tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72051189527048077912024-03-05T07:57:16.834-08:00Inside The AntholeElla Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17577694320378344646noreply@blogger.comBlogger40125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7205118952704807791.post-84373130412800598102014-11-02T17:46:00.001-08:002014-11-02T17:46:38.995-08:00Mom vs. Technology<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Mom: "It's like a picture and you push a button and it moves"<br />
Me: "A video?"<br />
Mom: "Yes."</div>
Ella Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17577694320378344646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7205118952704807791.post-22382320131213315842014-10-09T22:47:00.001-07:002014-10-09T22:47:17.488-07:00Please Make it Harder for Me to Be a Douchebag Because I Am Incapable of Not Being a Douchebag On My Own<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Today at school a Public Relations teacher came into our class to tell us about how we need to organize our social media lives. The point he was trying to make was that we should be careful about the things we post online because it is easier than we realize for people we don't know to access our information in the digital age, and employers are watching us like we live in a George Orwell novel. Part of being employable is not saying stupid shit on the interweb. It's already too late for me, so whatever. <br />
<br />
The message itself was like a scared straight lecture, and to some extent, it made a lot of sense. Be careful to convey the person you wish to convey because your life is now an open book. I get it. However, where his talk fell short was the point at which he said that, in order to prove his point, he likes to find the facebook profile of an "attractive female student" and essentially publicly shame her by showcasing it to the class as an example of the kind of human we all need to strive not to be. In other words: "I like to go around creeping the facebook profiles of my attractive young female students. So girls, please limit your freedom of expression for my sake so I can continue to be a total creep and blame it all on you because I warned you that I'm a total creep."<br />
<br />
So, to all you "anti-feminists" out there who think it's completely fine for EDUCATORS to deliberately single out female students and ridicule them in front of their peers, thanks for your public service... Assholes!</div>
Ella Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17577694320378344646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7205118952704807791.post-6208108600668483782014-01-22T22:42:00.000-08:002014-01-22T22:42:02.150-08:00Dr. Heisenseuss: Breaking Bad Eggs and Ham<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
I cook crystal meth, do
you?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I cook it best when it
is blue<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I cook it in a boiling
flask<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I cook in a high school
gas mask<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I cook it in my
underwear<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I cook it so there’s
money spare<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I cook it in a
campervan<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I cook it for a stone
faced man<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I like to kill with
ricin bean<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I like to steal
methylamine<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I like to steal it from
a train<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I like expanding my
domain<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I like to be the very
best<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I like to rule the
whole southwest<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I like to keep from
getting caught<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I like chemistry a lot<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I will blow off half
your face<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I’ll vanish you without
a trace<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I’ll melt you into
sludgy goo<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I’ll throw your pizza
on the roof<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I will be a total dick<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Even though I’m super
sick<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I will melt through any
locks</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I will be the one who
knocks</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Ella Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17577694320378344646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7205118952704807791.post-27612488533118805442013-11-11T09:49:00.000-08:002013-11-11T09:49:08.791-08:00A Letter From a Grandchild<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Dear Grandparents,<br />
<br />
Today is Remembrance Day, so I wanted to write this letter to join all Canadians in thanking you for your contributions. In World War II you fought to create freedom and opportunity for Canada and the rest of the world. In your families you created the freedom and opportunities that have granted so many possibilities to your children and grandchildren. This day is a celebration of your contributions to the war effort, but I also want to thank you for all that you have done in enriching our lives.<br />
<br />
Flight Officer Wilfrid Laurier McCallum, aka "Mac", aka Grandpa. You were a decorated war hero and Spitfire pilot, but to me you will always be the guy with a creampuff on his head. Mom talks about you often, how you were an amazing father and grandfather. How you used to parade my brother and I around and brag about us to everyone you could when we were little.<br />
<br />
Granny, a strong woman who worked in administration through the war. I didn't get a chance to know you well, but I know my life wouldn't have been the same without you. You were largely responsible for promoting Highland Dancing in our family and in Ottawa, which became one of the most important parts of my life. It helped keep me off the couch, but more importantly it built a confidence in me that I wouldn't have otherwise had.<br />
<br />
Grandpa McNaule, without your support I never would have achieved what I did. Your contributions to my dancing earned me countless awards, but I don't think that is what you cared most about. So thank you for enabling me to understand and appreciate my heritage through dance, and for supporting my trips to compete at the World Championships. I'm very lucky to have been your "princess".<br />
<br />
Grandma, watching the end of Boogie Nights with you was one of the best experiences of my entire life :) But more importantly, thanks for your encouragement with my writing and for being my first and biggest fan. I wouldn't let you read that much of it because of all the swearing and stuff, but I know just the fact that I did it meant a lot to you.<br />
<br />
Thank-you to all four of you for being proud of all your amazing grandchildren no matter what. I can only hope that we continue to make you proud.<br />
<br />
As a final note, this Remembrance Day I want to thank all the people who put themselves second to promoting freedom and liberty for everyone. To the development workers who help uphold human security throughout the world, and to relief workers who help people through disasters in their greatest times of need. To the journalists who put themselves on the front lines to keep people accountable for their actions, and enable people who would otherwise be silenced to have a voice. To police and firefighters for their dedication to keeping cities safe. To teachers who enable a society of learning and progress. To doctors and community leaders and anyone else I'm missing whose efforts go toward upholding peace.<br />
<br />
Thanks.<br />
<br /></div>
Ella Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17577694320378344646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7205118952704807791.post-51075746589007992732013-07-24T20:23:00.000-07:002013-07-24T20:23:14.740-07:00The Sombrero Wearing Waiter Who Stabbed My Brother With A Fork<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Recap of discussion with our waiter at Feleena's:<br />
<br />
Me: "Umm, we have a strange request. See, my family has this thing where we pretend to stab each other with forks and then take pictures of it. Can we convince you to stab my brother with a fork for his birthday?"<br />
<br />
Waiter: "Would you like me to wear a sombrero?"<br />
<br />
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Ella Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17577694320378344646noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7205118952704807791.post-68930574773601550642013-05-07T14:32:00.000-07:002020-03-07T06:42:56.220-08:00In Defense of Zach Braff's Kickstarter Campaign<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There has been a lot of controversy lately over whether established "industry" people like Zach Braff should be using www.kickstarter.com as a source of funding for their projects. Is it fair to struggling artists that someone with a massive fan base can just waltz into their beacon of indie-filmmaking hope and score a couple million dollars out of it? Especially considering how many dreams get crushed when projects fail to meet their targets. I certainly understand the skepticism, which has been addressed elsewhere ad nauseum. But I also think there are a lot of advantages that can trickle down to the emerging filmmaker.<br />
<br />
I remember when I wrote my very first script. It was for a video youth program I was in, and I had to give it to someone else to direct it. It ended up being a disastrous mess. So did the next one.<br />
<br />
Filmmakers put a crazy amount of thought and effort into their work, and it really fucking sucks when someone else destroys it. Instead of feeling proud you feel angry and helpless, and maybe even betrayed. And that's the thing about producers. Not to trash talk producers, because they have a crucial role in film production and I love them. But their job is to think about money and how to get the most possible. A Director's job is to try their best to realize their vision. (I know that's oversimplified and a great producer will bring something extra and unique to a project. But the butting-head relationship between a director and a producer is certainly not a new one.)<br />
<br />
