Breaking Up With Blue Chip
Though I worked at this job for only one of my four years in UBC, it really came to define a lot of my university experience.
When I first applied, Blue Chip was just supposed to be my job. I would serve coffee for a few hours, get money, and leave. It wasn't really all that important to me that I make friends at work. I already had friends and I was tired of always being broke. I told myself that I would keep my head down, not get involved with people, and make some money. The vouchers would be a bonus too.
I think that whenever you plan on not getting involved, life surprises you.
To be honest, I don't know how I survived even the first semester of last year. I was doing ministry/music full time, working, and had a full course load. On top of all that I was desperately trying to get into Graduate school. I can't remember when I slept, or even if I did. In the midst of all that, Blue Chip shifts were the one time I knew that it was pointless to worry about my future or anything else. After all I was at work and I had to work.
The thing I'll always take away from that job is the feeling I had of being totally comfortable with who I was. I started coming out of my shell, wearing technicolor jeans, bandanas, and just being a genuine joy to work with (I'm assuming).
The lasting legacy of Blue Chip in my life is the friendships I made. Years from now I don't think I'll be proud of the lattes I made or the cookies I scooped or the coffee I brewed (or the customers I neglected). All the money I made there has been spent. What I'll always look back on is the shift that occurred in my life when my fellow Blue Chippers turned from coworkers to friends. In the middle of a stressful year I never failed to laugh and that made all the difference in the world.
Having said all that, here is what I won't miss:
I will not miss working my 7am-10am shift in first semester, then rushing to class and finding that a. I was late b. the only seats were in the back where I couldn't hear the prof and c. that all the keeners who had gotten there early to take up the good seats had blue chip cups with drinks in them that I made. I also knew none of them tipped me. Jerks.
I won't miss the way my uniform smelled by the end of the week.
I won't miss complicated orders (securrrityyy).
I won't miss being the only person in class eating a ton of Chinese food (hella vouchers, yo) and then falling asleep in the lecture (it happened once, ok).
I won't miss my profs coming to Blue Chip and me being all awkward and like "uuuuuhhh soo hey lemme get that coffee for you" and then hating myself for being so awkward.
I won't miss the classical music blasting in the morning that would send my heart rate racing to hummingbird levels.
I won't miss sifting through compost for plastic lids.
I will miss the little things:
The way me, Sef, and Brittany would freak out with joy when Unbreak my Heart came on the radio.
A 12oz Guatemala in a 16oz cup with honey and cream, and dropping by on my way to class for coffee and having a group of people excited to see me.
I'll miss smiling at the chairbo on my way into work (he's a guy who lives in the SUB, kind of like a hobo but he has a chair so he's a step up from a hobo).
I'll miss sneaking raw cookie dough, broken cookies, and chunks of white chocolate.
I'll miss Steph shouting my name so it sounded like a monosyllabic grunt ("KRrrrnn"). In addition I'll miss turning up to work only to find I was dressed identically with Steph.
I'll miss "producing" coffee with Jimmy and Katie.
I'll miss Ariel's iPod. Even that time she only played ska music.
I'll miss Saturday afternoons with Rachel making cinnamon apple deliciousness. And Big Scoooooop. And Sammy Jo's iPod full of Tay Swift and ABBA.
I'll miss Anna filling out shift request vouchers to hang out with me when I'm in town. "Reason for shift change request: Karen/burrs." I can't even imagine what the AMS must think of us.
I regret that I never got approval for my plan to turn Blue Chip into an after-hours nightclub called "The Chip". But people do call it "The Chip" sometimes, so I'll take credit for that and move on.
And I don't want to be vain, but I'm pretty sure Blue Chip will miss me too. I like to think that maybe someday next semester, a quiet kid will apply to work there and after a few months will be turning up to their shift in bright purple jeans. And maybe people will say "Hey, remember Karen. She was a good time."
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Friday, June 24, 2011
Breaking Up with Vancouver. Part 2.
