Fanta?
Just kidding.
Though, a fizzy beverage would be nice right now.
But seriously, don't you ever want to say, "Let's get real here". Don't you want to be that earth-shattering, soul-crushing, oh-so-satisfying, reality check. The "REALLY?" from SNL, but every night, and day?
Don't you want to avoid all that guilt that you just know will come welling up afterwords?
Check out www.getrealzies.blogspot.com and send them your guilty pleasure of reality checks via email.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Saturday, August 29, 2009
A Little Shout Out from the Silent Bob of This Operation
I may not be on campus but I've got a few tricks up my sleves. So keep your trampy commuter stamp to yourself and sleep with one eye open UBC, cause I'm not going anywhere.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Memo to Consumers
My days of working in a retail, mainstream, clothing store are nearly over. Four shifts remain, standing between me and freedom of the perpetual fold. Even if I remain in the customer service industry, which I will, there is a list I feel I must make. An ode of sorts to my customers.
You're walking into the store. It is neat, clean, respectable. Your first instinct upon spotting the item you're looking for is to rifle through the piles, grabbing one of each color of course, and leaving only disaster in your wake. You realize you have grabbed the wrong size, you ask the nearest Fitting Room Attendant to find you the right ones. In every color. After trying on each shirt, you drop them unceremoniously onto the bench in your change room and select one (ONE) to actually buy. You want another color, one you did not see on the table, so you pester an available Sales Associate for it. Finding that we do not, you go up to pay and heckle over the price because somewhere on your journey you have seen a price that says "5 Dollars". The Cashier insists you are wrong. You demand to speak with a manager. The manager is summoned, and promptly dismisses you, telling the cashier to charge you the demanded price for the shirt. You leave the store with a sense of triumph.
"You" are my days and nights. And there are a few things you should know.
1. That table you first ruined? I've folded every single shirt on it more times than I can count. I will do it again and glare at you as you leave the vicinity. If I catch your eye and you feign bashfulness, whispering "sorry", I will hold back a biting response. Contrary to popular belief, "sorry" doesn't fold things. I do. All day.
2. Even if something comes in different colors, they will all fit you the same if they are in the same size.
3. That size? You should know it. You're 26 and up.
4. You may think that it's our job, but we're not there solely to dash off and get you sizes, in each color you've picked out. We, the Sales Associate, have shit to do. If you're going to need someone to be at your beck and call, bring a friend or family member. The same goes for telling you if you're butt looks alright in those pants. Let's face it, it's weird for both of us.
5. If you open the fitting room door upon getting a size, and you're naked, even if you're standing behind the door, we can still see you. There is a mirror right next to you, and yes, this is also awkward for us.
6. If you're in a couple, no you may not change together. I don't care if you're both V4L, children are changing in rooms all around you and the last thing their parents need is to be faced with the question of "what are those sounds?". I also do not need to catch flak from those parents. Don't be exhibitionists.
7. I am not your mother. When you leave clothes all over the floor and bench in those tiny fitting rooms, I do not enjoy having to clean up after you. Argue that it's "my job" all you want, but it's called common courtesy, and you should find it.
8. In the back of every store is a magical door through which everything you have ever asked an Associate for resides. Sizes, colors, you name it. You know this because you always seem to ask if we have any "in the back" - a code for this place. This place is also home to all of the mythical creatures from the land of Narnia.
9. Illiteracy is still a problem in this country. I know this because even if the sign says "dresses" you will still insist that it is for the shirts seven feet from it.
10. You're belief system is strong. So much so that you will fight for a fifty cent difference since you believe it is right. I think "cheap", you think "righteous". You are not a knight, this is not Camelot, it is fifty cents.
11. That manager that you felt an instant sense of comradeship with when she told me to "go ahead and do it", by default agreeing with you, is not your friend. Fifty seconds after you leave they will turn to me and ask exactly what you have gotten stuck up your ass that morning. I will speculate various objects, making them laugh.