My understanding is that one of the reasons Zach Braff turned to the kickstarter program was that greater powers were forcing him to give up some of his creative control. In other words, compromising his vision. One thing that I think is really great about someone as high profile as Zach Braff using this method is that it gives back some autonomy to the creative minds. It demonstrates to producers that if they don't want to respect the decisions of directors there is an alternative route that empowers the director. The rules have changed. It shifts the balance of power in a totally unprecedented way, which I think could be really good for artists.<br />
<br />
People have also been focusing on this being an established industry man seeking funding by a means that is both exploitative to his fans, and unfair to up and coming filmmakers who really truly need this resource. As a starving artist I can definitely appreciate that perspective. But on the other hand, what if, hypothetically, his casting choice gives work to emerging actors, and this could be their big breakthrough role. A producer would want to cast Jennifer Lawrence or Tom Hanks or some other Hollywood A-lister. But maybe this could actually be used as an opportunity to give deserving artists their necessary break. Maybe it actually could benefit the underdog. I mean, I've seen the amount he's requesting and I'm pretty sure it's nowhere close to Brangelina's going rate.<br />
<br />
Another positive aspect of high profile celebrities participating is that it increases awareness about these micro-finance programs. Countless people who would otherwise not know about them are gaining insight and becoming active participants in creating projects of all genres. Sure the vast majority of his financiers are probably only interested in his film, but there are likely other beneficiaries whose projects are being viewed and funded by people who would otherwise not even be on kickstarter. Celebrities are increasing traffic to the site, and I highly doubt that's a bad thing.<br />
<br />
One would seriously hope that celebrities aren't just using it as a cash grab and then bailing. Ideally they're using it as an opportunity to learn about exciting new projects in the works, and helping emerging artists realize their goals. If they're not giving back to the kickstarter community, then I will happily say they are assholes.</div>
Ella Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17577694320378344646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7205118952704807791.post-19750973767722958122013-03-16T22:49:00.002-07:002013-10-22T21:44:07.674-07:00Another Lena Dunham Article<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
In the pilot episode of the award winning HBO series <i>Girls,</i> Lena Dunham's lead character "Hannah" makes a bold and memorable declaration. After getting cut off financially by her parents she tries to win back their money with the statement "I think I might be the voice of my generation". Although she was whacked out on opium tea when she said it, critics have put a lot of stake in these words. Here are a few reasons I think she may be right.<br />
<br />
1. <b>The Do It For Free Generation</b><br />
Hannah is a struggling writer with a great internship that she's had for a really long time, and one day it's going to lead to something really big. For real! Until she gets fired for requesting payment for her efforts. The fact is probably 99% of people working in arts and entertainment have heard the phrase "It's not a paid job, but it's really good experience".<br />
<br />
One of the best ways to make money today is to find a method of giving away other people's stuff for free. Seriously. Since at least the days of Napster, society has held a sense of entitlement where people get angry if they have to pay for things. Particularly creative content. Whether it be music, movies, television, photos, or writing, the internet has pretty much removed all value from it and skewed public perception of what is actually required to produce it. <br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong, I'm broke so I like getting free stuff as much as the next cultural leech. And it's true that many of these positions genuinely are "really good experience". However, one of the reasons why so many people of the Lena Dunham generation are broke is because "experience" isn't an actual currency. At some point people need to eat, and possibly sleep under a roof. However, today's consumers would rather spend five hours looking for the right link and waiting for it to load in crappy quality.<br />
<br />
The result is that Hannah belongs to a generation that has no way of knowing if they should give up or keep going because maybe those five years of volunteer experience really will pay off in the end??? Maybe she really does have a gift that just takes time to be realized. Maybe she really is the voice of her generation. But with the juggling of all the for-free work and education and skills upgrading and the necessary underemployment required to keep from starving to death, young people are spending the most creative years of their lives too overextended and malnourished to actually create anything. <br />
<br />
2. <b>The Post-<i>Sex And The City</i> Generation</b><br />
Fact: Carrie Bradshaw is the devil.<br />
Like so many women of her generation, Hannah and her friends got wrapped up in the idealistically glamorous life of cosmopolitans and Manolo Blahniks and a successful freelance writing career. It all seemed so real! Carrie Bradshaw had boy problems like the rest of us, people gave her dirty looks sometimes, her computer crashed with no backup, and even though she didn't always have her shit together she could still afford $12 brownies. Carrie Bradshaw somehow tricked millions of women into believing in this glossy Vogue fantasy.<br />
<br />
But then it all turned out not to be real!!! :(<br />
<br />
The Lena Dunham experience is like a nightmarish <i>Sex and the City</i> hangover where you realize that daily fancy lunches followed by a quickie with Chris Noth isn't actual life for most people, and for some reason that's really sad. <i>Sex and the City</i> was like Santa Claus for big girls, and <i>Girls</i> is that precise moment when the magic is gone and all that is left under the tree is socks and deodorant and torn up wrapping paper. The culture of entitlement strikes again.<br />
<br />
3. <b>The Voice of My Generation Generation</b><br />
Social definition is a crucial part of identity, so a sense of belonging to a generation is necessary for people. At least in North America. (I need to specify because a friend of mine from India recently explained to me that in India children of all ages grow up playing together, and there is such a huge sense of community that the idea of specific time-coded generations seems like a ridiculous concept. A small part of me agrees, but most of me really misses Bonkers candy and original Nintendo. Gooooooo X/Y Hybrid Generation!) <br />
<br />
Anyway, based on "western" definitions, Generations X and Y and the In-between Generation are all apparently super horny for nostalgia. In articulating whether Care Bears, Ninja Turtles or Power Rangers are the most representative cultural artifact of our time, we decidedly become authorities on defining not only ourselves, but our entire "generation". See, I'm doing it right now!<br />
<br />
The idea that a single person believes they speak for an entire generation is not unique to Lena Dunham, it's an actual generation thing. Our opinions are so much bigger than ourselves. That is probably why there are a billion social media sites to enable all the aspiring voices of generations to have a platform on which to be the voice of their generation. I could just as easily call this section "The OMG I HAVE ALL THE ANSWERS PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO ME Generation". Which is why when Hannah says "I think I might be the voice of my generation" she's actually identifying one of the specific reasons why that's completely true.<br />
<br />
4. <b>The Woman-Hating Feminist Generation</b><br />
Feminism confuses me. A lot of times it seems like it's mostly about hating other women for being the wrong kind of feminist. Instead of being a way to support other women, feminism seems to have become this arena where women are pitted against one another to fight to the death. It is messy and ugly, and totally not what I signed up for.<br />
<br />
In my mind feminism is this happy world where women can vote and be paid equally and have potential for career advancement. They definitely do not get raped or assaulted and then blamed for it. And politicians definitely don't believe that women are equipped with special rape-recognizing uteruses that prevent pregnancy by just "shutting that whole thing down". Women are free to be who they choose to be, free of judgement and contempt. There are also unicorns. In fact, Lena Dunham <i>is</i> a unicorn.<br />
<br />
In a sense feminism is kind of getting at the whole equal opportunity and freedom of expression business, but there is so much debate that everyone comes out looking stupid and evil. Feminism is an intellectual UFC, but instead of providing entertainment it carries the ability to make or break social progress for an entire gender. Feminism is actually kind of terrifying.<br />
<br />
Lena Dunham has become like the personification of the feminism war. She is somehow conveyed as both the exact symbol of feminism and the woman who is destroying the feminist plight at the same time.<br />
<br />
Lena Dunham is a terrible person because:<br />
First, and most obviously, she gets naked and has a lot of sex on her show which perpetuates the oversexualization of women.<br />
Second, she misrepresents herself as someone who understands the plight of the struggling 20-something woman even though she grew up with a silver spoon of caviar. She knows nothing.<br />
Third, she thinks she's so great.<br />
<br />
Lena Dunham is the best feminist ever because:<br />
1. She owns her body and her sexuality and stands up to all the critics who think less than perfect women don't have a right to disrobe.<br />
2. Regardless of how much caviar she ate as a child, the fact is many people like her show because they can identify with it. As much as everyone thinks they're the voice of a generation, the fact is every generation has billions of voices and experiences that no single person can define. But there is no rule against trying, nor should there be. She may not have everyone's story, but she has a story, and it's enjoyable to watch for some people. And luckily for anyone who doesn't enjoy it there is no rule against shutting it off. <br />
3. She has more or less full creative control on one of the most acclaimed shows on television today. She is clearly a smart and hard-working woman whose talent and ambition have led her to success. Maybe we can be happy for her.<br />
<br />
