Decade

I didn't intend for this to be so long or so terribly boring for anyone that is not me. But it's not really intended for anyone but me, so don't waste your time!

I love year ends, five-year anniversaries, the turn of a new decade. Any excuse to think back and take stock and all that. The real eras and epoch of our own lives and of the world don't fit into these packages, I know, but they do give me a couple landmarks to help orient myself. The last few weeks I've been obsessing about what happened when...trying to remember what it is I've been up to. And so I need to write it down.

2000 - I spent New Year's Eve at the Night Gallery, impossibly drunk and hyper. I was eager to get rid of 1999, which had gone from string of bad luck to disaster to worse. I was happy to see the whole decade gone along with it. It was my first year at UBC, so I must have headed back and hoped things would get better. And luckily, they did. I remember feeling so hopeful that spring as the cherry blossoms came out and the sun came back. I went back to Calgary that summer and worked in the City archives, still one of my favorite jobs. And I finally found a decent apartment, moving into East Vancouver. I loved that place, even though I had my first, and so far only, break in just after moving in. For the rest of the time I lived in that apartment I paused when I came in the door and scanned to see if the place had been ransacked, it felt like if I could give myself a bit of mental preparation, it wouldn't be so much of a shock when it happened.

2001 - I worked in the Museum of Anthropology for the 2000/2001 school year, and for the first part of 2001 my entire life revolved around the museum. That was the semester I had the exhibition project class. That project was one of the best things I've ever done - the most challenging work that I was the most proud of. But what a freaking mess. My group ended up as petulant, whiny, angry and underhanded. All in a day's work I guess. That summer I worked at the AeroSpace Museum, reading about airplanes in the office in the converted attic, nearly passing out from the heat of the old, unventilated building. I remember leaning my head against the metal of a small jet because it was the only cool thing in the building, leaving a sweaty forehead print that I guiltily rubbed off with my t-shirt. Heading back to school didn't seem as harsh that year, it almost seemed like me and Shawn had gotten into the rhythm of apart and together, and I was enjoying living out in Vancouver. I also went to New York for the first time in 2001, beginning my continuing obsession with that city. Having been there for a few days, I felt slightly more entitled to feel shock and sadness when the city was hit in September.

2002 - I worked at a campus gallery this year, organizing piles of material for a show on Chinese Communist propaganda - Art of the Cultural Revolution. I spent so many hours making notes in a workroom, describing various posters of Chairman Mao, watching him evolve from serious young man armed with scrolls to a benevolent laughing grandpa. I don't know if it was as magical at the time as it seems now. This was my last year at UBC, and the only summer I stayed in Vancouver. I got an internship at the Vancouver Art Gallery, and I'm still proud of how many people I beat out for that (yeah, I'm kind of lame). I remember taking the Skytrain to work, imagining that this could be my everyday life. Walking down Robson after work, hanging out on Commercial Drive, going to shows. It didn't end up being my life for more than that summer, but I was pretty happy. I was also excited to be moving back to Shawn, to a new apartment on top of Crescent hill. At first it wasn't good, though, I had no job, I wasn't used to living with Shawn, and he quit smoking, guaranteeing endless tension. It wasn't a good time.

2003 - wait, now I'm confused. My timeline seems to be off. I must have started working at Weigl Publishing at the end of 2002, and been there for six months before I was laid off. For some reason I thought I had only been there for three months, but I guess it would be hard to compress that much misery into only three months. That was easily the worst job I have ever had. I've actually lost the ability to describe the constant horribleness of it all, but there was just a constant feeling of fear and trepidation, because you never knew when you could be humiliated in front of everyone. It brought out the worst in people, they backstabbed each other to avoid being the one who had to take the brunt of the anger...ugh, whatever, it was terrible. Getting 'laid off' was the best thing that could have happened. And it happened at just the right time for me to get a job at Hockey Canada, which was pretty much the exact opposite. This was the year Shawn started at the City - we spent so much time on his resume and prepping for his interview that I felt rejected myself when he didn't make it on the first round. But luckily there was another opening and he got it just a month later. Oh, I guess this was the year I lost a lot of weight and started running. I reached a point where I couldn't handle it anymore and went to Weight Watchers. As a first time dieter I was pretty good and lost almost 40 pounds. Hmm, I need to recapture that somehow....

