* not with ink

On Tuesday, mail arrived for me. A small package with a book inside. And inside the book was this page. How utterly thrilling!! I played a teensy-tiny hardly-more-than-nothing part in the translation of this Haitian novella into English, and it is an unexpected  honour  to be recognized for it. Doesn't everyone dream of seeing their name in the acknowledgements of a real, live, published book!? Huge congrats to Matt, who translated the story and found a publishing home for his work! I can't wait to read it; my initial impression of the portion I've already read is that this will be a lyrical and educational read. I'll keep you all posted. Or you can pick up your own copy! Support the arts! Hooray for small presses and Canadian work!

From sometime in 2010. No edits. Last week, I got asked out. In Dreamland, this boy* and I had the sort of relationship where lots of people wonder if we're dating, or when we'll date, etc etc. (I think it's because Nadine told me that I am " the queen of the non-date date. " Which reminded me of this conversation and made me laugh.) As part of his I-like-you speech, he told me that a friend of his said to him, "Get gay, get out, or get balls." Meaning: if he were gay, then our friendship would make sense. If he had no plans to ever date me, he needed to not pseudo-date me. Or he needed to man up and ask me out. Clearly he picked option #3. Then he asked if he could borrow my car. Since it wasn't actually my car, but a car I had borrowed from a woman who goes to the church I grew up at (gotta love the random dream connections), I said I'd drive him. So we went to his "apartment," which was also on loan from someone else. I...

(in case you didn't read the title, these stories are not real.) I am on the phone at work. A new girl has joined us. It is her first day, and she is also on the phone. Things are a bit crazy as we re-organize ourselves. My boss decides that we need another phone, so she plugs one into the phone jack near my head. It is for an old school phone, with a long curly red cord that bunches up on itself. I lean my head to one side, as the cord passes directly through my neck-space. This irritates me. I cover the receiver on the phone and state quietly, “It is hard to work with a phone cord going through my neck.” “Well, then. You can quit your f---ing job,” she replies. “Or,” I counter, “you can untangle the f---ing phone cord.” She untangles the phone cord, and I return to my call, a British man giving life advice that I accept as profoundly true because of his winsome accent. It is some sort of school reunion. I am there with the girls from junior high. The popular trio, m...

My artistic fears of the past 2 months are starting to give way to artistic excitement. Which is good, because this week is the artistic launch. What's that? you ask... Details coming by the end of this week! But until then, a hint and a question. Hint: Question: Which of my photos ( on flickr or seen elsewhere) would you be most likely to purchase?

Today, I read an interview about " Creating Art, Feeling Weak and Getting Over It." Timely, to say the least. I particularly liked this quote: Honestly, your trials and tribulations are just stories to other people. They like hearing those stories and they’re rooting for you. For the most part, to win, and they like hearing even when you don’t win because it’s part of the story. So what I try to do more now, is share when I am in trouble because it’s interesting to people. I’m one of those people that tends to put their head down and just does it. So I’ve tried to stop and say, “Here’s my problem.” Surprisingly, people will say, “Let me help you with that.” I could have been more open about what was going on when it was really personally scary...but I always thought that people would see me as weak if I opened up. But really what they’re seeing is “Wow. This man is taking a risk. That’s cool. I wish I had the guts to do that.” Failure has entertainment value. Not all...

Doug Coupland once wrote, "At twenty you know you're not going to be a rock star... by twenty-five you know you're not going to be a dentist or a professional... by thirty, a darkness starts moving in - you wonder if you're ever going to be fulfilled, let alone wealthy or successful... by thirty-five, you know, basically, what you're going to be doing the rest of your life; you become resigned to your fate." I have been thinking a lot about this recently. I still want to be famous. I dream of it less than when I was young, but I like to think of mingling with the bignames. I find myself wanting to name-drop, to sound like I am somehow closer to stardom than the masses. But I am almost twenty-seven, and the chances of that happening are slim-to-none. The realist in me is coming to terms with this. Mostly. However , I don't wonder if I will ever be fulfilled, wealthy or successful. I already am. I am in the wealthiest 3% of the world...

Last night I went on a first-date-friend-date. What I mean is, back in January I met a friend-of-a-friend at my birthday celebration/art show . Then we became fake-internet-friends. Then we graduated to real-time hanging out. It was great. She is great. She asked me if I am going to do another show sometime. I said, "I don't know!" and squirmed in my seat. I felt squirmy because other people have been asking me about that documentary dream I mentioned back in June, and it is currently giving me minor panic attacks. Not really - I won't let myself think about it long enough to panic. That is how stressed I feel. Why did I ever tell anyone about this!? A Vancouver friend is coming for a visit this weekend, and I know we will talk about the potential project. She is the first (and only) person I officially recruited to doing this with me. It will be good to work through all the muddle in my head. Anyway. Last night I remembered that several people had asked me ...