Personally I think feminism expects and demands too much of her. Society definitely does. Maybe she provoked it with the statement "I think I might be the voice of my generation", or maybe it was just a line in a television show that was funny and a little opium inspired and true of her generation. Either way I'm pretty okay with having Lena Dunham as my cultural representative.<br />
<br />
*99.9% of feminists hate me for at least one thing I've said in this note. I am now going to Taylor Swift's Feminist Hell for bad Feminists.</div>
Ella Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17577694320378344646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7205118952704807791.post-88825381334598023152012-12-29T21:00:00.000-08:002012-12-29T21:00:36.491-08:00The Under-domesticated Girl`s Guide to Getting Pot-Lucky (Canadian Edition)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Once upon a time I was young. Being young meant that going to parties involved bringing a very large bottle of vodka and/or a 24 of Canadian, and that was pretty much it. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaXw6RMvH7Mgr_SEqYpwafUr45UWWq8I8eL-LfNp3bEZ4uR4chgyQUSQnMUrcbYQi4YZeW0rAjUBEamKC5UL6R2my31evKzGXUviSEv56btDoiGoRFndSHoVZKK7c7GSj2XgOFaZOYTl8y/s1600/young+people+party.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaXw6RMvH7Mgr_SEqYpwafUr45UWWq8I8eL-LfNp3bEZ4uR4chgyQUSQnMUrcbYQi4YZeW0rAjUBEamKC5UL6R2my31evKzGXUviSEv56btDoiGoRFndSHoVZKK7c7GSj2XgOFaZOYTl8y/s400/young+people+party.png" width="400" /></a></div>
Being a grown-up is different. Gone are the days of people being impressed with your ability to chug 8 litres of hard liquor through a hose without puking for 30 seconds. Now you have to prove to everyone that you are a functional member of society based on your ability to mold fancy hors d`oeuvres into the shape of a swan while holding down a job that grants both medical AND dental benefits, and investing in your child`s Harvard Law future. Adulthood is the worst!<br />
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Being a grown-up does not suit me for many reasons. I am a commitmentophobe who is afraid of babies and I can`t cook at all. Not even a little. I mean, I`ve never actually poisoned anyone with my cooking, but I`ve also never really impressed anyone with it either. Maybe because when I find something I think might be fun to make I start reading the recipe and then just get really bored. The story is always the same: Add salt, stir until thick, cook for blah blah blah... And there`s never any character development!<br />
<br />
Being a grown-up means that you have to pre-plan for parties so you can show off your outstanding culinary skills in a way that is not only delicious, but also clever, whimsical, and adorable. You have to make people at the party say things like "Oh my goodness I think my tongue just had an orgasm", because that is the kind of thing that not-young people like to say at parties and then everyone laughs because it is silly and edgy and hilariously inappropriate. People will tell you that the thing they made was really no big deal and that they just whipped it up at the last minute, but they are lying. Fruit does not naturally come shaped like flowers. You are fooling no-one.<br />
<br />
Being a grown-up means pretending that you are from Europe, so you have classy European habits. And I`m not referring to Henry Miller`s Tropic of Cancer kind of Europe. I mean like stereotype Europe. You can no longer justify that pizza is nutritious because it has cheese and vegetables. You have to have a more sophisticated palate and pretend like Foie Gras isn`t a completely disturbing concept. But here`s the secret weapon that will protect all my fellow under-domesticated grown-ups from being sucked into the culture of adulthood: <i>Grown-ups are nostalgic for their youth</i>.<br />
<br />
So, with that in mind, here are a couple of great ideas from my kitchen to yours on how to Pot Luck with the best of them without surpassing the cooking skills of a 10 year old.<br />
<br />
1. <b>Rolled up Balls of Cookie Dough</b><br />
People like cookies, but approximately 99% of people like raw cookie dough way more. (I made up this statistic. It`s probably correct though.) But you can`t just bring a tube of pre-made store bought cookie dough to a party because that`s really tacky. So what you do is buy the tube of pre-made cookie dough and then roll it into little balls and arrange nicely on a plate that doesn`t showcase the fact that you`re poor. <br />
*Super Fun Twist*<br />
If you, like me, have had a few too many bellinis from Milestones and have been collecting the colourful little plastic animals they put on top, this is a perfect opportunity to put them to use. Place them firmly in the cookie dough balls for a funtastic treat! If you don`t have any little plastic animals, improvise. Be creative. The sky is the limit!<br />
<br />
2. <b>Kraft Dinner with Little Pieces of Hot Dog</b><br />
Prepare two boxes of Kraft Dinner. Follow the instructions or don`t, it`s your call. Make some hot dogs. Cooking method is not important for the hot dogs. Quantity is also up to your discretion. After the hot dogs have been cooked all the way through, cut them up so they make little hot dog circles. Place the hot dog circles in the Kraft Dinner and stir half-heartedly. No need to overexert yourself. Place in serving dish that doesn`t showcase the fact that your poor.<br />
* Vegetarian Twist*<br />
Do not add little pieces of hot dog<br />
*Note*<br />
Also makes for a good hangover snack the next day.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYUSBJNqCg5_alnE40pYNKCtUXS3gsLx7KUDQdbDPMMZFDOUo2F7IEXCDbQc4Fkz5bfy8pNWGiI8m_YHnZXMptokH-sQBkfAaAMldpR-8FBSSqvaN7Tv9-kPikTLIX-6EPSk1eGWwHt7Vs/s1600/kd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYUSBJNqCg5_alnE40pYNKCtUXS3gsLx7KUDQdbDPMMZFDOUo2F7IEXCDbQc4Fkz5bfy8pNWGiI8m_YHnZXMptokH-sQBkfAaAMldpR-8FBSSqvaN7Tv9-kPikTLIX-6EPSk1eGWwHt7Vs/s320/kd.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
3. <b>Bacon</b><br />
Other people will try and outdo you by make something fancy and then wrapping it with bacon, but why mess with a classic? Everybody loves bacon.<br />
<br />
4. <b>1960`s Jello Cake With Fruit Chunks</b><br />
This dessert is both over and under-rated. It is entirely possible that nobody will eat it, but everyone will appreciate you for bringing it. I have not used this one yet. Feel free to let me know how it works out.<br />
<br />
Moral of the story: Being a grown-up is about facing new responsibilities and trying new things, but we all long for reminders of our youth. If we really think hard, being young wasn`t all that great, and we spent most of the time wishing we were grown-ups. Adults get to take the best-of moments and find some campy way of bringing it back to life and sharing it with others who need to be reminded of just how special the Garbage Pail Kids were. Grown-ups will tell you that we hate Call Me Maybe and we only dance to it to be ironic, but deep down we dance to it because it`s fun to be young without all the bullshit. </div>
Ella Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17577694320378344646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7205118952704807791.post-67568845846974116612012-11-24T18:17:00.002-08:002012-11-24T18:19:42.883-08:00Glee: Spirit Fingers in Social Context<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
I was in
the bathtub thinking about how much I love baths. In my head I thought
"Mmmm.... Baaaaaths..." like the way Homer Simpson thinks about
donuts or bacon. But then that led me to a Hanson version, which went
like "MMM BATHS, BA BA DOO BATHS, A DIBBY AH BA DOO BATHS, BA BA
DOOOO..." And then bath time became kind of like a party!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
Fact: I
think in music. I am always rewriting my favourite songs to fit every day
activities. Like that time that I changed Fleetwood Mac`s classic<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>hit<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>"Go
Your Own Way" to "<a href="http://unreleasedandunrecorded.blogspot.ca/2012/11/go-urinate.html" target="_blank">Go Urinate</a>". Or a few weeks ago when I
sang my entire work day to the tune of "Mambo # 5". I
guess it actually started back when I was about 9 and my Ballet carpooling
buddy and I created the great masterpiece entitled *<a href="http://unreleasedandunrecorded.blogspot.ca/2012/11/wind-beneath-my-butt.html" target="_blank">"Wind Beneath MyButt"</a>. My life is a musical, and I`m pretty pleased about
that. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
I think
this is why I`m such a die-hard <a href="http://gleekella.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">Gleek</a>. Some people think it`s silly and
unrealistic how they`re always randomly breaking out into song. But for
people like me an episode of Glee is just a typical day, only with more talent,
better production quality, and fewer fart references. (Actually the fart
jokes pretty much stopped after we nailed the Bette Midler ballad.) So
what if I have a bunch of imaginary back up dancers when I brush my teeth, and
I may or may not occasionally tap-dance while engaging in conversation. (That
second one actually happens kind of a lot. <i>Every day I`m shuffling</i>!)
I only wish I could make it so that everyone I run into each day could
somehow have shiny colour co-ordinated outfits, like for theatrical impact.<o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
I have an
intense sentimental attachment to music. It reminds me of people I love,
and precious moments in life. It has been a catalyst for fun times, and
helped shape and/or figure out who I am. Music is a form of
self-expression because every situation in life, good or bad, has its own
corresponding soundtrack. Music has special superpowers, and is
frequently used for therapeutic and healing purposes. It has even been
used as a tool for peace-building and conflict resolution. Music is
probably my number 3 favourite thing after beagles and facebook, and tied with
Quentin Tarantino.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
It`s a
bit unfortunate that I was born completely devoid of musical talent.
Although that didn`t stop me from almost scoring a recording contract in
Australia for a <a href="http://unreleasedandunrecorded.blogspot.ca/2012/11/just-one-cigarette.html" target="_blank">song</a> I wrote about living in a hostel. I`m kind of a big
deal in Melbourne, which you could probably tell from the part about how I was<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>living in a hostel. Sadly our
duo had to break up immediately after the only time we ever performed it
because of artistic differences. (And because he was trash talking my
girl Lea Michele.) You know how it is. But I still keep the dream
alive that one day Ryan Murphy will catch me singing Don`t Stop Believing in
the shower and then come up to me and say "WE NEED YOU ON GLEE STAT!"
