Halloweenies

So what do you get when you mix two suicidal t-shirt maniacs, Arthur Dent, a small dress, me, and toonie Tuesday? Halloween!

Whoa Nelly.

So, reading the Republic in my Phil. class.. again. I'm pretty sure this is the 3rd or fourth time that I've read it. Major problem with being a classics fan, they really don't put out a lot of new material, and all profs seem to think it will be THEIR take on The Republic (Meno, etc etc etc ad naseum) that will rock your world.

For a little dirty philosophy fun, I've been reading the Phaedrus. (Just the dirty parts, like the Fountain Head. It's about as wild as us Phil majors get I think. ) Alright. Your soul - made up of a chariot with a charioteer (reason), a black horse (simplified - your desires) and a white horse - (goodness and spirit). Dualing, of course. Given that the Greeks were fairly.. upfront..with their homosexual tendencies and whatnot, you can imagine how black horse leads when it comes to erotic love -

"The black horse of appetite immediately urges towards sexual intercourse. The white horse — “constrained then as always by shame” (254a2) — holds itself back. Eventually, however, the black horse forces both the charioteer and the white horse “to move towards the beloved and mention to him the delights of sex” (a5-7). Again they balk, “indignant at being forced to do terrible and improper things” (b1). But finally, “when there is no limit to their plight, they follow its lead, giving in and agreeing to do what it tells them” "

Wow. Hot damn.

Then I came home, and listened to that KT Tunstall song, "Black Horse and a Cherry Tree". And now.. now I'm a little wary of these innocent pop stars. Wary, and..excited..?

Heaven

I'm out of my last meeting.. I've done it. I have no more commitments for the next two weeks, save classes. I am so thrilled. I finished writing my analytical reasoning/symbolic logic midterm this afternoon, and I just feel..so...good. I'm going out with T. and S. tomorrow night for Halloween, and I am just.. happy.
It might be the fact that I actually ate fresh vegetables today. For the first time in a while. Hm. I think I have like, a vitamin rush going on. Contraband carrots. It's a scary thought.
Or maybe it's because I got rid of the T.V! It's now sitting in my spare bedroom, locked away, to be rolled out at specific times for specific shows. I put my beautiful antique chair in my room, and my record player in the kitchen. I have to tell you - it's a great deal more serene without the 24/7 natter of CNN. (I'm sorry Anderson.) I love it. I woke up this morning, and listened to the radio, and made myself breakfast, and had a shower, and was ready WAY ahead of time, all because of no T.V. Or, because I thought I'd be faster and better with no T.V. God bless the placebo effect.
At any rate.. I'm smiling. Well, more than I was last night. And now that I'm commitment free.. to anything, anyone... Damn it, Tuesday is looking pretty fine.

One Of Those Nights

Slip Reflected

A friend of mine recently sent me this link, to the paintings of William Utermohlen. Diagnosed with Alzheimers five years ago, Utermohlen began a series of self-portraits to document the progression of his illness. They are so incredibly haunting, in not only their stylistic/aesthetic change in spatial awareness and structure, but in the obvious shift of perception that Utermohlen experienced.

The drawings begin in such a refined and delicate manner, everything is well proportioned, spaced and delineated. Utermohlen creates standard, thought lovely, self portraits - as though he is simply looking in a mirror, in the age old grade school arts project we've all completed. But as they progress, it is almost as though.. as though the mirror gets dirty, mildewed, that what he can and can't see isn't clear anymore, the lines are thick and ragged, ill-proportioned, meandering. Clicking from picture to picture you can see him almost begin to slip off the page, drooping and sliding, trickling down the mirror like condensation.

Each painting seems to contain it's own personality, a stage in life, an age in life - each could have concievably, metaphorically, realistically - come from a different person. And perhaps they did. The paintings are all.. beautiful. Taken apart, they are stunning and sad and haunting, taken together - I suppose it shows how close our sanity and genius lay to each other, and how they mirror each other on brief and stunning occasions.

Snow Day!

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas.. and I'm so happy in my snow gear.

Sushi Special

Had some sushi tonight with Ian, before going on my 7pm - 4am shift. Urg. I'm so sleepy, but so awake.. What is it, wired but tired? My whole life is like that right now.

What I'm Doing, What I'm Not Doing..

Despite all my tawdry talk for 2 years, I guess I really haven't said what exactly I'm DOING at school. *laugh* I'm working towards a degree.. two majors.. On the days when I've been surrounded by drunken 18 year olds the night before and want nothing more than to crawl into a cave and hide... I'm doing a philosophy degree. And on the days when I drink with them.. I'm doing a sociology degree. So I figured I would be best off to just do the both of them. Which is what I'm working towards now, in between bouts of life.. depression, and pie making. *shrug* It could be worse. I could be in early childhood developement. Mentally or acedemically. Though they seldom seem to really differ..