I climbed over a rooftop with my grandmother, but then caught her in my arms when she fell off. Showed my family where I used to live - the attic of a castle manor in Vancouver. A fox came up and sniffed my legs - everywhere it touched I developed strange boils with blue rings around them. I made my uncle shoot the fox then went to the emergency room and got medicine. The next day I was driving somewhere in a car. (why do I remember these pieces but not the rest?)

Tonight I went to a poetry reading, which I've been wanting to do for the past year. Finally! As expected, half of it was inaccessible/difficult to grasp, and the other half was great. I jotted down some thoughts and notes and authors to check out. Notable quotes from the evening: host: (reading poet's published history) I can't say this!... My Gaelic fails me. friend: (a disappointed aside) Oh. I thought it was going to be "nigger." poet: (explaining obscure title reference) ...And that's pretty much it. Well, that's where it ends on Wikipedia. After the reading, for an unknown reason, I brought up a song that three of us had heard at David's Tea on Tuesday night: (for a clip of the original AND SUPER AWESOME vid, click here ) The line about a six-foot rabbit* moved us on to movies. Dannie Darko , which I have not seen, and Harvey , which none of the others have seen. Jimmy Stewart, folks! Pookas ! Y'all should check it o...

At the end of this work week, here are some of my thoughts and feelings: I miss the interweb. I wish I weren't away from the internet for 12 waking hours each day.  I feel tired. I think that 8 hours of sleep is not enough.  I came up with more blog topics to write about: Player One . Prayer. Brand Loyalty. A depressing epitaph. What is next? I want to live my whole life believing that my best days are still ahead of me.  Did I mention that I'm tired?  I am impressed by my ability to remain calm in the presence of a perpetually whining child. Two grouchy children, is, however, unbearable. I dislike the way my patience disappears.  Can it be springtime now? My room is a disaster. When will I have time to clean it? Next weekend? Yes, next weekend. I used to say I would never drink alone. I need to figure out the new modification for that rule. It was a good rule. It is a good rule. But this is the second time this month I've had a glass of wine by myse...

I'm pretty sure that everyone is waiting for a recap and summary of last night's shindig . I don't feel capable of doing a full and complete breakdown tonight - possibly due to lack of sleep, possibly due to my generally slow emotional processing speed. But I do have a few point form thoughts I'll throw out there in no particular order. 1. (okay, the order for this one is particular) I feel incredibly loved and encouraged deep in my being. More than a punch on the arm, You're great! kind of thing, but that the core of who I am is worth existing and sharing with others . 2. The trio of pairs that I saw as "central" were well-noticed and generally liked: "Hope Is" "Come Home" "Permanency Frightens Me" 3. The closest thing to "negative feedback" that I received was the three or four people (all male), who were surprised at the "darkness" of some poems. I don't know whether this was a good or bad thing in ...

I woke up at 5:18 this morning from a dream about a dream. In my dream, a guy I know and I were telling my mother a "funny story" - namely, how we had (independently) had the same dream. We interrupted each other, filling in details and saying how strange it was that we'd dreamt the same thing. There was a barn involved; I think we were stranded at a farm, and had to spend the night in a tent, which I remember thinking was a detail that sounded sketchy and maybe shouldn't be included in this retelling. Arriving in my dream (the movie makes a good point - you always arrive in the middle of a dream, when something is in process and you're just suddenly there), I noticed that this guy was massaging my feet as we casually chatted with my mom. I guess we're dating? I thought. In Dreamland, I was fine with this foot massage, although I'm not sure how I would feel about it in a real life relationship... Anyway, I woke up and looked over at the clock, and w...

...was that I did not get to go to North Korea. This means that: a. My life has been good. I am not entitled to many complaints. b. I will travel in 2011. Travel is as engrained in me, perhaps, as the arts. I have been in Ontario for seven months now. Seven months without getting on a plane. It's the longest time I've gone without flying in...six or seven years. I'm feeling itchy. But blessed.

