if i had a hammer

Let's go back in time and grow our hair long and stick a flower or two in that hair and wear big pants that sway around our ankles as we walk and flash those two fingers at friends and lovers and strangers.

the grey estates

Today I woke up early (for me) and so it was still relatively early when I left the house, and the sun was shining so bright, and I was listening to Wolf Parade (aren't I always?) and it suddenly felt like spring was just around the corner. I knew we still had (at least) another two months of snow and slush and more snow and more slush and dark afternoons and pink fingers ahead of us, but at that moment those two months felt like a breeze. Because I knew what waited me after those two months: a pale yellow sundress and an expectant patio, a glass of sangria and good conversation, falling asleep under park trees, romping around around around, a possible bike ride or two, slip-on shoes, THIS PORCH, a wombmate's eventual return in August, late nights turning into morning.

I also bought this the other day, and it makes me want to go back to a simpler time full of ducktails and hoop skirts and milkshakes. And because I well realize that this wish is impossible, I will settle for the goal of taking more photographs on my parents' slr so that maybe I too can capture a perfect moment, or two.

on your back with your racks as the stacks as your load

Cathartic? A recipe for disaster? However you want to classify it, starting your day by reading old e-mails from past crushes/loves/whatevers surely leads to an interesting morning. For one, you are instantly transported back to a sometimes simpler but often more confusing time. Your heart thumps again remembering the anticipation that came ___ years ago. You still blush at the words that were written, and the way you responded to them. And you realize the feelings you had for that one boy weren't so unique after all. And happy or sad, this realization follows you around like a lightbulb blinking frantically above your head for the rest of your day.

this heart's on fire

There's something about owning one of your favourite albums on vinyl. There's especially something about listening to your favourite song from said favourite album on a -20 degree winter evening like today. It gives your step an extra bounce. It makes the upcoming days seem a bit brighter and a whole lot warmer. It reminds you of a summer so many years ago where you walked into the heat and humidity all wide-eyed and new. It reminds you of stepping off one #6 into the middle of a bustling campus and how comfortable and good it felt to be there (wave hey! hello! hi there!). Time keeps a ticking, but there's always that one song that can bring you back to a time you almost forgot.

inbetween days

I have no idea what awaits me in the days ahead, or how I will survive the next seven months of school when I can't even manage to pick up one assigned book during a two month long strike, but then there are moments like this afternoon where it may be -23 degrees outside, but the sun is streaming through your window and it no longer feels like the dead of winter, rather you have to turn off your space heater and open your curtains and welcome this brightness into your room and turn up your favourite song and dancedancedance and sing "come back come back don't walk away come back come back come back today come back come back why can't you see come back come back come back to me" because you love the song and not because it reminds you of any one single person anymore.

you're the only ten i see

LIFE STORY

After you've been to bed together for the first time,
without the advantage or disadvantage of any prior acquaintance,
the other party very often says to you,
Tell me about yourself, I want to know all about you,
what's your story? And you think maybe they really and truly do

sincerely want to know your life story, and so you light up
a cigarette and begin to tell it to them, the two of you
lying together in completely relaxed positions
like a pair of rag dolls a bored child dropped on a bed.

You tell them your story, or as much of your story
as time or a fair degree of prudence allows, and they say,
Oh, oh oh, oh oh,
each time a little more faintly, until the oh
is just an audible breath, and then of course

there's some interruption. Slow room service comes up
with a bowl of melting ice cubes, or one of you rises to pee
and gaze at himself with mild astonishment in the bathroom mirror.
And then, the first thing you know, before you've had time
to pick up where you left off with your enthralling life story,
they're telling you their life story, exactly as they'd intended to all
along,

and you're saying, Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
each time a little more faintly, the vowel at last becoming
no more than an audible sigh,
as the elevator, halfway down the corridor and a turn to the left,
draws one last, long deep breath of exhaustion,
and stops breathing forever. Then?

Well, one of you falls asleep
and the other one does likewise with a lighted cigarette in his mouth,
and that's how people burn to death in hotel rooms.

Oh, Tennessee, how do you get it so right?

at the hop

BLACKOUT

The city, my city, was dark and still and quiet last night for once. Bloor Street was lit only by passing headlights and one tiger display as I made the cold walk home. And despite the darkness and ice, it was peaceful and perfect.

new adventures

What do you do when you realize you've been out of school on strike longer than you were ever there to begin with? Why, embark on a day of newness of course!