2004 - My three month job at Hockey Canada kept getting extended until I was working into the next year. It was fun, I liked that everyone thought I had a cool job - this does not happen often when you specialize in information management. But I'm not good at insecurity and wanted to find a permanent job. First I tried the CBC, which landed me a week of training in the production room, enough to teach me that I was terrible assistant director, but that I liked the nonstop sarcasm and gallows humor that went on there. Shawn heard about a possible job through his mentor, and I ended up applying to be a keyworder, a job I didn't even fully understand the existence of. But I must have sounded convincing in my interview because I got the slightly mysterious job and ended up at Veer in September. All the designers at Hockey Canada were impressed with my new position and gave me their numbers in case I 'heard about anything opening up.' I felt like hot shit. Oh, me and Shawn got engaged in December, in Banff at the Banff Springs Hotel. It was a pretty good year. Oh, and I guess I must have started attending the Unitarian church this summer, the details are a little murky in my mind. Maybe I'm trying to forget that Unitarianism was suggested by an online religion quiz - apparently I was a good match for the Unitarians, and a very bad one for the Catholics.

2005 - The Wedding. gah. set for September 17th, so I had a full nine months of planning and obsessing and feeling like I was disappointing my mother. Actually, that was the worst part, the constant feeling that I was somehow doing something wrong, but I just didn't know how or why or what I could possibly do. I guess you could say this is a lingering issue with me. Anyway. Crazy obsessive year of planning and details and invites and menus. In the end it was a beautiful day and I'm still happy when I think about it. So, fuck you to everything that I worried about along the way. We had a great time on out honeymoon out on the west coast, going to Hornby Island, Victoria and Sooke just after the end of the tourist season. This could have been a disaster, since the islands pretty much shut down for tourists after Labour Day, but it was awesome. We had all of Hornby Island to ourselves, China Beach was empty, but we still couldn't get a last-minute reservation at Sooke Harbour House. I guess those just don't happen. And for some reason I thought this was in 2006, but I'm just realizing now that it must have been late 2005, but this was when I applied for a copywriting position at my work. It doesn't seem like something that should have been so very important, but I would honestly pick it out as one of the most significant things that happened in the entire decade. That was a tortured sentence, especially when I'm trying to express that writing, and sticking my neck out and allowing someone to read it, was a massive leap.

2006 - At first I couldn't remember what happened this year, and thought that it might have even been somewhat uneventful. So wrong. I guess the first thing that I thought of was the cruise we went on with Shawn's parents. Which I have been referring to as The Cruise ever since. I never thought I would like cruises, and I didn't, but the whole experience was just so overwhelmingly bizarre that it created indelible memories of the smallest details. And I had my picture taken with a donkey wearing coveralls. Perhaps this not something to be proud of, but I've decided it was one of the best moments of the decade. That donkey was freaking cute. That summer at work was a crazy whirlwind - new people starting just about every day, the new space getting overcrowded before they were even finished building it. It seemed like we were the centre of the universe, I guess a lot of businesses felt like that during that time - the economy was indestructible, right? Actually everything felt indestructible, until it wasn't. This was also the summer that Wade died, which was really crushing, even if we were just coworkers. Even now, it seems so wrong that someone who was such a force of nature could just be gone...sorry, I guess I don't have anything terribly original to say on the matters of life and death.

2007 - was pretty damn crazy. We went to New York in March, Seattle in June, Toronto in September, New York again in October and Los Angeles in November. I loved loved loved our trips to New York and I can't believe I've gone this long without going back. This was the year that the Canadian dollar was actually stronger than the US, so with the combination of the US list price and the exchange rate, it felt like they were giving away books. I shopped accordingly. Back home, life was any calmer. Our building manager, Don, died suddenly and the owner asked us to take on the general management of the apartment. I swore I would never manage a building again, but 2007 was the height of the rental crunch in Calgary and I was afraid of losing our place to a condo conversion. And so we were resident managers again. And it was hell.

Six months!

Having a baby born on the first of the month is a definite advantage when it comes to celebrating every tiny milestone. The start of every new month is a new mini-birthday, and it's easy to calculate the halves, three-quarters and almost-months. I try not to reveal how closely I have his growth tracked, just saying that he's four months, five months, and now six months. Nobody needs to know that he's five months, three weeks and four days.

