It's true. Three point five years have passed since i began my journey into the world of technology and big cities. Where am i now? Well, i still dont know how to download things and my computer is too haggard to run msn. But i do own an iphone, and who talks on msn these days anyway? After this much time in Toronto and this many years in school I can finally say i grasp the time line of the industrial revolution, i loath the folks at turnitin.com, and i know how to under-stitch like nobodies business. So where has this left me? Well after writing my latest essay on The Wasp Factory I'd say i trust reality less than i ever have and i probably shouldn't read another book written after 1975 until whatever comes post post-modernism has taken control. This pessimistic world view has invaded my optimistic psyche causing my paranoia to take control. So "MOVE ON!" i say...to bigger and better things? probably not. but the background colour is different and so is the URL.
Love Forever,
Jamie
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
"Our Enormously Productive Economy...
Demands that we make consumption our way of life, that we convert the buying and use of goods into rituals, that we seek our spiritual satisfaction, our ego satisfaction, in consumption...we need things consumed, burned up, replaced, and discarded at an ever-accelerating rate."
-Victor Lebow 1955
Love Forever,
Jamie
-Victor Lebow 1955
Love Forever,
Jamie
Monday, October 12, 2009
Friday, October 9, 2009
A memory or two...
Even before i knew you I heard the stories. Let me tell you man, you lived up to your reputation.That little gleam of crazy peaking out from behind your eyes...and your grin. You were one of the few who really knew how to live without holding back. I looked forward to seeing you each time i came home. You always greeted me with a hug, a funny story, and a great time.
.......A high school party in the country where we first met...might have been your grad. A ginger kid with spiked hair, speaking that creepy language with my cousin.
......You boys playing music on Whyte Ave. I'd sip some gin, do a jig, and carry on with the night.
......Countless evenings dancing around the campfire. Drums, guitars, and that animalistic scream that only you could do so well....oh, remember that one Canada day? what a pow-wow, wouldnt have been the same without you.
......Many a toga parties inevitably ending with you in the nude...or running in that skulloton suit, Megan in pursuit behind you.
A tribe has lost a brother. Rest in peace Dustin, we'll miss you.
Love Forever,
Jamie
.......A high school party in the country where we first met...might have been your grad. A ginger kid with spiked hair, speaking that creepy language with my cousin.
......You boys playing music on Whyte Ave. I'd sip some gin, do a jig, and carry on with the night.
......Countless evenings dancing around the campfire. Drums, guitars, and that animalistic scream that only you could do so well....oh, remember that one Canada day? what a pow-wow, wouldnt have been the same without you.
......Many a toga parties inevitably ending with you in the nude...or running in that skulloton suit, Megan in pursuit behind you.
A tribe has lost a brother. Rest in peace Dustin, we'll miss you.Love Forever,
Jamie
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Summer is Over.
Or so say the class schedules. While eating a mini muffin (with bacon) in Pitman hall I stared at CP24 and reflected on the past few months. A summer in Toronto. Time flew as it does in the city. Trips to the beach, rooftop bbq's, and midnight dance parties have blended together.
Labour day weekend left one last chance for frivolous fun before the bite returned to the air. What better way to end the summer than a secret show...one which the kids spread through word of mouth, willingly fork over the cash, and then wait in trusting anticipation for directions. A text message as my invite, i tagged along with my friends in the know.
The ticket; a program with titles in greek and bios filled with half truths and interesting tales. On the last page directions to the concert brought us East to point most of us have only seen on the 6oclock news. I followed the hipsters through Kennedy station to a waiting bus. We stuck out like a sore thumb (or perhaps a well manicured one). 'downtowners' the man beside me called us.
"...Pass between two large rocks and then follow the path into the park. When you see eight large columns and three heads of Zeus, you will know you have arrived in the correct spot." and so we did. A night of ancient ruins, tree climbing, and a sit by the lake. Final Fantasy as the headliner, a slice of pizza and a long subway ride home. Oh Toronto, your cooler than I give you credit.