I'm still feeling horribly unproductive lately, but at least I can add first-time sushi-and-thai-cold-spring-roll-maker and haircut-advisor to my list of accomplishments during the strike. Combine these new talents with my gift-wrapping abilities and HELLO WORLD! HERE I AM!

cut out all the strings and let me fall

I may not have been fully able to capture Williamsburg on film, but there are other times when photos just don't lie. Last night, browsing through folder after folder of my old photos, I almost gasped when I stumbled upon a look I forgot once existed. There was love shining back at me from my computer screen. It was so strong and so glowing I couldn't look away or click that 'x'. It held me still. It was a look, a gaze that instantly transported me back to summer '07. I felt myself walking beneath a hot sun into always bright afternoons and evenings. I felt myself sitting across from patio tables, warm. It was a look that was once so true.

romcoms

Does romance still exist in the real life and not just on the big (or small) screen? Sometimes I still have my doubts, but then there are these small moments that make me think otherwise. Take for example my time spent gift wrapping this December. Late in the afternoon on the 24th, a man approached the booth looking quite nervous indeed. He proceeded to pick up his wrappped gifts while also shoving another wrapped box accompanied by a card into my co-worker's hands. He shyly smiled and then was gone. We all crowded around her, eager to see what the packages contained. The card thanked her for all her help, a message he followed up with his phone number and a gift card to Starbucks. But what amazed me most was the box of chocolates she held in her other hand. Now, I know the romance surrounding boxes of chocolates doesn't extend past cliche, but these chocolates came professionally wrapped in papers and bows from our rival gift wrapping booth. Yes, it may be a tad creepy, but I like to think the effort and care this man took was more sweet than anything.

Perhaps romance doesn't exist in grand gestures like purchased walls ala Pacey and Joey or rooftop Charlie Chapman ala Ben and Felicity, but for now I'm satisfied with boxes of chocolates wrapped at rival booths and a phone call you never actually believed would come.

hanging on the telephone

My horoscope keeps telling me to stop worrying about the past by focusing on the now because the now is really a great place for me to be at the moment. But if only the phone would ring (err, vibrate).

Also, I enjoyed all the jukeboxes I encountered last weekend; now many of my favourite songs will forever remind me of a new favourite city and its dimly lit bars and beautiful men.

Oh, and I found myself doing school work at 1am last night despite the fact that I haven't had school for a good two months now. Dear strike: please end. This. Is. Really. Getting. Annoying.

But I guess it's a good thing I have nowhere to go on Wednesday or Thursday.

skinny love

We're not even a month into the season and I've already got myself a case of the winter blahs. I'm suffering so badly that while visiting my great aunt tonight, I suddenly confessed that I want to leave Toronto come September. I refer to this outburst as "sudden" because it is just that. I did not consider a new home in a new city, new street names to learn, a new area code up until that moment. But as I revealed my tentative plan, winter didn't seem so awful anymore. I could imagine myself scaling these snowbanks with newfound purpose and vigor because I'd know that I may not have to come winter '10.

But maybe I just need something to hope for and strive after during the long months to come. Brooklyn came and went too fast. And sometimes the intangible is all one really needs. Or perhaps I really do need to invest in one of those sun lamps. In the meantime though, impromptu photo shoots will carry me through.

because my horoscope says so

I feel the good times coming back again.

what comes is better than what came before?

Please tell me when all this missing and pain will go away. I want the day where I'm surrounded by loud voices and louder music and I don't reach for my phone, only to type a message I know I'll never send. I want warm hugs and warmer sleeps and late late late talks and brave open arms and braver loving. I want smiles that can't be washed away and anticipation that the subway can't contain. I want the day to come where I don't wipe away a tear (or two, or three) while surrounded by loud voices and louder music. I want to feel like myself again.

Williamsburg

How do you capture a neighbourhood in pictures? This was the daunting task that greeted me this past weekend as I strolled the streets of Williamsburg, Brooklyn. I fell in love with the area upon first step out of the cab. Comprised of the prettiest view of Manhattan and the cutest boys, Williamsburg is not just a neighbourhood to spend three days in. Rather, I can picture myself spending weeks, months, years, MY LIFE among its bustling streets. I could tell you about Bagelsmith and its 12+ flavours of cream cheese. I could tell you about Daddy's and its wood-panelled walls and its hot dogs and its deejay and its instant warmth. I could tell you about the weekend flea market and the cute boy working the vintage booth. I could tell you about all the cyclists and all the dogs in pretty coats. But in the end, my words will fail to communicate everything that is Williamsburg.

So I hope instead that my pictures do the neighbourhood some sort of justice and show how the old meets the new all over Williamsburg. But one thing I know my pictures will forever be incapable of conveying is the lightness and hope those streets instilled inside of me.

new york, i love you

I have much more to say and show tomorrow.