Same Shit, Different Title

Shit, man, I don't know what happened. It's been over two years, plus a good month for bonus.

The last two years haven't been much more exciting than the previous 40, except in small, concentrated bursts.

I defended the Big D on July 3, 2013. It didn't escape anyone's attention that the next day was American Independence Day.

What does one say when they finish something like that? There's not much TO say, really. It's done. It's over. Do the next thing. What is the next thing? My standard answer to everyone who asks is, "Same Shit, Different Title". It covers many possibilities. I work on another study, another paper with a different title, but really it's the exact same shit I've been doing for years. I can use the title 'Dr.', but I'm still the same little shit.

There are a number of pictures from that day and that evening's post-(successful)-defence party, and I have the exact same expression in all of them. My smile looks like I glued my face into that expression. Not that it was a fake smile, I mean, I was happy and everything, but it's the smile of a woman who is 352% exhausted, has had maybe 2 hours of sleep in the last 36, and is going to fall over as soon as possible.

A few months later, my parents and big sister came to my commencement and took lots of terrible pictures of me wearing a robe and a hood. And then Husband met us for dinner at one of my favourite little restaurants and I had a margarita and... something with fried plantains and guacamole. It was a good day.

So now I go on. I work. I write. I research. (I still work for Lady S, which is altogether pleasant and comfortable). I knit. I read.

That has been one good thing that's come out of finishing the Big D — I started reading again, for pleasure. Mindless, fun stuff that isn't (mostly) young adult, for a change. I'm over on Goodreads, but don't expect anything too deep or insightful there.

But really, I'm just trying to get on with life. Find my happy. Do the things I like to do, and find a way to get out of the things I don't enjoy anymore. Make a little bit of money. Play a little more music. Take more pictures. Hug a kitty. Make (and keep) good friends. Stop allowing the less-than-good ones to drag me down. Enjoy the occasional odd, private, older-man crushes. Drink more red wine.

Just a little more.

Same shit, different title.

This one time, at band rehearsal...

Once upon a time there was a girl who played French Horn. She loved her horn. She loved Band. She liked playing solo things, of course, but always felt that there was something very special about the way nearly 50 people can come together and make something amazing.

She played her horn in elementary school, middle school, high school. In university, she wasn't a music major, just your average every-day liberal-arts major, but she chose a school that gave her plenty of opportunities to keep playing. She played in marching band (even though she could have cared less about football), pep band (even though she cared even less about basketball) and concert bands and made friends that she keeps in touch with over 20 years later.

Then she moved to another country. It wasn't far away from home, but a lot of things were different. Subtle things. There wasn't a 'marching band' culture where she moved to, for instance. But she found a community concert band, and they welcomed her and her horn, and she was happy.

Many years went by. Some members of her horn section came and went, went and came. Some of the ones who went she still keeps in touch with, and still plays with from time to time. Other members of her section, and the band in-general, became friends. Even the type of friend you call when you're having a real, honest-to-god nervous breakdown and need someone to help you get help. The band grew, and some things about the band changed, and sometimes people got angry with one another, because people are people and what can you do? She tended to avoid the band when things like that were happening. But one thing always remained: being a part of nearly 50 people coming together to make something amazing.

Sometimes she took the band for granted. Sometimes it was a royal pain in the ass to get to rehearsal. Sometimes she didn't go — not because she was sick, or too busy, but because she just simply couldn't summon up the energy to be arsed to leave the house that night. Sometimes she would be all like, "This is supposed to be fun and a hobby and it's stressing me out! Screw that!" When she did make it, she was usually a little late, because she couldn't seem to get it together to leave earlier. (Her mother has assured her that tendency is genetic.)

Sometimes very nice people helped out and picked her up and gave her rides to rehearsal. Those were some of the only times she was on time. Her section teased her a little about that, because that's what friends do.

It was funny, though — she noticed that every time she got up the energy to go, even on the days she didn't want to, she came home feeling better.