Breaking Up with the B-Line
I've lost count of the number of times I have gone back and forth and back and forth on this bus. Honestly, I don't think I'll miss it much. The crowding, the pushing, the fight for space.
And of course, the "B-line Crazies". Because the B-line boards at all doors, an over abused honor system, pretty much anyone can be sitting next to you. There was the homeless man who smelled like urine telling me that my Arts degree was worthless, there was the woman across from me who had a little snake in a plastic cup, and there was a plethora of people who found it totally ok to utilize my shoulder as a pillow during their nap.
Of all these memories of the crazies, there is one that I will forever cherish. It was after the UCM Christmas banquet and me and some others moved on to the Wolf and Hound pub. After having some beers we headed for the 99 stop headed East and along shuffled a new friend. He was a bit haggard and carrying a guitar case. When I asked him about said guitar case he straightened up, looked at me with pride and said "this isn't a guitar, this is a BANJO". He then proceeded to open the case and play his banjo. This turned into an impromptu sing-a-long on the streets of Vancouver (Alma, to be exact).
What I appreciate about this banjo man is his love of sharing his music. For example, instead of putting away his instrument and sitting quietly on the bus, he informed the driver that we (his new back up singers) had some songs to share with the bus. As we launched into "Stand By Me" (our signature tune, I guess) I could feel people staring at me. I was a "B-line Crazy" and maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the banjo, but I really didn't care. Ever so sly, I took a picture with my phone to commemorate the occasion:
Every time I pass the Arbutus stop, I look for this wandering minstrel, but sadly my search has been fruitless. But that's how it goes on the B-line, every one on it is a crazy ship passing in the night.
As much as I want to break up totally with B-line, I probably can't because now that I no longer possess a U-Pass, it will be my main form of transportation when I visit unless I rustle up some coins.
I've lost count of the number of times I have gone back and forth and back and forth on this bus. Honestly, I don't think I'll miss it much. The crowding, the pushing, the fight for space.
And of course, the "B-line Crazies". Because the B-line boards at all doors, an over abused honor system, pretty much anyone can be sitting next to you. There was the homeless man who smelled like urine telling me that my Arts degree was worthless, there was the woman across from me who had a little snake in a plastic cup, and there was a plethora of people who found it totally ok to utilize my shoulder as a pillow during their nap.
Of all these memories of the crazies, there is one that I will forever cherish. It was after the UCM Christmas banquet and me and some others moved on to the Wolf and Hound pub. After having some beers we headed for the 99 stop headed East and along shuffled a new friend. He was a bit haggard and carrying a guitar case. When I asked him about said guitar case he straightened up, looked at me with pride and said "this isn't a guitar, this is a BANJO". He then proceeded to open the case and play his banjo. This turned into an impromptu sing-a-long on the streets of Vancouver (Alma, to be exact).
What I appreciate about this banjo man is his love of sharing his music. For example, instead of putting away his instrument and sitting quietly on the bus, he informed the driver that we (his new back up singers) had some songs to share with the bus. As we launched into "Stand By Me" (our signature tune, I guess) I could feel people staring at me. I was a "B-line Crazy" and maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the banjo, but I really didn't care. Ever so sly, I took a picture with my phone to commemorate the occasion:
Every time I pass the Arbutus stop, I look for this wandering minstrel, but sadly my search has been fruitless. But that's how it goes on the B-line, every one on it is a crazy ship passing in the night.
As much as I want to break up totally with B-line, I probably can't because now that I no longer possess a U-Pass, it will be my main form of transportation when I visit unless I rustle up some coins.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Breaking Up with Vancouver. Part 1.
What started as a weekend trip to see an opera has turned into a 6-day fling in Vancouver. When I started this blog it was supposed to be my observations about the life of an American in British Columbia, at UBC.
But yesterday when I reached the Canadian border they took my passport and tore out my expired study permit. I've been turning in keys and closing my bank account (which was pretty much empty, the sign of a life well lived). So really, this blog is changing. What lies ahead of me is a Blind Date with CoMo (that's Columbia, MO. My future home for grad school). So in the interest of tying up loose ends I'm going to write for the next several days about the things in Vancouver that made up my life here. It's a way for me to say goodbye. So let's begin.
