28 August, 2006

Stupid Afternoon Fun

This list was forwarded to me via email (sorry, no idea who originated it so no credit). I've highlighted the ones that really resonate with me in pink. Hot 80's pink.

You know you grew up in the '80's if ...

1. You've ever ended a sentence with the word "SIKE"
2. You watched the Pound Puppies.
3. You can sing the rap to the "Fresh Prince of Belair" . . . and can do the "Carlton".
4. Girls wore biker shorts under their skirts and felt stylishly sexy.
5. You yearned to be a member of the Baby-sitters club and tried to start a club of your own.
6. You owned those Strawberry Shortcake scented dolls.
7. You know that "WOAH " comes from Joey on Blossom.
8. Two words: Hammer Pants. (Note: I actually owned Hammer Pants. And they were hideous!)
9. If you ever watched "Fraggle Rock"
10. You had plastic streamers on your handle bars... and"spokey-dokes" or playing cards on your spokes for that incredible sound effect.
11. You can sing the entire theme song to "DuckTales " (Woo ooh!).
12. It was actually worth getting up early on a Saturday to watch cartoons.
13. You wore a ponytail on the side of your head.
14. You saw the original "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" on the bigscreen...and still know the turtles' names.
15. You know about those clips that would hold your shirt in a knot on the side.
16. You played the game "MASH"
17. You wore stonewashed Jordache jean jackets and were proud of it.
18. L.A. Gear....need I say more?
19. You know the profound meaning of "WAX ON, WAX OFF"
20. You wanted to be a Goonie. (I am still convinced I was a Goonie and I still put the Cindy Lauper Goonies song on almost every mixed CD I make)
21. You ever wore fluorescent clothing.
22. You can remember what Michael Jackson looked like before his nose fell off and his cheeks shifted.

23. You have ever pondered why Smurfette was the only female smurf.
24. You remember the CRAZE, then the BANNING of slap bracelets.
25. You still get the urge to say "NOT " after every sentence.
26. You remember Tie-Dyed t-shirts.
27. You thought She-ra (Princess of Power!) and He-Man should hook up. (But didn't they hook up??)
28. You thought your childhood friends would never leave because you exchanged handmade friendship bracelets.
29. You even owned a pair of Jelly-Shoes. (and like probably inneon colors, too)30. After you saw Pee-Wee's Big Adventure you kept saying "I know you are, but what am I?"
31. You remember "I've fallen and I can't get up"
32. You remember going to the skating rink before there were in-line skates.
33. You ever got injured on a Slip and Slide.
34. You have ever played with a Skip-It.
35. You had (and attended) a birthday party at McDonalds!
36. You've gone through this nodding your head in agreement.
37. "Don't worry, be happy"
38. You wore socks scrunched down
39. You remember boom boxes .
40. "Say Anything" . . . need I say more (John Cusack is still a dream!)
41. You remember watching both "Gremlins" movies.
42. You know what it meant to say "Care Bear Stare!"
43. You remember watching "Rainbow Bright" and "My Little Pony Tales"
44. You thought Doogie Howser was hot.
45. You remember Alf, the li'l furry brown alien from Melmac.
46. You knew all the characters names and their life stories on "Saved By The Bell," The ORIGINAL class.
47. You know all the words to Bon Jovi - SHOT THROUGH THE HEART.
48. You just sang those words to yourself.
49. Daisey Duke shorts
50. You still sing "We are the World"
51. You tight rolled your jeans.
52. You owned a banana clip.
53. You remember "Where's the Beef?"
54. You used to say "What you talkin' about Willis?"
55. You had big hair and you knew how to use it.
56. You're still singing "shot through the heart" in your head, aren't you?
57. You know what gimp is.

Those were the day, no?

25 August, 2006

My allergies have been unbearable all day. Anytime the barometric pressure shifts and the temperature either drops or raises drastically, I am a mess. Today my little office was filled with snotty kleenexes and my keyboard and phone were sticky from the constant eye/nose oozing. Not a pretty sight. So tonight I promptly filled my prescription for Flon@se, a miracle cure for those of us plagued with ugly sinuses. While waiting in line at the S@feway pharmacy this strange woman approached me and said, "Your hair is beautiful. It looks like movie hair. In a good way." It was nice to hear, even if she was crazy. It reminded me of the time Friday convinced me to buy a bubble gum pink coat against my better judgment (though I came to love it) by saying, "You have to buy this! You will look like a character out of a film, walking around in your pink coat." I like the idea that something like a coat color or hair can create ambiance, that in some way I am designing the color of my life in the way Sofia Coppola might decide to create a nostalgic mood in a film by choosing to put the Jesus Mary Chain on the soundtrack.

