come together

It's overcast today. This song suited the mood. Spiritualized always suits the mood.

wedding mixes

I'm heading west to a friend's wedding this May. Should be a nice weekend away, in a place I've never been, with little cell phone reception. All things I enjoy in life.

I've been a little lazy with the wedding mix this time though. I have this running scrap of paper on the board by the front door that gets scribbled on from time to time and I think it may not have too much cohesiveness. Do I make a mix that is love songs or song about love that remind me of the person or that are just simply lovely? I'm thinking a little bit of both?

I've got a Johnny Cash tune on the list but I'd also like to include Clem Snide. Other contenders include Honeysuckle Weeks, The Postal Service, and Brian Eno. I tend to pop the disc in with the card and enclose a cheque. Money always helps everyone but music adds personality to the gift. And my mixes take ever so long to finalize. I really have a hard time making it just right. I think blip.fm might help me out though, so much musical discovery on that site. I love it.

Anyway, not feeling too wordy right now, still fighting off dreaded sinus cold monster. Coffee now, for an illusion of energy for an hour or so.

man up

I'm going to keep this post fairly brief due to the lo-ver-ly sinus cold that is making my head feel like it might explode at any second.

Dramatic, yes?

Well, not as dramatic as the actual changing of the seasons here in downtown Toronto. It seems that people in my neighbourhood are all ready to gear up for spring fever. In the past week, I've had three people reveal their new secret crushes. And my answer to them? MAN UP.

Seriously. All this flirting and anticipation of fresh pedicures and skin is cool and everything, but just like the cool wind you didn't count on the other afternoon when it was brilliantly sunny outside, the rules haven't really changed.

Sure, people are willing to risk a little more in spring. After a season like we've had - legions of newly-unemployed workers, bankruptcy, sharp scrutiny of all that you consider normal in our daily lives - sure, I can see that people want to focus on a new part of life. But for anyone reading this, I would urge that you consider the chase is fun, but not that fun.

Maybe it's just that I'm somewhat economical. I don't like to wait in lines, and I hate to waste time. I'd rather walk somewhere and be moving in the right direction towards my destination than be sitting in a car in a traffic jam.

So, when a friend of mine mention that someone I know "thinks I'm rather cute" all I could think of in response was "man up."

Perhaps he didn't know that I was going to get the info but the fact is that I was pretty aware of his glances. And my question here was this - if you are so interested, or even mildly interested, then why don't you just man up and ask me out? I may say yes.

I had a phone call interrupt the writing of this post just now, and my devil's advocate friend said, on behalf of all men, that could be countless reasons for this wuss approach to dating. Often it's just that the person hasn't decided whether or not to pursue the other one. Or it could be that not all women are as direct as me. He had a point there. I realize I do like people to be direct to a certain degree. If you think you like someone, then why not try and get to know them a little better? It doesn't mean you're signing a lifelong contract, it's just a freaking date. And sometimes, dates can just be fun.

I read the above and it looks like I'm an expert on this whole dating thing. And I certainly am not. I'd just rather not have crushes revealed via an intermediary, that's all. I can't seem to see what my reaction should have been to that revelation? Jubilation? Should I have admitted my crush on this 'other' as well? Should I say blatantly that I'd like to go on a date with him? Why would I say this to someone other than him?

There is no moral to this story other than to say that the answer could be to "man up." It could be the answer, and it could also just be some advice from a lady with a huge sinus headache. Your choice. Do what you please.

uh, i LOVE this

the bright side of text messages?

Disclaimer: I text message.

Ok, I like the text message. In fact, I like them a lot.

I first found them useful as a music publicist. When in a loud club or bar, it's great not to have to leave for the front to communicate where in the locale you are situated so you can meet up with your friend/colleague/journalist in question. So, it was useful to me.

Then I found that I could romanticize the text message a little bit. Isn't it a wonderful thing that someone out there thought of YOU when they were experiencing something WONDERFUL or AMAZING? When they were seeing something for the first time, and you came to mind, they picked up their phone and sent you a virtual message. When they missed you, they send an emoticon. They attended an event that you were attending and they had a text convo during the event with YOU. You got to experience the event one step closer WITH them.

