Tag: feelings

How are we going to get all these bears back in?

sarah

Orca In The City

Victoria has a history, and I think a proud history, of shitty public art. Until recently, the scope of debate could be summed up as a war between abstract sculptures that annoy old people and hockey fans, and a teeming horde of orcas.

Orca murals, orca mosaics, orca sidewalk chalk, maybe an eagle or a salmon painted somewhere for good measure, but most prominently, a whole army of mass-produced, fiberglass Orcas In The City sculptures, each decorated by a different local artist.

Orcas In The City were bland and oppressive (seriously— the organizers put ‘Arts’ in quotations in their goal statement), but no one was supposed to complain about them because they were only temporary and they were auctioned for charity. Think of the children.

I flipped the bird on one of the more overtly branded Orcas at least once, but I regret never having ruined a tourist’s Orca family portrait by humping an exposed tail flipper or something. I have a lingering vendetta about the Orcas, with apologies to The Children.

Enter Spirit Bears

Spirit Bear featuring a funky neighbourhood scene

Suddenly, this spring, a new menace. Sir Bartholomew is not alone, and he’s even less distinguishable from the other Spirit Bears In The City than was the typical Orca In The City. A spirit bear is a white grizzly bear, if you’re not familiar with Pacific Northwest variations on junior high unicorn-and-kitten fetishes, and the decoration jobs seem to have been rationed out exclusively to the artists who made their Orca contributions look the most like the inside of a Starbucks. It’s wall to wall funky neighbourhood scenes. I know I’m biased towards neon red and blue as the official colours of 2006, but I don’t think I’m alone in believing that yellow and purple should take a well-deserved break. Let yellow and purple recover from their hard work portraying free spirits and Italian snack foods.

Worst of all, the Spirit Bears have broken free of the tourist containment zone and have been popping up as far from the Inner Harbour as Island Blue printers. I yelled out loud when I spotted the specimen at Fort and Quadra.

What’s a concerned citizen to do? How are we going to get all these bears back in?

Toronto got saddled with Moose In The City, so apparently this ride doesn’t hit bottom until it has dipped deep into Canadiana cliché pap. This aggression must not stand! Besides writing to the organizers at the Lions Club and begging them to at least consider funny animals for future mass-blanding fundraisers (goats are a good standby), what is the fitting response?

Three different people have suggested blowing up the bears somehow, but I’m taken with this Knitta Please textile graffiti. I don’t have the time or the tendon health to knit any quantity of bear shrouds, but I think some sewn hoods secured with zip ties would do the trick. As much as the bears stimulate my gag reflex, I’m a non-destructive kind of person and I wouldn’t want to actually destroy someone’s art.

I favour a sign reading “Out of Order” as the finishing touch.

A project I’d like to make*

sarah

I’d like to collect stories and descriptions of people’s epiphanies. How they snapped out of depression, or figured out their life’s work, or fixed their relationships, understood parenthood or life or sex or death or generally how to deal with reality. People’s answers to “What’s the secret?”

I’ve been thinking about this for awhile, occasionally stoked by articles like this one, but I had assumed it would be hard to find enough stories to make a worthwhile collection. Talking to Andrea at our small-business breakfast yesterday, we both had potential contributions to this topic. More than realizing I could find enough contributions, I remembered how totally compelled I am by people solving problems and figuring things out, and dealing with basic tragedies like the fact we’re all going to die. I want to go hunting.

*I can’t believe I don’t post daydream projects more often. It’s my most common conversational topic and constant preoccupation.

I am such a lightweight radical

sarah

Yesterday was a steady stream of culture-clash encounters with, I don’t know, The Patriarchy. The Lookist, Erotophobic Mainstream. It embarrasses me to feel like a radical, because I’m not a proper, educated, active radical. I’m not in the habit of thinking about politics or explaining my point of view; I stay home and work on projects of my own devising so much that it is easy to think I am average and mainstream. But apparently life gets a lot more mainstream than me.

  • First email of the day was a band newsletter that referred to a fictional “big dude in a pseudo-latex french maid outfit” as “Ewww.” All the dudes I’ve seen in french maid outfits have been pretty hot.
  • Later email from a friend declared “there is nothing more horrifying than the image of thousands of miniature Lily Tomllins running amok.” I think Lily Tomlin is awesome. I shouldn’t refer to Quinn as The Patriarchy, but I don’t see why else Lily Tomlin could be so horrifying.
  • Vicar’s boss wouldn’t let him play Deerhoof in the retail store. Not even The Runner’s Four, which I consider a mainstream rock album. Except, oh right, Deerhoof.
  • As a perfect bookend, I spent half of Chet’s set at Logan’s sitting on a couch comparing worldviews with JR. This involved lengthy shouted statements about the possibility of excellent pornography, my eagerness to find new and scarier boundaries, and a whole lot of talk about the beauty of polyamory done well and the genius of The Ethical Slut. (And lots of shouts from JR about oppression breeding art, freedom from animal instincts, and his disappearing sex drive. It was fun! We did agree on the freeing power of intentional celibacy, but I don’t know if I made that clear.)