Because nearly 50 people had come together to make something amazing, and she was still a part of that.

After several years, the woman went back to graduate school. Again — not for music. She was still a silly liberal arts geek. She was in graduate school for a long, long time because she works very, very slow. It became harder and harder for her to get to rehearsals. A couple times while she was in school, she had to take breaks from her band because her schedule was so crazy it felt like she was juggling geese. It made her a little sad, and she missed some of her friends and her horn (which she still loved), but mostly at those times she was just grateful that she didn't have to leave the house again for another obligation. (She is very bad at juggling geese.)

She sometimes still took her band and her friends for granted. She always figured that they would still be there when she came back.

And even though they didn't have to be, they always were.

One day, she went to rehearsal after being away for many, many weeks (again). She was a little resentful, because she had so many other things to do, and a huge deadline that was pretty much the be-all, end-all of why she had been in school for 10 more years, and she was running 30 minutes late and annoyed at traffic and life and the fact that she hadn't had time to stop for coffee and she was generally pretty annoyed at the world (because OF COURSE, it's all about her, right?). She arrived at rehearsal, quietly took her seat and apologized to her section mates. They simply said, "You made it! We're so glad!", and she got ready to play.

And the band started to play.

Suddenly, all the tension and all the anger and stress and everything she'd been holding inside her for weeks and months came pouring out. She sat there, holding on to her horn (which she still loved) for dear life, sitting in her seat while the band played around her, and she couldn't stop crying.

Because nearly 50 people had come together to make something amazing, and she was still, despite everything, a part of that.

She played with tears running down her face for that whole piece (a hymn), and she was still crying when the band started the next piece (a mambo). It was awfully hard to play a horn and cry at the same time, so the notes coming out weren't very good. She apologized to her section-mate sitting beside her. It was maybe a little ridiculous. But maybe not. She was so glad to be there, and so grateful that everyone was just happy that she could make it and didn't hold it against her that she hadn't been there for weeks before.

Or at least, if they did, they didn't let her know that.

She really appreciated that.

If anyone noticed that she was playing out-of-tune upbeats during the mambo with full-on tears running down her face, they didn't say anything, even if it was a little bit funny.

She appreciated that, too.

She's not done with school yet. After she is, something else will probably come up to take a lot of her time, like, say, a JOB. She'll probably still sometimes take the band for granted. She'll probably still miss more rehearsals than she should, because energy is still a commodity that she has to ration. Music is still her hobby, not her job, and sometimes life takes priority. She's older now, and had more practice, but she's still not very good at juggling geese.

But she's pretty sure now that she's where she belongs.

And although it took her almost 20 years, now she knows to always bring tissues to band practice.

Taking inspiration as it comes

Wash: "Would be you get your most poetical about your pecker"
- Firefly, "Heart of Gold"

Or, in my case, when it comes to toilet humour. At this point in my life, I just go with it. Take the inspiration when it comes and all that.

A few days ago, I woke up with this song in my head. No reason, but there it was:



I started to get dressed, and within about 10 minutes, had new lyrics for the chorus. I feel the world is a lesser place without them in it, so I will share.

----
A Single Pair
(sung to the tune of "I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts")

I've got a single pair of underpants;
The loneliest underpants you've ever seen.
Sad ones, grey ones, elastic giving way,
don't really fit, I hesitate, but there's nothing else that's clean!

I'm down to a single pair of underpants.
Riding up my bum in uncomfortable ways.
Fit me like a thong, shifting 'round the whole day long,
Roll the quarters up, it's laundry day.

But when I'm not working...

I've always had a love affair with the darkroom. I first started developing my own black and white in high school, under the guise of working for the school newspaper and yearbook. A guy I had a huge crush on taught me how to develop film and print photos using the enlarger, and I spent many happy hours in there, under the red light, sometimes with friends and sometimes alone. My first real job was doing shift-work in a large photo-processing plant the summer after my first year of college. Fun times.

