look what I found

leguman.

cause = time

... is not just for broken social scenes.

the ways in which we measure time in the western world has been a subject of inquiry rattling around my brain for some time now. I say this on the threshold of freedom, mere weeks away from final projects or exams being nothing more than a memory. It seems misguided to calculate life in scholastic terms, but during crunch time I just can't help it. I anxiously make lists and make follow up interviews. I wonder where I will find time in the future, how I will use (or misuse, considering the very act of blogging) time in the present and where my time has gone in days past. In the aftermath of a weekend spent like a party girl, (likely to produce a party blog when picking up film is a chore that is remembered) the past is the contemplation that hits me now like a phantom headache of hangovers gone by.

William and I bid a gracious adieu tonight via the telephone and I was a little sad about it. Having someone to invite out & show & entertain & introduce fills me with a warmth that only montreal pride inspires.

break.

J. just came by to do her laundry and feed me cupcake. bless her. we sat around drinking white dep wine and talked at length about where we came from and where we are going. I appreciate the people in my life who are reciprocating moral compasses. especially ones who were there, are here and will be there. these are the ones who know me best. quote of the evening: "being a wife fucking sucks."



to the woman inspired me to try the waist high, love.

Lately, I have been speaking with the lucky ones. The ones who have always had their eye on the prize. The ones who have committed to 'doing' what they are meant to 'do' and have 'done' it since they can remember. The ones who declare, with the strong defiance of those who know, that they have known forever. I envy them.

It has been an interesting day and I feel like I haven't learned anything at all. This was a humbling epiphany after enjoying meaty conversation and registering the verbal or bodylanguaged translation of people doing what they have been meant to do. It was overwhelming.

The presence and proximity of these people has inspired existential anguish on my part, as you can well imagine.
Proof of people who know what they are doing with their lives make me wonder what I am doing with mine?

je sais pas, loco

an open letter to a lady bird

this is exactly how I feel at the moment; the locations do not correspond.
you will understand when you get my letter, but this was an instant frozen.
the strange thing is how the posture correlates to the feelings
or how the words correlate to the emotions
but we are not in the same time
as it was just the past.


how time will play tricks on us,

Loco.

I feel another pisces weekend coming on...

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happy birthday mikel baby. . Tomorrow, I am off to radical queer semaine & art show, & then to this beefcake's birthday party. can't wait. he's the one that drew out the burlesque in me I never knew existed. yess.

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things people, things. after previously putting on my 'reporters hat' I am back in action blog-wise. I need to get more graphic, though I prefer to yield a pen, but perhaps a workshop with the ginger coons will do the trick for the next couple of posts. wait and see.

I feel like I am going to be learning about a lot of webliness and image/layout trickery in the next couple weeks. I do not want to reveal the reason for this strong sentiment but fingers are crossed behind my back that the couple of pints are in my favor tonight. (ohh. mystere.)

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(On that note, let it be known that I would like to be taken at no-fuck face value. please stop asking about my status.)

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finally. I have been staring at the size 3-6 baby "veggie kid" lap-t for so long my eyes are beginning to cross. two out of three co-workers agree that 'fuck that' best describes what my future course of action should entail...

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no, this is the real finally:

bars: when the fuck are you getting out here? bass: I have been looking at your pictures online for ages and you are wonderful. belford: where the heck are you, bro? st. laurent? call a lady up. budyk: how is south america? pape: I am coming to BC to protest the olympics. I assume I can crash. golden vilar: when the fuck are YOU getting out here? (we have a show in Avril, peut-etre) madge: still haven't put the letter in the mail, excuse me, it will come. red: telephone tag just isn't the same. I miss you. we need wine soon. jj: the hottest girl I have ever blown kisses to from a metro.

all the rest: bonne nuit. Loco.

writers bloc quebecoise

How hard could it be to think up interview questions, really?

But Look what I found! is Facebook finally faux pas?

& this is a funny sort of feminism

my winnipeg

is a film I just watched which was beautiful, heartbreaking truth.
a hundred people said it was a must-see for the ex-pats and inhabitants alike.
this is also the beautiful, heartbreaking truth. wanting to simultaneously leave & stay is nothing new for winnipeggers.

though there are mountains of things to be written and rehearsed, I sat down and watched my winnipeg without a care for scholastic consequence. though a single month remains, I find myself dawdling and making good excuses. phoning loved ones, spirit lifting, lazing in warm beds; mes devoirs are often thrust into the back of my skull for hours at a time these times, disconnected.

my winnipeg, what a good excuse to do nothing for awhile. when bikes abound and patios cram. when friends are seen and babies are born. when we will find time to stoop & jaunt, where the people you know are in the streets. when it can be mine and ours, even if it's the one I left. my winnipeg. my winnipeg. my winnipeg.

and then... I will leave again. the dually tragic and perfect part of the plan.

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other news: the LINK put my story out about the First Peoples Major happening at Concordia and it was picked up by the CUP wire. alllllllright.

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finally, things will get better. I haven't been doing much monde checking lately, but a bunch of ad stuff, a couple candid cameras and a roll of film being processed as we speak will make things exciting soon, promise.

fish weekend

I wrote this at the close of last weekend, still in the haze of party mode, drifting along on T3s...

pisces party, indeed! myself, r. budyk, pape's dad, alfredo, rob vilar and dick: six good reasons to party last weekend.

although I failed to trek it back to where I come from for my birthday, which was game plan no. 1, I celebrated in spirit and raised a glass to each of the aforementioned. what a few! it happened like this: toothache, Link'd 1000 words, huge party fixing fix, shira from the airport, huge party, followed by karaoke, a bust (aforementioned princess of power, blatantly (drunkenly) pouring an outside beer on the bar tables, getting caught and somehow getting away with it), broken pharmaceutical promises of abstinence due to the dj flamboyantly grabbing by arm and whisking me away to the bar for "surprises" even though I explained in clear french that I was on pills... home again, party raging, drunken clean up, bed. Day 2: shira shenanigans and nuit blanche, (the belgo, second-hand phone call to alfie, art, more art, poutine) Day 3: shira shenanigans again before she goes to fleetwood mac, a call to rob v, bed. Day 4: wait, I have an exam today? powerstudy, exam, 100 last minute words to Link again, bed...

shira was a treat and a half to host. her arrival was the first winnipegger in quite awhile and felt good.

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I have forgotten how to blog, so can you forgive me? the few who linger on these lines from time to time?