Breaking Up with Barber
Much of my time in Vancouver wasn't spent studying (sorry mom and dad) but the times I did study I, like many, got down to busness at the Irving K. Barber Learning Centre. Aka Barber. Each semester it seemed I would stake out a different room here: library stacks, Riddington Room, Musquem, ect. Now I'm sitting in the room on the second floor I utilized most of this past year.
It was here I composed most of my graduate school applications, read many a text, and worked on a few papers. I also raced the chairs around the room pretty intensly and, one night in November, I served communion here. So this is pretty much MY room.
When I lived on campus I would be in Barber til it closed at 1 am. Working. Writing. Worrying that I wouldn't make it out of undergrad. Last year, when I commuted, Barber was the place where I had exactly 1 hour to eat lunch and study as much as possible between class and work. This was a room that filled me with anxiety.
In November I decided to fight back. On Remembrance Day I helped organize a night of music, art and prayer in this room. I wanted to hold the night in this room because so often this building is full of overworked, desparate students struggling for a tiny spot of study space. On that night, with the building pretty much empty, we came together to paint, to sing, to read scripture, and serve each other communion. After that night on my hour long rapid study breaks, I felt calmer here. It was as if I knew that even this building, that forces you to ruthlessly prowl for study space like some sort of hungry lion, could be transformed. I knew it could be peaceful.
Now I'm sitting here with my blue chip coffee and holding a textbook. A textbook I'm studying for grad school and I can't help but think that back in the middle of all that chaos that surrounded school, work, UCM, and grad school apps that this is how it was always supposed to end up.
In many ways, my time in Barber has seemed like 1 Peter 5:7-9:
"Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that your brothers throughout the world are undergoing the same kind of sufferings."
Sometimes this building reeks of failure (during 24 hour study it reeks for other reasons). Not that people here ARE failing, but they're so afraid of it. I feel like failure stalks this building looking for people to devour. I was afraid of it. I thought that by June I would be jobless and adrift. That I would never figure myself out. I can say now, as I finish my coffee, I may not have it all figured out, but I do know that I feel peace.
So to conclude, goodbye to you Barber. Goodbye to study sessions, to early morning wake ups to secure a good table, to the security guards and the overpriced cafe. Goodbye to the pressure. Goodbye to the musty smell in the stacks. Goodbye to the feet smell that creeps up every now and then. Goodbye to the fast internet I used to download movies. I'll miss you occasionally, but we've run our course. I hope you find some new undergrad who can break the landspeed record I set on your black wheely chairs.
But yesterday when I reached the Canadian border they took my passport and tore out my expired study permit. I've been turning in keys and closing my bank account (which was pretty much empty, the sign of a life well lived). So really, this blog is changing. What lies ahead of me is a Blind Date with CoMo (that's Columbia, MO. My future home for grad school). So in the interest of tying up loose ends I'm going to write for the next several days about the things in Vancouver that made up my life here. It's a way for me to say goodbye. So let's begin.
Breaking Up with Barber
Much of my time in Vancouver wasn't spent studying (sorry mom and dad) but the times I did study I, like many, got down to busness at the Irving K. Barber Learning Centre. Aka Barber. Each semester it seemed I would stake out a different room here: library stacks, Riddington Room, Musquem, ect. Now I'm sitting in the room on the second floor I utilized most of this past year.
It was here I composed most of my graduate school applications, read many a text, and worked on a few papers. I also raced the chairs around the room pretty intensly and, one night in November, I served communion here. So this is pretty much MY room.
When I lived on campus I would be in Barber til it closed at 1 am. Working. Writing. Worrying that I wouldn't make it out of undergrad. Last year, when I commuted, Barber was the place where I had exactly 1 hour to eat lunch and study as much as possible between class and work. This was a room that filled me with anxiety.
