Live With Me

By the light of dawn,
A midnight blue … day and night … I’ve been missing you.
I’ve been thinking about you, baby.
Almost makes me crazy,
Come and live with me…

Nothing’s right, if you ain’t here

-“Live With Me”, Massive Attack

Mr. Postman

The mail brought two lovely delights today.

First was my report card. I managed to squeak into the A+ range with my overall average. And I mean squeak – my mark for the year was 90.05%. Close call! See, I’m smart! Someone give me a job!

Second was the KFC flyer! It might seem weird that a vegetarian is excited about the KFC flyer, but I am. Because KFC now has a fake chicken sandwich and it is AMAZING! I think I ate it three times in the first week and a half it existed. Anyway, the KFC flyer has a coupon for BOGO fake chicken sandwiches. YES! Mmmm.

But there was also huge amounts of grossness in the same flyer. Namely, a Taco Bell combo that consisted of a “Mexican pizza” (tortilla, ground beef, another tortilla, cheese and sauce) and Fries Supreme (fries with cheese, ground beef and sour cream). That is fucking disgusting. Why the hell would you need two food items covered in ground beef and cheese in one meal? Barf. It’s almost as bad as that gross bowl thing KFC had where they basically took all the ingredients they could think of and put them together. I like crappy fast food as much as the next person, but that’s just going too far.

Ride into the sunset

Summer is almost over, if it ever really arrived. It wasn’t only the terrible weather that made it seem so non-existent, but also the fact that I was in school for half of it and job hunting for the other half. No time/energy for fun this summer. Too busy dealing with upheavals to notice. Still, there were moments where I escaped to balconies and patios and other places to bask in the sun.

I learned that parties on Kensington rooftops are what Toronto summer nights should be all about. Add to that wine on the balcony. Out of town, reunions on the deck. Gathering before scattering, once again.

Weddings, too. There is something oddly more-than-alright about celebrating love when your heart is broken.

I escaped to the country. Unplugged myself and stared at the lake. Escaped to another city, too. Entangled myself, only to undo the knots. They are not something I need. I don’t need it, remember that.

Nothing would seem right, at first glance. We are tearing ourselves apart. I don’t know where I am going, what I will do.

But I am looking forward, shyly.

Ladyfest is coming!

Don’t say I didn’t warn you! Ladyfest is coming up in about a month. It’s happening September 18th-21st at various venues, including St. Stephen’s church (College and Bellevue), The Boat, Concord Cafe, Tranzac and Beaver Hall (and really, is there a better venue than that for a feminist arts festival?). We have lots of amazing stuff lined up – workshops and panels, concerts, spoken word, visual art shows and films. We have wicked musical acts, which I’m really excited about. Everything from hardcore punk to cabaret to hip hop. We also have one of my most favourite Toronto bands, hurray! Can’t wait!

On a terrifying (for me) note, I’m giving a workshop on audio/recording basics. Most of the workshops are open to everyone, but mine is going to be women-identified only. So if any ladies want a relaxed, comfortable space to learn about audio and home recording – come to my workshop (time TBA)! Pow!

Part 1: Heartbreak of my life, starring Ryan Gosling

Yesterday Adrian and I went to The Beaver for dinner. This in itself is not heartbreaking. It was actually lovely, because The Beaver has a great Jane Bond-like patio, amazingly cheap and delicious vegetarian chili and the best cornbread I’ve ever eaten. The heartbreak came today when I was informed that EFFING RYAN GOSLING was at the Beaver LAST NIGHT. As in, not long after I was there. I can’t think about it too much or I might hyperventilate. I basically can’t explain how much I love Ryan Gosling. And I missed him by mere hours. BAHHHHHHHHHHH. I have two major celebrity crushes. One is John Mayer. The other is Ryan Gosling. Mayer, I suspect, is a douchebag. Ryan Gosling is probably not. But I can’t know for sure because I missed him. Seriously, can’t think about it or I’ll cry.

—–

Part 2: How not to pick someone up, starring some dudes on College Street

1. Stare at my chest the entire time you’re talking to me.
2. Stand too close and drunkenly slur your words.
3. Ask me to come hang out and have drinks.
4. Call me a “mean bee-otch” when I say no thanks.
5. Inform me that you are an asshole.
6. Be generally incoherent.
7. Tell me it doesn’t matter because you already have a bunch of girlfriends.