12. There are some of you that I like, that I want to help, that I want to give discounts to. These are the ones who have worked in retail, who have made this list in their head. They understand. You should be this person, perhaps then you could find Narnia, too.
You're walking into the store. It is neat, clean, respectable. Your first instinct upon spotting the item you're looking for is to rifle through the piles, grabbing one of each color of course, and leaving only disaster in your wake. You realize you have grabbed the wrong size, you ask the nearest Fitting Room Attendant to find you the right ones. In every color. After trying on each shirt, you drop them unceremoniously onto the bench in your change room and select one (ONE) to actually buy. You want another color, one you did not see on the table, so you pester an available Sales Associate for it. Finding that we do not, you go up to pay and heckle over the price because somewhere on your journey you have seen a price that says "5 Dollars". The Cashier insists you are wrong. You demand to speak with a manager. The manager is summoned, and promptly dismisses you, telling the cashier to charge you the demanded price for the shirt. You leave the store with a sense of triumph.
"You" are my days and nights. And there are a few things you should know.
1. That table you first ruined? I've folded every single shirt on it more times than I can count. I will do it again and glare at you as you leave the vicinity. If I catch your eye and you feign bashfulness, whispering "sorry", I will hold back a biting response. Contrary to popular belief, "sorry" doesn't fold things. I do. All day.
2. Even if something comes in different colors, they will all fit you the same if they are in the same size.
3. That size? You should know it. You're 26 and up.
4. You may think that it's our job, but we're not there solely to dash off and get you sizes, in each color you've picked out. We, the Sales Associate, have shit to do. If you're going to need someone to be at your beck and call, bring a friend or family member. The same goes for telling you if you're butt looks alright in those pants. Let's face it, it's weird for both of us.
5. If you open the fitting room door upon getting a size, and you're naked, even if you're standing behind the door, we can still see you. There is a mirror right next to you, and yes, this is also awkward for us.
6. If you're in a couple, no you may not change together. I don't care if you're both V4L, children are changing in rooms all around you and the last thing their parents need is to be faced with the question of "what are those sounds?". I also do not need to catch flak from those parents. Don't be exhibitionists.
7. I am not your mother. When you leave clothes all over the floor and bench in those tiny fitting rooms, I do not enjoy having to clean up after you. Argue that it's "my job" all you want, but it's called common courtesy, and you should find it.
8. In the back of every store is a magical door through which everything you have ever asked an Associate for resides. Sizes, colors, you name it. You know this because you always seem to ask if we have any "in the back" - a code for this place. This place is also home to all of the mythical creatures from the land of Narnia.
9. Illiteracy is still a problem in this country. I know this because even if the sign says "dresses" you will still insist that it is for the shirts seven feet from it.
10. You're belief system is strong. So much so that you will fight for a fifty cent difference since you believe it is right. I think "cheap", you think "righteous". You are not a knight, this is not Camelot, it is fifty cents.
11. That manager that you felt an instant sense of comradeship with when she told me to "go ahead and do it", by default agreeing with you, is not your friend. Fifty seconds after you leave they will turn to me and ask exactly what you have gotten stuck up your ass that morning. I will speculate various objects, making them laugh.
12. There are some of you that I like, that I want to help, that I want to give discounts to. These are the ones who have worked in retail, who have made this list in their head. They understand. You should be this person, perhaps then you could find Narnia, too.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Wheel of Fortune
I've been ignoring the news lately.
And by lately I mean all summer.
Though the BBC News is my homepage, I somehow bypass it every time I log on in favor of Facebook and other such mindless things.
I'm now catching up on my headlines, and I realize that it's an incredibly luxury to be able to ignore the news. To be able to ignore such things as the release of highly dangerous bombers (Lockerbie bombing, UK and Middle East), major explosions of power-plants (Russia), thousands of children falling sick with lead poisoning due to toxic factory leaks (China), and people coming together courageously to vote in an election opposed by the Taliban. It's a luxury that, sitting pretty in my home over here in North America, I can ignore what's happening in and to the world, retreating into my bubble.
