Today's Doodles

THE purse

..that contains all aforementioned paraphernalia. I think that would make a cook coffee table book. Purses, their contents, and the mental status of their owners.

Blurry Casino Night Photos...

You know it's a party..

When apple pukes and there is some inter-ingredient cookie love going on..

To the asshole..

...who left such a fucking ridiculous comment? Go fuck yourself! Cheers!

What is is your purse?

I really love.. like, love, creeping on other people - and one of the things I love the most.. is knowing what is IN things. Fridges, make-up bags, purses, medicine cabinets, wallets. I love peering into peoples lives in tiny, little ways - my friend posted her list of "What is in your purse?"... So I figured I'd reciprocate, and let all those poor souls like me get some enjoyment on the miniscule tote bag scale.

Albert Camus - The Outsider
Karl Marx-1844 Manuscripts
Karl Marx - The Communist Manifesto
My Wallet
A black Moleskin
Dove Silk deodorant
4 pens - 2 black, 2 blue
1 blue highlighter
3 Staedtler pencil crayons - black, grey, white
Marc Jacobs Daisy sample
Stella In Two Peony sample
One toony, two loonies, 5 quarters, 4 dimes, one nickle, 4 pennies
Nail cutters
birth control
anti-depressants
anti-biotics
voice recorder for lectures
pay stub

My god. I am boring.

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow

-TS Eliot

Merry Literatie

Too tired to post. Not too tired to wish I lived in the 70's.

Graphed

down - had to get up, and realized for the first time in a long time I was actually immobilized with depression. Eventually got up after extending consequences of not going to class as far as dying alone because I hadn't been a part of Marx's bloody revolution of which I am studying this afternoon.
up - checked my mail, got 612$ from the government.
down - sat down in class and realized that I had a pair of black lace panties stuck to the mesh on my backpack and had walked all the way to the school with them there.
up- got my Rousseau essay back with an A on it - and the comment "It is always a pleasure reading your essays" on the back.
down - now am in the library where I will probably stay until midnight tonight writing on Heidegger and reading Camus until I want to kill myself even more, then going home to make sure my boyfriend would still miss me.

Hiding in the library

I "love" this site.

Check it out.

Strange Days

Light Pollution

Art made in the shade.

Yup, "Jesus" loves you.

one.

You.Can.Only.Type.One.Word.No.Explanations.
1. Yourself: relaxed
2. Your significant other: working
3. Your hair: burnt
4. Your mother: waiting
5. Your father: learning
6. Your favorite item: bracelet
7. Your dream last night: tortured
8. Your favorite drink: wine
9. Your dream car: jaguar
10. The room you are in: bedroom
11. Your ex: missing
12. Your fear: failure
13. What you want to be in 10 years? happy
14. Who you hung out with last night? Jared
15. What You're Not? empty
16. Muffins: bran
17. One of your wish list items: purse
18. Time: 9:10
19. The last thing you did: ate
20. What you are wearing: blue
21. Your favorite weather: sun sun sun
22. Your favorite book: can'tbeoneword
23. The last thing you ate: pho
24. Your life: fast
25. Your mood: content
26. Your best friend: jarholbine
27. What are you thinking about right now? Modigliani
28. Your car: nonexistent
29. What are you doing at the moment? watching
30. Your summer: hard
31. Your relationship status: loved
32. What is on your TV? L&O
33. What is the weather like? frigid
34. When is the last time you laughed? minute

Too Tired.

I'm too exhausted to post anything with any originality or composure.

Helen Levitt Rocks My Socks

The Ten Most Visited Pages on Conservapedia

Hilarious.
Kinda.

The Finer Things.

intricate, beautiful, sweet and dangerous. http://www.petercallesen.com/index.html

Fun.

The Israeli script looks like bullet holes.. urp..

Before you embark on writing a Heideggar essay, dig two graves. The smaller of which for your paper.

ARG. I had a great lecture this morning on Sarte, but now I'm home faced with a very messy apartment that I have to make ready for house guests (M and H are stopping here for 4 days on their way to Vegas) ... So I'm grumping about thinking that I need a mop. Grump grump. And listening to Heidegger lectures so I can write my essay this afternoon. All of which is putting me in a serious existential slump. At least it's sunny. More on Sarte later.

I have been thinking of this painting.

Thayer's "The Virgin"

And a way better person if this doesn't make you.. squeamish.