School is busy - a midterm in french today (oui) and one in logic on Monday. Work tonight and tomorrow night, then hopefully a small break. I have to get my place in order - clean the spare bedroom out, and put the tv in there. I hate having it my room. Then I have a place to veg and read that ISN'T my bed, which I hear should only be used for one thing - sleeping. Since it is used for only one thing - insomnia - I thought I'd be ok.. but apparently getting rid of the constant barrage of CNN will help too. I find it highly ironic that ever since we started the sleep unit in my psych class I haven't been able to hardly sleep at all.

Yeeps.

Music To My Heart

I was so busy today, running everywhere, non-stop. Ty had his music cafe at the school for the arts today.. and I couldn't have enjoyed it more. It was the perfect antedote to all the stress and non-stop action.. To just sit, and listen to Ty, who is so amazingly, beautifully talented, and just listen. To breath in, and out, on a regular basis, so feel my muscles relax, to watch somebody enjoy something so much, to make such amazing sounds come out of just wood and strings.. It really blew me away. I can still feel the residual effects of it... it's getting me through my night.

Swamped.

I feel like I'm treading water with concrete shoes on.. I can't keep up! School, study groups, meetings, eating, laundry, homework, exams,work, reading, bathing (this one really is falling by the wayside..), sleeping.. So many meetings, so many committments! I only have a few days more of this. Tuesday and I'm done midterms and meetings.. I'm free, for a day, a day in which I'm going to go to art galleries and eat sushi and sleep and maybe even get some painting done. Then, it's back to the meetings on Wednesday, but at least no midterms until.. well.. we won't go there.

I Should Be Studying

I Give Up.

Boys, men, gentlemen - I give up. You are wretched and awful and you don't call and when you do you're wretched and awful. And I think I'm ok until you call or I see you and I feel like I'm not. So I give up. I'm going to be fabulous, single, lovely me, who smells good and has dirty feet and I don't look pretty at all hours of the day and I WILL NOT sleep with my makeup on, and when I cry I look horrible and have to put an icepack to my face the next morning for hours, and I fart. Oh yeah, and I hate when you slap my butt or point out pretty girls, and you know what? I am a jealous person. But I'm also very giving, and sweet, and I love cooking and cleaning and babies and laughter and getting drunk and all those stupid corny lovey-dovey things. And I LIKE making lunches and having parties and being in love, but goddamn it, you all just SUCK. And if that isn't a personal ad..

So there. I'm single. And I'm going to wreck you all with my dedication to it, because you all.. just.. hurt my heart.

*amendment - exceptions are as follows. Ian, my brother, my father, Sabrina's T, Matt, H, C, T downstairs. For all obvious, and not so obvious, reasons.

"The Ruthless Pursuit of Profit Creates a Criminogenic Society" - Or - "I'd Kill for the New iPod"

Fitting in nicely with my study of societal strain theories and illegitimate opportunity structures, Ken Skilling of Enron fame was sentenced to 24 years and 6 months in prison for his role in the pervasive fraud and conspiracy that bankrupted Enron.

And I really can't help but wonder... given all the theories, given all the opportunities.. Is it really his fault?

Popular, though static strain theory suggests that those in upper classes are just as likely to commit crimes (though white collar) as those in lower classes are, due not only because of the gap between prescribed aspirations and means for realizing.. but our unexamined acceptance of a primary goal of monetary and material success. The weak and dying emphasis on the means to achieve these goals, like honest hard work, is so far removed from somebody who can just point and click their way to an internet stock trading fortune via insider trading - without ever being personally invested in the work to elevate the company to a viable status. But are their goals any different from what we all aspire to? Or just their means of getting there?

Is this really all that different from a young person living in a lower class environment who's aspirations of money and fame and dare we say it - the American Dream - are so far removed from thier means that they too turn to illegitimate opportunity structures like robbery, drugs and violence? Is there really a difference between somebody cooking crack and cooking the books when the societal strain on the two is equal in most respects? Is the crack dealer a little more admirable in that at least he gets his hands dirty?

The only thing that differs is their relative deprivation - not an absolute standard of sustainability but in measurment to those around you. Mayhap Ken Skilling just hung out with somebody with THAT much bigger of a house, or THAT much nicer of a car. We all wonder - didn't he have enough?, but I think we all agree that it's never enough. We always want more. Material, monetary - it can just keep coming.