In November I decided to fight back. On Remembrance Day I helped organize a night of music, art and prayer in this room. I wanted to hold the night in this room because so often this building is full of overworked, desparate students struggling for a tiny spot of study space. On that night, with the building pretty much empty, we came together to paint, to sing, to read scripture, and serve each other communion. After that night on my hour long rapid study breaks, I felt calmer here. It was as if I knew that even this building, that forces you to ruthlessly prowl for study space like some sort of hungry lion, could be transformed. I knew it could be peaceful.
Now I'm sitting here with my blue chip coffee and holding a textbook. A textbook I'm studying for grad school and I can't help but think that back in the middle of all that chaos that surrounded school, work, UCM, and grad school apps that this is how it was always supposed to end up.
In many ways, my time in Barber has seemed like 1 Peter 5:7-9:
"Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that your brothers throughout the world are undergoing the same kind of sufferings."
Sometimes this building reeks of failure (during 24 hour study it reeks for other reasons). Not that people here ARE failing, but they're so afraid of it. I feel like failure stalks this building looking for people to devour. I was afraid of it. I thought that by June I would be jobless and adrift. That I would never figure myself out. I can say now, as I finish my coffee, I may not have it all figured out, but I do know that I feel peace.
So to conclude, goodbye to you Barber. Goodbye to study sessions, to early morning wake ups to secure a good table, to the security guards and the overpriced cafe. Goodbye to the pressure. Goodbye to the musty smell in the stacks. Goodbye to the feet smell that creeps up every now and then. Goodbye to the fast internet I used to download movies. I'll miss you occasionally, but we've run our course. I hope you find some new undergrad who can break the landspeed record I set on your black wheely chairs.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Happy Birthday, Macca!
Many of you went about your Saturday entirely unaware that today was Paul McCartney's birthday, but I didn't. Due to my combination of Beatles fandom and ability to store really useless information in my brain I was well aware that today was the 69th birthday of the "cute" Beatle.I didn't do anything too nutso and fangirl, but I did come home, put on one of my many Beatles shirts, drank out of my Beatles pint glass, and played some of my favourite Paul songs on my guitar. You know, normal stuff.
As I've developed as a songwriter and a person, I've grown to respect Macca. You see, when I was younger I venerated John Lennon as the troubled, brilliant, genius whose eccentricies I longed to emulate. Paul, on the other hand, seemed like the sappy, boring Beatle who wrote standards like "Yesterday". Paul was never my favourite Beatle, but that was when I was young and my heart was an open book.
Nowdays, I gravitate toward Paul's music. For example, the one song I was always just a little bored with in the Beatles catalog was "The Long and Winding Road". When I was 13 or 14 there hadn't been much of a road at in my life, much less one long and windy. That all changed at the end of undergrad. I was driving back to my apartment from a friends place the afternoon that I was moving out. I knew then that it was the last time that this commute would be in my life. Sure, I may visit, but it would be a temporary stop in a former life. And that's when I heard it. This song that I always passed over. It was in this moment that life and music completely synchronized and I realized that for all the strange and fractured artists I long to be like, I'm a Paul. Although songs by John like "Strawberry Fields Forever" and "Yer Blues" may have spoken to my melancholy, it's Paul's music that makes me feel better. There's something emphathetic about the way he writes that makes me feel encouraged. He inspires me to take a sad song and make it better. To take my broken wings and learn to fly.
On that I'll close by including a song. I've chosen this one because it's from Paul's first solo album McCartney. If you don't have this album then go get it now. It's super easy to get your hands on because it was recently re-released.
I'm also including "Mull of Kintyre" because there is nothing better than coming home from a long day of work and watching Paul in boots wandering around a field with a guitar. Also, bagpipes.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
I Am Genuinely Bad at Being an Adult
I have a lot of gifts and talents, but unfortunately "adulthood" is not one of them.