Why, I`d be so excited I`d forget it was weird that Ryan Murphy was
stalking me in the shower!<o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
Moral of
the story:<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>If you have the
imagination to add a little razzle dazzle to your every day life, embrace
it. The world needs more harmony. And spirit fingers. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
*As kind
of a funny aside, one time several years after the Ballet carpooling days I was
meeting up with that same ballerina friend for drinks. I texted her, and
in my message left some kind of reference to Wind Beneath My Butt, thinking I
was being cute. The funny part was that she had actually got a new phone
and I didn`t have the updated number, so I ended up sending the Wind Beneath My
Butt text to some random stranger who responded with "Umm... What!"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
Oh, and
P.S.- Sorry for getting Hanson stuck in everybody`s heads. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
For an archive of all the fun imaginary songs I can remember check out this <a href="http://unreleasedandunrecorded.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">page</a> which I just created.<br />
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Ella Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17577694320378344646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7205118952704807791.post-18746955843236005942012-11-18T23:18:00.000-08:002012-11-18T23:18:28.830-08:00Invisibility: On Looting and Pillaging and the Rise of a New World Order<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The world of science was rocked this week by the brilliant masterminds of Duke University`s Nathan Landy and David R. Smith. Thanks to these guys and their ability to manipulate light or microwaves or whatever, the world is one step closer to succumbing to the Republic of Dumbledore. That`s right, they just figured out what Hollywood mastered in 1933: Invisibility. So, now that man has successfully made a cylinder disappear, it`s only a matter of time before we`re all assaulting each other to get our hands on our own cheap personal invisibility smocks at the nearest Wal-Mart. Scientists, Fuck Yeah!<br />
<br />
But with such close technological proximity to perfect invisibility, we can assume that the authorities are already trying to figure out how to destroy fun. Politicians are no doubt preemptively drafting legislation criminalizing invisibility cloaks due to the inevitable descent into anarchy that would result from mass invisibility. So before <i>the man</i> takes away our right to dream, it`s time to get real and discuss the funtastic adventures that are about to be made possible.<br />
<br />
I decided to do a poll to see what everyone would do with this coveted superpower. After some consultation and preliminary data analysis, I have broken down the possibilities into four main categories: Mischief, prosperity, voyeurism, and indulgence.<br />
<br />
1. Mischief: You could haunt people and make your nemeses totally batshit without all the inconvenience of being dead. Let`s face it, the only real problem with being a ghost is the bit about having to snuff it. Otherwise it`s awesome. Well, problem solved. So go forth and give some asshole a nice good mind fucking. It`ll be hilarious!<br />
<br />
2. Prosperity: Co-ordinate and carry out unnecessarily elaborate bank heists. Then give all the money to charity. Then steal money from people you don`t like it and keep it. I spoke to an engineer who thought this was a terrible idea because the money wouldn`t be invisible and you`d probably end up getting caught and dying in a Bonnie & Clyde style bullet shower. But obviously you would hide the money under the invisibility cloak so that it would be invisible too. Duh! Scientists are just no good at problem solving. That`s why the world needs us Arts students. Anyway, he suggested sitting in on some Fortune 500 company`s finance meetings to get some hot insider trading info. My main concern with that idea is that it wouldn`t be as fun to do crazy invisible ninja moves as it would with the bank heist method. Nevertheless, money`s money and the modus operandi is completely up to you.<br />
<br />
3. Voyeurism: Find out if that girl you`re smitten with has a shrine in your honour in her bedroom that she worships every night before pleasuring herself. Or, sneak into the homes of sexy celebrities and spy on them in the shower. If you`re into that kind of thing. Which I`m not, because I find spying on people really creepy and if you vote for this one I`m deleting you off facebook because you`re probably a creep. Not to mention the fact that I also don`t necessarily want to see the kinds of things that Zach Braff does when he thinks he`s alone, mainly because I`m worried that it could potentially ruin Zach Braff for me. I`m not prepared to sacrifice his perfection or tarnish the integrity of "Scrubs" in any way. So I`ll just stick to the ZB shrine. (Just kidding. As previously confessed my<a href="http://insidetheanthole.blogspot.ca/2012/07/i-totally-forgot-i-have-key-to-city.html" target="_blank"> bedroom shrine is reserved for the United Nations Secretary Generals</a>.)<br />
<br />
4. Indulgence: Of course there`s the obvious hopping on planes to see the world, or sneaking into movie theatres so you can be the first to see "American Pie 87: My Great Great Grandchildren are Jerking off with Baked Goods and Woodwind Instruments... Again". But you could also take gluttony to a whole new level and make fat pants a thing of the past. When you`re bloated and disgusting you don`t have to worry about people judging you on your gross poutine stained elastic waist jogging pants. Go steal another wad of chocolate chip cookie dough and just give er! (Did that sound Canadian? That totally sounded Canadian!)<br />
<br />
Moral of the story: Science is awesome, and why are we worrying about China when Hogwartz is the real threat to American hegemony? Seriously, I just discovered today that my city has its own Quidditch league, but no discernible public transit system. Is nobody else threatened by the fact that pretty soon all of our research money will be contributed to figuring out how to turn ourselves into cats? And quidditch?! Really?! Because a game that involves running around on a broom is obviously not lame at all. On the other hand, beats the hell out of hockey!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8r_DeQfqfY8w_8PdSWjcGObZeha8C9_fMSXT35_8Mb_jQySnrFBpAIzWS3tN8yrUKL4WwrYaLhyP9BiXK8QJvJFgZLPyAEwKHvaARKOEMhX0iDJCSsnxA8s1WGS644mH_H_uLEuZpAYpO/s1600/invisible+man.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8r_DeQfqfY8w_8PdSWjcGObZeha8C9_fMSXT35_8Mb_jQySnrFBpAIzWS3tN8yrUKL4WwrYaLhyP9BiXK8QJvJFgZLPyAEwKHvaARKOEMhX0iDJCSsnxA8s1WGS644mH_H_uLEuZpAYpO/s640/invisible+man.jpg" width="420" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">History of Invisibility: 1933- Score one for the arts kids!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Ella Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17577694320378344646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7205118952704807791.post-72958165144958681932012-11-04T16:33:00.000-08:002012-11-10T09:33:34.868-08:00Siri: The Worst Technological Advance Since... Ever<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I am a connoisseur of crappy phones. I have had a magnificent series of six cell phones that are less useful than those Fisher Price phones from 1962 with blue wheels and a giant creepy happy face that says "age 3 and up" on the box. (Okay, I just checked and it`s actually age one and up, but who`s counting?) The point is, these phones are designed for people who have not yet developed to the stage of verbal communication, and they are still better than all of my crappy phones. This is probably because my strategy for purchasing a telephone goes as follows:<br />
<br />
<u>INT. TELECOMMUNICATIONS RETAIL OUTLET- DAY</u><br />
Me: "Please point to your cheapest phone."<br />
<i>Sales representative points to piece of shit that obviously won`t work because it pre-dates the invention of fire.</i><br />
Me: "I will take that one please!"<br />
<br />
Sometimes I get jealous of people who have cool phones that do tricks like connect to the internet, or download apps, or send and receive text messages, or ring when somebody calls you... But I don`t need all those bells and whistles. In all honesty I`m just not a phone kind of girl. The only reason I even got one in the first place was so that employers could contact me. And now that I have a job it`s only real purpose is texting Kate every time I see a cute boy wearing a suit. (Although I can`t even do that anymore because my texting functions have inexplicably ceased :s) So in general I don`t really care that you left me a voicemail three days ago which I didn`t get because my phone is so crappy that it had no way of indicating to me that it happened. If it`s that important you should have just sent me a message on facebook.<br />
<br />
One so-called "development" in telecommunications that makes me NOT regret my refusal to upgrade is Siri. Apple marketing cleverly conveyed this as a tool that enables you to find information more efficiently. However, as we have all now figured out, it is pretty much exclusively designed to say funny shit when you ask it about penises and not be helpful in any practical way. One of the many reasons Steve Jobs is considered a legend I suppose.<br />
<br />
Perhaps my anti-Siri mentality stems from the fact that the first time I was introduced to <i>her</i> was when my friend asked a question about me and <i>she</i> responded with some kind of poop reference. Cass thought it was funny. I thought Siri was an asshole. So Cass made another attempt to ask Siri a question about me, and again Siri made another poop reference. I have hated Siri ever since.<br />
<br />
Due to my undying contempt for Siri it has been impossible for me to remain objective in my opinions of <i>her</i> value to society. But I believe a recap of Kate`s discussion this afternoon with Siri will speak for itself.<br />
<br />
Kate: Siri, where is the closest Tim Hortons?<br />
Siri: I have located five airports nearby. Would you like to know where they are?<br />
Kate: No, Siri. Where is the closest Tim Hortons?<br />
Siri: There are two K-Marts, but neither is very close. Would you like to know where they are?<br />
Kate: God damnit Siri you fucking suck you stupid piece of shit!!!!<br />
Siri: Have I done something wrong?<br />
Kate: Yes you stupid dumb bitch.<br />
Siri: I`m sorry, I`m doing my best.<br />
Kate: Oh, now I feel bad... Siri, where is the nearest Tim Hortons?...<br />
<br />