We've all agreed, unconsciously or wholeheartedly (I think it depends whether you're in oil or not..) that our common goals are material, are monetary, are newer and faster and smaller and sleeker, with 3 bedrooms and GPS.. the list goes on. Can we really blame somebody by not playing by the rules, or just blame them when they're caught? Selling crack or selling sugar as crack, the goals that they are attempting to attain are still the socially acceptable ones that we've all agreed upon.

Are they really that different? Skilling can ask his cellmate. He has a while to figure it out.

*quote by Merton

Bush Dreams

I had the strangest dream last night - any help on the interpretation would be.. um.. appreciated.

I dreamt that I was asked to go to Washington to give a speech at a dinner party held by President Bush, in his private residence. So I take a bus there, and I'm calling him, and he gets directly on the line to tell me to come to his house. As I'm walking there, I'm getting really nervous that they aren't going to have a clue who I am, and I can see that everything in my purse is in pure chaos, when all of a sudden this huge group of children run by, followed by President Bush. I call out to him, and he comes back to walk with me. We're walking down the tree lined street, everything is this green tinted light. We get to his residence, and he invites me into the library, which has this huge bed in it with the sheets all messed up. The walls are lined with hundreds of thousands of books, but a lot of them are box sets of romance novels. When I look up, there are actually shelves in the ceiling, with the books all kept in by ropes. So I go to start my speech, and realise that I don't have it with me in my stuffed purse, so I go to a computer and print it off, in a complete panic. Then Laura Bush walks in with her daughter, who is painfully thin and dressed in a tiny dress, and all I can think is " I want to party with the Bush daughters and be in the tabloids" when I should be focusing on my speech. And then Laura starts talking about how none of the books are ever there for more than 10 years, because that's how fast Bush reads. Then I try to give my speach, and Bush interupts me and tells me my speech is too good for the party, and could I hold off until another time. Then all of a sudden I'm outside shopping for brightly painted antique furniture.

Strange.

Dinner At the Towers

Ahhh.. Dinner parties are so risky. Enough food, enough guests, good entertainment.. S. my dear, you pulled it off perfectly. The food was so good, the company was amazing (though if you could find me a few single climbers next time I'd appreciate it.. *laugh* ) and I couldn't have been happier sitting watching a movie and drinking and attempting to play Tri-Bond. You're such a good friend - thank you for a perfect Sunday evening.

Clockwise from top.. Mr. W. Cooks.. Ms. H. stirs..Ms. Poshlust strangles Mr. W..Ms. Poshlust wants to be the next unibomber, the girls chat shop in the kitchen...Ms. H sits pretty...

Tick.

The gentleman that sits next to me in my psychology class sets his watch in front of him every class. The face of the watch actually has the numbers digitally advancing, so you can watch every second of every minute go by.

I finally understand that "inevitable march of time". I have been scrambling, misusing, underappreciating every second of every day. Sitting there, it causes my heart to clench, I get so frantic watching every second go by. No matter how I plan my time, no matter how efficient I want to be.. There is never time. For the dishes, for more sleep, to see everyone, to love anyone, to not be happy, to be anything but sad. It's overwhelming right now.

I can stay up until midnight, sacrifice sleep for productivity, for peace, until I wake up and drag my morning down with the fact that I'm tired, and late, and nothing I did the night before looks quite as good now as it did then.

I have no motivation. It seems like no matter how much, or how little, that I complete, it's never enough, it's never all, the list continues on to the next day, the next week. And it all seems so inconsequential. That whether or not I get a 4 GPA or a 2.. that it really doesn't matter, and never will. It's not like I'm looking at the bigger picture. I'm not worried that what I'm doing doesn't really have an impact.. I know it doesn't. Starving children can't eat my GPA.. and I really couldn't give less of a damn. My urge to help has evaporated.

I have revealing dreams about him, about me, about what was, what is.. I feel so incredibly alone. It's so passe and so not me. I had a date, and date wanted to know was I really ready to be with somebody else. I am so ready to be with anybody else than myself. Could it be possible that I've actually been alone all along? That we were both watching the same inevitable march of time? Scared? Why is hindsight 20/20? If I could look over all the seconds that passed between us, in days, in years, on continents.. how many of them would I really keep? A handful? An hour of smiles, 30 seconds of a phone conversation, a letter, an embrace at the airport? Is that what it will eventually disolve to in my memories? Why is this the only process that I can't speed up?

In the meantime, I'm left with dishes and pillows that smell like mascara and salt, everything half finished and 100% not cared about, trying so hard everytime I walk out the door to be so perfect.. and failing so miserably. My heart and my tummy hurts, I have a permanent blister from high heels and a callus from an eyelash curler, but my heel broke and my mascara has run out.

And my date? Let's hope his foresight is 20/20. Because he just smells so damn good, it would nice if he stuck around for a little bit and held my hand.

