Writing, every person who can write, does. That's not to say that every person can do it well. And people who practise can typically write even better. Well, people, I can do it, I do it well and I practise. That should stand on it's own. But it doesn't, writing is something that is beautifully read in the eyes of the beholder. The value of those words and stories depend on the reader. People who can read, do it. And do it everyday. And people who can write will continue to do it. Hopefully they do it well. Otherwise what would happen in a world without stories?
I want to write stories and tell tales and maybe even spin a yarn or two. I always have. I want to tell stories to people. Stories that roll around in my head. The characters I hang with when I am on my own, and the mischief they get into. But I want to be able to work on them, because I love them. But asking for money for something you love. Well, that just makes me feel guilty. Wanting to be working at something you're in love with, seems greedy. Most people are happy with a job, a steady pay check- Too bad if you don't like it. Do it for the money. I should be happier that I am doing what I love and that is it's own reward. Oh and it really is. I love having inside jokes in an online world. I love that I have been tough enough on myself to stick with it. But it does seem kinda lack luster when your big launch happens and it's just you typing at a computer and your dog waiting to go for a walk. Also there's a missing thank you cuz I want to reward you for reading. For making this an emotional success for me. I do want to start working on more of a contractual basis, you know like a job. But here's the problem, I don't have any experience.
I don't have experience? Okay, I am not sure how much more practise I will need before I start gaining some "experience". I have not dealt with deadlines. Because daily entries for 11 months straight, is a flimsy work ethic. Oh a track record. Perhaps a school newspaper? Head of the Young Voices of Canada club? Maybe I have 2 years to work as an unpaid intern in a publishing firm or daily rag. I should have a degree in journalism with at least 5+ years of online media editorial experience. Alright, alright already, I am so I'm not Arianna Huffington. And I am not saying I am Tolstoy, I would never be that presumptuous. I will, however wait for a critic to say it, then quote it on my FB fanpage and the outside jacket of my book, well series of books. Sorry, tangent, I was also writing my Oscar speech, but I can't decide which category I am accepting for. As far as I am concerned I have already climbed that well written mountain, in my mind. Now how do I photoshop this resume to prove I am up here? Cuz people are never going to believe I was. Okay, okay, so maybe they're right I do need a bit more practice. But I am on the journey to becoming an above average writer, if I do say so myself. And I just did.
Oh Pop culture how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. When I was growing up there was a lot of story telling. Joke telling. You heard about hip songs from that one friend who knew music. You read fashion magazines to learn style. You quoted television shows. If you wanted information about what was hip, you went to a hip person. You couldn't outright ask them, of course, because then they'd know you were not hip. You had to absorb and translate their hipness. But now! Oh my little pop culture, how you've grown.
Have you danced lately? Have you whooped'em Gangnam style? If not you should. It's really fun! Pop culture is no longer just regional- it's become a global obsession. With social media, we've all become entertainment editors- choosing, sharing and championing the next big thing. The best part about that is everyone can be Pop! No matter where, no matter who, you can set a trend. I am in love with it! Truly in love with watching mash up videos created by fanboys and girls. Tip and trick instructional videos. Watching Pop icons mock themselves- shocked that their 15 minutes is passing so fast. Doing the circuit and schmoozing with Seacrest. SNL and CNN equally intrigued with the Pop movement of the moment. Pop culture welcomes the weird, the wacky, the talented and the terrifying. There is room for us all.
Technology is helping us tell stories. Recording our jokes and teaching us that being hip comes from being yourself. When things get sad, just take a deep breath, hit the search bar and wait for that special viral feeling to overwhelm you. Or get out your camera and make a music video. Smile! Dance! Post, share, laugh and love the culture we're popping together. Then crank up the speakers, whip out that lasso, sing a song in Korean and Pop goes the world again.
For my first day back at it I decided to take it slow. I pumped my tires full of hot air, literally and figuratively. And this fat bottom girl got on her bike to ride. Huffing and puffing before my hula hoop class even started! And stinky with the shame of looking at myself standing awkwardly in a room with a solid wall of mirror. Trying to keep it fun and easy, I registered for a hoop burn class. How hard could it be to hula hoop? Not hard for the first 5 mins- then for the rest of the 55 mins- very hard. Add onto that the tricks and spins and doubles and turns and all that jazz I was out of my depth. But teacher says I am a natural- plus my classmates were nice! But I'd be surprised if hula hooping had drawn a bunch o'jerks. I mean it's a sparkly ring you dance inside- not exactly MMA. I am confident that my bum, abs and thighs will scold me tomorrow- but that's always a day away.