At what I hoped was going to be the end of this exchange, I told the guy to have a nice night. He told me that he’s never had a girl tell him to have a nice night. So I said, “What, do they tell you to have a terrible night?” And he said, “No, they usually come with me.” Somehow I feel that that was an incorrect statement.

Note to self

If you’re already having a bad day (week, month), it’s not a good plan of action to watch the saddest music video ever. Oops.

From one Carly to another

Overheard at band practice

D: “Can you sing into a mic, so we can hear what the song is about?”
Me: “This song is about someone who doesn’t deserve to have a song written about them!”
D: “I bet they think the song is about them.”

Now if only I could charge $50,000 to divulge the answer. I’d be set!

Why my neighbourhood is awesome

The other day I saw a grizzled old man give daps to a buddhist monk as they passed each other on the sidewalk. It was amazing.

Speaking of good things in the neighbourhood, this was the sky last night.

A rainbow!

The sky through the trees.

The view from my balcony.

Some denial, some doubt, some dance

“I don’t want to go back to reality,” I said. “My life is in shambles.” As Ani DiFranco once said: “It was a joke – at the time.”

But it’s not that funny anymore, mostly because I’m so tired. Tired of the soul-crushing process of looking for a job. Afraid I’m going to end up somewhere, look back, and realize it is not what I meant to be.  Worried, as usual. (Could I be anything else?)

I feel like everything in my life is in limbo. One or two things, I could handle. But everything? I’m floating, biding my time, waiting for something substantial to put my feet on. Wondering which things will end up the way I want them to, and which won’t.

Wondering where I will work. How many years upon years it will take me to pay off my loans. If I’ll ever get to play a show, go on a tour. If I’ve gone out on a limb for nothing. If things will stay the same as they were
before I ever thought to feel the need to lay down beside you
and tell you
(“Nineteen”, Tegan and Sara)

I’ve held it together quite well until this week. It’s now the week of breakdowns and good, old fashioned cries.  I set about on the task of getting things ready for when Adrian leaves – moving my things into the living room, re-arranging to be able to fit everything in there. I came across a gift tag addressed to ‘Adrian and Carly’ and a card, purchased long ago and never given, reading “Happiness always looks small while you hold it in your hands. But let it go and you learn at once how big and precious it really is.” Well, thanks for that misery-making sentiment.

At least I write better songs when I’m miserable. That’s something useful.

Nobody likes to but I really like to cry
Nobody likes me, baby, if I cry
(“The Con”, Tegan and Sara)

The perfect quote

There’s an article in the Star today about some woman who is pissed because the bus drives past her very expensive and exclusive house at half hour intervals. She claims “We can’t open our windows because of the smell and noise” and “I can’t even hear the TV when the bus goes by.” (Uh, the bus is going by for what? A max of 30 seconds? Ohhhhh noooooo! Batten down the hatches!) Aside from being absurd, it’s probably also not true. The GO train goes by my place all the time and I can still hear the TV. I hardly even notice it anymore.

The amazing thing is that the article, while on the surface a regular, even-handed news piece, totally takes the piss out of the woman. And it’s all her own fault. She thinks she shouldn’t have to deal with annoyances like the bus because she and her husband paid a $100,000 premium to have a view of the lake and they “paid a lot of money to have the only custom-built home in a very special subdivision.” Oh la la! Special how? Is it a subdivision for jerks? But that isn’t even close to the best part.

The best part is when she says that her husband designed the subdivision and has pull with politicians because they know him through the Old Boys Club. (In the interest of honesty, no one in the article said “Old Boys Club”. I am paraphrasing, but it’s essentially what she said). Then she drops this gem:

“Not to sound like I’m bragging or anything but we have more (influence) than the average person.”

I bet you a million dollars that the reporter was peeing her pants with excitement when the woman said that. It’s pretty much the kind of quote that writers live for. It says, “This woman is a complete and utter snob and a ridiculous idiot” without actually saying the words. It’s perfect.