Recoup at Ians.

RedBull and Vodka, Red Wine.. by drunkenese color logic I should be ok...

On the Upswing to Wholesome..

Went for sushi with Susan and sushi virgin Holly.. So much fun. I love having people try sushi, and attempt the old chopstick tango. We had so much fun. Beef tataki, spider rolls, dynamite rolls, tuna sashimi, dragon eyes... *groan* it was amazing. And with a Kirin to top it off.. well, a little hair of the dog definately helps.

Not So Wholesome...

Urg.. went out with Jay last night.. May have drank a little too much... truth be told.. I think more than too much. A lot of fun, very great little black dress.. Fun dancing.. Red Bull and Vodka may be the devil. I've slept most of the day, and I think I just pee'd red wine. Save me....

So Wholesome!

I made beautiful Martha-ish cookies at Ian's today.. Prettier than they are tasty.. but that goes for a lot of my cooking.

Not Just for Chocolate.

Very strange news on CNN this morning - There is a small town in Belgium that has a law against women wearing burkas or veils in public; they can be fined or even arrested. It was the strangest thing to watch, all of these Belgium born Muslim women being told that they should "leave Belgium" or "just take it off".. to "be like them". It was somewhat like watching the inverse of the Vice and Virtue squads in Tehran operating.. it was something like.. The Sodom and Gomorrah Squads? I don't know.. It was upsetting. It made me love Canada.

Objects May Appear Prettier...

Dinner Party Wonderful

I went out with Ian and his sister Stacy tonight to THIER sister Alison's house.. She's leaving for Peru in a week, so we got together with her and some friends, which created this amazing 7 person party symbiosis that just.. worked. It was fantastic. I haven't had such a nice time, or such a beautiful meal, in a long time. Alison handmade butternut squash ravioli, a beautiful parmesan chicken, balsamic and strawberry salad... on and on and on. Two bottles of wine later, and nobody wanted to leave, but it was that perfect hour where everyone stands around in the kitchen, then in the doorway with shoes half on... I.. am.. happy.

My Pretty Babies!

My beautiful friend L. and her gorgeous little T. that I get to have twice a week... He's the best date of them all. He doesn't even care if I wear a bra.

Ms. P. Relaxes at Home

Atomism as Pieces of the Soul

" If the body were to bring suit against the soul for all the pains and ill-treatment it had received from her, and if I myself were the judge in the case, I would take pleasure in finding the soul guilty, on the ground that she had gravely injured the body by her heedlessness, had dissolved it with drunken revels, and corrupted and torn it apart by her lust for pleasure - in the same way that I would blame one who handled carelessly some valuable but fragile instrument."

Democritus

Blurry Sexies

Reaching for a Beer

Pretty Pretty Chan

I want to look like her. Damn it. I want to BE her.

Dear Leader

Ah, North Korea. You know they're replaying the CNN expose on you right now? Clips of "Team America" with your dear leader made a mockery of? They aren't even sure it was a real nuclear test.. maybe a "fizzle" or a dud. (Both, according to the news, highly technical terms.) Fizzle? That's gotta sting.

Regardless, word on the street is that they're going to sanction you. *Sigh* All those bicycles that China was going to send you? Not anymore. But you don't fear the paper tiger of the U.N., do you Dear Leader? So they take away your bicycles, then stop with the foreign aid for a little bit. All you have to do is allow a few shots of starving children to leak out, and the bleeding hearts will all be there, demanding aid be restored, fizzle or not.

Or, you could always pose that white elephant looming question. Why does the U.S. get to have nuclear weapons, and North Korea doesn't? Because their leader is mentally unstable and a little crazy? (That statement is left deliberately ambiguous.)

So fizzle away Dear Leader. What can they do now they've taken your bicycles? Economic sanctions just aren't what they were in the good 'ol days.

Head Smashed in College Jump

I have a headache that feels like there is a vice grip slowly tightening on my head, millimeter by millimeter, day by day - it just won't go away. I have midterms and work stuff and essays and assignments and.. and I have to sleep! And instead of grabbing lunch because I was on the go, I grabbed an Ensure, chugged it.. and promptly got the worst diarrhea I have ever had in my life. Which is saying a lot.

On the upside, this really handsome guy I met on Saturday called and asked for a date. Which is great. Mom, he's even just 26 years old!

God. I hope he never reads this. Especially the diarrhea part.

What Do Proletariats Give Thanks For? Well, Just About Anything.