Getting back on my bike I headed to the rec centre for a swim. My non-athletic brain thought that if I doubled down on the fitness plan I was more likely to stick to it. I spent 15 mins in the fast lane being harrumphed at by men who wish they were Michael Phelps and 40 mins of arm and leg isolation in the medium lane, where I was the fastest and harumph-free. Until a fast- laner felt like slumming it in the medium lane and while passing people, he kicked them! Dude C'mon! Wouldn't you rather be challenged by the fast lane instead of shaming the mid tempo swimmers? But I guess he needed the ego boost or an excuse to kick people. My oh my, my neck is strained from only breathing one way during my strokes- ah hello, muscle memory, where were you on that? You were trained to go both ways. Either way I was pooped, my goggles were fogged up and I was sweating- in water- weird.
Then in the changeroom it hit me. An omg- I haven't used that muscle in a millennia arm cramp. Just at the moment when my shirt got twisted over my head, locking me in a kama-shirtra death grip. Standing there blind and topless, waiting for a helping hand when who should be the first responder? Why yes, it is a 64 year old naked polish lady. Asking sheepishly for a helping hand while trying to cover my totally exposed boobies, she drops her towel and brazenly untangles me. With a polite thank you, I dress myself and hop back onto my bike. My bottom feeling less fat and my body already sore. So much for taking it slow. I fully expect to wake up tomorrow with a sore everything, but I think I'll register for the noon hula class anyhow. If there's one thing I've learned is that I've told you that we won't stop. And now that I've got this giant rock rolling down the raider's tomb, it's time to get the idol, wait it's time to be the idol.
Picture this: A pretty pretty Princess wearing a pretty pink dress sits brushing her glimmering blonde hair and humming to herself. Two tiny bluebirds and one giant Cardinal hear her song and flutter down to perch on her shoulder and start singing harmony. Then two of the world's sweetest wittle bunny wabbits scoot under the fence, drawn to her by the birdie's #tweets. A baby deer pokes her head into the courtyard, curious as to what all the buzz was about. Did I forget to mention the Busy Bee family was there too? The Princess surrounded by her animal friends walks, well she glides really, to sit by her wishing well. Starting her song again she looks down into the wishing well. Princess: I'm wishing
Echo: I'm wishing
Princess: for the Prince I love
Echo: for the Prince I love
Princess: to find his dream job.
To be happy and proud of himself.
To be seen as the wicked talented dude he is.
To prove to himself he hasn't wasted anything.
To live and work at something he loves.
To gain the self esteem he sometimes lacks.
Cuz I am already proud of him.
Oh, and I wish for him to carry the load for a while, until I finish my children's book, sell it or indie-gogo a self publish and we can both be stable people and know that we've made the right choices for ourselves.
Disregarding what people have said about our rambling ways.
Realizing that no matter how silly our dreams seem they deserve to be realized.
And even though it's a hard row to sow, knowing that we've planted seeds, tended, watered and nurtured our imagination in the garden of our minds.
And even though we're a bit fruity, we're the sweetest kind.
I wish to continue on our tangled path of mixing business with pleasure.
Then we can live happily ever more, knowing that we were right to stick to our guns.
Please convince this geeky little boy wearing the cape, that he was right to dream big.
I also wish for a mini unicorn.
Echo: Wow, that was a really long chorus and it didn't even rhyme.
Your song writing skills are weaker than I thought, even worse than mine...
And I am a well.
Princess: Yeah, a wishing well!
The Princess and the birdies, the bunnies, the deer and the bees laughed and laughed and laughed until they stopped. Then the Well made all of the Princess' dreams come true. Her Prince came home happy and strong, with a mini-pony unicorn. And they lived happily evermore.
What a pretty, pretty picture that would be! Break an egg my Prince, my Hubby, my DreamMaker:) I am so very proud of you.
P.S. Check out Hubby's music video;) You'll love it!