Miss Landmine Angola.

You are a better person than I if you don't laugh at this.

No Tempests in this Teacup

Jared and I just likened the deep redness to of our tea to steak blood before he dropped it on the bed. He was trying to save the teacup saucer (which, truth be told, I would have been more upset about breaking) but what was priceless was his facial expression and the words that immediately came out of his mouth. "I am a terrible person and a horrible boyfriend." I stopped laughing ten minutes after. He's shocked. "But you love that bedspread!". Not as much as I love you babe.

with his awful teeth - Charles Bukowski

this dog Sadness is gnawing at me
again.
I sit in this room with a big hole
chewed in my
side.
all I want are some gentle moments
to fall like soft
raindrops.
they will not arrive.
this dog Sadness is a persistent
mongrel.
he finds me so often these days,
again and again.
he is here with me now.
"go on," he growls, "write your
poem about me,
it won't make me go
away."
he's right.
I stop and look at my
wristwatch,
follow the second hand around and around.
it leads me nowhere.
I am trapped here with this sad dog.
I make small movements,
light a cigarette,
rattle a box of
paper clips.
nothing changes.
this dog of Sadness
continues to
sit here with
me,
feeding greedily.
he is getting quite
fat.
you want a pet,
my friend?
I'll give him to you right
now
along with this
poem!
if only
you would
be kind enough to
take him away,
this
Sad
dog.

Discrepancy.

Speaking with Jared last night.. I realize there is a huge discrepancy between how I view my success at my job, my life, my happiness, and how it's viewed by others. I'm not doing so.. great. It seems like there is this huge gap, this grey space that I have to look up into, this bubble that is above where I am, and below where everyone else sees me. That they look at this sheen that sort of looks like I have it under control, that I'm put together. And that below that, there is this grey space that hides the fact that I'm falling apart. I'm tired. I can't stop sleeping, at all the wrong times! It seems like I can't get anything done on time except the bare minimum. *sigh* Ridiculous. I want to be at home, with my mom. I need Christmas break so very badly.

I'm saying it now.

I love ikat prints, and they are going to be huge. *sigh*
I just wanted to say.

shiiiiittt...

just.. scroll.

ghetto-folio.

Handy Man

The other morning I heard a smash and a groan come from my bathroom - Jared dropped my bottle of Coco Mademoiselle on its head and luckily only smashed the lid off. So it didn't work with all the parts tenuously mashed about it. Last night I hear Jared fiddling in the bathroom, and then coughing and spitting. He "fixed" it, by removing all the pieces and then tried it, spraying it all over himself. It was weird, it was like sleeping with me last night, it gave me the willies. I don't know if I can wear it anymore..

I like this idea.

C'est du Vandalisme! ... un moment... C'est l'Art!

I love Europe. They pour paint into the Trei fountain and after an initial moment of outrage, the police commissioner says "If it was me, *wink* I would say this is art. I wish it had been me! *wink wink*" No lasting damage done and the fountains spraying pinkish red foam? Bien.

In Ottawa however, a relatively benign exhibit displaying Lord Durham, who advocated the assimilation of our French citizens, is being taken down because it is offensive. If I have learned anything in philosophy, it is that we cannot judge the moral actions of an epoch, only the progression of reason towards it's realization - we were not there, it's easy to judge from here.
What I have learned from these two news stories?
No wonder we have shitty art here.

Tuesday Art Class

Dear Mrs. Bhutto.

I'm just curious, as to what conditions Pakistan must operate under where a legitimate, transparent and well attended election is going to take place in a state of emergency? I guess I'm a little confused as to why you would be advocating democracy under any state of political un/rest- including that of martial law. Hasn't democracy for democracies sake already been proved a little.. hm.. destructive? Just checking.

Time out.

I have Friday through Wednesday off, so I've spent the time relaxing. Literally, doing nothing with the exception of eating, cleaning, watching movies and spending time with Jared. It's been pretty incredible, I'm not going to lie. Jared and I have gone out for dinner twice, watched three movies, slept until at least noon for most of the days, I've had time to draw, paint, listen to music, read, NOT clean... It's been a magical weekend.

Altruistic - Devoted to the welfare of others

Free rice?

Strange Animals 2.0

Thanks to whomever posted this on my leaping lemur-esque post. I now I have Billy Jean stuck in my head, and am faced once again with the realization that I cannot moonwalk.