I look at it as a blessing and a curse. Obviously, it is a blessing that I live in a country safe enough to be immune to all of these atrocities, but the blissfulness of ignorance is still simply ignorance. It's a trait I can not stand in others, although I know I have it, too. It comes from a lifetime of being bred in a bubble in which I remain safely untouched by the events of the world.
The first time I realized this was the traumatic 9/11, though compared to many world events 9/11 is far from the worst. I was informed of it at eleven years of age. Sitting in my Grade 6 classroom. We were silent for a full minute. The moment passed. Life resumed as though nothing had happened. Across the continent there was panic, heart wrenching despair, and disbelief. My emotions were limited to annoyance for the notes I made on various subjects.
Since then life has kept to its fashion. I rarely am cursed by having to feel any outrage or sadness at events happening many miles from where I am. I think the closest I have come was the four months I spent my last year of high school on a crusade against all the bad in the world. If I could have I would have hopped a plane to Burma and protested along with the monks. Of course, the more you watch the world crumble, the more hopeless it becomes.
I am not only ignorant, but a coward. Even in talking about the strife of the world, I have become horribly self-indulgent. So I digress.
It is remarkably bittersweet that half the world can tastefully remove itself from global pain. It can sit back into its comfortable homes and change the channel when the African children with stomachs distended from hunger interrupt their sitcoms. For all that we do, there is still all that we could be doing, but ignorance, cowardice, and the basic, ever-present, human greed stand in the way of many. Yes, there are the few who strike out to support a world that seemingly crumbles around us, but they are not enough. When I think of my future career, like many others, I am torn. There is the path that would lead to wild success, to obvious wealth, to comfort in my bubble, and then there is the uncertain path of aid.
What if we, the university students deciding our futures, took the second path as Robert Frost so often wishes he had at graduations. What if the lawyers worked pro-bono more than pro-wealth, the doctors without borders, and myself, a student of society, did something, anything, to burst the bubble?
Well - what if?
And by lately I mean all summer.
Though the BBC News is my homepage, I somehow bypass it every time I log on in favor of Facebook and other such mindless things.
I'm now catching up on my headlines, and I realize that it's an incredibly luxury to be able to ignore the news. To be able to ignore such things as the release of highly dangerous bombers (Lockerbie bombing, UK and Middle East), major explosions of power-plants (Russia), thousands of children falling sick with lead poisoning due to toxic factory leaks (China), and people coming together courageously to vote in an election opposed by the Taliban. It's a luxury that, sitting pretty in my home over here in North America, I can ignore what's happening in and to the world, retreating into my bubble.
I look at it as a blessing and a curse. Obviously, it is a blessing that I live in a country safe enough to be immune to all of these atrocities, but the blissfulness of ignorance is still simply ignorance. It's a trait I can not stand in others, although I know I have it, too. It comes from a lifetime of being bred in a bubble in which I remain safely untouched by the events of the world.
The first time I realized this was the traumatic 9/11, though compared to many world events 9/11 is far from the worst. I was informed of it at eleven years of age. Sitting in my Grade 6 classroom. We were silent for a full minute. The moment passed. Life resumed as though nothing had happened. Across the continent there was panic, heart wrenching despair, and disbelief. My emotions were limited to annoyance for the notes I made on various subjects.
Since then life has kept to its fashion. I rarely am cursed by having to feel any outrage or sadness at events happening many miles from where I am. I think the closest I have come was the four months I spent my last year of high school on a crusade against all the bad in the world. If I could have I would have hopped a plane to Burma and protested along with the monks. Of course, the more you watch the world crumble, the more hopeless it becomes.
I am not only ignorant, but a coward. Even in talking about the strife of the world, I have become horribly self-indulgent. So I digress.