I realized this several weeks ago when I found out that the reason my visa card didn't work was because I never activated it. I said to my father, in a joking manner, "I'm not very good at being an adult." In a very direct and truthful way my father responsed 'No. You're not."
Here's the crap I should have figured out, but I don't:
1. Having Nice Things
The Problem:
It seems that everything I assume will somehow improve my quality of life breaks. Two iPods, one laptop, two guitars, and tonight: one phone. Yes, truthfully, I had a Droid for for a matter of hours until, frustrated with a wonky charger, I broke the prongs in the charger jack. Smooth, Karen, smooth. This wasn't the first time I damaged something "big". The worst was the guitar for which I paid an undisclosed amount and also made some lofty promises to God. We agreed on a down payment of one worship song with a contract that would deliver worship songs over a three year period. This precious, wonderful guitar that I pined over for months was actually damaged by the air. Seriously? And it was a crack that a cheap, plastic humidifier could have prevented. Something an actual adult would have purchased.
The Loophole:
I haven't found one that is effective. What seems to be happening is the Universe is telling me that I should buy used. So far I've had luck with hand-me-downs up until buying a used phone. My mistake there was buying a nice used phone I wanted. I was just asking myself to mess up. Hand-me-downs are my lot in life as a younger sibling. I realized this as I walked over to the Verizon store in a coat from my sister with the used phone I purchased from a friend tucked in a purse handed down from my sister and still dressed in the work uniform from my sister that I wear to the job she used to have. This is not something to be sad about, in fact, without this rag tag assemblage of items I wouldn't be able to accomplish the loophole laid out in point number 3.
2. Understanding Money
First, a short observation. I work in a zoo gift shop. Lately it's been school group season which means everyday 10 minutes before their bus leaves, chaperones bring groups of dirty, illmannered, disrespectful hell children into my shop. Up until recently, I always questioned the educational value of visiting the gift shop (aka "Karen's Gifts and Sundries" or "Ye Olde Gift Shoppe"). Now, however, I've come to understand that the Gift Shop is actually the MOST educational area of the zoo because it is here that children learn all about money and more importantly, what it means to not have enough money. Maybe it's cruel, but there's really something intoxicating about a child bringing you exact change for a useless toy and then you telling them they still can't have it. I feel like I am doing my part for society by informing children of the lifelong fist in the ass known as "taxes".
The Problem:
You see it's not that successful adults can count and invest and hold onto money. It's that they understand it's actual value and how to exchange it in a responsible manner for goods and services. And although I boast that I am teaching young children, I myself am no different than them. I don't really "get" money. I'll spend the same money over and over again. For example if I get a paycheck I'll go out and spend part of it on something I want but don't need (hockey jerseys, guitars, records, books, food... yes food, my body relies on dreams for sustenance, food is merely a hobby). Then, I'll forget I spent that money and go out and "spend it again" on something I need like gas or a pair of TOMS. What ends up happening is I'm twice as broke as I thought I was and NOT a successful adult.
The Loophole:
Slightly ashamed to say this, but call my dad, ask for money. Or just sit at home and refuse to let myself out of the house until my next paycheck so I won't spend any money.
3. Cooking
The Problem: Its not that I can't cook, it's just that I won't. It has nothing to do with laziness (most of the time...) but mostly I am afraid of it. It is an entirely rational fear and I can justify by simply drawing your attention to point number one of this post. I'm afraid to cook because I break things. Pots? Pans? Utensils? Ingredients? This is just too much involvement for me. Being in the kitchen stresses me out. And when I'm stressed I eat my feelings. The problem is that I'm not a good cook so inevitably the food I indulge in isn't even that good. Then I feel sad. Then I microwave a burrito. Problem solved.
The Loophole:
So what do I do when I don't microwave a burrito? Well, I have a few staples I'm comfortable with mainly some sort of bread item, cheese, and a frying pan. However if I'm not in the mood to take a Plowman's Lunch and fry it, I usually find a way to get someone else to cook. Through this loophole I have become less of an adult and more of a stray cat. Basically, I can sense out a kind soul who will pity me (in my hand-me-down clothes), cook for me, sometimes cuddle me, and then I saunter back into the alleyway. It's a good life, but it's not the most adult way of living.