Because If I Didn't Rate the Food, I Wouldn't Have Much To Say.

I wanted to see the Joe Fafard show at the Udell gallery this weekend, so looped Ian into doing the entire 124th Street gallery walk with me. It turned into more of a trot, or perhaps even an outright run, as we discover that not only do Edmonton's curators have no problem displaying naked pigs dressed as judges as cookie jars (seriously) but that they also seriously lack any epicurean talents as well. So, as a result of mediocre mediocrity, I have decided to rate the galleries both on clientèle, food, and lastly.. art.

Douglas Udell Gallery - I really like this space, don't get me wrong. Converted house, high ceilings, more rooms than usual, I like it. However, mediocre red wine and the fact that I brought the median age down by about 100 years was a tad dissapointing. Joe Fafard, the sculpter on display, is a Canadian that has happened to scratch the paint on the world stage, so it was a little dissapointing to see a geriatric turn out. I was going over CPR in my mind, and was really afraid to see any of them drinking lest it thin their blood anymore. I find that in general a more.. vibrant.. clientelle leads to a simultaneously vibrant and interesting feel to both the space and the art. All I got? An eyeful of cattle sculptures (seriously, I realise the rodeo and cattle show is in town, but they're not going to come to your gallery. Show us something a little more diverse and not so.. predictable.) and the certainty that I will NOT cut my hair into a bob when I turn 60. I was disappointed that they didn't include more of a showing of Fafard's drawings, which I like a lot more - but I guess you've got to play to the audience. Moo. Oh yeah, and the food? Until that day I'd never had a BAD Bernard Callebaut chocolate. Enough said, yes?



Scott Gallery- Don't get me wrong, a nice landscape is as thrilling and effective as a portrait. And some of Phyllis Anderson's works were fabulous - I guess I was just a little.. ho hum about them? They would look perfectly at home in the Westin, or in a nice upscale brunch place. The audience was a little younger, the gallery girls were smartly dressed (one had these acid green shoes on that I think I may have spent more time looking at than the paintings), and everyone seemed genuinely pleased to be there. Plus, the mini-quiches were piping hot, which is a feat unto itself. A great space, long and heavy on the front window, I really like it. Wasn't bad, but I liked the food more than art.


Agnes Bugera- I'm going to have to award the "Worst Food, Best Art" award here. I'm pretty sure the lettuce was rotting under the cheese that was funny looking.. and hell, I'm all for funny looking cheese but this was NOT right. Ian liked the pop with hunks of strawberries floating it in, but it really couldn't make up for the weird munchies. HOWEVER, all was saved by Greg Edmunsons AMAZING AMAZING paintings. A strange cross between sleepy hollow and something that reminded me of a lost Muslim woman, landscape and the emergence of man in that landscape - it took my breath away. So did the shitty cheese, but in a way better way. I recommend that anyone in Edmonton try and see if before it's gone.


West End Gallery - Unfortunately, with a "Worst Food, Best Art" award, we need a complementary "Best Food, Worst Art" award. Though I guess that isn't so.. complementary. A beautiful space, very well lit, obviously with a lot of money (high res flat screen tv behind the 60 year old gallery girls desk with other paintings by the same artist scrolling by). But my god. Guy Roy's paintings looked like a young autistic Hans Christian Anderson on meth did them. It was horrible. Landscapes with crooked acid colored shacks, thick thick gloms of paint masquerading as technique and really just looking like whomever painted it just threw a shit fit because they couldn't keep spinning in circles.. It was horrible. I couldn't stop laughing. I know thats terrible, but it was just so heinous that I couldn't help myself. HOWEVER - the food. Great red and white wine, coffee with mint Bailey's, and the cheese.. soft goat topped with port and cranberries, warm brie, old cheddar.. awesome. Unfortunately, it was at the back of the gallery, so you had to sheild your eyes and run lest you suffer an artistic stroke. *giggle*

Just a pinch.ed face.

Trashy? Not so fast.

This is amazing.

This is beautiful. I can't even see a disability here -this is an ability that takes my breath away.

Can't Sleep?