(all pictures shamelessly stolen from Kass' facebook)
Love Forever,
Jamie
Labour day weekend left one last chance for frivolous fun before the bite returned to the air. What better way to end the summer than a secret show...one which the kids spread through word of mouth, willingly fork over the cash, and then wait in trusting anticipation for directions. A text message as my invite, i tagged along with my friends in the know.
The ticket; a program with titles in greek and bios filled with half truths and interesting tales. On the last page directions to the concert brought us East to point most of us have only seen on the 6oclock news. I followed the hipsters through Kennedy station to a waiting bus. We stuck out like a sore thumb (or perhaps a well manicured one). 'downtowners' the man beside me called us.
"...Pass between two large rocks and then follow the path into the park. When you see eight large columns and three heads of Zeus, you will know you have arrived in the correct spot." and so we did. A night of ancient ruins, tree climbing, and a sit by the lake. Final Fantasy as the headliner, a slice of pizza and a long subway ride home. Oh Toronto, your cooler than I give you credit.
(all pictures shamelessly stolen from Kass' facebook)
Love Forever,
Jamie
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Chivalry is Not Dead
that's what i thought when he asked if i needed help carrying my package down the subway stairs. I declined, telling him it was not that heavy. He smiled and turned. I watched him walk down the stairs in front of me. I watched as he ignored the woman struggling with her baby carriage....
love forever,
Jamie
love forever,
Jamie
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Although I hate them I have also come to love them.
I'm not going to give them names or anything but watching these foul feathered friends grow has tapped into my maternal instincts. Now that doesnt mean I want any more where they came from so 'Reens and I have been doing our best to make our balcony inhospitable. This included removing the boxes under which they found shelter, loud noises at all hours of the day, and the occasional flying beer can. Then there was the egg; apparently just a few days before the first chicks are ready to leave home the mother will lay another. It was me who put on the rubber gloves and tossed it over the rail...birdie abortion if you will. That I do not feel guilty about. I consider it a favour to a mother bird who lacks a suitable home in which to raise another child. It's what happened after that keeps me up at night...
Yesturday, we decided, was the day. We were out there, stacking the empties, preparing for our anual trip with a shopping cart of cans. The newly hatched had been flapping up to the rail and back down to the floor for a while...the little one still had a few baby feathers sticking out of its head. I questioned the runts ablility to make it to the windowsill where momma and poppa looked on. I wish i could say it was a joyous occasion; watching them jump from the balcony and take flight for the first time. It almost was.
They stood poised, head under the rail, prepared for what was next. A can flew through the air in their general direction. The birdie leapt and flapped with all its might, using every ounce of strength it perched on the window sill between its parents. Success.
The second eviction notice was served. The child took off, flapping frantically, just 2 inches below the sill, he turns back to the balcony and misses, turns again to the next sill, again and again...I watched in terror, willing the birdie to find a foothold. Each turn brings him one story closer the the ground. He had 16 chances to land...I lost sight of him around the 8th floor. I'v been telling myself he found a new balcony, that his mother brings him food before returning to my sill each morning. I'm not so sure this is true. I can't even look the others in the eye.
Love forever,
Jamie
Yesturday, we decided, was the day. We were out there, stacking the empties, preparing for our anual trip with a shopping cart of cans. The newly hatched had been flapping up to the rail and back down to the floor for a while...the little one still had a few baby feathers sticking out of its head. I questioned the runts ablility to make it to the windowsill where momma and poppa looked on. I wish i could say it was a joyous occasion; watching them jump from the balcony and take flight for the first time. It almost was.
They stood poised, head under the rail, prepared for what was next. A can flew through the air in their general direction. The birdie leapt and flapped with all its might, using every ounce of strength it perched on the window sill between its parents. Success.