It is remarkably bittersweet that half the world can tastefully remove itself from global pain. It can sit back into its comfortable homes and change the channel when the African children with stomachs distended from hunger interrupt their sitcoms. For all that we do, there is still all that we could be doing, but ignorance, cowardice, and the basic, ever-present, human greed stand in the way of many. Yes, there are the few who strike out to support a world that seemingly crumbles around us, but they are not enough. When I think of my future career, like many others, I am torn. There is the path that would lead to wild success, to obvious wealth, to comfort in my bubble, and then there is the uncertain path of aid.
What if we, the university students deciding our futures, took the second path as Robert Frost so often wishes he had at graduations. What if the lawyers worked pro-bono more than pro-wealth, the doctors without borders, and myself, a student of society, did something, anything, to burst the bubble?
Well - what if?
Monday, August 17, 2009
Ch-ch-ch-changes.
I feel like I've entitled a blog by this beloved David Bowie lyric before, which is not in the spirit of the song at all, but meh.
On an entirely different note from the previous blog of the night. I am in a good place right now. It's that place wherein I have an indescribable itch. No, it is not an STI. It is that itch that comes when I want change, but more so when I am ready for change. Sometimes this manifests in slightly sinister ways, like cheating on a boyfriend or involving yourself in a little self-destructive partying. Fortunately, these are both things that are wholly acceptable to first-year, and also in my past. What is more fortunate, though, is that this time I am itching for a change I am in a very cheerful mood. Which of course means that the changes I will inevitably seek to make will be good ones. That, or they will blow up in my unsuspecting face.
Either way, the itch will not go away until change is made. Therefore it is also good that I am moving back to my beloved city, moving in with some beloved friends, and moving on with some not so beloved bits of past and such.
Sometimes, I really enjoy the self-indulgence of having a blog and therefore a silent audience.
I mean, really, it's very alike to being the torturer at an inquisition, whatever you do your captive audience simply has to receive, and as the author you don't really have to give a damn what they think. It's great. Though, hopefully I am not torturing any of the readers, and if so... Stop reading, you silly masochists.
Julie and Julia (an acting feat of Meryl Streep, an excellent performance by Stanley Tuchi, but really just a silly movie) points out that blogs are self-indulgent, and made successful by the selfish. Mostly because, when all else fails, you just talk about yourself in second, or third, person. Personally, though, I highly recommend it.
A little bit of selfishness in life is what everyone needs, because even the most selfless person needs me time. And instead of maxing out a credit card on new clothes, or remodeling your bathroom, or embarking on a riotous and scandalous affair, why not just take a while to talk about yourself, your feelings, your thoughts, to what seems like an entirely captivated, hushed audience?
On an entirely different note from the previous blog of the night. I am in a good place right now. It's that place wherein I have an indescribable itch. No, it is not an STI. It is that itch that comes when I want change, but more so when I am ready for change. Sometimes this manifests in slightly sinister ways, like cheating on a boyfriend or involving yourself in a little self-destructive partying. Fortunately, these are both things that are wholly acceptable to first-year, and also in my past. What is more fortunate, though, is that this time I am itching for a change I am in a very cheerful mood. Which of course means that the changes I will inevitably seek to make will be good ones. That, or they will blow up in my unsuspecting face.
Either way, the itch will not go away until change is made. Therefore it is also good that I am moving back to my beloved city, moving in with some beloved friends, and moving on with some not so beloved bits of past and such.
Sometimes, I really enjoy the self-indulgence of having a blog and therefore a silent audience.
I mean, really, it's very alike to being the torturer at an inquisition, whatever you do your captive audience simply has to receive, and as the author you don't really have to give a damn what they think. It's great. Though, hopefully I am not torturing any of the readers, and if so... Stop reading, you silly masochists.
Julie and Julia (an acting feat of Meryl Streep, an excellent performance by Stanley Tuchi, but really just a silly movie) points out that blogs are self-indulgent, and made successful by the selfish. Mostly because, when all else fails, you just talk about yourself in second, or third, person. Personally, though, I highly recommend it.
A little bit of selfishness in life is what everyone needs, because even the most selfless person needs me time. And instead of maxing out a credit card on new clothes, or remodeling your bathroom, or embarking on a riotous and scandalous affair, why not just take a while to talk about yourself, your feelings, your thoughts, to what seems like an entirely captivated, hushed audience?