At 2am after a night of working hard on an online submission audition Hubby came to bed angry. Mad that he hadn't finished more. Angry that things weren't as easy as he'd hoped. Put out by how difficult it actually was putting together something that he could be proud of. Both Hubby and I are perfectionists.... Did I mention that? But perfection takes time, effort and stamina. Also perfection takes a RED camera, lapel mics and at least 3 chimeras and 4 bounces- not to mention a choreographer, 1st AD and editor. The reason professional things look that way, is because they have the money, smackers, yen and pesos to pay for it. I can shoot as much as I want on my HD iPhone 4, but it's just never going to look perfect.
On take 3 of shot #5 I realized it. The reason we want so much of ourselves is because we want more people striving for perfection. Being the poor and starving artists we know what we can do, why wouldn't we expect that or more from a film crew of 80. This is the fact that makes us perfect for this industry of try hard perfectionists. If there is something that I have heard in every interview- every performer wants the best art to be made for the effort they are making. Would you do a nude scene? The answer across the board= If it was important to the story line, and if it is artistically done I would have no trouble doing it. That comes from a performer who wants the best for each project. The face in front of a crew of people all pulling to make something beautiful. Something unexpected. The performance of the season. In every performance they do. A true artist, of the starving variety is a perfectionist.
The inner monologue of the striver, the performer who wants to be their best goes like this: "Are my eyes blinking too much, on the next line I have to hit a mark accurately so that I am at my best angle, when I get to that mark I have to gesture with my left hand to the clue, while also picking up the prop I need for the next scene. I have to exit the frame from the left. While holding this prop, so I can have it in the scene we're filming in 2 and 7/8th days. Oh and don't do that thing with you eye because you don't have that action until you turn around." Plus remembering lines and saying them with the same intonation 27 times in a row. You must be a perfect performer to even do the basics of this job. That's not even taking into account the crying and screaming- and making that look honest. Be you an ugly cryer like Halle Berry or the cryer that let's the tears roll freely without marring your still beautiful face. Or how about fight scenes? Those are supposed to seem spontaneous, but they've been practised until the crew was ready to fall asleep. This is a tough job. So, here's one going out to all the starry eyed youth thinking that you won't need math and science to be a famous actor. It takes so much more than that. Study social science, biology and athletics. Geography and History couldn't hurt either. So, if you're coming down this yellow brick road, please pack a survival kit, cuz this life is tough and unexpected. But the rest of us perfectionists are up for it, if you are:)
Dear Mean People,
I think you know who you are. Why must you be so mean? Also, if you fall into any of the following categories please consider yourself addressed: Judgemental, Grumpy, Pessimistic, Rude, Impatient, Disrespectful and Intolerante People. It has come to my attention that you are the worst. I am talking to the people who don't thank strangers for holding the door. A smile is not a target. Just because I am laughing doesn't mean I am laughing at you. It wouldn't kill you to share the sidewalk a little. The poop your dog makes is something you should pick up. Elevators are not a personal toot shack. Get your fingers out of your nose and get underwear that doesn't bury itself so deep in your bum crack. Which isn't really mean, it's just gross. But still.
The Canadian national average hovers at Pleasant, and I am alright with that- but if your group could make a conserted effort we could raise it! We really could. Being a nice person is not difficult for the rest of us. We live in Canada, a wonderfully diverse and sympathetic country. It's pretty darn great. A country full of apologies and those saying it have nothing to be sorry for. It sucks that nice people are nice to mean people, even though they're not nice back. I would never treat you that way, which I guess is why I am the nice one and you're not.
Signed,
The Unhappy Doormat
Dear Nice People,
Please, please, please never give up on being nice. I know that sometimes the world can get you down. I know it's gray outside and being sunny when it isn't can be hard. You can be brave. You can be the better person. Please keep opening doors for people. I will thank you. Please tell me if I've dropped something. I will thank you. Help an old lady with her walker onto the streetcar or a young mother with a stroller off. Hopefully, they will thank you. If we can stay strong together we have a better chance of not feeling so bad when the Meanies don't do the things Nice people hope they will. After a Rude Meanie tries to ruin your day, look around for a Nicey-nice, they're never too far away and share a secret smile. A knowing wink to the fact that things will get better.
If we can just keep trying to help the Meanies see that it takes so much more energy to be mean, maybe they'll stop. Now, change like that doesn't happen over night but it can happen. All those Sunday night classic movies and after-school specials can't be wrong. It's gotta be true that sometimes the Nice Guy does finish first, even if it is just a Hallmark moment. I am going to keep hoping for a theme song, a ray of sunshine and a miraculous turning of the tables. Not so that I can be mean to the Meanies, but so that the Meanies can see how much more fun it is on this side of the net.