The second eviction notice was served. The child took off, flapping frantically, just 2 inches below the sill, he turns back to the balcony and misses, turns again to the next sill, again and again...I watched in terror, willing the birdie to find a foothold. Each turn brings him one story closer the the ground. He had 16 chances to land...I lost sight of him around the 8th floor. I'v been telling myself he found a new balcony, that his mother brings him food before returning to my sill each morning. I'm not so sure this is true. I can't even look the others in the eye.
Love forever,
Jamie
Sunday, May 31, 2009
I have so much to say
Yet the tendinitis in my wrist is thinking i should say it not type it....so, until the busy bee who is me can find some time to get to physio or at least take a break from the sewing machine, you will have to wait. Until then, here are some Coles-notes updates on my life:
- forget the ones that were in my home, my balcony is now host to two baby pigeons. The not-so-newly hatched are about ready to take wings and fly...as soon as they do we're balcing* the nest
- Candy Pants are almost ready to hit the market. Coming June 6th, 2009 these eco-friendly, bamboo undies can be seen at various fests, online, and at the Shopgirls boutique on Queen Street West. Don't forget, their made in Canada so buy a pair and support our dwindling manufacturing sector. (candypants.ca is coming soon)
Love Forever,
Jamie
*balcing (balck-ing): adverb; to balc
balc (balck): verb; the act of throwing or launching an object off of ones balcony
- forget the ones that were in my home, my balcony is now host to two baby pigeons. The not-so-newly hatched are about ready to take wings and fly...as soon as they do we're balcing* the nest
- Candy Pants are almost ready to hit the market. Coming June 6th, 2009 these eco-friendly, bamboo undies can be seen at various fests, online, and at the Shopgirls boutique on Queen Street West. Don't forget, their made in Canada so buy a pair and support our dwindling manufacturing sector. (candypants.ca is coming soon)
Love Forever,
Jamie
*balcing (balck-ing): adverb; to balc
balc (balck): verb; the act of throwing or launching an object off of ones balcony
Sunday, May 10, 2009
At 8am on the first Tuesday of my university career, I swore i would never do it.
The oath had something to do with the pretentious man who was my illustration professor scoffing at the fact that I had never been. Shiny eyed and straight from Alberta I didn't know the first thing about the industry. If you asked me to make a list of designers I wouldn't be able to fill half a page. He told me if I wanted to make it in fashion i needed to know what was going on. My assignment; go to Holt Renfrew. I was furious. And idealistic. I refused to succumb to the pull of overpriced fashion. I did not believe that a department store filled with two hundred dollar t-shirts and two thousand dollar bags was anything but part of the problem in our consumer driven world....I wanted to prove that i could be successful without playing the game.
Over the past three years this turned into a kind of pretension in its own right. When others spoke of Holtz i turned my nose to the air. While in lectures, when the other girls were on their Macbooks browsing lookbook and style.com I was...well....napping. But one can only overt their gaze for so long. This year i began to crack; I too have a folder in my bookmarks dedicated fashion sites, blogs, and forums. exchanging my Addbusters for Vogue I began to attend fashion shows and other events. To my surprise I actually know people in the crowd, with the press, and sometimes on the runway....
Two weeks ago I finally did it. The last step before casting the sheet from my eyes and entering the world of higher fashion. I went to Holt Renfrew. It was amazing. I never knew shopping could be such a beautiful thing. Not that I shopped. Who can afford to? But I fantasized. Fantasised over four hundred dollar lingerie and four thousand dollar Gucci blazers. Fantasised about the day when I would have my own corner on the fourth floor. My name stenciled on the walls in fuchsia. The freedom to use quality fabric, intricate design details, and the fan base to purchase my wares. As I took the escalator up I felt my social stature rise with it....well until i left empty handed and headed for the Goodwill down the street.