Don't Count Sheep. Surf your way to blissful oblivion.
How about the Museum of Online Museums? (MoOM) My favorite has got to be the Condiment Packet Gallery.
I know I hate throwing out leftovers. How about a social movement that fixes that?
Benny Hinn - Christianity to give you nightmares.
Interviews with the obscure? Sure, but they have great shit to say.
Damn the toe jam - do the culture jam.
She'll freak you out, but make you think at the same time. Like Condi, but better. Laura Splan.
I'm Too Sad To Tell You - but I'll show you. This is simultaneously beautiful and heartwrenching.
If you have a LOT of time on your hands.. like.. a lot.. try some stop motion. Or watch the pros at Red Nose. (ps - the red string project is my fave.)
Use your trash basket and make some art.

Warmth.

Tuesday Art Class

Three sets from todays art class - one black on pink, one black and white, and one black and white with a pink mylar overlay.

To The Good

So as I'm attempting to pulverize the avocado the other night, resplendent in sweatpants, one of J's Vanguard t-shirts, 2 day old hair.. and avocado.. I get a knock on my door. Now despite what you may believe I have few close friends in a proximity that allows them to knock on my door, so I just kinda stared at J. And opened the door.
And there, offering hope in a plastic resealable was A. Handing over a container of bruscetta, filled with garlic and the promise in a small and sweet smile that yes, she'd totally been creeping my blog, and chin up, and really.. her just being there was enough. So A, if you're reading this - we're not great and overwhelming friends - but we are comrades in the fight of all fights, for sanity and love and health and belief and faith - and I just wanted to let you know, if you pop by the blog - you saved my week with that container of bruscetta. You have a place in my heart, my soul and my fight that is more than many occupy. Cheers, and yum.

Malaise sounds too much like Mayonaise for a depressed girl on a diet.

I'm still progressing through an incredibly violent and virulent purge of things and bullshit out of my life. I'm working up to getting the two moving boxes out of storage and throwing all the crap out of those. I think it's also working with my diet and working out - at getting all the bullshit and fat and yuck out of my body and my life. No joke, I would still rather sit in a minamalist apartment and drink only red wine and smoke and nothing else - but barring that I will be one of the pathetic souls on the precor elliptical machine trying to work out their existential malaise and work off the delish spicy thai pizza that they ate last night. *sigh* Fuck.

November's Playlist

1. No Letting Go - Taken By Trees
2. Nantes - Beruit
3. Down with Prince - Hot Chip
4. Just Like a Woman - Charlotte Gainsbourough
5. Seahorse - Devandra Banhart
6. Her Hairagami Set - The Brunnettes
7. Phenomena - Akron and Family
8. Ganja Babe - Micheal Franti and Spearhead
9. Wet Questions - Keziah Jones
10. Automatic Husband - Fiery Furnaces
    

Rosemary Pork Roast, Take 2

I adore Sundays. We didn't get up until 3 or 4 (literally, I'm not sure what time because the clocks have changed and I'm chronologically (chronometrically?) challenged. ) and have spent the past little cooking and cuddling and, as Jared endearingly puts it "Trying to figure out what to do with our day." I think our day ends when the sun goes down (as I'm pretty sure it did just at this very moment) but he's up for making it last till midnight. I used up what was left of the Rosemary and Pear pork roast in mini quiches with tomato and red onion and old cheddar - they turned out really really well and we devoured them.
On account of last nights first substantial snowfall, I'm going to make gingerbread snowflakes and mittens and hang out in warm sweaters and listen to Christmas music. You better believe it. I love the holiday season. I don't care when it starts I love it all. This is actually cheering me up!

A Ridiculous Attempt.

Who tries to make guacamole in the middle of Alberta in November? That would be me. I had to try and food process the avocado to get it smoother, and it was actually flying off in shards. It was like some weird veggie (fruit?) insurgency in my kitchen. We we seriously considering arming ourselves with pot lids and sour cream in an attempt to make it smoother. But it didn't work. And I made Jared eat it anyways.

Under Cover of a Sunday

When thoughts of happiness were frozen..

JL and L thawed them with one fell, chilly swoop. We're going to start a revolution.

One Pound of Butter.

Jared thinks its hilarious to troll the weight watchers site and see whats the highest point thing that exists. So far its a pound of butter at 51 pts. Seeing as how I get 18 a day.. Well. Yeah, it's hilarious Jared. Hahahhaa...

ok fine. so somebody said it way fucking better.

"To those human beings who are of any concern to me I wish suffering, desolation, sickness, ill-treatment, indignities - I wish that they should not remain unfamiliar with profound self-contempt, the torture of self-mistrust, the wretchedness of the vanquished: I have no pity for them, because I wish them the only thing that can prove today whether one is worth anything or not - that one endures."

