The hardest part of any art? The middle. All creators of all art forms know that the idea is exciting. Creating an original concept, all your own- what could be better? The planning and pitching can be a hard but rewarding way to share your art. It's the middle. That becomes the hardest, longest and most challenging part. When the art becomes work. And that's not what we signed on for as creative folks. Creative people can have a hard time fulfilling their own dreams. And the amount and quality of material an artist creates is dictated by their commitment to their goal and personal deadlines. Making art is a hard career. It's easy to loose interest in art that becomes work. Especially in the middle.
This theory applies to acting. Auditioning is a challenge. Creating a character from the sides provided. Convincing a table full of folks who know what they're looking for, that you are that thing. The waiting until the word comes you were cast. The first day of rehearsals and getting to know your castmates- awesome. Building your character, complimenting your cast and memorizing the words written for you to express yourself. Then the middle begins. Strangely the middle lasts until after opening, through the run and into the final week of shows, when the work suddenly doesn't feel so worky anymore. It becomes art again. And that art becomes fun again. It applies to music. Sitting with your instrument, your band, your creativity, writing what comes to mind. Fooling around until you're happy with what this tiny idea has transformed into; a fully formed music baby. Then comes the strumming and rehearsal of the song. Followed by playing that song until you've forgotten why it was so special when you wrote it. Painters know that a new canvas holds untold opportunities for expression. The minute a brush hits the surface, it becomes harder ever finish, the long lonely hours spent planning and painting. Don't even get me started on writers. There are scripts, novellas and poems sitting unfinished in drawers and on desktops. Millions of secret art, awaiting their fate in the unfun middle. Art is hard.
This is the unseen side of art. The hustle, the bustle, the grind. Beginning, begging and borrowing. Trying to stay motivated through the work. The constant possibility that you and you're art may not be as special as they thought. The fear that you will let the ever present "THEM" down. That the people who believe in you might have misplaced their faith. The fear that you might try your hardest to produce the most special art that you will ever create. Only to have no one notice. To be alone in your art. Art is meant to be shared. But what if you aren't an artist? What if after years of trying, lying, starving and striving, you're not good enough? Well, my friend, just that fear alone says you're an artist. So struggle, sweat and swear. Maybe cry a few times. As for my Art? I can hardly remember the start and I am no where near the end. But I am closer to where the dreaded middle ends, and it becomes fun again...I hope.
It's been a few months since I wrote an ode to earhairs. It's sad but I long for the mysterious intrigue of earhairs. A tickly, thickly curling wisp that flutters in the wind. It's hooked and I can't stop starring! Of course, there have been a few memorable chin hairs and a mole hair or two, but nothing worth a dedicated blog to my outspoken affection for such furry occurrences. I have been trying to rise above the physical foibles of those around me. But what is it they say about the best laid plans?
Upon returning to my regular cop shop gig I have seen a few wily whiskers, but have taken the high road- for the most part. Ignoring a hair collar sticking out above shirt necklines, and avoiding eye contact with caterpillar brows. Honest I was trying to be good. Until yesterday, I discovered a giant ear hair...you will never guess where. In MY own EAR. I couldn't believe it. It was awful. Possessed by a tickle I felt in my ear canal. A creepy crawling, fluttering feeling that I couldn't shake. Literally I couldn't shake it off. Heading to the loo, I thought I would discreetly pull all the hairs from both ears, you know, all those tiny fine hairs that cover a human. The fuzz that reminds us we're not too far from being the animals we were. And trust me if I'd had a razor I would've shaved myself from the eyebrows down! Getting to the washroom I studied, inspected, looked and leered at my ears- seeing nothing, but I knew it was there. I started plucking blindly. Oh did I mention that I carry tweezers with me? Cuz, yeah I do. Everywhere I go, just in case. That's when it happened. The tweezers clamped down on something. And like deep sea fishing, it was a struggle to reel that hair in- or out as the case may be. When I finally triumphed over my well rooted foe, I was .5lbs lighter and my hearing had amplified 4 fold. How long could it have been growing there? As far as I am concerned- any length of time is too long. Now, I must turn my obsession inward, I have become my own earhair-enemy.