...so what does this mean? Does it mean iv left my angst ridden years behind? Do I leave my green hair, doc martens, and bullet belt at the door? I don't think so....well I hope not. Right now their holding on by a thread. I'm trying to find a place where the two converge. I still refuse to play the game, I will not bite the lure of fast fashion and trash consumer culture. But I also except the high price tag of designer clothing. It's worth it. How do we convince society to spend three hundred dollars on one dress that they'll have forever instead of thirty dollars on one that will be out of style in a month? And where do i fit into all of this?
Love forever,
Jamie
Over the past three years this turned into a kind of pretension in its own right. When others spoke of Holtz i turned my nose to the air. While in lectures, when the other girls were on their Macbooks browsing lookbook and style.com I was...well....napping. But one can only overt their gaze for so long. This year i began to crack; I too have a folder in my bookmarks dedicated fashion sites, blogs, and forums. exchanging my Addbusters for Vogue I began to attend fashion shows and other events. To my surprise I actually know people in the crowd, with the press, and sometimes on the runway....
Two weeks ago I finally did it. The last step before casting the sheet from my eyes and entering the world of higher fashion. I went to Holt Renfrew. It was amazing. I never knew shopping could be such a beautiful thing. Not that I shopped. Who can afford to? But I fantasized. Fantasised over four hundred dollar lingerie and four thousand dollar Gucci blazers. Fantasised about the day when I would have my own corner on the fourth floor. My name stenciled on the walls in fuchsia. The freedom to use quality fabric, intricate design details, and the fan base to purchase my wares. As I took the escalator up I felt my social stature rise with it....well until i left empty handed and headed for the Goodwill down the street.
...so what does this mean? Does it mean iv left my angst ridden years behind? Do I leave my green hair, doc martens, and bullet belt at the door? I don't think so....well I hope not. Right now their holding on by a thread. I'm trying to find a place where the two converge. I still refuse to play the game, I will not bite the lure of fast fashion and trash consumer culture. But I also except the high price tag of designer clothing. It's worth it. How do we convince society to spend three hundred dollars on one dress that they'll have forever instead of thirty dollars on one that will be out of style in a month? And where do i fit into all of this?
Love forever,
Jamie
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
My screen door is broken.
It doesn't open from the outside. To get in from the balcony you need to pry the screen off the corner and stick your hand through to unlatch it. We used to spend the two minutes it takes to fix until winter came and brought with it the impending laziness.......
There i was, sitting in my room working on my computer when i saw it; A pigeon. Perched on Ophelia's tank. Looking right at me.
"Coo?"
"AAAHH!!!!!" I screamed and slammed my bedroom door in panic. (If your wondering why then you've never seen a St.Jamestown pigeon*)
After collecting my wits i convinced myself it would probably leave on its own as long as it didnt venture into a different room. I tiptoed out to close the doors to the bathroom and Irinas bedroom.
"Coo?" said the pigeon as he walked accross the floor
"Coo" said his friend perched on the doorframe
"TWO PIGEONS?! AAAAH!!!" as i locked myself in my bedroom once again. One pigeon i can deal with. But Two? thats way to much for me to take. I sat there hyperventilating. Hoping he would take pity and come down to help I called my neighbor. The poor guy was recovering from a late night and i'm sure my shreiking was not his idea of a good morning. He talked me down, gave me some pointers, and went back to nursing his hangover. I was on my own.
Every move i made caused the pigeons to take to the air. The flapping wings and flying feathers caused me to shreik and run into my room again and again. Needless to say it was a long process. As they hid in the kitchen i moved all my furniture creating a path to the now open door. I went through the kitchen the other way waving a blanket at the pair. Tentatively they walked side by side to freedom.....leaving nothing but a pile of poo behind them.
Now im bleaching EVERYTHING
Love Forever,
Jamie
*St.Jamestown - most densely populated area in Canada.
- 17,000 people in 19 buildings.
- 1:20 person to pigeon ratio
.....and by pigeon i mean overfed rat bird.
There i was, sitting in my room working on my computer when i saw it; A pigeon. Perched on Ophelia's tank. Looking right at me.
"Coo?"
