him".

Love says, "Be patient. Don't panic. Plan your future together with confidence".

Infatuation has an element of sexual excitement. Whenever you are together, you hope it will end in intimacy.

Love is not based only on sex. It is the maturation of friendship that makes sex so much sweeter. You must be friends before you can be lovers.

Infatuation lacks confidence. When he's away, you wonder if he is thinking only about you. Love, however, means trust. You are calm, secure and unthreatened. He feels your trust and it makes him love you more.

Infatuation might lead you to do things you will regret, but love never steers you in the wrong direction.

Love is elevating.
It lifts you up.
It makes you look forward.
It makes you better than you were before.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Johns

Today is my boyfriend Steve’s 25th birthday – the quarter century, as it were, and a celebration that he claims marks the end of adolescence (although I might beg to differ). In honor of the occasion, and because I’m in Vancouver and he’s in Toronto and I can’t do anything in person to make his day special, I’ve made a list of 25 things about Steve that are unique, strange and wonderful, and consequently, all reasons why I love him so much.

1. If you’ve met Steve, you’ll know how passionate he is. Whether it’s baseball statistics, “Rent” the musical, or Pearl Jam set lists – he puts all of his energy into things that he cares about.
2. He puts me to shame with a cribbage board (and can count cards so fast, I like to call him Rain Man”)
3. He’s the best writer I’ve ever met – seriously. After reading his blog, it’s hard to dispute that this man’s got a phenomenal way with words
4. He’s there for his friends. One of the first things that attracted me to him was how genuine and attentive he was to the people around him. Steve’s got a TON of friends, and it’s 100% due to the fact that he treats people well and makes them feel important
5. He’s funny. Sort of. Just not when the jokes are about me
6. He likes to argue. Sometimes he’ll argue with me even when he agrees with me, just to wind me up. He could debate any point in the world, whether or not he believes it and win without breaking a sweat. This is generally VERY frustrating for me
7. He’s a great partner for kicking the soccer ball around, throwing a football, or patiently trying to teach me how to play Frisbee – there isn’t a sport that he isn’t totally adept at
8. He helps strangers, offers his seat on the subway to the elderly and gives his change from Tim Horton’s every day to the homeless man who holds the door open
9. He makes sure that I wake up in the morning, and that I don’t get horribly lost in downtown Toronto
10. I have never, *NEVER*, in 9 months of dating, seen him cook. I actually don’t think that it’s in his genetic make up to prepare food (although he does put together a mean bowl of dry cheerios, half of a peeled banana and little cubes of cheese … and no, I have no idea why we’re still together)
11. He’s awake every day before 8 in the morning, regardless of what he’s doing that day. I, on the other hand, used to sleep until 2pm before I met him. I am very, VERY grateful that there’s someone around to say to me, ‘Bri, get the heck out of bed, you lazy slug’(or maybe not!)
12. Steve is a self-proclaimed “hater”, but I think it’s a façade to cover up the fact that he’s probably TOO nice
13. Steve is probably just as crazy and neurotic as I am; we’ve both got the weirdest quirks, but we completely understand each other (well – most times, anyway)
14. He calls me “heed” for the fact that there was no category for my head on the circumference chart when I was born (it was MASSIVE), and I call him “fat guts” for the fact that he has a tiny roll of skin around his midsection that he believes to be his enormous, flabby belly
15. We like the same movies and never fight at the movie store (except when he wants me to watch Pulp Fiction … again).
16. We’re both perfectly content to sit on a couch every Sunday and bicker about football together, watching either the ‘Niners or the Vikings
17. Steve will always do everything he can to make life easier for the people around him
18. He is a creature of habit. He eats the same thing every morning, orders the same doughnut and coffee every day at Tim’s, eats the same dish every time he goes to his favorite restaurant, and goes through the same routine each morning before starting work on his paper. It’s endearing, if not a little bit funny
19. He’s one of those guys who can ACTUALLY be showered and ready to go in less than 10 minutes
20. He’s the bravest person I know. He’s not afraid of anything that scares me, like needles, the subway people, or bugs. He’s helping me to become more brave, too
21. He’s an incredibly logical and rational person. When I get too emotional, or too overwhelmed by things, Steve can easily calm me down and help me formulate a plan
22. He’s a great listener, and really takes the time to understand what people are saying
23. Steve is the least romantic person I’ve ever met. I’m actually serious. If a word like “feelings” comes up in conversation, I get a blank stare, almost like I’m trying to explain calculus to a three-year-old. We love him anyway, though (because he’s still so genuine and fun)
24. He’s hot (sorry, but it had to be said)
25. He makes me feel incredibly lucky to be a part of his life
    
    Happy 25th Birthday, sweetheart!
    
    Okay, okay – the sap is over. You can all go back to what you were doing.