24 August, 2006

Finding What You Love

The last few days have been eaten up with me editing and placing the content for the next gallery newsletter in its professionally designed but malleable template. The newsletter has been around for at least ten years and throughout those years has veered between being just a newsletter to being much more like a magazine or publication a person might actually want to pick up and read. Being the over-achiever that I am, I am taking it in a whole new direction from the current events listing on tabloid size paper that is has turned into with a slick new design that actually looks like a professional magazine, and a whole roster of what I hope are engaging feature stories, some written by me, some by others.

I love it! It's been driving me crazy and the source of many, many hours of overtime but I can't remember ever feeling so fulfilled doing anything work related in my life. I love the gratification of managing this little project and ending up, four times a year, with a real, tangible, publication that I have created from virtual scratch. I love the power of editing copy with a red marker. I love the creativity of trying to rearrange things so that I can fit text and the image that I desperately want people to see. I LOVE IT ALL SO MUCH THAT I AM DIZZY.

When I was eighteen years old I sent an email to an indie literary journal on the west coast and inquired whether they might be interested in me spending my summer with them as an editorial intern. As it turned out, they were interested, but I couldn't go because they couldn't pay me and not only did I need money for school in the fall but apart from living in an empty refrigerator box on the streets of Vancouver, I couldn't afford to go. As school and jobs progressed, I kind of forgot about working for a magazine until now, as it comes crashing back upon me like a tidal wave, or nausea. This is what I should be doing. Maybe not this exact publication for all time, but I need to keep going with this, whether I be an editor for a magazine, a journal or a publishing house. Editing, designing and the wonderful feeling of holding a lovely thing you've built in your hands. Of having people read it.

What more could a person want in life?

18 August, 2006

one picture, everyday for three years

I can't really explain why but this has mesmerized me today. I've watched it nearly a dozen time. Maybe it's just the way I'm feeling today. It makes me feel nostalgic.

17 August, 2006

red hair and not quite back again...

holy redness

Today on a whim I made an appointment to see a hairdresser. I am a hairdresser whore and cannot return to the same one more then once -- I have no loyalty. Usually it's because I have gotten bored and cut my own hair (often to questionable results) and other times it's because I've done the unthinkable, dyed my hair with stuff from a box. Hairdressers chide me and chide me for dying my own hair and I just can't help but think that most of their reasoning is financially driven and does not really have anything to do with box hairdye being any worse than the stuff they use in a salon.

So, for the past three weeks I've been waffling about getting my haircut. Part of me really wanted to chop it off but it grows really slowly and it is such an ordeal growing it back. Last night I was watching the wonderful show Number 1 Single featuring a love sick Lisa Loeb trying to find romance in NY city. I don't love her music but I like the show as far as reality tv goes (and if I am being honest, I do like RT). Anyhood, on her show last night there was this knitting lady with the most terrifically cute hair and I immediately looked her up on the internet and thought "This is exactly what I want my hair to look like!" To see how unlike me she looks go here.

So this morning I called up my local salon and go in for the cut. What does the hairdresser do? He looked me up and down, shakes his head and mournfully proclaims that my color looks washed out and won't I just let him brighten it up a little bit and give me a few highlights. Being completely and uncontrollably impulsive I agreed, thinking (wrongly) that I understood what he meant by "brighten your color up." So three hours later, I am rushing out of the salon (late for an appointment) with bright, pumpkin orange hair. I shit you not. I went from a nice light summery brown with steaks to freakin' pumpkin.

My mother likes it (my mother has also spent time in a psych ward) as does R (who I suspect has illusions that because my hair is orange I have somehow morphed into the cool hipster punk girl that he has secretly longed from ever since discovering Kim from the Pixies). I can pull off orange hair, probably better then a lot of people, but I think the real question here is why would anyone want to?

So this evening I went down to my local drugstore and bought a nice practical brown to try and tone down the orange. It didn't work and it seems that the orange on my head is made of some kind of powerful agent because even a dark brown didn't budge it. Yes I work in an art gallery and can probably get away with sillier fashions then someone who works in a law firm. However, I am also the youngest full timer at the gallery and am constantly battling to be seen as professional enough and adult enough to be there. Maybe that's a silly way to look at it, but that is how I feel. I can't imagine that walking in there tomorrow with a head that could light a stadium is going to do much to raise me to that level in the eyes of my colleagues. Maybe I'll wear some kind of headscarf, or better yet a burkha. Why do I do these things?


16 August, 2006

there and back again...

This is a picture of me at the age of two or so. The image is an awful quality - an old polariod with cracked and discolored emulsion. I look a combination of terrified and isolated in this picture and it is the best illustration I've found to show what those two emotions feel like when rolled all into one. The look on my face, my body language all say "I give up! I surrender!!"