But it could have been worse, I guess. The group I associate with at work are a mature crowd. Their eyesight isn't like use-ta-be and most have earhairs of their own, earhairs they can be proud of. So, I figure as long as I can still see, feel and pluck my own unruly rogue hairs I am ahead of the social grooming curve. But maybe we could all use a little help from our friends. One of my colleagues has asked for a lady's agreement. Using my 20/20 vision I am to alert him to any strays I may spy...though to prevent hurt feelings I have been collecting a few hairs to alert him of all at once, instead of a daily hair check-in. It's better for us both that way. I get to marvel at those wiry wonders for a few more days, and he gets to think his super power is growing multiple magnanimous hairs in an afternoon. So my fair earhairs- it's been a while since we wrote, but you are a familiar friend. Honestly though, I could do without you whispering in my ear. Literally.
Hurricane Sandy is expected to make landfall late Monday night or early Tuesday morning. But we won't know her full affect until Wednesday. Now Ontario has already been dealing with a peer pressure system of it's own and the dire combination could, apparently, be just that. Winds could hit highs of 150 km/h in some areas. That's like a bajillion times faster than the average sexy hair toss. Waves on the Great Lakes could be five to seven metres high. Or maybe even as high as a million mouse boats. It's not a good time to be a worst case scenario Sally or a Debbie downright awful. So, how does one prepare for being without power? In a flooded home? I am not sure actually. Plus weather like this really blows my mind.
Now, those of you who know me, know me to be a teeny bit high strung. A worry wart. Obsessive even. But for some reason, I am not one who worries about a little bit of weather. That's probably because a snow storm seems a more likely Ontario disaster than a hurricane blowing in off the coast. It's not the big problems I am nervous about it's getting to and from work safely- cuz people aren't at their best when they're panicked. Kevin forbid the film industry take a day off- as they say the show must go On! And as fun as being sent home early from work might be...it has a tendency to bring out irrational behaviour. Including but not limited to: purchase of multiple 72 hour emergency kits, stockpiling water, barricading windows, weird FB updates and waterproofing personal belongings. I am also expecting to hear a few Mayan calendar conversations. Predictions of the future and our impending doom. Nastradamus and whatnot. Panic effects people very differently, but most of it's irrational. Except the panic that I've lost my smartphone, that's totally rational.
Uncertain times call for certain adventures. I am planning on packing items together so I know where to find them, if I wake up in the dark. Placing a flashlight next to my bed, just in case. I am also trying to eat the contents of my freezer- for if the power fails- it's bye bye fish sticks. All in all I'm sad this possible disaster is wind and water. I was kinda hoping the apocalypse would be of the Zombie variety. And that the day after tomorrow would be a new start for those of us wiry enough to plan for an undead invasion. Though if you ask someone who uses the Mayan calendar, you'd know the apocolypse isn't 'til December. So, for now, even though the weather blows, I guess we'll just have to soak it up. Hurricane Sandy wants to keep us on our toes, even if they are soaking wet.
* Red Cross urges people in the storm’s path to have supplies ready in case hydro power is out for up to 72 hours.
In an industry where youth is celebrated- sought after and faked, turning another year older can be a lot to recover from. Birthdays are supposed to be special. The one day to feel celebrated. One day a year where you are the number 1, top banana, king of the day; unless of course you're a twin. A day to be doted on. Loved and adored by those who love and adore you. Receiving birthday wishes from all those who think I'm something special. Family and friends eager to enjoy my company. But how does getting older really feel?
My Grandma Near; before she lost her mind to dementia said to me: "I don't remember getting old. I was 22 then I was 80, but that 22 year old is still in here."*pointing to her noggin. Then she asked me how babies were made. Strange disease Alzheimer's, forgetting who you are before your done with being yourself. But that's a story for another day. Growing older I have started to understand the importance of making memories. The urge to celebrate and be with the ones you love. Growing up, well, growing taller I can't help but wonder what the future holds for me. And most of all I've realized that just because you're not doing something doesn't mean things aren't happening. You can't stop progress. I think that getting older is a good thing for me. It's hard to admit that I won't be a reckless teen or self-involved twenty-something ever again. I am becoming a responsible adult. I am growing into my hit- acting-wise. Which should be a good thing*fingers, legs, arms and toes crossed. I am digging on being a grown up...except the ever increasing creases.