Confession time
I have never had a "song" with anyone I've dated. Mind you, I'm not particularly the cutesy type like that, but still. Never have I had a song to smile over, and then later sob along to after a bittersweet breakup. However, as weird as it may be, I frequently have "songs" with my friends. Ones that we dance to, ones that come to us unexpectedly. This might be SClub or HSM- like. They might be the ones that you bounce around your room to, or play drinking games in secret along with (who knew they were illegal in BC? The drinking games, that is.). They may be the ones that blast every Friday from your hallmate's bedroom down the hall, and even though you don't really like techno, every time you hear you it you remember those Fridays, and of course the last, and unofficial Friday, the Last Day Of Class. They could even be the songs that continuously play on the radio for some reason when you and two close friends happen to be together. They could be the songs that become the anthem of the day, the roadtrip, the week, and the memory.
Wow, for all that I say I've never had a "song" from the above, I realize I'm kind of a "song" slut.
Sometimes, there is just no better way to express yourself. Sometimes everything you need and want to say comes in lyrical format. It's an interesting phenomenon, and one that the world is familiar with - we have been making music for pretty much the entire existance of humanity. It is not my place to break new ground.
The great thing about having these soundtracks is that, like the powerful memory trigger of smell, certain songs can trigger great things, and they can trigger terrible things. It's why the bfs and gfs of the world like to have a "song". They can feel good about themselves and let that quickly turn to feelings of regret, self-loathing, and a weird sense of relief. It is truly much safer to have "songs" for yourself, and events that just kind of happen. It simplifies thing so that sad events are accompanied by songs that make you feel that way, and happy events are accompanied by songs that buoy you. See? Life is simple. You just have to know how to work it.
Wow, for all that I say I've never had a "song" from the above, I realize I'm kind of a "song" slut.
Sometimes, there is just no better way to express yourself. Sometimes everything you need and want to say comes in lyrical format. It's an interesting phenomenon, and one that the world is familiar with - we have been making music for pretty much the entire existance of humanity. It is not my place to break new ground.
The great thing about having these soundtracks is that, like the powerful memory trigger of smell, certain songs can trigger great things, and they can trigger terrible things. It's why the bfs and gfs of the world like to have a "song". They can feel good about themselves and let that quickly turn to feelings of regret, self-loathing, and a weird sense of relief. It is truly much safer to have "songs" for yourself, and events that just kind of happen. It simplifies thing so that sad events are accompanied by songs that make you feel that way, and happy events are accompanied by songs that buoy you. See? Life is simple. You just have to know how to work it.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Slap in the Face
I've just finished My Best Friends Wedding. The overly large cellphones Julia and her gay best friend speak on at the end used to strike me as so sophisticated when I first saw this movie - I was most likely seven at the time. Now twelve years later (yikes) my own phone is about a fifth of the size, and my hair is shockingly alike to Ms. Roberts in that movie, and I even have a handful of gay friends with whom to dance the night away. This movie has been one of the only chick flicks I will watch repeatedly, and the only that comes to mind that I actually respect as a piece of cinematic magic, not solely based on the fact that my life has weirdly come to resemble it.
Back when I was seven and first watched this movie, I thought that Julia would end up with the debonair English man, who nearly always strikes me as the more pleasant choice between Mr. Clingy and himself. Back when I was seven I also really didn't comprehend what it meant to be "gay". I watched the movie again at ten (ish) and realized that I loved it.
It wasn't until later in life that I knew I loved it for being reality. I loved it for the lack of suger coating, I loved it for the moment when Julia Roberts realizes the man she loves has married someone else because sometimes you don't end up with the person you want, sometimes you end up alone with only a gay best friend. That's life.