"AAAHH!!!!!" I screamed and slammed my bedroom door in panic. (If your wondering why then you've never seen a St.Jamestown pigeon*)
After collecting my wits i convinced myself it would probably leave on its own as long as it didnt venture into a different room. I tiptoed out to close the doors to the bathroom and Irinas bedroom.
"Coo?" said the pigeon as he walked accross the floor
"Coo" said his friend perched on the doorframe
"TWO PIGEONS?! AAAAH!!!" as i locked myself in my bedroom once again. One pigeon i can deal with. But Two? thats way to much for me to take. I sat there hyperventilating. Hoping he would take pity and come down to help I called my neighbor. The poor guy was recovering from a late night and i'm sure my shreiking was not his idea of a good morning. He talked me down, gave me some pointers, and went back to nursing his hangover. I was on my own.
Every move i made caused the pigeons to take to the air. The flapping wings and flying feathers caused me to shreik and run into my room again and again. Needless to say it was a long process. As they hid in the kitchen i moved all my furniture creating a path to the now open door. I went through the kitchen the other way waving a blanket at the pair. Tentatively they walked side by side to freedom.....leaving nothing but a pile of poo behind them.
Now im bleaching EVERYTHING
Love Forever,
Jamie
*St.Jamestown - most densely populated area in Canada.
- 17,000 people in 19 buildings.
- 1:20 person to pigeon ratio
.....and by pigeon i mean overfed rat bird.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Nothing but a game of chess....
Maybe I have been reading too many conspiracy theories lately but i cant shake the feeling that things are going just a little too well for our puppy owning friend. I admit, i'v been on the Obama train for quite a while now but im getting wary. I mean, since the Bush/Gore election its quite obvious that the 'land of the free' is anything but. The country that claims to fight for democracy is showering in deceit with nothing to hide behind but a flimsy dollarama shower curtain. You know the one; just a little to short to reach wall to wall with the magnets at the bottom not quite strong enough to keep it stuck to the tub. I cant shake the feeling that our new prez has simply changed the semi transparent curtain for a coloured one with polka dots. But instead of peaking around the curtain we've been distracted by the sounds coming out of his brand new shower radio and the smell of his shampoo. The news isn't full of policy changes, its full of Michelle supporting local designers and the planting of the White house vegetable garden. I want to think he's here for change but we all know that the governments don't really control anything these days. What with the WTO and the IMF allowing multi-nationals to stake claim over formerly sovereign nations the real question is who's signing the cheques? Who's the king and who're the pawns?....i would write more but after learning that the CIA even monitors turnitin.com i'm not sure its a good idea to speak my mind on such an open server. My next post might becoming at you straight from my bunk in Guantanamo bay.....
Love Forever,
Jamie
Love Forever,
Jamie
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Sunday, March 15, 2009
I knew it was over the night my mother phoned to discuss the inappropriateness of pornographic graffiti showing up on her news feed.
It could be that for a short time Facebook alone was enough to satisfy my need for self expression online. To blog seemed unnecessary when i could simply update my status. It seems that time is no more, im back.
They may have signed up in an attempt to appear with the times but the truth is not only do our parents not understand, shit would certainly hit the fan if they ever figured it out. To them, Facebook is a phenomena; An intricate construct of social networking filled with such a vast amount of apps that they just cant wrap their limited minds around it. (limited not by a lack of intelligence but by a lack of fundamental hard wiring in their brains. An effect of being raised in the period before Times New Roman overtook cursive writing)They may have accepted our abbreviated figures of speech, our reluctance to use capital letters and our absolute refusal to insert apostrophes but i think thats about as far as it goes. Dont bother trying to explain that before Facebook there was Friendster and before Friendster there was Myspace and before Myspace there was Nexopia. Dont even mention that before blogging there were livejournals. I wouldnt tell them that the list could go on and on, sometimes in a different order, depending on location/age/subculture/etc. They would be horrified to learn the amount of profiles we have filled out without so much as reading - or caring about - the privacy policy. How many lists of favorite bands, tv shows, books, and quotes have been left forgotten, floating lonely in cyber space only to emerge when your date from last Saturday googles your name. I wouldnt even consider letting them know that Facebook isnt the only social networking site being used today. That youth all over the world are also feeding their narcissistic urges with memberships on Twitter and the like.