Another one bites the dust

I had great plans for this weekend. I haven't been in Vancouver for the past two, and hoped to spend some time out in the sunshine, get more painting done (project "paint the entire apartment" is going slow and tenuously, at best) and work on making a dent in the book I'm reading. Sadly, it's Sunday night, and while yesterday I was able to make it out of the house, today I did absolutely nothing. I can't recall watching any television, spending all that much time on the internet, or doing ANYTHING around the house. It took me until 4:00 to even take a shower. I just didn't see the need to expend that much energy if I wasn't planning on getting off of the couch until monday. It was the heat that did me in for sure; it was only about 29 degrees outside, but our little 7th floor apartment heated up to ... well, I don't know, but it was much, much warmer.

So my update is going to be random, since I have nothing really fantastic to say about the last 48 hours, except that it brings me 48 hours closer to being done work and facing the daunthing task of grad school (which I'm so excited about, I'll start shaking at the thought).

Thought #1: The 49ers aren't staging the comeback that I have been fantasizing about
And as Steve pointed out, it *is* a little bit early to be making determinations about an entire season. But when Alex "the fate of a franchise is on my shoulders" Smith went 3 for 9 and managed a grand total of 0 first downs in his first time at the helm of an NFL offence, it's difficult not to feel a little thwarted. Smith put together 25 yards of offence, rushed for 7 in two attempts and was sacked twice. I don't have much to say now, except that no amount of talent in the world will compensate for experience; I have high hopes for him as he grows into the team and the league. Whether he gets a starting position this year is up in the air, for sure.
(I was gonna keep this thought going, sending digs to the special teams unit, but realize I'm starting to sound a lot like Steve, so I'll move on)

Thought #2: In Other News...

• A man's body was found in the landing gear of a plane that travelled from montreal to paris. He was, of course, dead. The funniest part is that apparently he had been stowed away in the luggage, but realizing that he couldn't travel there (can anyone say airpressure?), he made it as far down as the airplane's landing gear before dying. Who knows.
• There's a 12-year-old in manitoba who is already being scouted by top NFL teams. The reason? He hasn't even hit puberty yet, and he's already 5'11 and weights 280 pounds. He recently outgrew his size 13 sneakers and doctor's suggest that he still has at least another 6 inches to grow. His mom, apparently, had to sew extra pieces of fabric onto his football uniform just so that he could play
• I love this one: two men in Ontario in their mid-30s have decided to get married. Not a big deal, right? Well it might be, seeing as how they're not gay. The men decided to see if they would be taken seriously, and given that they were, are now enjoying the tax and other financial benefits of being married in the eyes of the law.
• This story is fantastic, simply because the man remarks, "Every time I reach a Starbucks I feel like I've accomplished something," Winter said, "when actually I have accomplished nothing." That pretty much sums up everything I think about everything that's wrong with this world.

I guess I'm one to talk, hey? I too, have accomplished nothing. But at least I'm not bragging about it (and in case you were wondering, yes, I did cut all of these little articles out of the newspapers that I'm forced to read at work, looking for articles about my company)

Steve Montage

Do you ever notice that when we're dating people, we tend to fall in line with their speech patterns; like adapting small nuances into our behaviour that make us ultimately more similar? Most people adapt without really being conscious of it. I've definitely picked up on some of steve's phrases and mannerisms, if only because he's so distinctive (and no, I won't get into it). But one thing I won't pick up, and take great delight in bringing to your attention, is his total obsession with his own dorkiness. He's like a puppy who just found his own tail (I had to bite my lip not to liken him to a boy who has found his own penis for the first time). Just about every blog entry lately has contained references like the following:

• I used to wake up at 6 o'clock in the morning for the sole purpose of downloading...and yes, this probably helps to explain why girls wouldn't talk to me in first year.)
• I've always enjoyed watching backstage footage, and yes, this helps explain why girls didn't talk to me until after second year)
• I'd like to think I've grown since then; if my five years at Queen's taught me anything it's that I should embrace my inner geek, and if this blog hasn't thoroughly convinced you that I'm the biggest nerd you've ever met then I'm clearly not trying hard enough.
• Just when you thought I couldn't possibly be any dorkier, I'm back with a column about fantasy sports.
• If that statement didn't seal an eternity in Geek Heaven, I don't know what will. Of course, this begs the question: would Geek Heaven be a better place today if I was already there? Oh, but I digress.
• But this is the kind of stuff I live for--and yes, it helps explain how I graduated a virgin. Also, if you weren't quite convinced I'm the world's biggest dork...well, read on
• The lesson, as always: I'm a dork. But you know that already...and since I've got nothing to hide, here are my final few, fragmented thoughts from a day spent watching the "biggest concert in the history of the world".
• Example #54,294 of why I'm the biggest dork alive: I spent no less than three hours of my day today following the on sales for Pearl Jam's fifteen Canadian concerts.

The man has discovered and come to terms with his inner geek. And even though I'm not going to be so vocal about mine, I'm damn proud of him for it - dating the smartest person I've ever met has certainly only made me better. Thanks for being such a loser, sweetheart. I wouldn't want you any other way!