Friday, 12 April 2013
Pitter-patter. It's raining outside. Some of the best things have happened to me in the rain. I got my drivers licence in the rain, I've said "I love you" in the rain, I've drank hot chocolate in the rain. The rain washes away the bad and gives the world a chance to be quiet; read a book, cuddle in bed or just relax. I have a soft spot for the Sunshine's moody sibling. And yet, the rain gets this bad rep. People sometimes make a big deal about it and I get a little defensive. I also don't necessarily think the weather is the most interesting topic of conversation. It is what it is, you can't control it. So when some says"Be careful, it's pretty bad out there," "Why is is raining in April? April!", or "It's raining cats and dogs out there!" "I wish it was raining men"
"Where is my cornucopia of cats and dogs? I have yet to have this gift bestowed on me by mother nature. What about the song "It's raining men?" That sounds terrifying. Presumably these full grown men are going to weigh between 150-200lbs and with the force of gravity that means this men will fall with the power of a tiny plane. Should I go outside? Will they fall through my roof? Whose going to clean up their bodies? Where are they falling from? What kind of cruel joke is this? The population of men and women in Canada at the end of 2012 was 16,869,134 men to 17,147,459 Women according to Geo hive. So what will this do to our population? Will women get paid the same amount as men, especially if most of the men who formerly got paid more have now met their tragic death by falling from the sky? That sounds nice in some ways but at what cost? Why did this have to happen?
What will our world leaders say? Are their going to initiatives to build padding so that these men fall safely? How much will that cost? Will it raise our taxes? Do you get a tax credit if you put one in your backyard?" (Laurel's brain, 2013)
On and on I go. Until no one talks to be about the weather EVER AGAIN.
Yes, you will get wet in the rain. But you are not about to witness the mass death of the male population today and you aren't going to melt. Your feet are going to get wet and you probably going to catch up on some coronation street. And really what is the harm in that?
Thursday, 4 April 2013
As I was doing my laundry the other day, I noticed that many of my socks were missing. Few of my cotton feet covers matched and all that was left behind was one lonely sock without a partner. Where did my other socks go? This question filled me with a deep sense of sadness. Perhaps I was being too sensitive? I do find the Ikea commercial, where the helpless lamp is put onto the street corner, far more tragic than it's supposed to be. And sure, the childhood story "Corduroy Bear" makes me want to hold onto my stuffed animals no matter what condition they are in (Corduroy was missing a button and just trying to find a home and a person to love him and....never mind). And when Jesse from Toy Story is given away by the girl who was supposed to love her but who got into NAIL POLISH AND BOYS INSTEAD OF LOVING HER DOLL WHO HAS ALWAYS BEEN THERE. (Breathing heavily). It's just sad, You know? Anyone would be sad. YOU should be sad. If you're not, get off my blog. Oh god, don't leave me in this emotional state.
Anyway I started thinking to myself, "Laurel, it must be sad for socks to have a match one day and be separated by a cruel twist of fate the next. What happens to them? The bastard laundry machine, that's what. Damn you, you front-loading death machine! Why? WHYYYYYYYYYYY?" This went on for a while but then something strange happened. My creative juices started to flow. Flowing, flowing, flowing with creativity. For those of you who don't know this, I'm learning to play the Ukelele. It's pretty much the cutest, most forgiving instrument one can learn. I wrote my sock love song that is kind of a "goodbye" and kind of "I wonder where you are" type song. Enjoy!
Sunday, 24 March 2013
You can't help it. You have chubby cheeks, puppy eyes, a rosy complexion or you just look young. "Enjoy it while it lasts" strangers say with a smile. But all you can think is "how is anyone going to take me seriously with these big blue eyes and my disney princess voice?" I understand what you are going through and I want to tell you there is hope. Here are a few ways to get around your baby face.
1) Act like a total A-hole. At first people will be thrown off by your unpleasant demeanour and be confused that your interior doesn't match your cute exterior. Eventually, they will disregard what you're saying completely, allowing you to say passive-aggressive things undisturbed.
2) Wear black eyeliner or get a nose ring. You might still look young but at least people know that you're crazy enough to stick a needle through your nose
3) Reference the 80's when that misinformed high school student hits on you. *Make sure that they know you were born in the 80's and that you are not talking about it in a ironic way
4) Talk about how old you are."Back when I was in university" or "Oh yes, high school"
5) When the bouncer asks "are you old enough to be here?", stare at him and say "Are you?"