Moral of the story: Even though my phone serves no practical function whatsoever, and in fact is so useless that it won`t even let me change the time settings for daylight savings, at least it doesn`t compare me to poop. And that`s good enough for me!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-rOj5QSJdG0XB3JUMuV-wKOPLD2Opo_523z_b356FEQpC-yYb7N7v8K4NJ8_s6lxXnk6dpa8iNkZ1mmSWh_RfU2A27B1moR60jbBL2uWIsaR9jd9lOJ7ipAU3OicI7CNGZYvQKzcQCiv_/s1600/toy+phone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-rOj5QSJdG0XB3JUMuV-wKOPLD2Opo_523z_b356FEQpC-yYb7N7v8K4NJ8_s6lxXnk6dpa8iNkZ1mmSWh_RfU2A27B1moR60jbBL2uWIsaR9jd9lOJ7ipAU3OicI7CNGZYvQKzcQCiv_/s320/toy+phone.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Better than my phone.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOHataoO6Oxwm_pYCLwFSE0vczp_fqalwgIsIa_Dlkt9XrmfnamJeH9FIq3p82d2BURVIBPHcAXBnBpYy1Q7uAZseIDuY7mYwF3z1a3NxIh2zH8_AmkuQaHurQ2dX-vdH7bG1X6H76kq3C/s1600/IMG_1706.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOHataoO6Oxwm_pYCLwFSE0vczp_fqalwgIsIa_Dlkt9XrmfnamJeH9FIq3p82d2BURVIBPHcAXBnBpYy1Q7uAZseIDuY7mYwF3z1a3NxIh2zH8_AmkuQaHurQ2dX-vdH7bG1X6H76kq3C/s320/IMG_1706.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My phone</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLJXtF3sfoiPDxKbcJAfk1uDuIpdu1sTkMvWy2A7ty0GePeM1UmYFkjRWR144b_VbwP2DXVRa8SN8dg2olbm-y2azpt0swk50FKqa0A7eZFQH-zdCBV-Ruon2Wilj3DN7AmiIA7vFfrNCd/s1600/IMG_1710.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLJXtF3sfoiPDxKbcJAfk1uDuIpdu1sTkMvWy2A7ty0GePeM1UmYFkjRWR144b_VbwP2DXVRa8SN8dg2olbm-y2azpt0swk50FKqa0A7eZFQH-zdCBV-Ruon2Wilj3DN7AmiIA7vFfrNCd/s320/IMG_1710.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My phone trying to send a text message</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglT1sD9IePre5xPRDyHSaDb8DUyJY6wqjhvlgEqMA6jCJisgSoGMxp1g8iAL8deRITCG8_q1UHs1DZxDWijcnv4LrYWuCPiNdyJkc5_3POv-V5qPuvl40QfXKNwmbAnYo-CLSV05Cr5edj/s1600/IMG_1711.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglT1sD9IePre5xPRDyHSaDb8DUyJY6wqjhvlgEqMA6jCJisgSoGMxp1g8iAL8deRITCG8_q1UHs1DZxDWijcnv4LrYWuCPiNdyJkc5_3POv-V5qPuvl40QfXKNwmbAnYo-CLSV05Cr5edj/s320/IMG_1711.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My phone when I tried to adjust for daylight savings time</td></tr>
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Ella Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17577694320378344646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7205118952704807791.post-39759930379930559862012-10-07T10:39:00.000-07:002012-11-17T13:23:17.683-08:00Normaling in Public With Betsy Fisher Fernandez<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Me and *Betsy Fisher-Fernandez go way back. Let`s just call her BFF for short. We first met as lovable young hooligans at your friendly neighbourhood alternate school. Yup, BFF and I were bad little apples. Not <i>so</i> bad, but not really very good apples either. Really we were artists, so let`s just go with "misunderstood" apples.<br />
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We met a day before our city was buried under a trillion feet of ice and declared a state of emergency thanks to the ice storm of 1998. Her favourite movie was Titanic and we both had bad intentions for Leonardo Dicaprio.<br />
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In our early days we used to wear short skirts and push up bras and go to Hull where the legal drinking age was a year younger than it was in Ontario so we could cause a little trouble, break a few hearts, and dance like we had been choreographed by Bob Fosse himself. In fact one time we rented Sweet Charity and then went to Mercury Lounge to try out some new moves. They worked. We were awesome! One time we even danced for socks. We would order Slow Comfortable Screws Up Against the Wall (the drink), and since we were regulars and the bartenders knew us too well, it went without saying that we would require a whole lot of maraschino cherries. It was a magical time in our lives where we didn`t have to worry that much about things like essays or deadlines or job stability or cellulite. We pretty much owned the world. </div>
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At the end of the night BFF and I would stumble home and crash on my couch and watch A Clockwork Orange until we fell asleep, which was usually about an hour in. Eventually we would learn to start the movie from the point where we left off the time before so we wouldn`t have to keep watching the same part over and over again. And when we finally finished watching the whole thing BFF decided we could never watch it again because we had watched it way too many times to be healthy. I still watch it because it`s amazing. This possibly makes me a terrible person.</div>
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When I broke up with my first love and boyfriend of five-ish years, BFF came over and we ate a bunch of ice cream and watched all three Harry Potter movies. (This was a while ago) When things have gone wrong in her love life I swore I would punch the bastard because I don`t like people fucking with my BFF. Let this be a lesson to all you boys who think she`s cute. And she definitely is. If you hurt her I will break you in half.</div>
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Even in our darkest days, BFF and I always had a plan. We would sit in the middle of a field in the middle of the night singing House of the Rising Sun with some vodka mixed with a can of frozen orange juice and plot our futures. We were definitely both going to be famous. We would definitely make each other famous with our mad skills. Although not our mad singing skills because we both totally sucked at that. But we made a bunch of videos together and wrote some songs, and nearly 15 years later we`re planning feature length films and television series and other wild adventures. Like how one day we`re going to rent a slick convertible and drive really fast from Los Angeles to Vegas and get dinosaur tails and fake bats for photo ops. But no point in mentioning those bats. You poor bastards will see them soon enough.</div>
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But then one day she moved to the other side of the country, and in case you`re not a Geography expert, Canada`s a pretty damn big country. And then I moved to the other side of the Earth. And then I moved even further to the other side of the Earth. So there were a lot of years where I didn`t see too much of BFF at all because we were really really far apart.</div>
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So finally we are back in the same time zone. In fact, we`re back in the city where it all began. So last night BFF needed to go to Wal-Mart to pick up a clothing steamer, because she wears the kind of stuff and does the kinds of things that require a clothing steamer now. So on a Saturday night that used to be filled with wild and crazy adventures, we were busy picking out towels to match her bathroom and buying pita and hummous to snack on while we watched Titanic.</div>
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There`s an episode of 30 Rock where Jenna and Paul discover this crazy new fetish called "normaling" where they go to Bed Bath and Beyond to pick out placemats and it can`t possibly be normal because Jenna and Paul don`t do normal. This is exactly how last night felt at Wal-Mart, because Ella and Betsy don`t do normal. We`re fucking artists! But it turns out that despite all our wild times we grew up and kinda got normal.</div>
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Moral of the story: BFFs are like a chronicle of your life. Better than a diary because you can relive all the fun times and the story seems to keep getting better every time. They are like having your own personal CIA because they know all your secrets and they`ll put you on a watch list if they know you`re about to do something totally idiotic. They go through all the phases of life with you from being little shitheads to shopping for towels. And best of all they inspire you so that when you`re really angry about having to come back to Ottawa after two years of gallivanting around the world it ends up being not so bad.</div>
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*Her name is not really Betsy, but was changed because she didn`t want anyone to know that she was watching Titanic instead of independent art films last night.</div>
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Ella Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17577694320378344646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7205118952704807791.post-62301291737487206682012-10-05T00:59:00.001-07:002012-10-05T01:15:53.351-07:00Church & State Penitentiary<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> You know when some
asshole says “no offense” and then immediately launches into a completely
offensive tirade that makes you want to punch him in the face</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">?</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But instead of thinking “it`s cool, he said
no offense”, you think “that guy is a fucking asshole!”</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Well that is how I feel about Canada`s Public
Safety Minister Vic Toews right now.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> Let`s just say the
Conservative Government`s idea of “religious freedom” differs slightly from my
own view. I`m of the thought school that
goes something like “believe whatever you want just don`t hurt anybody”. Theirs tends to be more along the lines of “everyone
is free to be Christian, and by Christian I mean specifically the kind that
judges everyone and spits all over the grave of equal rights”. Maybe I`d feel a little better if it was more
like the Jesusy kind of Christianity that`s all loving thy neighbour and don`t
treat them like shit and stuff. But it`s
not. So I guess it shouldn`t have been
that much of a surprise to learn that the government is eliminating essentially all
non-Christian chaplains from federal penitentiaries. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> According to a <a href="http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/british-columbia/story/2012/10/04/bc-non-christian-prison-chaplains-cancelled.html" target="_blank">CBC article</a>, the government has decided that Christian chaplains are in
a unique position to cater to all religious beliefs and provide the services of
all of them. Since apparently Christians
are the only ones possessing this incredible skill of universal guidance, getting
rid of all the other ones was the only logical option. This one`s for you taxpayers!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> Here`s the thing that
economics doesn`t explain away: Why are Christians exclusively able to provide
interfaith teachings</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">?</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Who decided this,
and what was the criteria for their decision<o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Vic Toews stated that he “strongly supports the
freedom of religion for all Canadians, including prisoners”. So in other words it`s not actually religious
discrimination because Sikhs, Buddhists, Muslims, Hindus and Christians are all
equally allowed to be Christian. Yay Canadian rewrite of equality<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">!</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> HOW IS THIS OKAY<o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">?</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">?</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> In addition to being
an incredibly blatant rejection of the right to religious freedom as outlined in
the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, this decision demeans the work of
all non-Christian spiritual leaders who have devoted their lives to their faith
and strive to develop a deeper understanding of that faith. Then they use that passion to help inmates
through some of the most difficult times of their lives. And Vic Toews reduces their work by saying “well
this guy`s a Christian so he can probably do it”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Moral of the story: If you say you`re not a douchebag and then say
something douchy, you`re still a douchebag.