I did a quick refresher black and white workshop last summer (whee! developing film on a warm August afternoon in the alley behind Queen Street in Toronto, the smell of drunk barf from the night before still lingering in the air... if you can develop film there, you can do it anywhere, I promise). I don't print my own, just develop the negs and scan them. Yay, technology! Progress! Maybe some day I'll play with doing my own colour film, but right now that's too fiddly for me.

When my long-time hobbyist photographer father-in-law heard that I was now developing my own black and white, he dug out and gave me a couple of his old film cameras (he went digital in the late 90s). They are wonderful things, and I love them. Here's a couple shots from the first few rolls I've run through his old Minolta Autocord II (all black and white are home-processed in Rodinol). I have another black and white roll from this camera drying right now, yay! (Upcoming post: the other adopted vintage camera, the 1946-47 Argus C3 Brick.)

There are two seasons in Toronto. "Cold" and "Patio Season"
(March 2012, Ilford HP5+ 400)

Shopping on Queen Street West
(March 2012, Ilford HP5+ 400)

Cherry Blossoms at U of T
(April 2012, Lomography CN400)

CN Tower in Redscale
(June 2012, Lomography Redscale
XR 50-200, shot@50iso)

Still Here, Still Working

I work with words,
but maybe not the way you do.
For me, they are sounds and symbols,
bits and pieces,
some parts visible, some parts not;
parts
to be taken apart
and assigned some kind of meaning.
Social, grammatical — sometimes it's the same.
It's meaning.
Quantify it, code it, count it, run it, explain it.
My life is with words, and their tiny bits and parts.

Shiny Happens

Made on Thursday, April 12, 2012:

 

















Unlocking a Bit of My Inner Lioness (*waves to Elise*)
A yellow-green stone that I love (no idea what it is, I bought a full strand of them from Arton over a year ago), faceted carnelian beads that I've been hoarding a full gorgeous strand of forever, base metal and plastic findings & charm.

Thanks to Michelle and Ailis for organizing the workshop, that was tons of fun to watch everyone's creations take shape. I finally made something with some of my bead stash, and I was able to trade and give some beads away that I'll never use - bonus bead stash clearance!

Days like today

Some days... are not good days.

Some days, even when you have accomplished things — good things — all you can feel is the weight of the things that you haven't done pressing down on you.

Today was one of those days. You know how sometimes when people ask you if you're able to see the light at the end of the tunnel yet? And if that light is likely to be a train?


Sometimes I think the damn light is just unplugged.

So, let's have some pictures that make me happy.


Bullwinkle, is that you?


Only the finest severed heads will do here.

And finally, for Lady S:


They're not daffodils, but they sure are fantastic, no?

Today sucked balls. Let's try again tomorrow, shall we?

Coffee and the Nature of the Universe

When and Where: A city morning in October, going to my favourite local coffee shop.
Music: "Java Jive" (the Inkspots), because duh.
Disclaimer: Not a commercial or intended to be one. It's just a goofy-ass little video shot on my goofy-ass Super35mm camera. I wanted to see if I could put something together in IMovie and sync up sound.

See, I told you we needed a zombie plan.*

I said so all the way back in this post. This right here is why.

There I was, minding my own business on a lovely late-October Saturday afternoon, running some errands in The Annex and loaded up with with two cameras, twenty bucks and a pack of gum. I figured I was ready for anything.

And then suddenly, I saw... wait, no way... are those zombies?



I couldn't tell. I needed a closer look. I hopped in my car, circled the block and hauled butt down Bathurst Street, in order to get a better look at them. Just down the road, my suspicions were confirmed:



So, I did what any self-respecting, well-armed citizen would do. I shot them — with my trusty Minolta X-370, conveniently already loaded with film.



The zombie bride spotted me, and blew me a kiss...



...and that's when I noticed her zombie wedding party was on my side of the street!



It was scary there for a minute. They were all, "Blahblah BRAINS blahblah," and I was like, "Hey, no, no, look THERE!! Spicy brains! Yeah, that's it!" In the end, all the zombies needed was a little attention, guidance, appreciation, encouragement, and the promise of spicy brains. They ate it all up.