6) Start drinking scotch, smoking pipes, and walking with a cane.
7) Lower your voice a few octaves (Think more Adele and less Barry White)
8) Reference your three girls at home (Sure they may be your roommates but strangers don't need to know that)
9) When someone tells you again that you look 16, laugh and say "Oh you! You make me feel young" and walk away. Skipping, obviously.
10) If all else fails, accept your youthful spirit, and this childlike package that is your body and tell the world you are a child genius.
Sunday, 27 January 2013
Okay. Here it is. This is something that completely aggravates me as an artist. The resume listing.
I know that in the artist community we are all trying to find value in what we do. We are looking for a purpose to make art, maybe a little validation or maybe to cultivate more opportunities? But sometimes its too much. I think maybe it's an insecurity thing. Do I find it frustrating because I wish I was doing more all the time? Maybe but its also this endless energy of puff, puff, puffing ourselves up to create this bubble of success. I don't know how to escape it. I don't even know how to pin-point it. Sometimes it just makes me want to go home and watch curling just to escape the artsy-fartsy competitive feeling. *Sorry if you like curling
I am surrounded by such talent but sometimes I just want to watch a play to watch a play. I just want to go to a gallery and enjoy art without deconstructing it or judging it. I even want to watch a crap romantic comedy. I don't know how to get around this.
Does anyone else ever feel like this? Does anyone else have that sweaty palm feeling when approached with the question, "What are you working on now?" It feels like a job interview. If I was honest with you, I would say "Yes! I am working on a few different projects but I am waiting for funding and I'm currently working another job to, you know, feed myself. Some days I want to harm customers when they yell at me about trivial things. YES, I would rather be making art with the wonderful talented artists in my life but you see they are also busy working their jobs. (Smiles really big to counter the socially unacceptable thing I just said) HOW ABOUT YOU? THE SAME? YEAH. GREAT.
To clarify, I'm not saying people shouldn't be proud of what they are doing or that they shouldn't talk about their work. I'm not saying that we should stop talking critically about art. This is important. My point is maybe it can be ONE of the topics of conversation rather than the WHOLE topic of conversation. Maybe we can break down these artist barriers and admit, "I just watched Mama Mia again. Watching Pierce Brosnan sing makes me chuckle every time"
Art is wonderful. Artists are lovely. I would just like to know about you as a whole person and not just about your C.V. I'm sure you are quite interesting even without the Times New Roman font showcasing you.
Sunday, 20 January 2013
When adjusting to living with a new roommate the key is to discover their habits and idiosyncrocies and learn to love them. Don't think you can change them. Trust me, the new roommate will not change especially if they occupied the living space first.
It hasn't been much different with Missy the cat. She is old and set in her ways. I have to make sure she gets her thyroid pill twice a day. In the morning I always make sure that she gets her breakfast first. I'm not saying that Missy is better than me or deserves things faster than me, it's just that she seems to like things her way. One day I dared to take a bite of my peanut butter toast and the look of disgust made me lose my appetite. I'm happy when she is happy. Perhaps it is not the most even relationship but hey, it's a place to stay.
There are some odd things living with Missy. One is that she only likes being touched on her head. I tried not to take this too personally since I myself have a strong dislike for people touching my neck due to my older brother repeatedly strangling me with his clown blanket when we were little. I have been scared of clowns ever since. Alas, that is a different story entirely.
Another odd thing about Missy is the fact that never in my life have I had to ask a roommate "Why did you poop on the floor?" She seems mystified that I am be shocked, and offended that I don't pick it up without complaining.
She cries in the middle of the night and when I ask her,"what's wrong?"She never responds. This could be due to the fact the old girl is 17 years old and Deaf. Poor little darling.
Missy has her great points too. She greets me at the door. She never minds when I sing around the house, and she certainly never judges me for watching episodes of Degrassi: The Next Generation. I simply have to give her treats and she won't tell a soul.
I guess we'll see how it goes. New Roommates can be tricky but I think I'm starting to understand Missy more and more.
Sunday, 13 January 2013
This story needed to be captured in the heat of the moment so one of my best friends Melissa and I filmed it to capture the essence of the story. We realize it's out of Sync. So think of it as a stylized horror film. Perhaps the Blair witch project? A special thanks to Melissa for surviving this with me. I wouldn't have found it funny without you there.
All the best,
P.S We aren't making this up. This happened.