As for you Niceys, I am looking forward to seeing you at the next meeting of the Canadian branch of the #1 Awesome Sauce Club. When I hope to pass a jolly new bi-law: Singing, not just for showers anymore. Until then keep your chin up little birds. Those mean old winds are strong, but this flight is a nice one.
Yours in Kindness,
The World's Nicest *itch
There have been more than a few times this past summer when upon catching an image of myself in a shiny surface I've been disappointed. I look tired and worn out. All used up and puffy. My smile is tight and quite clearly needs a long winter's nap. And I look fat- not cartoon fat, and not obese, just scrunchy. So I harumpf and then take a deep breath and encourage myself to go on. Though thinking lesser of yourself is the worst kind of torture. Every step being taken is a drip in an already full bucket. Step- you're ugly. Step- everyone sees it. Step- you should be better. Step- you've given up. Until I turn my feet around and head back towards home. The only place I can hide away in my jogging pants and loose fitting t-shirt. I know where the mirrors are here and I can go for days without really looking at myself. Tricky part is, not every mirror is telling the truth, and not everyone can spot a lie.
I remember hearing that you're never as fat as you think you are. Which is as true for people with low self esteem as it is for prima ballerinas. But some people are exactly as fat as they think they are. I am just not sure which category I fit into. I know that my skinny jeans are tight...but that's to be expected. They are skinny jeans...how skinny they should be is a different question entirely. I know that I spend a lot of time yanking and pulling and arranging my clothes, but tiny little movie stars have a wardrobe person doing that to them as well. It's a strange and infuriating juxtaposition.
At Canada's Wonderland after a day of being soaking wet and half drying and then getting wet again, I dragged myself into the washroom as night fell. The harsh florescent lighting revealed that the fun I was having had taken a toll. My mascara had dripped and caked under my eyes trapped under the long day's sunscreen. My shirt was clingy and mishappen from being soaked by white water rapids. My skin looked greasy and yellow. The shorts I had on, welcome to Camel toe town. I was a nightmare. And just like that- all the fun I had been charging up on all day was drained. I felt stupid and ugly, fat and I wanted to go home. So, I walked my soggy running shoes out to the parking lot and said g'night with a growl. Looking terrible ruined my eve, and here I was thinking I wasn't superficial.
This past weekend after dancing my tail feather off at my bro-in-law's wedding and receiving compliments on my pretty dress and nice hairstyle and 8 Likes on a photo posted on FB; I was feeling alright about myself. That's when nature called again. So, heading from the dark dance floor where I was feeling hair-tossingly sexy, I went to the very bright bathroom. As I washed my hands I caught sight of a sweaty forehead, raccoon bandit style eyes, girl with hair stuck to her face and a flush that only colours someone with high-blood pressure after exertion. And after taking all that in, I realized it was me. Les Sigh. Even when I feel like I am at my best I fall below my lofty standards. BFF is quick to say that I expect too much of myself. But I am quicker to respond, Why would I allow anything less than my best self to be the person I am? So, starving for something can be good, but it sounds like it might be a bigger commitment than just change of diet. I need to put myself on a life diet, and cut out the shit. Because I am tired of feeling I can do better without actually doing it. And I know too many people who regret not being their better self, without knowing they can be. So, Mirror, Mirror, expect to see a lot more of me. I may not like you now, but soon enough magic will make you work for me. And we'll both see the change.
I've got friends in low places... But I've got high rolling friends too. Being the middle man ain't so bad. Being the happy medium. The bowl of porridge that's just right. The main stream. A medium sized fish in an appropriate sized pond. It's great to be able to go up or down. But people in the middle are generally regarded as those with the most to loose.
Seeing both those above you and those below you; it's tough not to worry about falling. Or being taken down a few pegs. But it's also a great place for brave optimism aimed at a station beyond your current reach. People are quick to say there is no rank to life, but I believe everything can be quantified. It just depends on how you choose to do so. You know that saying 'worth it's weight in gold?' You can measure everything; in time, in inches lost, by distance, how it makes you feel, a paycheque, in smiles, or daily blog hits- everything is quantifiable. It just depends on how you count it.
