January 11, 2007

Unlike yesterday I actually had to venture into the white wilderness today in order to scoot downtown for class. My mom and I left the house to walk to our various destinations (her, work and me, the bus stop) just after the sun finally appeared. It was clear, very crisp and the snow was still a pristine white. What's more, many of our fine neighbours actually shoveled their sidewalks. Hallelujah! Makes life that much simpler and is a decent means of exercising while this running culture lies in wait. This picture is right after my mom and I parted ways. I turned the corner and was immediately thankful I had brought along my camera. Sometimes nature astounds me. Tell me, are we relinquishing these picture perfect days come thirty or forty years? Will all this be underwater? Melted away like a burnt down candle...

January 10, 2007

Welcome snow, ye first of 2007. Today the snow was beautiful. It caused me to not leave the house all day, lounge lavishly in the living room being terribly productive and unproductive at the same time. This grossly makes up for the last time it snowed, although I'm sure this delicate icing will soon go the way of the gingerbread dough. If you don't know what I'm talking about: filmnoire.wordpress.com

Otherwise, day three of my four days off has come to an end. Fare thee well, vacation, fare thee well.

January 9, 2007

There is a certain exhaustion that comes from the first day of classes. For starters there is the commute. Since I only have to take the skytrain this semester, transit offers me less stress and more time to flounder in the dull consciousness that comes from the train's tireless rhythm. To me, this is most exhausting. My glassy reflection filtering the Vancouver below me is enough to suck the motivation right out of my veins. As I have not had to encounter this phenomenon for many weeks now, this first re-integration had a particular impact.
Here I continue in the semi-conscious, in a tired outfit of fleece. Here's to building up an immunity!

January 8, 2007

Today I met with the PR coordinator of our campus radio station to discuss the potential for me to come onboard as layout designer for their program guide. I have to create a mock-up by the end of the week to show the board my abilities. I can't quite describe the nervous excitement of this. This is a step in the direction of a real job. Something beyond serving, and skating instructing. This enters the land of portfolios and job interviews. This pushes my abilities and boundaries. There is somewhere inside me that is up for that. But right now, curled up in bed, all I feel is stress and a sponge squeezed dry of creative juices. I need to recharge somehow. I need to realize my capabilities and run with them. I need to let myself be.

January 7, 2007

One thing I have learned through working at the rink is what not to do when I become a parent. I see all kinds, the bullies, the wimps, the totally immature--and I'm not talking about the kids. The pudgy man in the polo applauding his round ball of a son for merely sitting down on a chair, the mother who coddles her six year old son so much that he cries when she leaves his sight--these indelible marks will remain with these children for many, many years of therapy.
I skated this shift with one of the new employees who, at 26, is a mother to three children. And while I can easily see myself married by that age and while my own mother had two children at 26, I can think of nothing more horrifying than toddlers, finger paints and diaper genies in six years. Right now all I want in six years is a loft, a great pair of boots and an old bottle of wine. And all this from a pair of skates. Who knew?

January 6, 2007

As a Communication student, being critical of media and pop culture is supposed to come as second nature. Misrepresentations of society, unrealistic scenarios, propagation of consumption are the evils that television shows, movies, magazines and music unleash upon the world I am not only supposed to be appalled at this--I am supposed to be the anti-pop superhero, championing indie music, foreign films and adbusters. Therefore, does it make me a bad person that I am no such superhero?
This is a picture of my favourite television show, Sex and the City, playing on my laptop. I own all seven dvd sets, worn down by wear so much that the cases have all long broken. I know this show by heart, have memorized the shape of the scenes, the outfits, the intonnations of dialogue. To me, this is more than a show--it is a way of life that I can envision myself in. The clothes, the city, the careers...they are electrifying. This show represents what I have wished for, as a writer to write such clever dialogue, or to be as successful as Carrie and publish a novel, to such relationships with my friends, my loves.
My educated self says that this is the plan all along, mass marketed to sell higher ratings. But the wide-eyed dreamer in me does not care. For anything that incites such hope and happiness can't be all bad.

January 5, 2007

The notion of community is very slippery. I wrote an essay on what is community when I was 16 as part of an entry form for this national conference I wanted to attend in New Brunswick. I wrote about how community is not limited to streets and avenues, neighbourhoods or even income. A community forms and grows to create and define itself everyday--it is based on people and their relationships, which is the most fundamental part of the human existence. I often wonder how much of an impact growing up in this community has had on me. I wonder how I would be different if I had worked, played sports or gone to school amongst different people.

Today I worked at both jobs, teaching skating at the local rink and serving food at a nearby restaurant. Both are no more than five minutes from my house by car and thus, neatly nestled within my community. I walked to the rink today and this picture was taken just before my neighbour, a cop whose children I babysat for many years, drove by and offered to drive me the rest of the way. I am so glad that where I grew up, this neighbourly gesture is commonplace, safe and welcomed. The paper today boasted warnings to women who use mass transit (me!?) that an extremely violent purse snatcher is on the loose on the eastside. Not that this miscreant would try to lure me into his vehicle, or that my community is by any means violence-free. However, today I was able to walk out the front doors of the restaurant I work at, at 11:40pm through the darkness and hail, to my car without concern. How sad is it when that becomes an accomplishment and a blessing?