Alright, so confession - I've never actually made a true Thanksgiving dinner. Ever. All the things I've cooked, baked, sauteed, steamed.. I've never made gravy, or roast a chicken.
It was a little rocky to start, when I tried stuffing the chicken through the neck, and couldn't figure out how I was going to get all that stuffing in that little hole, and when we had to carve it with a bread knife.. But it actually turned out really well. The stuffing was just like my mother makes, the potatoes were unlumpy due to my brothers consistent pounding and whipping, and well, the gravy sucked, but who's doesn't? It was nice to have my brother and Ian around the little table, even if we were talking about dogs being kicked and the origin of the term "bearded clam". It just wouldn't be a proper Thanksgiving with euphemisms for your petunia. Happy Turkey Day everyone, hope you're surrounded by good friends, family, and better gravy than mine.

My New Book

It gives me dreams of butterflies and squids and hummingbirds.

The Best Weekend of the Year

Dancing and dancing, and felt galloping horses and tiny rowboats with white wispy trees, French and sushi, soho and soda. The feeling of crying without crying, dreams of partying with Bukowski and Vonnegut, bottles of wine and kitten heels, a million pairs of shoes and shopping and sexy grey t-shirts that fit like a boyfriend you never knew. Bottles of Red Stripe and tales from the farm that make your belly hurt and your teeth ache, Chanel and Mythbusters and turkey and pumpkin pie, dancing and singing and hustling. Dragon eyes and lychees, slept on hair and long eyelashes and eyeliner and huge glasses of wine. Change the clothes and go again, to long lines and short waits and here and there and dangling earrings and being so perfectly young but not, with chapped lips and blisters, hitting the front door of your apartment with the newspaper and sleeping till noon and starting again, filled with bliss and happiness and sore feet.

We All Lose One Another.. Then We Get Found

The incredibly loneliness has been.. incredible. The feeling of living in this weird bubble where I'm not really being hugged, not really being touched, not really being with anybody. That nothing is coming into this bubble, that the lonliness inside and outside is equalized by being in this bubble, and if it burst I would explode. And I've been running from class to class, event to event, concert to concert, meeting to meeting.. trying to ignore the fact that I am so incredibly sad.
I went out last night with Ian, and who knew, but the combo of sushi, "The Science of Sleep", Jason Collett, Ridley Bent, and Red Stripe, disolves bubbles. Well, I'm sure the fact that I cried (into my Red Stripe) for one of the first times helped. Ian.. thank you. For being there, for wiping my tears, for making me laugh, for making me feel like all the reasons that I wasn't loved are all the reasons you love me.

Pain Pain Pain...

While it is true that I have willingly undergone pain - piercings, bleaching etc. - it has always been at the hands of another, far more experienced person. I would never attempt to do these things myself, as I have neither the training, nor the self control.

All of these things however, tend to become somewhat secondary to a students primary concern - money. Rest assured, I have not bleached my hair, I have not pierced my own ears. These are things that I can justify paying for.

I bought a home bikini waxing kit.

I assumed that as with most painful things, it is most important to ride the wave of adrenaline. Most of the pain must must must be completed while the adrenaline is high, or you're toast. Or in a lot of pain. Part of me must have forgotten this cardinal rule, as I took my own sweet sugary time ripping off various strips here and there, aiming for symmetry if nothing else.
To my chagrin, though in hindsight, without surprise, the pain set in far before I was completely..um.. shorn. I am nothing if not determined, so I continued on, jumping and wailing and getting wax all over the goddamn place until I yelped, jumped, and got stuck to my desk with wax.
I can now justify paying for a bikini wax. Student be damned.

Friday Night Lights

I Think I Had a Martini For Every Month

So, it's official, as of the 28th Poshlust Inc. is two years old! Thank you to everyone who came on Saturday to help me celebrate my singledom, my blog, and my propensity for martinis. The party was wonderful, Leo did at great job on the turntables, my brother was the best bartender I've ever seen, and you, my friends.. that you turned up on short notice from near and far - well, you're the icing on my proverbial cake. But now... for the part you all really want.. The recipes.

The Juicy Pear

1 oz. Smirnoff Apple vodka

1 oz. pineapple juice

1 dollop of pear puree

1 Juicy Pear jelly belly to garnish

Shake with ice, enjoy! (This one was a big hit, especially because it's pretty good even without the booze. Refreshing, and way too easy to drink!)

The Pominilla

1 oz. Stoli Vanilla Vodka

1 oz. pure pomegranate juice

pomegranate seeds for the bottom

Shake with ice, enjoy! (This one was voted the favorite at the end of the night - the sweet vanilla coupled with the tart pomegranate made for quite a drink. Plus, with the seeds at the bottom it looks pretty posh.)

White Chocolate Martini (this one needs a better name..)