After all the indulgence birthdays bring, I will be happy to get back to veggies. The day after my party I had a sugar hangover and my tongue was swollen from sour candies. Plus my just-washed-jeans were a little tighter that morning. My body had just started being healthy for reasons of business and pleasure. And was starting to feel good. But now that I am one year older it won't be so easy staying in shape says Hubby who's been (infuriatingly) the same size since we met. Happy Birthday to me. I am glad to make these new resolutions with you. Here's to a Happy New Year of Melicious:)
I am just going to go ahead and coin the term North Poehler! A Canadian who loves Amy Poehler- catchy I know! Whoa! That was too many exclamation points. Anyhow, while watching Parks and Rec, I was schooled about "Treat Yo'Self"! A yearly tradition when you get to spoil yourself for the whole day. Well, being the broke sass I am, it's not likely I'll get to Treat My'self anytime soon. But since it is my birthday, I thought I would write a
"Treat Yo Self" wish list:)
1. An iPad to aide in my internet takeover
2. Unlimited Hula classes
3. Full body massage with rose water facial and scalp treatment
4. Ukulele Manicure and Kandy Korn Pedicure
5. Vaca to a sunny beach so I can catch up on my reading
6. Create a Melicious Manners logo design
7. A pretty pink princess dress complete with tiara and blonde updo wig
8. Pin-up style vintage photo shoot and new head shots!
9. Limo for 8 going to Niagara Falls to do all the quirky museums and Ripley's and a room with a view of the Falls
10. Snap up those high priced concert tickets- Maroon 5, Pink and Bon Jovi
11. A $500 gift certificate to Lululemon
12. Mojitos and Playa Cabana catering all day long
13. Those dang Ikea shelves put up by a Handy Man
14. More lessons with Ukeologist Judy!
15. Dance lessons & circus training- but that might take more than a day
16. Prepaid personal shopper with a flair for vintage
17. I was going to do wishes up to my age, but I then thought better of it:)
This list doesn't sound like much of a Treat My'self day, it sounds like a MeliciousManners Better Yo'Self list with vacations and a few future plans thrown in for colour. Sigh. It's strange to think that my treats are learning, escaping and improving. My fellow North Poehlers, I encourage you to think about ways to "Treat Yo'Self"! Maybe you should watch Parks & Rec; 22mins of awesomesauce in it's 5th season of Wowey! Available on Netflix! Another exclamation?!? Really? I need less enthusiasm or more emoticons...emoticons it is:)
My Grandma Far used to say "What's for you, doesn't go by you". And even though I try to remember that, it doesn't make disappointment any easier to deal with. In this business, well it's a calling really, Hubby and I have been pranked often. I am using that analogy badly. We both work so hard, trying to achieve a destiny we have no control over. We struggle and strive and encourage each other. Our families support our tough choice, though it's not an easy one to understand. People root for us, even if it's just on FB. We have a cheering section. Good people who want to see other good people succeed. But the sad truth of the matter is, no matter how much we want something or how hard we work for it or how perfect we (the collective Royal WE) believe we are for something, there is always a chance of being disappointed. So, I thought I might take a stab at teaching myself and y'all how to deal with disappointment.
Dealing with Disappointment 101:
When dealing with someone who is disappointed: Listen. They know the motivational speeches - closed door=open window and all that jazz- And the Disappointee wants to apply them, but first they must deal with accepting the disappointment itself. And we must accept that they aren't ready just yet to see the bright side.
Commiserate. We've all been there. Not gotten something we were hoping for. Been passed over for a raise. Been out bid. Out played and out schemed. There is nothing wrong with wanting something. And nothing wrong with being sad you didn't get it. No matter what that elusive thing is, it still hurts.
A hug goes a long way. And so does a shot of Jack.
A good cry can help with the healing. In this tough as nails life we're living, we can forget that tears are a cleansing tool. Both for the eyes themselves and the soul. Watch Braveheart or a Kodak commercial, and have a good ole fashioned cry.
Play with a Puppy or Kitty or Baby, these tiny creatures remind disappointed people that life is good and things move on without blatantly saying it. Plus who doesn't like a snuggle from something furry? Or the sweet smell of baby powder.
Cookies! A great tool for healing, especially when sandwiching ice cream. Chocolate is a natural mood altering food. So just eat it. Now, don't give them too many, because people tend to over eat at pity parties.
After listening to their plights and woes, remember to be thankful that things will get better. Or at least aren't going to get worse... I hope.
As for you my Hubby, my Prince. Love is the answer. Someone who loves you, will never be disappointed in you, if you gave it your best shot. Be confident that you did! And YOU DID<3
Plus, this means that everyone knows what you're capable of now and won't accept less. Which is great for this writer, cuz you're a beautiful canvas for me to paint upon. Together we'll prove that you needn't be disappointed, though I know I can't promise you never will be. I am so proud of you and will continue to cheer you on, like so many others. But maybe we should watch the first 5 mins of UP! just to clean out those ducts, before we get back to the daily disappointing grind. Of course, of course, of course.