4. Dressing Myself
The Problem:
I own several items of clothing that inspire rage in people. There's the fur hoody, the bandanas, the technicolor jeans, and a Canucks jersey. As you can tell my ensemble walks a thin line between "ironic hipster" and "rehabilitated mental patient". As I head toward grad school, adult life, and the hope that I'll turn into some slick go-getta I realize that I have very few adult clothes. It's not that I don't try. I go out shopping with the best intentions, I envision myself in a Hilary Clinton pantsuit taking on the WORLD. But usually I come home from the mall without heels and a dress, but with a new pair of vans and more skinny jeans.
The Solution:
I haven't really found a rebuttal to the accusation "don't you have any real clothes?!" All I've come up with is a garbled, muddled response along the lines of "it works for Ellen to wear sneakers and suits" to "I refuse to give into the man" to "someday I'll have a job where I won't need nice clothes!"
I realized this several weeks ago when I found out that the reason my visa card didn't work was because I never activated it. I said to my father, in a joking manner, "I'm not very good at being an adult." In a very direct and truthful way my father responsed 'No. You're not."
Here's the crap I should have figured out, but I don't:
1. Having Nice Things
The Problem:
It seems that everything I assume will somehow improve my quality of life breaks. Two iPods, one laptop, two guitars, and tonight: one phone. Yes, truthfully, I had a Droid for for a matter of hours until, frustrated with a wonky charger, I broke the prongs in the charger jack. Smooth, Karen, smooth. This wasn't the first time I damaged something "big". The worst was the guitar for which I paid an undisclosed amount and also made some lofty promises to God. We agreed on a down payment of one worship song with a contract that would deliver worship songs over a three year period. This precious, wonderful guitar that I pined over for months was actually damaged by the air. Seriously? And it was a crack that a cheap, plastic humidifier could have prevented. Something an actual adult would have purchased.
The Loophole:
I haven't found one that is effective. What seems to be happening is the Universe is telling me that I should buy used. So far I've had luck with hand-me-downs up until buying a used phone. My mistake there was buying a nice used phone I wanted. I was just asking myself to mess up. Hand-me-downs are my lot in life as a younger sibling. I realized this as I walked over to the Verizon store in a coat from my sister with the used phone I purchased from a friend tucked in a purse handed down from my sister and still dressed in the work uniform from my sister that I wear to the job she used to have. This is not something to be sad about, in fact, without this rag tag assemblage of items I wouldn't be able to accomplish the loophole laid out in point number 3.
2. Understanding Money
First, a short observation. I work in a zoo gift shop. Lately it's been school group season which means everyday 10 minutes before their bus leaves, chaperones bring groups of dirty, illmannered, disrespectful hell children into my shop. Up until recently, I always questioned the educational value of visiting the gift shop (aka "Karen's Gifts and Sundries" or "Ye Olde Gift Shoppe"). Now, however, I've come to understand that the Gift Shop is actually the MOST educational area of the zoo because it is here that children learn all about money and more importantly, what it means to not have enough money. Maybe it's cruel, but there's really something intoxicating about a child bringing you exact change for a useless toy and then you telling them they still can't have it. I feel like I am doing my part for society by informing children of the lifelong fist in the ass known as "taxes".
The Problem:
You see it's not that successful adults can count and invest and hold onto money. It's that they understand it's actual value and how to exchange it in a responsible manner for goods and services. And although I boast that I am teaching young children, I myself am no different than them. I don't really "get" money. I'll spend the same money over and over again. For example if I get a paycheck I'll go out and spend part of it on something I want but don't need (hockey jerseys, guitars, records, books, food... yes food, my body relies on dreams for sustenance, food is merely a hobby). Then, I'll forget I spent that money and go out and "spend it again" on something I need like gas or a pair of TOMS. What ends up happening is I'm twice as broke as I thought I was and NOT a successful adult.