This was a lot of clashes in one day, for me. I wonder if I just had more contact with the world outside my multipurpose room, or if I was primed to dismantle Unjust Privilege after spending Thursday reading radical and activist blogs. It is not possible to know.

Today

sarah

I started my weekend on Friday, and spent all of today goofing around with Rock Club, and Zoe is coming to visit tomorrow so I know that will be a write-off. I can’t separate my slacking from my fever-induced laziness. I want to be so productive, and not get stuck on predictable tasks, like whenever I have to do the part of design that involves making something pretty, or presentable. I rock the functional part, but the decorating is really hard. Yes I know they work together. I’m stuck on visual stuff on two different projects right now. Three, really. It’s painful. I’m so full of ideas, honest. I can work so hard. Honest. I don’t know how to make the pretty things come out of my head.

This has to be the year that I learn to draw. Studying colours and type and alignment helped, but if I’m aspiring to something other than boxes, I need to have less clumsy hands.

Life Jam

sarah

Feeling a bit weird about giving a PowerPoint presentation to my friends last night, because I was mostly sincere about it. I made a PowerPoint presentation?? About entrepreneurship??

While I was hunting for pictures to use, I ran across a rich vein of future desktops. So there’s that. There’s this, I mean:

power jam

sarah

costumes. costumes are a productivity tool.

this morning, on my way between breakfast and the bank, i saw a business man running full tilt down the street. a business man like from a children’s book: in a conservative, navy blue suit and tie, with dress shoes, holding an open umbrella upright above his head. running fast, with long steps making his trousers flap. his tie might have been over his shoulder, but that seems like an embellishment that i would add.

i used to want to organize some kind of annual soccer game where everyone would wear power suits. navy vs. brown (i.e., bankers vs. car salesmen), or white shirts vs. blue shirts. (i also like camping in skirts and mary janes, or just generally taking control of my office wear.)

but the connection that made me realize what an excellent, if obtuse, productivity tool was available to me in costumes was remembering, when i saw the business man running, how much better i like doing housework if i’m wearing a tiara and carrying a wine glass. the glass could be full of water or hot tea for all i care, but carrying it around makes dusting or scrubbing a fun time. an event.

i’m sure you understand right away, what it is like to do housework in a tiara and carrying a wine glass (or a martini glass), because i tried explaining all of this at the sara marreiros show tonight and everybody caught on right away. “you should get some of those slippers with the fluff on the front.” and the thing is, i had some and i ran them into the ground doing housework. we are all on the same page here.

i’ve been thinking about running stairs lately anyway, because it seems like a weird and efficient urban exercise option, and i think if i got a washable power suit i could really get into running. you can wear running shoes with a skirt suit, i think. that’s a classic commuter move. nylons would be best but i have to draw the line somewhere (and they look really weird with my furry legs).

a lot of self-employees and telecommuters make a point of getting properly dressed to work at home, because it gets them into productivity mode. i do that too (my key items are a bra and real pants). i’d like to figure out a home office costume that goes one level further, not just into productivity mode but into like, titan of industry mode. what is the word for one of those pillars of society who wield massive business powers yet are admired for their philanthropy and preferably also some type of artistic skill? genius? character? sarah’s imaginary friend? i want to get into like, gomez addams mode. mon sauvage!

contenders for my new work outfit.

  • a clerical cloak of some type
  • a green bookkeeping visor and crisp shirt
  • power suit
  • my old default: the tiara and the wine glass
  • sassy underwear (possibly combined with the clerical cloak?)
  • dresses with hosiery and jewellery. and footwear.
  • cleanroom spacesuit.
  • specialized garment, like a lab coat or a utility belt
  • monochrome outfit of any kind

i think part of what is holding me back from my ultimate productivity-sauvage costume is that all the glamorous titans of yore were dudes, and the lady workers did not have cool 3-piece suits that suggest timeless power. this is an unforeseen feminist battleground.