I am not going to say that changing jobs from working at an art funding agency to working at a gallery was the right or wrong decision as I think that remains to be seen. But what I can say, what I already know for sure is that as I emerge from this summer I feel like I've come through a fire and am just now emerging into something brighter, a place where I can breath. I think that I really underestimated how hard it would be to leave a place I enjoyed working, a place I really grew up in and spent five years of my life. I told myself that it is only a job but that is really the biggest lie. Jobs, if you love them, become such a staggering part of identity. Although it wasn't everything, I really began to understand myself, in part, through what I did. And all that changed when I joined the gallery and for the first time in a long while I felt like the kid who has no one to eat lunch with, who sits in the bathroom stall for an hour just to feel the security of being alone. And it's not even because this is a terrible place to work because in a lot of ways it is great, but it is different and I was an outsider looking in and that made me very, very uncomfortable.

So here I am, nearly three months in, and I am finally beginning to relax and feel like maybe I belong here. I still have my moments, like during my presentation on branding today, when I wonder what I am doing here. Then I get back to my desk and the real work of my job and I start to feel like I own a bit of this and it feels wonderful.

So, the picture is really me three months ago. And now, here I am. I've come through it and I feel so much stronger because of it. And I am really proud.

14 August, 2006

deeply and hopelessly buggered

It is already August 14th and I have only just realized how totally screwed I am. Not only do I have a gigantic presentation that the new branding campaign is hinging on this week, but next week I need to present everyone with my plan for all publicity and marketing for the fall and winter season. That's ten months worth of planning that, for the most part, I have yet to really start. On top of that I'm expected to make a plan to promote the gallery shop, which I am told, needs to early at least $200,000 for my campaign (whatever it is) to be considered a success.

I am good with the planning, strategies, evaluations, etc., but coming up with punchy advertising slogans for shop goodies is not my forte. The closest thing to an advertisement theme I've come up with is pirates, and that's only because I saw Pirates of the Carribean a few weeks ago. I am thinking something along the lines of 'Ello Poppet under a picture of a pretty thing, a vase or necklace... Or something. Why pirates you ask? Well, because (a) it's the only thing that comes of mind (b) it's a pop culture thing right now and might get us some attention and (c) pirates like treasure, right? And we kind of sell treasure.... So, um, I haven't really thought this one through. And that's all I have and yet I am expected to present two or three really solid campaign ideas within the next week. Bugger! I can just see me going ahead with this whole pirate thing and everyone going "Why does it say 'ello? What's a poppet? What are you getting at here missy?"

Brilliant ideas are welcome. Even happy thoughts. Anything really, just send me something nice.


Hopelessly fucked,


11 August, 2006


"Measure your life by counting the precious moments."

I think this is just about the loveliest fortune I've ever gotten from a stale cookie. It puts things in perspective. Things occasionally suck, but I firmly believe that the beauty of everything in my life far outshines any of that. Precious moments are everywhere just waiting to be savored. Even here at work, which I am sometimes negative about. I think it is really easy to get caught up in the idea that work is something one has to do to pay the bills and as a result the psychological switch that allows us to really enjoy what we are doing is turned off. Instead of thinking of work as something I have to do, this week I've been trying to think about how lucky I am to work in an art gallery and how creative and exciting my work can be if I allow it.

08 August, 2006

whoa nelly! it's hot as heck in these here parts

So hot in fact that my flesh is burning, and I don't have a sun burn. In past years I have been admittedly bad about sun exposure, preferring to lay out under an orange sun, browning my skin but despite record highs this year, I have mostly stayed covered, opting to pull my little lawn chair into the shade. Yet, my flesh feels like it is blistering and it is almost 11 p.m. Ungodly is how a religious person might describe it. So hot that the dogs are sick: one is pooping and one is puking and I am convinced that the heat is playing a part. So hot that I am going to have an icy bath before going to bed and even at that and under a full force ceiling fan, the coolness will evaporate from my flesh within moments and will turn into the warm slick of sticky sweat.

I've had a long weekend and despite having little desire to return to the gallery, I am dying for the lovely temperature control of the space. Not only is heat and cold controlled but humidity is kept at a steady level to protect the art. My line of work does have it's benefits.

Long weekend has been spent whittling away the time doing little of consequence. Reading, walking the muts, vacuuming, sleeping, watching movies.... I saw Miami Vice and despite his awful chawch mustache I have to admit that I fell madly in love with Colin Farrel in the space of an hour and 45 minutes, having thought quite little of him in the past. When him and that Asian gangsta bitch go at it in the back of the car the hairs on my arms stood up.