The Loophole:
Slightly ashamed to say this, but call my dad, ask for money. Or just sit at home and refuse to let myself out of the house until my next paycheck so I won't spend any money.
3. Cooking
The Problem: Its not that I can't cook, it's just that I won't. It has nothing to do with laziness (most of the time...) but mostly I am afraid of it. It is an entirely rational fear and I can justify by simply drawing your attention to point number one of this post. I'm afraid to cook because I break things. Pots? Pans? Utensils? Ingredients? This is just too much involvement for me. Being in the kitchen stresses me out. And when I'm stressed I eat my feelings. The problem is that I'm not a good cook so inevitably the food I indulge in isn't even that good. Then I feel sad. Then I microwave a burrito. Problem solved.
The Loophole:
So what do I do when I don't microwave a burrito? Well, I have a few staples I'm comfortable with mainly some sort of bread item, cheese, and a frying pan. However if I'm not in the mood to take a Plowman's Lunch and fry it, I usually find a way to get someone else to cook. Through this loophole I have become less of an adult and more of a stray cat. Basically, I can sense out a kind soul who will pity me (in my hand-me-down clothes), cook for me, sometimes cuddle me, and then I saunter back into the alleyway. It's a good life, but it's not the most adult way of living.
4. Dressing Myself
The Problem:
I own several items of clothing that inspire rage in people. There's the fur hoody, the bandanas, the technicolor jeans, and a Canucks jersey. As you can tell my ensemble walks a thin line between "ironic hipster" and "rehabilitated mental patient". As I head toward grad school, adult life, and the hope that I'll turn into some slick go-getta I realize that I have very few adult clothes. It's not that I don't try. I go out shopping with the best intentions, I envision myself in a Hilary Clinton pantsuit taking on the WORLD. But usually I come home from the mall without heels and a dress, but with a new pair of vans and more skinny jeans.
The Solution:
I haven't really found a rebuttal to the accusation "don't you have any real clothes?!" All I've come up with is a garbled, muddled response along the lines of "it works for Ellen to wear sneakers and suits" to "I refuse to give into the man" to "someday I'll have a job where I won't need nice clothes!"
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Lady Crush
Recently, my good friend Sarah listed out her top 5 lady crushes. I was ranked #5 which is a little disappointing.
First off, for those of you that don't know a "Lady Crush" is a nonsexual feeling or affinity for a successful, famous, or mythical woman. I can usually tell if I have a "Lady Crush" if I refer to someone like this: "OMG if (insert name here) and I ever met up we would instantly be bessst frieeeends".
Another sign is the feeling I get that maybe I should NEVER meet said person because it would only lead to me saying something like "you are my world", holding them tightly, crying, and refusing to let go. I get the feeling that if I were to meet some of these women, my cray cray levels would reach a "Celine Dion" level.
Second, Sarah's list has got me thinking about who makes it on to mine. So here's my top 5:
5. Allison Janey
Allison Janney is an actress with the ability to take a movie from "watchable" to "must see". A prime example is the way she elevated my favourite movie Drop Dead Gorgeous from amusing up to "constantly quoting". But she's more than just an actress. She's CJ Cregg, who I considered making a separate Lady Crush, but she's fictional and I feel like that's weird.
4. Ellen Degeneres
Ellen fills a hole in my heart the same way she filled the affable, lesbian daytime talk show host slot vacated by Rosie O'Donnell. There's a lot of reasons to love Ellen, but the biggest one for me is this: while Oprah is assigning books to people and talking about achieving your dreams or whatever she rambles on about, Ellen is doing things like this:
3. Patty Griffin
I think of most of the women on this list I would be most likely to turn into a sniffling, sobbing wreck in front of Patty Griffin. If there's one songwriter that I listen to and say "damn, I wish I wrote that" it's Patty. If I had one ultimate wish it's that she and I would write a song together. It would be filled with harmony and insightful lyrics. It would be like our voices were high fiving and our minds were making out. You may think I'm being too over-the-top, but go listen to "Don't Come Easy" and then reassess how you feel about her. I love her.