1/2 oz. Stoli Vanilla vodka

1/2 oz. Godiva White Chocolate Truffle liquer

1 oz. milk

vanilla fudge to garnish

Shake with ice, enjoy! (very sweet, but VERY easy to drink. Though I think Sabine kept choosing this one so she could have more fudge. Definately my favorite.)

Well, I Cried at the Trailer.

The Science of Sleep. Buy stock in Kleenex.

Dear Jenny Feniak

From The Edmonton Sun - Sunday, October 1st, 2006
--------------------------------------------------------

The Suicide Girls are a collection of young women who love to show off their tattooed and pierced bodies.

Formed several years back as an Internet site, the concept of alternative pornography took off and the Suicide Girls decided to hit the road as a "burlesque" troupe that came through the Starlite Room last Monday.

Their show is far from theatrical burlesque, lacking creativity and infused by terrible canned mainstream music.

But nobody in the jam-packed club seemed to mind the glorified strip show featuring women with taped nipples skipping rope and hoola-hooping.

A highlight was three girls dressed as pop tarts Britney Spears, Jessica Simpson and Paris Hilton who proceeded to throw around fake babies and little dogs before taking their clothes off.

But it was nice to see a healthy balance of men and women in the crowd to witness this latest bout of sexploitation and, in some cases, simply release their inner animals with drool and howls.
- Jenny Feniak

Dear Ms. Feniak.

How delighted I was when I saw a picture of myself and my dear friends in your newspaper, under this endearing article! To tell the truth, when I looked at the picture by your little byline, I could barely remember if that was you or not, not because of the drool obscuring my eyes when you were there... You ducked in, took a few photos, ducked out, repeat. One actually wonders if your journalistic skills carry beyond your candid point and shoot shots, or if you actually spoke with any of the drooling howling crowd that you so cheerfully photographed.

First, to your obviously stunted knowledge of both burlesque, and sexploitation. Perhaps, and I will give you the benefit of the doubt here, you haven't frequented some of the delightful strip clubs here in Edmonton. Now, I believe that if you had, you would seriously recant your claims of a lack of theatrics at the Suicide show. Because compared with the standard tanned blonds at Diamonds or various others - well, I have yet to see them with hoola hoops.

Perhaps if you had done your research on burlesque before writing such an article, you'd know that the vaudvillian, poor cohesion, ridiculous music and electrical taped nipples were actually quite on par - Burlesque actually translates to "imitation", and was initially used to mock the upper classes with standard show tunes and gag acts. Perhaps they succeeded far more than they realise, when the Sun sends an uneducated writer who only exemplifies the echelons that they sought to mock.

As for the sexploitation aspect - Jenny, Jenny, Jenny. Again - your history, and your research skills - fail you. Burlesque is the kissing cousin of strippers yes, but more often than not it's an art where more time and money are put in than are given back. And if perhaps you had stayed and watched the show for a little bit, you would have noticed the big smiles from the dancers, the enjoyment they displayed after at having such an engaging crowd, and the genuine interest in what they did.

But heck, better an uneducated snob than a drooling howling pervert, right?

Crocodile Tears

I find displays of public grief really.. repulsive. I'm not sure what about it affect me so, but it seems disgusting to me.
The past few weeks the news has been saturated with school shootings, kidnappings and murders, criscrossing the country from Montreal to Kansas - uniting people in their gaudy grief. It seems like barely hours go by when the flowers and teddy bears and poems start to show up, lit by Virgin Mary candles, dripping and sputtering.
Perhaps its that all of these things just seem to muffle the grief, such a pure and awful and clean feeling - the cellophane and stuffed animals simply packing the wound, not healing but creating gangrenous areas of a community that should just be hacked off. Areas that become avoided, or planted with plaqued pines or maples.
It seems to me always impossible that so many people have anything to do with such sites of malice and accident and plottting. I understand it may be the human spirit, to share in the grief, the pain - but why does it have to be done so publicly, in the eye of the media?
Perhaps there is something lost in the translation of grief to those who have not encountered it. Perhaps it's just an objective eye.

Two Concerts, Three Movies and an Art Show Later...

Here I am. So, briefly, a montage.

1) Suicide Girls - You know, whenever I go to the strippers (which is as often as I make good coffee), I'm vaguely underwhelmed. No real artistry, no real dancing, no really pretty cool girls. As discussed with Laura yesterday, I have no moral objection, there is nothing I catagorically object to in their career - I think it's just the aesthetics. I don't generally like the blond, tanned snarky types on a regular basis, what makes me think I would like them half nude and crawling up and down a pole? I thought I objected.. but really I just think they're trashy.