The past week has been our annual fair here and as is tradition, people adopt this honky western style. Work places that generally have uniforms or are formal allow their workers to "dress western" for the week. Crazy middle aged people drive around in this silly wagon honking their horn and calling themselves the "rowdy bunch." I am such a cynic. I suppose I am just bitter because I didn't end up paying the insane admittance to the fair and then the $30 for all day riding privildges on rides that were set up in four hours by fucked up carneys. And I am definitely disappointed about missing corn dogs, and other varieties of meats on sticks.

Either that or I am suffering from heat stroke. Air conditioned office, here I come!

02 August, 2006

kids on the tracks

On a Lighter Note

temper, temper

Some days this is how I feel. Or, rather, what I feel like doing. Not often, but I occasionally have these moments where I want nothing more than to unleash my inner two years old on the world and scream and throw myself on the ground kicking my legs, my hands knotted up in little fists. Occasionally I think that some forms of human disease are caused by repressing these kinds of primal emotions. It is not socially acceptable to be be mad, or too sad or really too much of anything so instead we pick a medium emotional tone and try not to deviate from it too much and sometimes it makes us sick. All of the rage that most of us feel (if we are honest with ourselves) has to go somewhere.

Rumi said "What I want most is to spring out of this personality, then to sit apart from that leaping. I've lived too long where I can be reached." Sometimes I feel this so strongly that it makes me want to join a monastery where everyone takes a vow of silence. Despite my complete and utter lack of religious convictions (generally a barrier to joining a religious order) and the knowledge that I would never actually want to live the rest of my life in such a regimented way, I deeply understand the desire to be contemplative, to remove oneself from the world and just be alone, quiet and still. As I get older (ripe old age of 28) more and more I find myself seeking time away to read and think and create. If I were devoted to a religion or philosophy the way I am devoted to spending quiet moments alone I would make an excellent nun (it I cut out the swearing and drinking).

I am not entirely sure that this gluttony for time apart is healthy and as I look around at my friends and acquaintances who are constantly out and about, I feel conflicted. On one hand I occasionally feel left out of things but then I have to acknowledge that for the most part, I really have no interest in going out more than a few times a month. And as a gallerina, my work life is completely overwhelmed with people, events and constant intense interaction that by the end of the day I want little more than the company I can find within the walls of my house. Exciting, no? While this tendency for aloness bothers me in some ways, in other ways I feel lucky. I am never bored with myself and I don't need the constant distraction of people to make me feel fulfilled. I think that this is a good thing and is balanced by the reality that when I do go out, I am really comfortable around people and not awkward (at least I don't think I am).

Anyway, my goal for this week is to be more in tuned with my emotions. And, by gads, if I feel like screaming and having a tantrum I may just indulge. Though probably not until I get home because a gal needs to earn a living and somehow I don't think I'm rock star enough to get away with throwing myself on the floor at work.

The photographer responsible for the above image and a series of other work like it is Jill Greenberg. Some of her work can be viewed online at the Paul Kopeikin Gallery . Always give credit where credit is due.

01 August, 2006

knotty knickers and other sundry items

Last weekend I went bra shopping after watching an Oprah episode about how the majority of women wear the wrong size bra. My bra, and I only owned the one, was a little too big (maybe I've lost some weight), looked funny under tighter shirts and was falling apart -- the perfect excuse to invest in something pretty. I ended up leaving with a turquoise wonderbra that looks amazing and, despite the underwire and major cleavage enhancements, it is so comfortable. True to form I could not leave the store with only what I needed and instead I decided to try on one of those pairs of super knickers. The gigantic ones that Bridget Jones always refers to and that are supposed to miraculously flatten anything worth flattening from above the knee to just above the rib cage. Initially I tried on a large and it fit a little big. I was under the impression that these things are supposed to squeeze the life out of you so without thinking it through, I grabbed a medium and checked out. The other morning I decided to wear the knickers under a dress to work and realized that although I could stuff myself into the medium, it was like getting a watermelon through a hole cut for a lemon. Once I was in them they stayed in place long enough for me to arrive at work and then began to curl up around the waist and legs so that in the end I was left with this hideously uncomfortable sausage rolly things at the tops of my legs and around my hips. Not only were they awful to wear, but instead of making me look streamlined (the plan really) I looked like I had little sausages tucked beneath my dress. Not lovely.

Gallery wise things are going well, mostly because there is very little going on for me to mess up. I nearly screwed up all of our fall advertisements with the wrong postal code, but luckily that was caught in the nick of time and with no financial penalties for the change. I really need to pull it together and get rid of the knickers.