Sadly, someone has to be on the bottom of the pyramid, not because they want to be, or they deserve to be there, they are there to support the top. The foundation must be strong for the structure to remain sturdy. In high school we didn't have cheerleaders in the typical sense. We had a Spirit team. A group of rag tag girls and one high kicking boy that really only performed at one talent show and an air band competition. In Spirit squad I was literally the bottom of the pyramid. Being there wasn't so bad, as long as I kept hoping and trying someday to make it to the middle. And then when you get to the middle, that's the day you start hoping to be the gal on the top with the sparklers and the killer smile. The only thing standing in my way is that high kicking boy, but he's worked so hard to get himself up there, so maybe the middle is alright, for at least a little while longer:)
Against my better judgement, I have launched this campaign while still working my all consuming job. Knowing how accountability works; I am going to stick to it and start as planned. Though perhaps not the way I planned. The nitty gritty of The Starving Artist will go up as soon as I am free to do so. Including my current body measurements, my eating plan and my goals to better myself. But for today... enjoy a healthy bite of blog:)
Having too much on your plate. Your life plate and your dinner plate. The typical North American workaholic has a tendency to live life to the fullest; by undertaking more than the suggested serving size. And I am no exception. With food we tend to eat our fill and then some. In life we jam each waking hour with the bread and butter of expectation. Consuming what we crave and still hungering for more. Ensuring that we aren't missing out on something special. Packing our plates with all the social food groups and licking them clean. We're afraid of wasting even the smallest morsel of deliciousness. There are socially starving children all over the world.
Portion control relies heavily on your support systems. Being strong for yourself and making the decision to stick to your guns can be hard. Having a BFF who knows you might cheat but she would keep that secret on lock-down; gives the strength to stick to your meal plan. On the other hand, having a Hubby who pushes your buttons can create a craving to break the rules; stuffing your face with all the wrong responses. The ability to see a plateful and have the strength to ask for a doggie bag is a newly acquired skill set. But it agrees with my new initiative.
Variation and moderation. It's okay to start small and add as you go. This technique allows you to slowly and comfortably fill your stomach and soul. By choosing smaller options and splitting them tapas style you encourage a sense of community generosity. My life is full of moderated variation from ukeing to swimming, dancing myself skinny to eating myself fat and everything in between. Variety is the spice of life and I like it hot. This variety helps your spirit & taste buds to be pleased without the overstuffed sensation of way too much. As with most things the good life requires you to read the box and follow the recipe. Pick your menu wisely and be strong enough to avoid any unnecessary substitutions. They cost you more in the long run any way.
Everyone hates you when you're happy.
I am a freaking ray of sunshine. I am a smiley, giggly happy go lucky lady. I want to see the best in people; even in people who aren't anywhere near their best. But you know, some people just aren't happy until they're unhappy. It is amazing to watch negativity spread like a virus. As I am immune to most strains I feel it is my scientific duty to explore it's effects on others. A task I believe should come with hazard pay.
One of the world's deadliest outbreaks of negativity must be the First World Worker Commute- both going to and coming home from work. Whether in a car, subway or on a bike the viral strains vary but the symptoms are the same. Aggression, impatience and projection. These symptoms have many side effects. Which include but are not limited to huffing a sigh of irritability, honking horns, loud complaining, tirade Facebook status updates and general gloominess. These symptoms and oh so many more are highly contagious; infecting others with a negativity sore. And let's be honest, nobody likes viral puss.
The negativity epidemic is nothing new but the way we infect and combat the symptoms is changing. The virus literally travels virally through internet connections and smart phones, infecting people originally immune to one another's discord. We share the good but revel in the bad. Tragedy and pain a mainstay in our shared information and the blatant disregard for the feelings of others (including strangers) becoming common practice. Your virus effects others, you should be taking precautions.
There's a woman at work who's mad because she's usually Miss Sunshine and I stole her thunder, or I guess I gave her thunder. And though her infection is minor, if left untreated it could spread to her sunny side. Which would be a shame. I feel like those who've managed to stay positive, especially in this business, should help create an antidote, not submit to the negative infection. It's a sad turn of events for a woman who's come so far fighting against this plague. I think she has forgotten that every little ray of sunshine helps; even if you aren't the brightest. Negativity can be a debilitating disease without hope. People suffering with it will wonder what your angle is. Why are you being so kind, so optimistic, so generous? And I say I am taking Vitamin Glee and Oil of Original to fight off my Negativity infection, though I wish there was more I could prescribe.
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