There’d be so much pee

sarah

Feeling better about my recent drunken behaviour. I was becoming convinced that I couldn’t be trusted to get intoxicated around my friends without either unleashing a stream of criticism and getting my hate on, or having a lot of awkward ideas about kissing everyone I meet.

(Emily reports that when people asked what the prize was for the surreal game of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey we played around 2am on New Year’s Eve, I announced that the winner could make out with me. “But then what will I get if I win?” Anya rightly substituted a gift bag containing a potato and a can of Lucky Lager as the top prize.)

Lately I’ve been frequently creeped out by my friends’ sexualities. I think I just had it easy when all my friends were practically married, and now that there are a bunch of daters there’s a lot more exploitation for attention, and a lot more of that infatuation stage where people pretend every coincidence is evidence of the superiority of their romance. (HARD ASS.)

But it struck me last night that my friends might be getting similarly creeped out by the way I’ve gotten half naked or orchestrated group urination at almost every party in the last year. None of that is about repressed sexuality— to me it’s more just losing any quality control on my ‘good ideas’— but I was suddenly worried it looked like I was having the seven year itch or something. Awesome. Getting drunk, being a jerk and acting like a desperate housewife! That’s quite a party identity.

Galen says he sees it as my usual “everything should be allowed” fantasies getting out of hand, and it was really reassuring that somebody understood at least. His interpretation of my motivation for the “we should all pee at the same time” incident was:

“There’d be so much pee!”

Ananas

sarah

This morning I cut up the gigantic pineapple that has been ripening in our fruit hammock since Sunday’s rock club. (Somebody left it here… Liam?)

1. I like cutting up pineapples, since learning a cool method from my parents’ housekeeper in Jakarta. (Even if it was really weird that they had staff.)

2. Whoa. This pineapple was sweet and delicious, but so enzymatic it felt like it was eating our faces. Who will win the battle of pineapple vs. man?

Busted.

sarah

Galen gave me the first two issues of a new Warren Ellis comic, Fell, for my birthday. They are really appealing to me— small and cheap, with good writing and interesting artwork, and a complete story in every issue. I am wary of a lot of comics for moving soap-opera slow as an obvious ploy to get me addicted to the next issue, so this Fell concept is right up my alley. Issue #2 was marked “Oct 2005,” so I thought it could be time to go find #3 at the comic book store and maybe pick up the next Transmetropolitan collection.

Now. Despite that little opinion on serial story formats, I make no pretense of being a well-rounded or committed comics fan. My comics-related activity is mostly limited to buying Transmetropolitan collections with Amazon gift certificates, and I was a little conscious of buying a bunch of Warren Ellis titles at once and looking like a superfan. For one thing, I don’t want to pretend like I actually know anything about Warren Ellis, and for another I don’t know enough about comics to know what kind of a statement that makes. I equate the comic store with the indie record store sometimes— if I bought three albums by the same band, I know something would happen at the till. Even if they were three albums by some giant like Radiohead or The Beatles.

Thusly excited and curious, Galen and I embarked on a cheerful, sunny walk to Legends Comics. When we got there, I followed Galen around for a bit to get my bearings. I do this at the record store too, where I know my way around perfectly well. Eventually I got up enough nerve to hunt around under the “Warren Ellis Collections” sign and take my treasure up to the till.

“Is there a new Fell yet? Umm, number 3?”

This was just my way of asking the clerk (it happened to be Gareth, the owner or co-owner or something) where they kept the Fell comics, but as soon as I asked, I remembered that #3 might not actually be out yet. And no, it wouldn’t be out for another week or two. I’d managed to present myself as a super keener all of the sudden, hungry for the next issue before it’s even available.

“So you’ve been reading Fell? (nod) And are you enjoying it? (nod) Have you read other Warren Ellis stuff?”

I got busted holding my Transmetropolitan, as I had foreseen, and much excitement ensued, which was the best reaction I could have hoped for. Recognition of my level of interest. “You’re on number 9 already!” Many recommendations of other Ellis titles, and discussions of their merits with the other clerk. “Which of these did you like best, Lyle?” Mutual teasing, even. (Regarding him acting like a car salesman, and Galen and I being too dressed-up to avoid upsell attempts.)

It’s really fun to give in to someone’s excitement when they tell you, “You have to read this one. It’s breaking all the rules,” and then they hand you something from a rack labelled “Destined to be taught in school!” And it’s a comic book. So we’ll see how I do with Desolation Jones. Next time I’m going to ask for another writer to try. At this rate, I’ll be a real comic book nerd in no time, and I can stop worrying that people will think I only like comics (and video games and computer programming and science fiction and kung fu) to make boys like me better.