*No zombies were harmed in the making of this post. In fact, it sounds like a grand time was had by all, living and undead alike. If you know any of the zombies in these pictures personally, please give them my love. They were fantastic and completely made my day.

For the record...

...next week, I am going to start my lecture off with the following announcement:

"Good evening everyone. If you happen to notice that my fly is open, or that my blouse or dress has come unbuttoned, feel free to raise your hand and tell me RIGHT AWAY. The code phrase is knickerbocker.Thank you."

Well, at least I was wearing my fancy knickers and not some old filthy ones pulled out of the dirty clothes. Or better yet, a pair with something tacky like "aim here" printed on them.

#awesomesauce #thisdaygetsbetterbythehour #fuckmylife

Suddenly, September

Oh look, it's not summer any more.

I'm not going to lie, I couldn't be happier. Have I mentioned I'm not all that fond of summer? Probably. It bears repeating, though. I turn into a lump of uselessness during the summer. Heat, humidity, too much sunlight, headaches, constant sweatiness. Anywhere you go there are too many people. People trying to cram in all their fun before September, before they have to go "back". I want to hibernate, close my door, lay under a fan and sleep until the cooler evenings come.

Blah. Give me a cool September breeze and the crisp autumn smell of leaves any day. This is the time I love. This is the time of year I come back to life.

How to sum up the last three months?

I was in Boston in mid-June. It was lovely, as much fun as one can have by oneself when they are at a conference.


Entrance to to a T station in Boston, Summer 2011


A perfect day for a carousel, Boston Common Frog Pond, Summer 2011

I visited my parents for a couple days right after the conference, which was great. We drove around and hung out. We needed that.


Dad's Swamp, Pennsylvania, Summer 2011


Childhood memory, Conneaut Lake Park, Pennsylvania, Summer 2011

I taught in July and August. It was not fun, but it was a job, and not as painful as I was expecting for a course I had never taught before. I didn't get to go to Pennsic due to the time constraints, not even for a few days, and that made me exceedingly cranky. Overall, I tried not to die of heat exhaustion. There were a few days when the heat and humidity weren't so oppressive and I was able to get out, walk around, take some pictures, and remember what an amazing city I live in.


Nathan Philips Square, Toronto, Summer 2011


Cathedral Church of St. James, Toronto, Summer 2011

I've needed to pour myself into work a bit these last couple months, while at the same time hide away and restore my soul. We have been officially cat-less since July 6. I haven't really been able to talk about it much yet, let alone write about it. Ford had a great last few months with us. He went out on his own terms, and I was with him. We miss him. That's really all I can muster, even now, over two months later. So, pictures.


Ford in the park, Summer 2011


OHAI, IZ YOU THERE? (Ford meets the IPad camera) Summer 2011


One of the amazing emails I received from my guys while I was in Boston, Summer 2011

Words and signs, signs and words.

Pretty much sums it up, right there.

How to describe April and May? "Over" is the best I can come up with. My routine goes something like this: Wake up. Stare at screen. Make coffee. Stare at screen. Type a sentence. Make more coffee. Delete sentence you just typed. Stare at screen. You get the idea. Work is happening, slowly, at its own pace. I'm not entirely pleased about that pace, but I take it as a sign that some words aren't ready to come out yet.

There hasn't been much knitting, either. I've hit a bit of a slump on that. Plugging away on a scarf for myself. This picture is from late April, when I'd just started it. It's getting close to done now:


How to waste an hour without really trying: coffee, camera and knitting.

Mixed in with all the boredom and daily grind, though, there are signs of movement:


Fluevog feets are happy feets. You probably can't tell, but those are the infamous 'Angry Pink Bear' socks. His 'H' is not for 'happy.' His 'H' is for HATE.

There are also signs of spring:


How much did this swan care that I was there? Sweet F. A. comes to mind.