2. Mary Tyler Moore (aka Mary Richards)
When I presented my list to Sarah she said "I knew Mary would make it". Why? She sings, she dances, she gives to charity, and she is a 70s icon. She's got spunk, she's got style, and she even turns the world on with her smile. She's everything I want to be, but I'm probably more of a Rhoda than a Mary.
If I did ever meet Mary in person I'd probably throw my arms around her, cry, and say "I treasure you, Mary". Maybe it's better if I never meet her....
1. Brooke Fraser
Brooke doesn't know this, but we're soul mates. When I saw her live in Vancouver last winter I realized that we were made for each other. Why? Because she starts rambling into the mic about everything from gorilla suits to hot dogs. Then she launches into a transcendent, heart achingly beautiful song. How can you not love someone like that? When I really think about it now she could actually be my whole top three because I have a Lady Crush on Solo Material Brooke, Hillsong Brooke, and Brooke Fraser's Voice. Combining these three elements she easily coasts into the number one spot by miles.
Seriously, Brooke. Call me.
First off, for those of you that don't know a "Lady Crush" is a nonsexual feeling or affinity for a successful, famous, or mythical woman. I can usually tell if I have a "Lady Crush" if I refer to someone like this: "OMG if (insert name here) and I ever met up we would instantly be bessst frieeeends".
Another sign is the feeling I get that maybe I should NEVER meet said person because it would only lead to me saying something like "you are my world", holding them tightly, crying, and refusing to let go. I get the feeling that if I were to meet some of these women, my cray cray levels would reach a "Celine Dion" level.
Second, Sarah's list has got me thinking about who makes it on to mine. So here's my top 5:
5. Allison Janey
Allison Janney is an actress with the ability to take a movie from "watchable" to "must see". A prime example is the way she elevated my favourite movie Drop Dead Gorgeous from amusing up to "constantly quoting". But she's more than just an actress. She's CJ Cregg, who I considered making a separate Lady Crush, but she's fictional and I feel like that's weird.
4. Ellen Degeneres
Ellen fills a hole in my heart the same way she filled the affable, lesbian daytime talk show host slot vacated by Rosie O'Donnell. There's a lot of reasons to love Ellen, but the biggest one for me is this: while Oprah is assigning books to people and talking about achieving your dreams or whatever she rambles on about, Ellen is doing things like this:
3. Patty Griffin
I think of most of the women on this list I would be most likely to turn into a sniffling, sobbing wreck in front of Patty Griffin. If there's one songwriter that I listen to and say "damn, I wish I wrote that" it's Patty. If I had one ultimate wish it's that she and I would write a song together. It would be filled with harmony and insightful lyrics. It would be like our voices were high fiving and our minds were making out. You may think I'm being too over-the-top, but go listen to "Don't Come Easy" and then reassess how you feel about her. I love her.
2. Mary Tyler Moore (aka Mary Richards)
When I presented my list to Sarah she said "I knew Mary would make it". Why? She sings, she dances, she gives to charity, and she is a 70s icon. She's got spunk, she's got style, and she even turns the world on with her smile. She's everything I want to be, but I'm probably more of a Rhoda than a Mary.
If I did ever meet Mary in person I'd probably throw my arms around her, cry, and say "I treasure you, Mary". Maybe it's better if I never meet her....
1. Brooke Fraser
Brooke doesn't know this, but we're soul mates. When I saw her live in Vancouver last winter I realized that we were made for each other. Why? Because she starts rambling into the mic about everything from gorilla suits to hot dogs. Then she launches into a transcendent, heart achingly beautiful song. How can you not love someone like that? When I really think about it now she could actually be my whole top three because I have a Lady Crush on Solo Material Brooke, Hillsong Brooke, and Brooke Fraser's Voice. Combining these three elements she easily coasts into the number one spot by miles.
Seriously, Brooke. Call me.
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