The Suicide Girls, a group of goth/punk/alternative girls, put on an amazing travelling burlesque show. It's pretty much exactly what you'd want to see at the peelers - smiling, well choreographed girls in great outfits really enjoying entertaining a group of 700 guys and 15 girls. I mean, apart from the entertainment part of the evening, it was actually really sexy and fun and wow.. Shea and I both agreed we would like to take them all home, put them in the spare bedroom and have them dance in the living room on a regular basis. They had a particular dancer for every particular sub-genre of guy out there - the geek, the punk, the goth, the raver.. (who did a nearly impossible to imagine strip with a hoola hoop spinning at all times..) So I think I've figured it out. If everyone who objected to strippers simply found the appropriate stripper for them (ie - blond, starchy pearled republican women in beige or navy heels for the upper crust) then I don't think we'd have a problem. It's all a question of aesthetics, not morals. Now, to dress up abortion..

2) Leeroy Stagger and the Sinking Hearts - Ok. Perhaps saying that we went to this show was a bit of a misnomer. 2 opening bands on a wednesday night later.. well, we heard the opening cords of Leeroy and figured that we had the album and better things to do. Including look terribly posh and smoke cigars. Which is what we did most of the evening, between a plate of killer nachos and tonnes of Strongbow. Going out with Ian is a blast.. at least I have somebody just as caustic as I am. The poor dude with million patches on his jacket circa two months in 1984 had no idea the things that were said about him. Leeroy.. we'll catch you next time... Given that you're on before 1am on a school night. Geez. The nerve.

3) "Lucky Number Slevin" - Despite protestations on numerous fronts, I really enjoyed this movie. And particularily.. the wallpaper. Each apartment and hallway has FABULOUS wallpaper. *laugh* I liked the dialogue, loved the actors, and thought it was just really entertaining. Oh, the Kansas City Shuffle. How I love you.

4) "Thank You For Smoking" - On a far more consensual note, everyone and their dog seemed to like this one. Based on the main character, a spin doctor for big tobacco, it's an interesting commentary on questioning what we hear and what we believe. I thought it was witty and very a pros pos for the times. Big names in bit parts that work add a little bit of pizzaz, since I think the main character is a nobody actor who did a great job.

5) S2 took me to the Baroque exhibit at the Alberta Art Gallery... it was so wonderful! Just a small collection of El Greco, Rembrant etc - really wonderful. Minus the piercing voiced woman explaing the Angels Message of Death to Mary. Who initially said it was the Angel Telling Mary She's Pretty. *sigh* Then, as a surprise, was taken to the Hardware Grill for champagne and dessert (white chocolate creme brule and lemon meringue tart.. oh lord..). It was a lovely night. Just. Lovely.

Alright - a minor catch up. I know it's not much, but S1. over on her blog is kicking mine, and I'm the one constantly wingeing about her not blogging.. *laugh* So um.. yeah. Whoops. More soon!

Sundays Thrill Me.

Well, Goats Do Roam on Saturdays

Had a glass of wine and bought a bicycle with Stephen Crane today, something that I truly didn't expect would happen. (That a) I'd have a glass of wine with Stephen, b)it would be a south african red that I'd enjoy and c) that the bicycle I've been fantasizing about in my mind would appear in it's entirety at Red Bike).

So now I have a new bicycle, and a hankering for another bottle of red. And a friend, that I didn't think I'd see... and am so happy that I did.

He's changed so much. It should be demarcated in life - BI, AI.. Before injury, and After injury. He's kinder and softer and still so witty and smart. Humble might be a word we both choke on, but.. better.. might be agreeable. I quite look forward to seeing him again.

Bras, Martinis and Liberals. What a Party.

There is nothing quiet like a push-up bra to make a girl feel.. just.. better. And I tell you, though my orbs need little to no pushing, and I now look startlingly at times like Kilroy - well. It's nice. As Sabrina pointed out, a new bra, ergo a new set, can give you almost an entirely new wardrobe.

I have to say, I've had a pretty lovely week, even outside of the new breasts. The media support I'm/we're getting for our "Responsible Drinking" events in the month of October has been outstanding, I have had two dinners with good friends, my hair has even been behaving. Ian had been here to prop me up on sad nights, and Tyler's been all too ready with martini's and home made pasta dinners (the boy has converted me to red-sauce), Sabrina helps with retail therapy and tattoo advice and a feeling of comraderie I forgot existed, and.. well, c'mon, Colin points out inadvertently that it could be worse -hell, I could be a 5$ Liberal.

Things - are good.

Now Alanis, This Might Be Ironic.

Ok. So Pope makes not so benign comment about Muslims being the source of the worlds violence and ills. Muslims riot, protest. Muslims kill nun. Pope doesn't apologize.