There is no magical non-douchebag cloak that you get for preceding
bullshit with the words “no offense”, or “I`m no racist ”, or “I`m all for equality,
but...” If you find yourself using
disclaimers like these, you are probably a dickhead. Just like if you are the Minister of Public
Safety and find yourself saying you`re “not in the business of picking and
choosing which religions will be given preferential status through government
funding” and then proceed to cut the jobs of everyone not affiliated with a particular
religion, it turns out that is exactly the business you are in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Ella Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17577694320378344646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7205118952704807791.post-38145086501508473582012-08-25T22:00:00.000-07:002012-08-25T22:06:52.056-07:00iLove The Captain<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Saying goodbye has never been easy for me. I`m a total disaster at funerals, I cried a little when Silverchair disbanded, I cried A LOT when Finchel broke up, and I still haven`t come to terms with the fact that Bonkers candy no longer exists even though I`ve had like a quarter of a century to get over it. So if I need Prozac over fruity little cube shaped candies, you can imagine how emotional it is for me when a beautiful relationship of almost five years comes to an end. This week I finally had to accept the DNR order on my laptop, and now I pretty much just want to eat an entire tube of chocolate chip cookie dough every single hour while I weep and listen to 90`s grunge death ballads and never again see the sun. I did not just lose a machine, I lost my first electronic love.<br />
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I remember the day I first brought it home. My friend Eric helped me pick it out and I told him I was going to name it. I didn`t actually have a name in mind, but I just knew the right name would come to me. As Eric and I were setting it up (and by that I mean as I sat around being really confused while I watched Eric set it up), I suddenly referred to it as "The Captain". As sure as I knew when I was three that my new baby brother`s name should be Pork Chop, and when I was seven that my new beagle`s name should be Bagel, I knew that my computer`s name was The Captain. <br />
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People argue that losing a computer is no big deal because you can just head down to the nearest Future Shop and find a really cheap replacement, but the relationship between a girl and her first laptop is so much deeper. This computer was with me through the best of times and the worst of times. It has kept me in touch with friends through all our comings and goings, connected me with amazing people I thought I`d never see again, and it provided the skype that let me share Christmas with my family despite me being in the middle of nowhere on the opposite side of the planet. It pulled all-nighters with me while I wrote papers, it helped me with the research for said papers, and I can`t help but give it some of the credit for my graduation from University. It has been my true partner in crime through all my wacky creative endeavours, and ultimately served as an extension of my own mind. No matter how tough things got, it encouraged me to never stop believing. (Although that`s mainly because I listen to too much Journey on iTunes.) We shared secrets, and laughs, and tears, and bad decisions, and most importantly memories. It made miracles happen.<br />
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I know we`ve had some hard times and occasionally I threatened to throw it into the middle of an ocean full of really hungry computer eating sharks, but no matter how many times it crashed or failed me it was no worse than dumb shit ex-boyfriends have done. (Example: My computer never once asked for a threesome with a chick he said was hotter than me. Can`t say that about *Dipshit. *Not his actual name.) The fact is, like any relationship there are going to be some rocky patches, but in the end a computer is there for you no matter how many stupid things you make it do.<br />
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I bought a new laptop, but it`s just not the same. It`s different, and awkward, and it refuses to stop being French, even though I`ve tried every single keyboard language setting cure Yahoo Answers has prescribed. But it`s still being a stupid asshole. You know what new computer with a name that is dangerously close to becoming Dipshit II, there are times in life when a girl needs to build a fucking question mark and an É just won`t suffice!<br />
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Moral of the story: A great laptop is about more than just its model. It`s about sharing your hopes and dreams, and doing everything in its power to help you to realize those ambitions. It provides moral support, whether it`s playing Journey over and over, or letting you talk to mom when it won`t stop raining in Korea and there`s jumping spiders all over your porch and the big mean boss keeps stealing all of your money. It does not judge you, but provides the voice of reason by saying things like "are you sure you don`t want to save that?" or "do you <em>really</em> want to send that?" In conclusion, you can always buy a new computer, but you can never replace an old one.<br />
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Ella Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17577694320378344646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7205118952704807791.post-8193707022939424262012-08-08T23:45:00.001-07:002012-08-10T19:48:07.075-07:00There's a Witch in the Bathroom<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When I was little I figured out there was a witch in the bathroom. Not my bathroom specifically, all bathrooms. Every single bathroom in the entire universe contained a witch, and that was the scariest thing ever.<br />
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The witch would mostly be asleep all the time, and it wouldn't wake up as long as you were just doing your business. But once you flushed the toilet it was game over. The witch would hunt you down and kill you and then perform evil rituals on your mutilated body. This was a fact.<br />
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But when you gotta go you gotta go, witches be damned. And refusing to flush the toilet is just gross. So my only option was to run as fast as I could out of the bathroom the instant I flushed. Bathroom witches can never leave the bathroom, so once you were out that door you were home free and the witch could suck it. (I understand this presented some sanitary issues, what with not washing my hands and all, but I was like four and there was a fucking witch after me so what are you gonna do?)<br />
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Four year olds think all kinds of crazy shit, but here's the confession: I still kind of do this. Don't get me wrong, I don't go racing out of the bathroom with pee all over my hands or anything, but that's because I learned to take preventive action. To this day every time I see a closed shower curtain I will check behind it to confirm a witch-free pee. If you are one of those people with a cute clever shower curtain and you want to show it off to all your house guests, as far as I'm concerned you are an accessory.<br />
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At this point it is basically just force of habit. I don't actually think there are witches in your shower. However, what happens if the one time I don't do my witch-proofing there actually is a witch? I end up with a giant pentagram carved into my chest and Alanis Morissette writes me into a song about irony. Fuck that!<br />
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Moral of the story: There is such a thing as being overly cautious. It's probably not necessary that I look for witches in bathtubs, or show up at job interviews three hours early, or spend the night in an airport for a flight that leaves at 10am. But if I don't do these things I will go crazy. If I have to choose between being inconvenienced and being crazy then inconvenience wins. We all have our weird things that bring us comfort and security, and if checking for witches in the shower until the day you die is what it takes to fend off the inner psycho, then I say go for it. Plus it works, I've never once had a witch encounter in the crapper.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEAPScjdrYWcfW3UVQVTMpUb_vzHzP1wimywONw9zvs8cnl5e2CWM5gcfFxyR03jBewGO2wT5Rslut6hNaHYnputm6Tlv1SXwOa9DMzPEVUUtb88yorZwCwMycSk0O15cdylKSr9UaTpZO/s1600/hb+witch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEAPScjdrYWcfW3UVQVTMpUb_vzHzP1wimywONw9zvs8cnl5e2CWM5gcfFxyR03jBewGO2wT5Rslut6hNaHYnputm6Tlv1SXwOa9DMzPEVUUtb88yorZwCwMycSk0O15cdylKSr9UaTpZO/s400/hb+witch.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Super scary witch <3</td></tr>
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<br /></div>Ella Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17577694320378344646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7205118952704807791.post-7327353468883905312012-07-19T06:17:00.000-07:002012-08-10T09:37:59.951-07:00I Totally Forgot I Have the Key to a City<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I require a job.<br />
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Like many people do when they require a job I decided to hit up the interweb for its infinite wisdom and then got depressed about how I'm pretty much horrible at everything especially reading French, speaking French, and writing French. ...And anything related to computers. Yes, I am that amazing genius who thought that fabulous high paying jobs would just fall into the lap of a unilingual <a href="http://insidetheanthole.blogspot.ca/2011/09/i-dont-have-iphone-now-i-cant.html" target="_blank">technologically inept</a> Canadian Political Science graduate, because if there's two things Political Science is known for its the spectacular employability factor and not being a hilarious joke degree. #LifeChoiceFail<br />