But! today is different! Today he is exactly six months old. I didn't think anything of his upcoming half year until he woke up this morning and I thought about how long ago June 1st seems now. All day I've been a little teary and perhaps just a bit excessively huggy. I can't stop though, every time I look at him I just think "six months. six months!" From a shrunken old-man doll to a pink giggly sweetie in just a few short months. Sometimes I look at him and wonder where that serious, watchful little creature went, that teeny preemie that never made a sound when he stared at me with wide eyes, and whether he might emerge again at some later date. Maybe as a solemn 11 year old, or sighing teenager?

And I wonder what little boy I will have six months from now. Will he still have the big blue eyes that beguile strangers? Will he stay all pink and shiny and brand-new looking? gah, I'm such a suck today, I can't even write anymore for thinking about his little cheeks and how it's been too long since I gave a kiss to my little half-year old.

On the walk between the bus stop and home

you can listen to Holding Back the Year by Lou Barlow three and a half times. I tested this every week for two months, scurrying back from my night class. I suppose if it had been summer and not so dark I could have slowed down and stretched it out to four complete recitations. But it's more of a scurrying kind of song, it feels right to be hunched over while you're listening to it, in a combat sort of posture, ready to defend yourself against something, even if it's just the cold. And, for a few weeks, it was the only song I wanted to hear. I would listen to it on repeat for half an hour at work before sheepishly turning it off, just in case someone could hear the same notes leaking from my headphones again and again and think I was insane. More insane.

Rolling from your brat sarcastic eye
A California tear, a drop of gold
Maybe you were cold, yeah, so was I
Holding back
Holding back the year

I thought it was bright sarcastic eyes, and at first I was disappointed. But now I like to hear him spit out brat in defiance of anyone who wants the song to be prettier.

The year before the poison took its toll
Made you paper thin, me- wrinkled, old
Eventually, yeah, finally it caught up
I held you back, grabbed you by the arm
I played upon your fear

Perhaps I identify too much with feeling paper thin and worn out. Let's move on.

Rollin' down the window won't I
Order up some breakfast if I can
Hold me back
Hold me by the arm
Wipe away my tear

Wipe away my tear

And then, out of nowhere, he's getting some breakfast at the drive-thru. But I suppose you have to eat, no matter what's going on inside your head.

The story ends with friends and early nights
A kitten grown to cat and no more fights
This is how we stay together, love

And then things change as they inevitably do. I love the image of a kitten growing up as a symbol of life going on. And that an old, bitter punk rocker is singing about cats and early nights as representing the good, calm side of life.

Holding back
Holding back the year
Hold me back
Grab me by the arm
Whisper in my ear

Holding back the year
Holding back the year

What more do you need?

The Hard Truths

1) Sometimes shit just doesn't work out the way you want it to

2) Gatorade is really just kool-aid with salt

And these truths are remarkably similar in that:

1) It's just common sense and common knowledge

2) yet somehow we refuse to believe it

3) and every time it's re-proven to us, we find it just as shocking as the first time

I cannot get enough of this

You don't have to be American to hate Rick Santorum. And you don't have to be evil to enjoy watching his creepy children cry. Well, maybe just a little bit, but I'm having too much fun to care.

I highly suggest watching the footage of his concession speech on YouTube. And maybe hunting down a couple Daily Show clips, just to hear the audience cheer when his defeat is announced. The pure joy and exuberance is really quite touching - warms my cold, cold heart.

yikes

Actual quote from last night's story meeting:

"He's been around forever - he was part of the hardcore scene before there was a hardcore scene. I think he's like 25 or something crazy like that."

Just fucking kill me.

The most disturbing thing I have ever seen

Earlier this year I visited a string of sex shops as part of my research for an artice (and no, research should not be in quotes. I was writing about women-friendly sex shops thankyouverymuch) Anyway, at one shop I visited, the staff got a bit over-excited and started to pull out bizarre merchandise in an effort to shock me. But hey, I've read the Encyclopedia of Unusual Sexual Practices and Bob Flanagan: Supermasochist so I took the three-pound cockring attachment weights in stride (But really? ouch)Unfortunately, pretending to be Ms. Worldy and Unflappable backfired on me, as it just inspired them to bring out the big, uh, guns.

What you see in the picture is euphemistically referred to as an 'anal toy.' It's ten pounds of black rubber, shaped like a woman's calf and foot, and very close to actual size. A heavy gauge chains is attached to the end, I imagine to aid in retrieval. Incredibly, that's not the best part. What made this object so extraordinary was the staff's nickname for it....