Double exposure of Impossibly Red Tulips in Christie Pits park.

And, being Toronto, there are signs of awesomeness:


Words to live by.

Sometimes, words are hard. I'll take what I can get.

...and miles to go, but I'm sleeping anyhow.

My concrete ivory tower, Robarts Library, University of Toronto, Feb. 18, 2011.

I keep promising myself I will blog more. It's my only non-academic writing outlet.

And then I think to myself: Do you really need another distraction from academic writing right now?

Probably not.

It's entirely possible I'm kidding myself that I'm actually making progress. Today, it feels like I haven't made a bit of progress in months. Realistically, I know that's not the case, but it's overwhelming to even think about how much there still is to do. Frankly, I'm at the point where this dissertation thing just isn't fun.

Lady S, if you're reading this, I'm kidding. Actually, I'm having a blast. I write enthusiastically eight hours a day and every morning I wake up chirpy and energized, ready to sit down and write some more. I am a leaf on the wind. Watch how I soar.*

It appears I don't have a lot to say, really, so here are some more pictures, taken with my very manual camera.


Helpful cat... is not all that helpful, actually. Taken by MrJ. He also put the scarf on the cat, who doesn't seem to mind. Don't ask me, I just work here.


Humber River under the Dundas bridge, Toronto, Feb. 28, 2011. The figure against the pillar on the far bank is graffiti.


My Neighbour's Totoro, a most wonderful snowman near my house. He did have ears, but I hadn't quite mastered how much fits in the frame on this setting yet.


Urban Wisdom

*Spoilers for the movie 'Serenity': The guy who says this quote gets a long wooden spear through the chest and becomes all deadified on the word 'soar'. Take that as you will.

Retreat from technology

It definitely seems that the more stressed I become about deadlines and work, all of it done online, or at least sitting in front of a keyboard, the more reliant I become on activities that do not involve things with power cords.

January was a month of knitting hats and scarves, taking pictures on the very-manual analogue camera, and attempting to convince myself to keep regular work hours. I was very successful at the first of these.


A Scotty Hat for MrJ, modeled on the one worn by Simon Pegg in the recent Trek reboot, because it's Toronto in January.


A scarf for MrJ, because although he loves his Dr. Who Scarf and wears it on the coldest of cold days, a 15.5 ft. scarf is impractical for his crowded subway commute most of the time.


Another Scotty Hat for me, because I keep stealing his when I go out without him.


The re-done hat-which-will-have-kickass-expensive-trim, the one that came out way too large the second third time I did it. Now smaller, and waiting for lining, to help it keep its shape.


Yet another hat for me, this one an Urchin. Because it's Toronto in January, and one cannot have enough of these things.

For some reason, the last three things I've knit for myself have been shades of green. I have no explanation.

I was moderately successful at the second item, taking more pictures on the new analogue camera. The last couple rolls have been B&W 120 film.


How to Climb Without Stairs

As for the last thing, keeping regular work hours, I've been somewhat less successful, but it hasn't been a total wash. Some days I feel like I'm treading water on the Big D, some days I'm moving backwards, and some days I'm clawing my way forward by my flimsy, flaking fingernails. Ford has been doing his part, of course, to make sure I take regular breaks.


Taken by MrJ. I'm the one buried under the cat.

I'll get there. One stitch at a time, one shutter click at a time, one word at a time.


Yeah, and how long with that take to get?

We're all waiting for spring

...even the street art.


She Waits for Spring, Kensington Market, Toronto, Dec. 29, 2010

I took this yesterday with my new camera, a DianaF+. It's an intentional double exposure using 35mm 100-speed film. These are fun, totally manual, very retro cameras that normally use 120 film, but can be modified to use 35mm (thankfully, since processing options for 120 film are few and far between these days). I think I'm in love.

Happiness. I've missed analog photography. For the first time in a long time, I can't wait for the next sunny day.


They All Come at Once, Streetcars on King Street (at Peter Street), Toronto, Dec. 29, 2010 (double exposure)