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Anyway, I was going through some Government job opportunities when I discovered a vacancy at DFAIT. Keeping in mind that I love International Relations SOOOO MUCH that I literally have pictures of all the United Nations Secretary Generals on my bedroom wall (not kidding), the idea of working in Foreign Affairs and International Trade hit me like if Quentin Tarantino had just offered me a seven figure salary position with the Department of Puppies Chocolate and Jared Leto.<br />
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I NEEDED THIS PUPPY JOB! <br />
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So I started filling out the application. Turns out there's a crazy number of questions and components, which I guess is good because it means that the Canadian Federal Government only selects the country's *best and brightest (*people with enough patience to sit through the 95 hour application process) to be its photocopy bitch. (Kind of like how it probably selected the 'best and brightest' to provide the top notch Parliamentary "security" that enabled Greenpeace to get onto the roof of West Block and hang a banner effectively declaring the incompetence of the House of Commons in 2009, but that is for another post.) So, as I was trying to explain to the department of Jordan Catalano how I am the next shining star of Canadian civil service because Kofi Annan is like my Justin Bieber, I came across a question involving my experience with etiquette and dignitaries.<br />
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Every once in a while I get this sudden realization that my life is totally insane. It's basically a tornado of destruction and then when that's over the tornado is all like "hey sorry for making a big crazy mess, here's a bunch of diamonds that were ethically extracted and for which the miners were paid fair wages for their labour". Exactly, it makes no sense! <br />
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The reason for this epiphany was that a few years ago when I was in Sierra Leone I got the Key to the City. The city of Kenema, to be specific. Somehow I had forgotten this. Reagan and I spent the whole day meeting with Mayors and various officials and being paraded around like superstars to the the point where it was questionable if we could actually get our documentary completed in time. It was very strange and flattering, and I wondered if that's what DFAIT had in mind when it asked me about my experience with official visits and etiquette. And that got me thinking about how strange my life has to be to not remember holding the Key to a City in western Africa for a week. <br />
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Things happen to me. Like in a Forrest Gump kinda way. For example there was that time I called up my friend Kate from Boston to say "Hey Kate I gotta go because I'm in Boston about to meet Hillary Clinton". Then there was the media paparazzi that followed me for a week and a live interview via satellite on Canada am. Then a couple of weeks later I celebrated my victory as Communications Director for the Political Science Society by getting drunk and dancing to Journey at the home of the Ambassador to Uruguay. Then there was that fortnight that had me randomly seated for dinner next to two African dignitaries on two completely separate occasions after some development speeches I gave on behalf of Engineers Without Borders. This all happened within 4 months of commencing my degree in Political Science. After that <a href="http://insidetheanthole.blogspot.ca/2011/09/oliviack-my-personal-tribute-to-jack.html" target="_blank">Olivia Chow became my exercise buddy, and I couchsurfed at Jack Layton's house</a> a few times. I guess you could say Political Science was actually very becoming of me.<br />
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But it's not just Political Science that has led to random strange and amazing experiences. As a dancer I have choreographed and performed solo on the mainstage of the National Arts Centre, and I even got to do a bunch of fouettees in front of a lot of people which is a really big deal to me. I have won a few Championships, and represented Ontario at the Canadian Championships, and even taken home a medal from Worlds. As a filmmaker I have had the privilege of going to Cannes Film Festival, and as a writer I was pretty stoked to get included in <a href="http://hellogiggles.com/job-interviews" target="_blank">Zooey Deschanel's HelloGiggles website</a>. Things just have this bizarre way of happening for me.<br />
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I never know where my life is going more than six weeks in advance. Last year I was joking with a friend after I had just returned from seven months in Asia about how we should get together before I ship out again. We both knew I would be in Ottawa for a while though, so it was all just fun and games. A month later I was living in Australia. I gave about a month's notice when I ran off to Korea.<br />
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I know I seem like a flake because I do a zillion different things so employers look at my resume and think I'm a trainwreck. (Plus I cry all the time and have no eyebrows.) But here's the thing: I make shit happen. I seize opportunities and I commit. Okay, I'm kind of a flake, but seriously employers how many other resumes have you seen with Cannes Film Festival, World Championship Dance Medals, HelloGiggles, AND a Key to a City on it? Probably not <i>that</i> many!<br />
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Moral of the Story: I'm still trying to decide. It's either to follow your heart and do what you love and enjoy the random crazy opportunities that exist in life, or it's to follow logic and reason so you don't end up a broke nomadic hipster bum that doesn't speak French. 99% of the time option A will be kind of disastrous, but in the other 1% of the time you remember that at one point in life you had the Key to a City and then it all sort of makes sense. Also don't take Political Science unless you really want to be poor.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">told you i have pictures of all the united nations secretary generals on my wall!</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgLD4xePg6cLDUsvSWKPLBmg0tOeqiIcTOjp3GWxDizMRHYflCegv0WFdrCwjxfxdhH9Kluoj7SjZkhbGYCGhrI2yi50vpMvybv9U4QyiaxVi5AsXfxygNhLh3L73k_3IMfuuh-OJ_vqOd/s1600/key+to+city.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgLD4xePg6cLDUsvSWKPLBmg0tOeqiIcTOjp3GWxDizMRHYflCegv0WFdrCwjxfxdhH9Kluoj7SjZkhbGYCGhrI2yi50vpMvybv9U4QyiaxVi5AsXfxygNhLh3L73k_3IMfuuh-OJ_vqOd/s400/key+to+city.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting the key to the city in Kenema.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>Ella Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17577694320378344646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7205118952704807791.post-87495619170099773552012-06-23T07:52:00.000-07:002012-08-10T09:49:49.575-07:00Oh Canada, Your Traffic Infrastructure is So Sexy!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Millions of years ago (give or take), a small round revolutionary creation emerged from the depths of human imagination. It was an idea that enhanced efficiency and capability, and is arguably the second greatest invention of all time after facebook. That invention is, of course, the wheel, and I am deathly afraid of it.<br />
<br />
You know that old urban legend about the girl who never learned how to ride a bike even though she was over the age of seven? Well, myth busted because that girl is me. I also tried driving but hated it because I was constantly paranoid that I would crash and die or be the accidental perpetrator of somebody else's death. In the words of Tweak: "TOO MUCH PRESSURE!!!"<br />
<br />
I pretty much view every single thing with wheels as a death machine, be it a train, or a car, or those stupid little wheel things kids put on their sneakers. I am convinced they will somehow roll to their bloody death, possibly by rolling into oncoming traffic where they will be slaughtered by something bigger with wheels, or maybe they will roll down the stairs and shatter their skulls. Or, alternatively, they will just bump into me and I will have to kill them out of sheer annoyance. Regardless, my eternal pessimism refuses to see these sneaker wheels as a fun toy, but instead as the driving force behind the apocalypse. <br />
<br />
I. HATE. WHEELS.<br />
<br />
This is how I felt even before I travelled to India. And now, after riding on the back of motorbikes clinging for dear life as cars, bikes, rickshaws and a variety of barnyard animals come at me from every direction without any logic or order, I am absolutely certain that wheels were created by a sadistic fuck who preyed on chaos and human misery.<br />
<br />
<u><b>A Portrait of India</b></u> <br />
What appears to a Canadian as a two lane road, in India is actually more like a 20-25 lane road. There is no such thing as the "three second rule", or "safe distance". The way it works is if there is even a tiny amount of space on the road you are required to fill it somehow, even if it doesn't make any sense to. If the oncoming car is at least 3 meters away, the general passing rule is "I can make it!"<br />
<br />
NO!!! YOU CAN'T MAKE IT!!!!!! YOU WILL GET STUCK OR CRASH FOR SURE AND IT WILL MAKE AN EVEN BIGGER MESS AND P.S. YOU MIGHT GET DEAD!!!<br />
<br />
In India the horn is a solution to everything, which is hilarious because there are signs everywhere saying "Do not honk your horn". Maybe honking is supposed to serve as some kind of crash prevention method, but my theory is that it's actually to drown out the blood-curdling screams of tourists yelling "HOLY SHIT TELL MY MOTHER I LOVE HER!!!!!!!!!!"<br />
<br />
As a pedestrian you have to be aggressive if you want to get anywhere. This sucks for me because when I look and see a zillion cars and a bunch of cows coming at me I become paralyzed with fear and my brain rejects all crossing "opportunities", even if they do actually exist kind of. Example: I spent 20 minutes trying to cross the street to get to the Red Fort in Delhi. Then I gave up, went crazy, and decided I hate India. So I took a break at McDonalds with a bunch of Chicken McNuggets and then decided to try again because I really wanted to take pretty pictures. I ended up making it, but my pictures turned out bad and I am still angry about the whole thing.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq1Vmq76fuVULD8-J8C08aI_bHg82lovnOyNWJDuhV9_ZLRSNj4pAG8goFPEYe-SgzF6fvnRqWrzOoUc4-F6oLBIRcpAGH1mGkxan1abBTlkfo_ICoI_4nnwprpsLvmA-0BKztcndQlEje/s1600/red+fort.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq1Vmq76fuVULD8-J8C08aI_bHg82lovnOyNWJDuhV9_ZLRSNj4pAG8goFPEYe-SgzF6fvnRqWrzOoUc4-F6oLBIRcpAGH1mGkxan1abBTlkfo_ICoI_4nnwprpsLvmA-0BKztcndQlEje/s400/red+fort.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yup, I risked my life for this photo!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