I don't know quite what to say.

Future Lonely

There's that point, when it ends, where you go forward in your head. And you take these little slices out of your memories, memories that you haven't quite lived yet.. Where you were both going for Christmas, picking up the kids, climbing mountains. And you take these slivers, slivers of the ones of you love/d, out, and you just have these holes. Holes where somebody was going to hold your hand, holes in the shapes of laughter and love. And I've been doing that. And despite the emotional comparisons to swiss cheese... Well, I just feel lonely. And not, surprisingly, holy.

The Jamaican Beers are Bigger than the French. Surprise.

The new beer - Boris. The Alsace Flask. Drinks like Kirin, but tiny and tasty, and apparently the preffered beer of rebels worldwide.

OMG.

In 10 days, Poshlust Inc. turns 2 years old. Wow. I think there should be a party. This is officially my longest relationship.

In the Interest of Plausible Deniability, or Full Disclosure.. Into the Fray.

Or the void. Nevertheless, I'm dancing closer to it, the light, the fray, the void, the bar. Ladies and Gentleman of the internet, readers dear, in slow motion to the tune of Morcheeba's "The Sea" , I became single on Wednesday. Hello again.

12 Hours Ago

I was barefoot on the table of a bar that will remain unamed singing Johnny Cash. If you look beneath the bar goo, these feet are smiling.

Poshlust's Top Ten Ways to be Hip this Fall

1. Order Short at Starbucks. - You didn't know about the short size? Thats why it's so hip. Smaller than Tall, it's the perfect shot of Pumpkin Spice Latte, Vanilla Latte or whatever your heart desires. Hiply.
2. Bring back the double kiss - That's right - anglophiles, assholes and the couth alike (I hear even the Swiss are doing it) - the welcome, hello, and goodbye all in one go. Plus you get to sample their perfume if you position your nose right. Kiss to your left, then your right. And for god's sake, forgo the air kiss. This is a great way to get close. Don't we all miss close?
3. Smoke More Cigars - Is there a lot sexier than women and cigars? Especially women in jeans. Or maybe that's just me.
   
4. Feed people. - The ones that don't need to be fed. Cook, entertain. In the smallest appartment, in the largest loft, feed them and ply them with booze and insist that they leave their shoes on and dance to the music, preferably jazz. And make them laugh, and eat too much.
   
5. Be Mysteriously Single - Attractive, engaging.. Is s/he or isn't s/he? Why wouldn't they be? But are they? Just don't carry a knife or wear your lovers blood around your neck. That's obviously single.
   
6. Stay up late. - Because it's just so much better in the witching hour. Even if you're the witch.
   
7. D.I.Y. - Pie, scarves, hair dye - do it yourself. Or find somebody who can. Because bartering is under rated.
8. Drink Your Grasshopper with a Lime - Lemons get all the fun, and the french people. And lime, lime just works. And you get to say "Grasshopper with a lime." C'mon.
9. Take Back Cheese Shops - Not just for the faint of heart (ie - those with pacemakers) but for the twirty crowd (thats the twenty to thirties). Eat your weight in Mango Ginger Stilton and wash it back with Apricat Beer (simultaneously supporting your D.I.Y. local brewery) and thank god that you still look ok in stripes sans colostomy bag.
10. Smile. Seriously. It opens doors.
    

Is this Gramatically Correct?

Or does it matter, 'cause it's just so damn hip...

Pressure Points

My delinquency has appeared to have reached an all time high. In between bouts of flu and cold, anxiety and a couple apple martinis, I've managed to vomit, cough, sweat and gulp my way through the past few weeks. And not blog.

I'm trying to keep up, but the pressure is.. so much right now. I took a night off and could barely contain the itchy fingers from e-mail, from text books, from the phone, from... anything. I feel like an egg, or an aquaduct, all the pressure on one point, if it slips, I'll crack and crumble.

It's been raining for two days. All I want is to crawl under the covers with tea and books, and leave my window open, and be cold and warm and alone and paced and even and happy. Instead, I have French.

Unlit

I just tried to light my electric stove. With a match. I need some sleep.

2 Weeks.

18 new Residence Assistants, 2 weeks, no sleep, lots of beer, a couple tears, scraped knuckles, bruised egos, late nights at starbucks, paper cuts, Brahma beer, lots of wine, Queen, too much work, too little pay, police hats, counsellor hats, human knots, Dollarama, barbeques, so many wraps, the Wal-Mart Effect, bad food, worse hair, no showers, no free time, new friends, old friends, 690 students in one day, delerium, accidents, packages, tears and tears and stoic fathers, nerves and more coffee and too little water, sore feet, happy souls, twinkling eyes and more tomorrow.