This is what I like to imagine the text message could be. If you told the person you cared for that this is what it meant, then I would hope the world would love it even more. Revel in it, perhaps.

But every glass gets cloudy. At some point someone started labeling a late night text as a booty text. Someone else included reaching out with a text message as unemotional, and lacking in effort. Yet another person started the rumour that using a text message was an inferior cost-saving (read: less important) way of communicating. Then someone created a mass text list and tried to reach too many people with a thoughtless message or group joke. Another group condemned the newly-coined "sexting" as an utterly distasteful exchange of sexual thoughts.

And before you know it, the text message is diluted. Ineffective. Sad. Meaningless. Dirty.

I'm sad that text messaging has sunk to this level. I still truly think there's a little romance in some of my messages. If I were on the top of the Eiffel Tower and I sent you a text from there, I would hope you thought for a second that I could have been doing a number of things other than send you a message, but I didn't. Instead, I reached for my phone, send you one line of love and pushed send. I wasn't scared of your opinion of me. I hoped you might receive my message and respond.

I think that it can surely enhance a sparkle that exist in that other's eye. It might even be a tool that reveals a side of the other you didn't know was there.

A quick survey of Urbandictionary.com reveals many negative affiliations with text messaging. They manage to define everything from text mess: n: a text message which:
1- provides you or another person with "too much information"
2- begs for sexual favors, money, and/or a chance to reunite romantically
3- contains many misspelled words and poor abbreviations due to high levels of intoxication
4- somehow starts a blood feud between families

...to text message ho: A late night girl whom is strickly communicated with via text message. Under no circumstance would an acutal vocal conversation ever take place. Ex: I had to bang out my text message ho last night, kiiiiddd. and Dude, that chick is a text message ho. Strickly text scene.

I think it's sad. Communication with another can't be all bad. I guess it's just how you look at it.

can you see the lions today?

I was driving over the lions gate bridge today realizing that there are days where I truly feel like a west coast gal. The clouds were perched on the mountaintops and the blues and greens of the sky and trees were vibrant. The whitecaps were surfacing on the inlet below the bridge deck. It was simply beautiful.

Over the last week I've managed to do a ton of what I wanted in Vancouver. A better time to catch up with the city than at Christmas, that's for sure. Yesterday I went down to Pender and Carrall to Erin Templeton's bag shop. She's a talented local bag and belt designer (also making strappy sandals too) and her stuff is carried in cool boutiques across the country. I wanted to take the time to go to her shop though, and as it happened, she was in the back, making bags as we browsed. She's a friendly, open and kooky lady, but one that is super passionate about what she does. I did leave with a belt and a bag and I'll be promoting her wares to everyone I see. One of a kind for sure.

I've visited little stores on main street, had coffee at delany's in edgemont village, ate berry crumble on granville island, attended a live radio taping at cbc radio and spent much time in yaletown with my friends who live on false creek. I've been a yuppie for a day and sampled Urban Fare's yummies, and seen bands play at The Penthouse. I've jazzed at Rossini's and taken the bus, seabus and skytrain. I've seen the Junos at GM Place, been to the Commodore on Granville Street and had dinner at the Terminal City Club. I business lunched with a friend and colleague at Earl's near Lougheed Highway and went as support for my friend's wedding dress fitting in middle-of-nowhere Surrey. We passed Cloverdale rodeo on the way and I reminisced about our trips there to the wierdo french festival. Tomorrow I'll be on the sea to sky highway going up to Whistler and will summit the peaks.

And all this to say that no matter how long I'm away, or how comfortable I feel in Toronto, this blue and green city still gets to me. It's totally nostalgic and I always feel like life isn't hitting reality when I'm here. Bizarre.

Douglas Coupland seemed to hit on this concept when he said this: "believe that you've had most of your important memories by the time you're thirty. After that, memory becomes water overflowing into an already full cup. New experiences just don't register in the same way or with the same impact. I could be shooting heroin with the Princess of Wales, naked in a crashing jet, and the experience still couldn't compare to the time the cops chased us after we threw the Taylors' patio furniture into their pool in eleventh grade."

With that advice in mind, I may just try and jam a few more things in before my thirtieth year hits me this October. Watch out world, here I come. You have Douglas to blame.