(Nietzsche, The Will to Power, p 481)

(thanks to A. at SB for reminding me of this great quote.)

I never look the way I think I do, I always look less angry.

Listening: Sarah Slean "When another Midnight"
Wearing: Jeans
Drinking: Last nights old red wine
Reading: Seduction of the Minotaur, Anais Nin.
Thinking: "Some voyages have their inception in the blueprint of a dream, some in the urgency of contradicting a dream" - Anais Nin

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRG. I'm frustrated and angry and just wish I could break something or ruin something. Do you ever get that purely sabotagal feeling? To hurt something or wreck or just take the pins and piss and love out of something and just ruin... Thats where I am. I am so tired of putting everything I have, everything I am, into these wretched, self sabotaging, ruinful, vain, selfish, ungrateful WRETCHES of people. I'm sick of actually being afraid of disappointing people that I wouldn't piss on if they were on fire in the desert for a million years.
Sadness is as de riguer as black right now, this epidemic of children who think that everyday melancholy, that which should be the prerequisite for success in adult life - fucking REFLECTION, should get them medicated and placated and stroked and loved. They drink like fucking rock stars, fuck each other nonstop until they're so embarrassed that they're calling it something else, they swan around here rich and pathetic and SAD with the sick and demented personalities that they've constructed out of beer bottles and slutty clothing and telling themselves that THEY, they are privileged, that they have a point of view that I should listen to. Or worse, they dress like they're poor and artistic and ORIGINAL, this sickening culture of originality that you too can purchase for an incredible sum - that is they're tragedy. That is what they should be sad about - the complete and utter lack of ability for contemplation and choice (the choice that isn't between the GAP and Club ).
My god, is THAT what I am sad about? That I don't fit into that? That it seems easier to black out and laugh at Facebook pictures and wear what everyone else is wearing as opposed to this never ending fight that goes on in my mind, this.. this THINKING? This constant ridiculous choosing of the other, of myself, of determination FOR myself? Could it just be so easy as picking up my identity at Urban Outfitters, filling my shelves with Oprah's book club and getting my mental help from Doctor Phil? Is that what I'm missing? Is the opiate of the masses really so close at my fingertips?
Or could that be the all of this, this is what ruins me, what makes me sick to my stomach, that which makes me cry on the stairmaster, that compels me, literally pushes me, to have a few too many drinks now and again and again? That this, that THAT, the book club and the ease and the simplicity - that that is somebodies reality? That that may be what I crave as mine?
Am I simply looking to tear apart myself? Is that the destruction that I actually want? Is that easier? Or would I have to choke back something worse than Boones?

Close-ish

Or Maybe its the Weather, or somethin' like that..

It has been such a ridiculous day. My friend JL, has hard days. I have ridiculous days that bear no reference to the 'hard' of his. I spent two hours of my day, two, in a meeting with a group of middle aged women and my hilarious boss talk about a multicultural week at our college where they routinely referred to the multicultural dress of the participants as "costumes". It was.. sobering. I alternately wanted to cry and wanted to laugh. I then came home and threw out, donated, or cleaned 2%, 10% and 80% (respectively) of my shit. I am an environmental (maybe eventually I can recycle this) sentimental (but I got this when I was in Saskatchewan when I was little) and practical (I'm sure I'll use this for something) pack rat. And I just had this sickening feeling, of so much shit, of so much everything surrounding me, falling in on me.. It happens every once and a while, this massive cleaning that is days, months in the making. At least I don't alphabetize my condiments anymore.
So, as a result I'm listening to Jack Johnson sing Bob Dylan from the "I'm not there" album, making an utterly ridiculous dinner for one because Jared probably won't be home until later, of a pork roast with pears and sweet potato fries and a nice salad and I'll probably cry all over the god damn thing. Jesus Murphy.
This post has zero point. I am frivolous and ridiculous indeed.

Things.

-My new bedspread. It was 14.99$. She had to price check it - and said "it's onsale for 14.99$. Oh.. really... it's just cheap? huh." It's like an ugly puppy. It's very ugly, so ugly I think its nice.
-The rosemary pear pork roast I'm making tonight. It will NOT look like that. *sigh*
-Starbucks has it's Christmas cups out. Sad? Happy? Not sure.
-My new pretty toque. It makes me really happy.