It seems that everyone right now is obsessed with the idea of the happy ending, of the bright side. Everyone wants to live in a dream world. Don't get me wrong, I am technically a dreamer. I scheme and plan and have crazy scenarios that I want desperately to happen. I want to make the impossible possible constantly. I have this one friend whose purpose it seems is to pop my proverbial balloon, but I love him anyways because he is the person-version of My Best Friend's Wedding.
What gets me is the sugary outside of all these movies and plot lines and fantasy lives that everyone seems to want to lead. You've got girls singing about they're happy endings all over the radio at fifteen and middle-aged women falling all over themselves to get a man in movies. And what's more is that these stories all have the happy ending. They get the guy, get married and drop off into the sunset. The groundbreaking days of the Sex and the City reality are over. We've officially regressed.
There is nothing wrong with a happy ending. It's just from the moment I was ten, when I understood why My Best Friend's Wedding was so revolutionary to me, I've understood that it can be foolish to pursue one straight out of Hollywood. These ideas of perfection are the "lies our mother told us", the fairy tales that we are supposed to be guarded against. When popular fairy tales were first conceived they were grisly and often harsh. Cautionary tales. My personal favorite Disney movie, Beauty and the Beast, was a story girls were told before they're wedding night. Think about it, though I try not to. I really love that movie.
Outside of the realm of Disney, I am of the belief that a cold, hard dose of reality is needed. The movies that I love are the ones that are realistic, that end the way life does. I understand that hope is something that keeps us going as humans, but where does the line between hope and foolishness end? The player is not going to fall for the sweet girl and ultimately change his ways as we would be left to believe, even by a cynical series such as Sex and the City. Fundamentally, people do not change, people do not follow a script. Unpredictability is the best hope that we have, it's exciting and it's life. Who needs Hollywood?
Back when I was seven and first watched this movie, I thought that Julia would end up with the debonair English man, who nearly always strikes me as the more pleasant choice between Mr. Clingy and himself. Back when I was seven I also really didn't comprehend what it meant to be "gay". I watched the movie again at ten (ish) and realized that I loved it.
It wasn't until later in life that I knew I loved it for being reality. I loved it for the lack of suger coating, I loved it for the moment when Julia Roberts realizes the man she loves has married someone else because sometimes you don't end up with the person you want, sometimes you end up alone with only a gay best friend. That's life.
It seems that everyone right now is obsessed with the idea of the happy ending, of the bright side. Everyone wants to live in a dream world. Don't get me wrong, I am technically a dreamer. I scheme and plan and have crazy scenarios that I want desperately to happen. I want to make the impossible possible constantly. I have this one friend whose purpose it seems is to pop my proverbial balloon, but I love him anyways because he is the person-version of My Best Friend's Wedding.
What gets me is the sugary outside of all these movies and plot lines and fantasy lives that everyone seems to want to lead. You've got girls singing about they're happy endings all over the radio at fifteen and middle-aged women falling all over themselves to get a man in movies. And what's more is that these stories all have the happy ending. They get the guy, get married and drop off into the sunset. The groundbreaking days of the Sex and the City reality are over. We've officially regressed.
There is nothing wrong with a happy ending. It's just from the moment I was ten, when I understood why My Best Friend's Wedding was so revolutionary to me, I've understood that it can be foolish to pursue one straight out of Hollywood. These ideas of perfection are the "lies our mother told us", the fairy tales that we are supposed to be guarded against. When popular fairy tales were first conceived they were grisly and often harsh. Cautionary tales. My personal favorite Disney movie, Beauty and the Beast, was a story girls were told before they're wedding night. Think about it, though I try not to. I really love that movie.
Outside of the realm of Disney, I am of the belief that a cold, hard dose of reality is needed. The movies that I love are the ones that are realistic, that end the way life does. I understand that hope is something that keeps us going as humans, but where does the line between hope and foolishness end? The player is not going to fall for the sweet girl and ultimately change his ways as we would be left to believe, even by a cynical series such as Sex and the City. Fundamentally, people do not change, people do not follow a script. Unpredictability is the best hope that we have, it's exciting and it's life. Who needs Hollywood?
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