Never underestimate your power. Growing up is hard. Growing up unique is even harder. This goes out to all the kiddies who have it rough. It is up to us grown ups to teach the world tolerance, and stop the things that hurt those who can't speak up for themselves.
When I was little, I was odd. I know, I know, shocking? But I was. I was mature for my age. I loved vintage when my classmates loved grunge. I sang to myself and spoke to myself and yelled at myself when I got out of hand. I spent a lot of time writing poetry in the basement on our 2nd generation desktop computer. I spent hours every day dreaming, plotting, scheming and creating stories in my head. And for a long time I was alone. I was bullied for being different. I was teased by the cookie cutter people who didn't know how much more fun it was to be themselves. All through high school I attended MM video dances. Where nobody asked me to dance- so I danced with myself, well myself as a giant shadow on the gym wall. By senior prom- everyone knew me as the shadow dancer and I was the first on the dance floor dancing with myself to a standing ovation. I didn't fit in anywhere. All I knew was there must be a place where I belong. I knew there would be people who got me, I mean really understood me. I knew this because my mentors taught me.
Mentoring our children is one of the most important jobs we have as grown ups in this world. As North Americans we should be breathing a sigh of relief, that our kids can be safe, healthy and fed. We don't have to worry about fresh water or malaria. Children are the most important resource we have. So please help me teach those odd ducklings that it gets better. We are the change they need! You have the power to teach the world to love. So here's an apple for your first day teacher, it's going to be a long journey to prom, but I'll save you a dance.
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.
The adage goes that you are what you eat. Well, I don't remember eating a heaping helping of passive agressive with a steaming side of sad-sack. This whole eating well thing is getting me down. I mean; Hey Ms. Craig, while I've been watching weight, and I couldn't help but notice, I have no idea who you are. I know Jennifer Hudson, Valerie Bertinelli and Kirstie Alley have all benefited from the meal plan mentality, even if only temporarily. But what do I look like a rich and influential spokesperson? (Which I could be if you wanted*insert gleaming smile ting) I can't afford to spend $15 a meal for $6.40 worth of food. And Dr. Bernstein you silver haired slim Jim, you've been around since fat people were invented. But those vitamin B shots are more expensive than Jenny, though I guess you save on the cost of food, cuz you don't buy any. I can't afford your fancy programs! So, here's my plan. Back to basics. Cut out dairy and simple carbs. On the upside, I am allowed as many veggies as I want. But really how many veggies can any one person truly want?
I have been trying to quit meat. With the exception of fish and local organic chicken and this past weekend which went entirely off the rockers. Going out on the road, I ate everything but the pig, with whom I was too busy commiserating our similar silhouettes, though his skin was better. Desperately searching for other sources of protein has me subbing in beans and chickpeas at every meal. Now, all those veggies are delicious. Low in fat. Fibrous and filling. But they also bloat me. It's not the same as the 3 day meatloaf bloat. But the musical fruit has definitely been busy composing, if you catch my whiff. Creating a strange alternate reality where I out toot- Hubby-the-Toots-Magoots...a strange and scary place, don't leave me alone in here.*insert gesture to my head.
With the increase of my physical activity and the slowly but steadily declining junk food intake I am hoping to see results. Not drastic ones, but the slow and steady tortoise kind of results. And am eager to post them for y'all. I am excited to be the change I want to see in the mirror. The greatest motivator? I found a clothing store that is perfect for ME! I mean perfect: A little bit vintage and lot amazing. But knowing it would be a waste to buy anything at this current size, cuz in a couple months I would have to get it altered- fingers crossed. And that if I reach my goal Hubby Warbucks will hopefully, pretty please with a cherry on top reward me. (You smell what I'm cooking Hubby?) Oh and as for this meal plan, I think it really can work! After a bunch of steamed broccoli with nothing except Toronto spice and 4 mini roasted potatoes. I had myself a tight and tidy one pan dinner. Full, happy and proud; I congratulated myself. Then promptly ate a butter tart.*headshake Well, if I am going to become what I eat, maybe I should start eating more awesome-sauce on wicked sticks and a slice of magic for dessert. Mmmmagic.
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.
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