Way back in the summer, a friend and I were discussing Postsecret . She'd recently sent in a couple of postcards, and I asked her, "Do you want them to show up on the site? Or are you afraid that they will? Because I think I would feel a bit of both." "One of them already did," she responded. "WHAT!? For real!?" She told me which postcard was hers; I remembered it. She also told me that the real secret was written underneath, and since Frank Warren does not tamper with the mail he receives, it will stay a secret. In the ensuing conversation, we talked about the nature of secrets, the reality that most secrets are partial secrets; there are very few things that people hold as complete secrets from all others. Knowing that I've considered mailing in a postcard or two myself, she asked if my secrets are actual secrets or partial secrets. I paused when she asked, considering how to answer. "I have both," I finally replied. ...

photo by my lovely friend Jackie! So, another update . On Day 3, I killed it. I got sucked in and wrote for hours and made up for all the words I was behind. But on Days 4-7, I wrote a total of maybe 150 words. Yup. It is 8pm now - I was going to start writing at 2 this afternoon to make up for my NaNoWriMo neglect... I didn't come home until 5:30. I have not written a word, and I am about to turn on the TV for Extreme Makeover: Home Edition . I give up. Before you start freaking out, I have two qualifiers: 1. I am not going to stop writing my story, and I am going to continue making an intentional effort to work on it this month. 2. I will continue to write every day this month - on one thing or the other. Part of the reason I've not done any NaNoWriMo is that there are so many other things I want to write, and such a limited time to do it all in. I literally have a list of fifteen blog posts waiting to be written for this blog, plus daily entries on my Dear Stranger blog. ...

I need to purge some text messages from my phone. I have roughly 40 texts of songs that I am supposed to check out from one delightful friend, who is one of the most all-around attractive packages (I mean, people) that I know. And then there are the assorted random thoughts and pieces of conversation that make me smile each time I re-read them. They include: Proontf! You have assumed correctly and you smell fine. I just had a dream that you and I were attending Dartmouth University...It was awesome. The men were awesome...and totally digging us. Also, the dessert selection was sweet and so was the library. OK, Puddles, where you is? I guessed. And the actual answer to your question is that my face is jorpis but good. modern family #reallifenottheshow How was it, charmster? It's ok to be slow I have now officially had an accident while driving and texting: calling you a guy. You know I would never do that on purpose. Hey! I had this dream last night that we were driving to ultimate...

This weekend, I have felt things keenly. Yesterday, it was a visit to Bluebird , and a conversation with a woman who has recently made her artistic endeavours her livelihood. We had a great chat about life and art. I wanted to buy out the store. In the evening, I felt exhaustion come over me like a wave. Emotional, mental exhaustion. So I caught up on The Mentalist (and nearly cried, but that is a whole other topic) and went to bed. This morning, I read a blog entry from the mother of a family I have never met, but am fascinated by (and slightly in awe of). She is asking many of the same questions that have been rattling around in my mind lately, despite our geographical, generational, and general differences. I don't usually get teary-eyed at church. Today, I teared up no less than three times. Once was a photo and a song. Once was a story about death. And once was the beauty of rescue and redemption. During an afternoon wander through The Distillery District galleries...

Fact: I have a loud laugh (as well as a wheezy laugh my family affectionately calls "the guinea pig"). I am also a jumpy person, and get very emotionally invested in movies. When watching a movie in the theatre, it is a money-back guarantee that I will laugh out loud or gasp audibly at least once. This usually occurs at a moment when precisely 0 other people in the theatre are making noise. I find this both awkward and hilarious . I have come to terms with the reality of my movie-watching uniqueness, but do feel the need to warn new friends when we make movie plans. Just in case they embarrass easily. Sometimes I cuss. I started swearing after I started working for a Christian organization. (Yes, I've over-analyzed that correlation) . I still take profanity seriously though, and have extensive thoughts on the matter . In my mind, there are words and contexts that are never appropriate , and there are other words and contexts which are understandable/allowable. Ther...

September is over. According to the Green Day song, now is the time to wake up. Let's agree to wake up now . Before life is over. Deal? Yesterday, I had the following conversation with a friend: me - Your email has had me dreaming all day." her - "Yay! Dream dream dream! We're too young to not live!" (Despite my love for the American Idiot album , I cannot own it. I have immense respect for the artistic talent and cultural insight it embodies. I have said this before. Four years ago, in fact. But listening to this album with any regularity sends me into a downward spiral of hopelessness.)

Two weeks ago, I felt a seed of panic that I was beginning to "settle" into my life here in Toronto in that negative sense, that way that I don't want to ever "settle." I love feeling content and confident that this is where I am supposed to be. But then I kept thinking, Please don't let me be here in five years. What if I stop here? Stop growing, thinking, dreaming, changing? I like this place. But I don't want to be here forever. This week, I feel a growing sense of confidence that I have just tipped the marble onto the track . There are conversations and opportunities and random encouraging moments that have me excited again. Excited for the future, excited for the present, excited for potential . (months of indoctrinating myself by setting this as my wallpaper are finally paying off) Stay tuned for upcoming plans to unfold. Right here. On the internet.