(wait for it, this is good)


...The Heather McCartney

The Path to Enlightenment

I've started a new obsession: relaxation. Although I hear the whole point of it is to not be obsessive. Baby steps.

Eh, I suppose I shouldn't really joke, or pretend it's just a silly idea. Really, it's more of a last-ditch effort to haul myself out of an all-encompassing depression, which has been creeping up on me for months. For awhile I didn't really acknowledge it, but just started dropping all the parts of my life that just seemed too overwhelming to deal with. Which, after a few months, was bascially everyone and everything. Eh, even that's not entirely true - I kept going as much as I could, but everything has just seemed so much harder.

But, that wasn't what I meant to talk about. Relaxation. I meant to talk about relaxation.

Today's lesson was skipping work and spending the day at a ridiculously overblown spa. I went to Oasis down on 17th Avenue, mainly because it was the only one I could think of. I can't compare it to anything (except for an extremely unrelaxing trip to a Hungarian bathhouse many years ago), but I think it was a good choice. There's a tone of hushed reverence that permeates everything, infusing the massages and pedicure with a near-religious sense of ritual. I liked the feeling that all this drinking fresh lemon water and padding around in slippers was, in fact, terribly serious business.

First, I had cranio-sacral treatment which aimed to get the energy moving along my spine and through my chakras. I'll admit that I believe in the basic idea of energy in the body, but I've never given much thought to the nature of it, or whether chakras are a legitimate concepts. I couldn't really say what she did, just a series of light touches. But I did feel better during and after. Apparently my root chakra and third chakra are seriously blocked. And I analyze too much (because I don't know what my gut feelings are, because my third chakra is so blocked). Yeah. The easiest thing for me would be to blow it all off as garbage. And maybe it is, but I've reached the point where I almost don't care. It made me feel better, and that's all I care about this point.

The second treatment, a hot stone massage, was also all about the chakras. Who knew? I'm pretty sure everything she said about hot stone being adapted from Buddhist traditions was crap, but it sounded nice. And lying down while someone places warm, smooth stones down your back definitely feels nice, so I won't argue.

I was taking this all so seriously that it almost shocked me to see other patrons act a bit blase towards it. I saw two women dash to the locker room between treatments to check messages on their cells. I don't know, maybe they do this kind of thing a whole lot more often than I do, But I can't imagine caring. I tried as hard as I could to banish every work-related thought that drifted into my brain. Aliens could have taken over the earth and I wouldn't have cared as long as it didn't upset my carefully arranged massage stones.

So, step one in my sanity plan is complete and was successful. Next up, learning how to cope without burying myself in fluffy robes and essential oils...

Denial of Service

Fuck, I've been locked out of here for over a month while beta works itself out. I know it's free and all, but it's been really, really annoying. I tried to go through all the steps and politely follow all the suggestions about resetting my password and checking my spelling, but I quickly realized that I was running around in fucked-up circles...

Can I just swear a few more times? Please?

"None of you understand...

this is a song about life"

songmeanings.net is filled with cringe-worthy adolescent inanity, and that's precisely why I love it. I'm pretty sure it's the kind of place I would have spent many, many hours as a teenager. Back when I was in high school, the interweb this mysterious than people who never left their homes used to talk to each other about Dungeons and Dragons. Or something like that. Anyway, I feel like I was born just a few years too early to live my true calling as highly opinionated, pain in the ass internet teen. I would be on songmeanings every single day, letting everyone know that they're just wrong about Every Day is Like Sunday because the song is about me, like, it's totally my life, and nobody else understands.

Instead I just had to have these kinds of pathetic discussions with my friends. Also, being far too early for Myspace, I was forced to express myself through the traditional teenage venue: the bedroom. Even with the current hysteria around internet predators, I'm sure my parents would have greatly preferred me to have a webpage filled with bad poetry and tributes to bands than a bedroom painted black and filled with candles. (Fire hazard! bad for studying!)

Which, most unfortunately, reminds me of another aspect of my teenage obsession with song lyrics. At one point, I started writing particularly meaningful bits of lyrics on large pieces of art paper and posting them on my walls. For a good part of my senior year of high school, lines from How Soon is Now? were posted above my bed.

So you say its going to happen now
But when exactly do you mean?
Because I've already waited too long
And all my hope is gone...

To me, it was a motivational quote. My own version of those Strength posters. Strangely, I still get that sense...

Okay, that's enough free-association for tonight. I don't want any more accidental confessions to come out...