My mothers furry was slightly subsided when i explained the difference between her news feed and her wall and that the picture was not drawn for her but for my friend. She seemed a bit less anxious when i assured her that (unlike herself) my little cousins have more than 12 "friends" on the book and it was doubtful the graffiti would have even made it to their attention.
She did NOT, however, accept the notion that the picture was anything but an embarrassment to my character; crude and unladylike. Nothing (not even explaining how Facebook friend Matt had changed his Facebook last name to Esticles and therefore I had no choice but to draw said pornographic image in order to get the most possible humour out of the situation) could convince her that this was funny. I am left with no other option but to censor myself until the next dominant design emerges and we can all flee leaving our parents wondering why we didnt RSVP to the baby shower on Thursday.
If you ask me, getting them to understand isnt worth the risk. It would be like trying to download the latest version of msn or itunes to Windows 95. It would be a painfully slow process, with every new update potentially overloading the already overworked hardrive. If i wasnt speaking metaphorically, i would secretly hope for that blue screen of death to come and justify my purchase of a new Macbook but i havent heard anything about Apple unveiling a new series of synapses for the incompatible brain of a Baby Boomer.
Love forever,
Jamie
They may have signed up in an attempt to appear with the times but the truth is not only do our parents not understand, shit would certainly hit the fan if they ever figured it out. To them, Facebook is a phenomena; An intricate construct of social networking filled with such a vast amount of apps that they just cant wrap their limited minds around it. (limited not by a lack of intelligence but by a lack of fundamental hard wiring in their brains. An effect of being raised in the period before Times New Roman overtook cursive writing)They may have accepted our abbreviated figures of speech, our reluctance to use capital letters and our absolute refusal to insert apostrophes but i think thats about as far as it goes. Dont bother trying to explain that before Facebook there was Friendster and before Friendster there was Myspace and before Myspace there was Nexopia. Dont even mention that before blogging there were livejournals. I wouldnt tell them that the list could go on and on, sometimes in a different order, depending on location/age/subculture/etc. They would be horrified to learn the amount of profiles we have filled out without so much as reading - or caring about - the privacy policy. How many lists of favorite bands, tv shows, books, and quotes have been left forgotten, floating lonely in cyber space only to emerge when your date from last Saturday googles your name. I wouldnt even consider letting them know that Facebook isnt the only social networking site being used today. That youth all over the world are also feeding their narcissistic urges with memberships on Twitter and the like.
My mothers furry was slightly subsided when i explained the difference between her news feed and her wall and that the picture was not drawn for her but for my friend. She seemed a bit less anxious when i assured her that (unlike herself) my little cousins have more than 12 "friends" on the book and it was doubtful the graffiti would have even made it to their attention.
She did NOT, however, accept the notion that the picture was anything but an embarrassment to my character; crude and unladylike. Nothing (not even explaining how Facebook friend Matt had changed his Facebook last name to Esticles and therefore I had no choice but to draw said pornographic image in order to get the most possible humour out of the situation) could convince her that this was funny. I am left with no other option but to censor myself until the next dominant design emerges and we can all flee leaving our parents wondering why we didnt RSVP to the baby shower on Thursday.
If you ask me, getting them to understand isnt worth the risk. It would be like trying to download the latest version of msn or itunes to Windows 95. It would be a painfully slow process, with every new update potentially overloading the already overworked hardrive. If i wasnt speaking metaphorically, i would secretly hope for that blue screen of death to come and justify my purchase of a new Macbook but i havent heard anything about Apple unveiling a new series of synapses for the incompatible brain of a Baby Boomer.
Love forever,
Jamie
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