Thursday, July 20, 2006

Sofa, Dirt, Books, Songs.

I bought this sofa
To answer the question of my last post: what will it all cost? The answer is: probably a lot. This is what happens when you turn 30: you buy a sofa that does not come from Goodwill. I have to admit it will be nice to own a piece of furniture that will last me through adulthood.

Sometimes a girl has to play in dirt.
Last wednesday I had a day off. At first I was thinking of spending the day watching Ab Fabs, but the day took a strange turn. I was having my morning cup of coffee on the balcony and at one point my eyes peered over my Vanity Fair and I saw the train wreck that is my back yard: weeds taller than Yao Ming and many varieties of spiky swamp-like "greenery". Then the fun began. I spent the day pulling weeds and really enjoying it. I can certainly identify with this guy. It was nasty job, and at the end of the day I was painfully aware of muscles I didn’t even know I had. Now we have to level the ground and that should take lots and lots of power tools, wood, bricks, and time.

But there is always time to read.
Ali Smith – The Accidental. I just started it.
Jon Katz – Running to the Mountain. A story about some big shot writer from Hollywood going broke and buying a house in the wood to “regroup”. This is not the best book I’ve ever read, and sometimes the writing is just plain bad, but for some reason I can’t put it away. It’s a bad page turner.

Our of my headphones:
1. Time has Told Me – Nick Drake
2. Heartbeats – Jose Gonzalez
3. Somewhere Only We Know - Keane
4. The Stars of Track and Field – Belle and Sebastian
5. Upward Over the Mountain – Iron & Wine
6. Cello Song – Nick Drake
7. Drops of Jupiter – Train. "Can you imagine no love, pride, deep-fried chicken"
8. Peace Like a River – Paul Simon
9. (Love me Like Music) I’ll be Your Song – Heart
10. Everybody’s Changing – Keane
11. Something to Talk About – Badly Drawn Boy

Monday, July 17, 2006


Summer is the most disappointing of seasons. The promises of fun, slush and cotton candy are replaced with heat exhaustion, vacation envy and noisy air conditioning units. Gasping for air is not my idea of a swell summer time. I genuinely hate the weather ladies who cry at the sight of clouds on a summer weekend, and say it couldn’t possibly be summer if we are not drenched in sun rays.

I miss the cool lakes of the Madawaska Valley and the chilly evenings spent lounging one of those chairs you always see on the cover of Cottage Quarterly, cozily wrapped in a blanket reading the Atlantic Monthly. Purdy Lake was nice, we had a lot of time to read, look out the window, or bike around. But that was two weeks ago and today I’m looking for a pool I can swim in for about a mile, to paraphrase Joni Mitchell. This seems like the obvious solution to my little problems, which are: I don’t sleep well, I have nightmares at night, and I feel like I need ten kinds of leave: vacation leave, sick leave, personal leave, etc.

These things helped me make it through the season:

- My new Creative Zen MP3 player. Worth every penny.
- Michael Palin’s shows on traveling on TVO, Fridays at 7pm.
- The band Keane.
- A daily Grande-Double-Espresso-Iced-Latte-With-One-and-a-half-Raw-Sugar
- Yellow Tail Chardonnay
- Defamer, The Superficial and Gawker.
- The idea that retail is an effective form of therapy.

In other news, I’ll be hitting a new decade next month. The scary thing about turning 30 is not that I’m getting older, it’s that I’m not much different than when I was 23. Oh sure, there has been slight physical change and much soul searching, but deep down (or right on the surface) I’m still the adorably odd student who likes to read her Star in the bath. I still don’t like the 9-to-5-living-for-the-weekend lifestyle (which I thought before was just a hard time adjusting), and my taste in books, music and art has not changed an iota (except I dropped Tori Amos).

As I’m hitting the thirties, I wonder a lot about what will change, if, when, how, and what will it cost?

I’d like to take my twenties, plant them in a jar next to my kitchen window and name it George. Maybe George will grow to become a beautiful and accomplished 30 year-old.