In a couple of weeks I will be out of Asia and back on the orderly roads of my home and native land. I have loved many things and will miss many things about India, but the traffic is not among them. I look forward to Canada, where there will be traffic lights and driving laws and it will be glorious. In fact, I may end up getting all cocky and strut confidently into oncoming traffic Marla Singer style dramatically yelling "Who are you anyway? Cornelius? Rupert?..." JUST BECAUSE I CAN! (And also because I'm a sucker for misguided violent movie references)<br />
<br />
Moral of the story: Dear Canada, I love you for your traffic infrastructure. I promise to never take you for granted, or cheat on you by loving another traffic infrastructure more. You are the only traffic infrastructure for me. I kind of wish you'd lose the snow and the hockey and the conservative government, but hey, can't have it all right? Anyway, I wrote you this song which I would proudly hold my hand over my heart and sing any day:<br />
<br />
Oh Canada, your road signs are so clear<br />
And 'cuz of that I walk with much less fear<br />
When the light is red people stop their cars<br />
So that they don't hit me<br />
Stuff like that is cool for pedestrians<br />
Who want not squished to be<br />
God keep our lanes<br />
Marked, well-lit and free<br />
Oh Canada your passing laws are sweet<br />
Oh Canada your pavement's so sexy<br />
<br />
(I think that was probably some sort of treason or something)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilsqrUhKYUG2vzsyKfjH9lIEhMjggse8rNHqUFb2t12ldrzRcolFb3EP94_nBxGCSctNbR6hrdlxP2fciP1i_ezshrOyl4kMAsFiw4JB5QpUhx_Jmacx_cUhlsoT2AoCPwY8rX4OR16m4E/s1600/traffic+india.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilsqrUhKYUG2vzsyKfjH9lIEhMjggse8rNHqUFb2t12ldrzRcolFb3EP94_nBxGCSctNbR6hrdlxP2fciP1i_ezshrOyl4kMAsFiw4JB5QpUhx_Jmacx_cUhlsoT2AoCPwY8rX4OR16m4E/s400/traffic+india.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br /></div>Ella Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17577694320378344646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7205118952704807791.post-84877354668645629062012-06-13T05:55:00.000-07:002012-08-25T22:26:58.505-07:00Travelling Light<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My flight to Singapore was scheduled to depart at 6:20am, which meant check-in was theoretically to begin around 3:20am. After spending the night at the Bali airport Starbucks (which was actually closed but they had an outdoor seating area popular with local mosquitoes), it was finally time to go check in. However, check in was delayed for a while and didn't end up beginning until closer to 4:30am.<br />
<br />
When I finally got my boarding pass I noticed something interesting. There was no checked baggage allowance. "Impossible!" I thought. I always remember to book checked baggage, surely it had to be a mistake. I am never wrong! So I asked at the desk and they assured me that there was, in fact, no checked baggage for me :*(<br />
<br />
THIS WAS A DISASTER!!! <br />
<br />
I was down to my final rupiahs and I absolutely refused to pay extra for checked baggage. The only solution was to improvise and try to stuff every single thing I owned into a tiny carry on suitcase that I was not able to expand due to size restrictions. I knew it was not going to be easy. So, with less than an hour left until scheduled boarding time I dumped everything I had onto the floor and began making some fast and terrifying decisions about the fate of my stuff.<br />
<br />
After a brief panic attack I started sorting everything into piles with imaginary labels marked "i will most definitely die without this", "i will possibly die without this, best not chance it", "i probably won't die without it, but to lose it may reduce my will to live", and finally "why do i still have this crap?" <br />
<br />
Everything in pile #4 was immediately discarded.<br />
Everything in pile #1 was test packed to see how much more space I had for the items in piles #2 & #3. Then it was unpacked and thrown on the floor again.<br />
Piles #2 & #3 were re-sorted hierarchically, and those ranking lowest were set aside for probable death. The higher ranked stuff was sorted into new categories including "what I can squeeze into my suitcase", "what I can layer on my body", and finally "do I actually need it, really?"<br />
<br />
It was not a comfortable journey, nor was it a fashionable one, but I managed to successfully meet the size and weight requirements for carry-on luggage and here's how I did it:<br />
<br />
<br />
<u><b>What I wore:</b></u><br />
<br />
-1 pair of socks<br />
-2 pairs of leggings<br />
-1 pair of loose cotton capris <br />
-1 tank top<br />
-2 babydoll dresses<br />
-1 cashmere cardigan<br />
-1 wool hooded sweater<br />
-1 fleece jacket <br />
-underwear <br />
<br />
My attire was very well suited for my destination of Singapore (aka 1 degree north of the Equator)<br />
<br />
<br />
<u><b>Things I managed to keep with a lot of stuffing effort:</b></u><br />
<br />
-1 Stuffed beagle pillow<br />
-Bunch of notebooks with random "really important and top secret" stuff written (I have a stationary addiction, it's unhealthy)<br />
-2
amazing Balinese presents for Megra & Katerpiller which I will
neither confirm nor deny are wooden penis beer bottle openers<br />
-1
Mountain Equipment Co-op backpack that is so amazing I'm convinced it
will outlive us all (and not just cuz the world's going to end in a few
months)<br />
<br />
<br />
<u><b>What I had to sacrifice:</b></u><br />
<br />
-1 really comfy Bohemian kinda dress that had at least 2 more wears before total disintegration<br />
-1 one-size-fits-all dress that didn't fit<br />
-1 pair of leggings with 2 holes in them <br />
-2 empty notebooks symbolizing my lack of productivity<br />
-8 billion pairs of black tights (I have no idea how I ended up with so many???) <br />
-1 stick of deodorant (to be replaced ASAP)<br />
-Several mismatched socks (they will meet with their long lost mates in the Travellers Trax Sock Vortex, I have faith!)<br />
-1 brush (admittedly I was a little attached because it was one of the trillion brushes Courtney and I bought because we kept losing them in the room 6 abyss, so we just started leaving them randomly around the room so ideally we could always find at least one of them. This may have been the last remaining one :*( <br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Moral of the story</b>: Always print page 2 of your travel documents as well as page 1. I checked my flight details when I got some internet and it turned out I did actually pre-book my luggage and all of that was for nothing. Now please excuse me, I have to go buy deodorant.</div>
Ella Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17577694320378344646noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7205118952704807791.post-75510279616518895922012-05-20T11:53:00.000-07:002012-05-20T12:00:50.063-07:00I Probably Have Fish Pee In My Hair But At Least I Didn't Get Eaten<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiThiSTB6uwV6BV9btHQmzH4kVBhsxUP14OBX-aHMOWT-GuuBMBkwswIQKNmTffaNV3uF7aMxWgeDgX06x2QZQZ3Hb-SQ3emfzCIk9haqErdAHxlIjchIkE8bqqQtO89D6UFXk0fMfhyAdp/s1600/australia+animals.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiThiSTB6uwV6BV9btHQmzH4kVBhsxUP14OBX-aHMOWT-GuuBMBkwswIQKNmTffaNV3uF7aMxWgeDgX06x2QZQZ3Hb-SQ3emfzCIk9haqErdAHxlIjchIkE8bqqQtO89D6UFXk0fMfhyAdp/s400/australia+animals.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> If I had to summarize
the ocean I would probably say it is a giant wet death trap filled with zillions of gross things that want to poison and/or eat you.
If I had to summarize Australia the description would be exactly the
same but minus the word “wet”. Oceans and rainforests look
pretty in pictures, but lurking just beneath the surface there are an infinity of ugly
slimy things with too many legs and too many eyes and too many teeth.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> When I moved to
Australia my friend told me I was insane because I was going to get eaten for
sure. In fact, she no longer calls me by
name, but rather as “Shark Host” because she is convinced that the instant I
got to Australia I was swallowed whole and now I update my facebook statuses
from within the shark. This is not
true. Sharks don’t really swallow people
whole and then update their facebook pages.
It’s a common misconception.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> The point is, for many
years now I have desperately wanted to go to Australia. I could handle all the spiders and snakes and
sharks and jellyfish, I just really really wanted to go to
Australia and swim in the Great Barrier Reef.
So every single year for my birthday and when Santa asked what I wanted
for Christmas, I would always just submit a piece of paper containing simply
the word “Australia”.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Last year I finally
got my wish. I got a Working Holiday
Visa, packed my bags, and set off for the Land Down Under. That was over 11 months ago and I can’t
believe how fast it’s gone by. So, in my
final hours in the international departures terminal of this glorious country, I would like to
propose a toast. To Australia!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><u>SYDNEY OPERA HOUSE</u></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUVu-pnsnH4fiiwWMS6ND98si1xRrANv8V3Za-zZoZl3jte73YYVK7rAXoBFLwazqixp1XTNquLLaAd8VDHVSGGnORKQ-sT4Fa9_hEe2PsKqfPOJGRFtr5gDEoTpynOvJtKPO-RQ8ZU1d9/s1600/opera+house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUVu-pnsnH4fiiwWMS6ND98si1xRrANv8V3Za-zZoZl3jte73YYVK7rAXoBFLwazqixp1XTNquLLaAd8VDHVSGGnORKQ-sT4Fa9_hEe2PsKqfPOJGRFtr5gDEoTpynOvJtKPO-RQ8ZU1d9/s320/opera+house.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> The day I arrived I
hauled my sleepless body off the plane and immediately over to Circular Quay to
see the iconic landmarks known as the Harbour Bridge and the Sydney Opera House. That
was the day I developed a freakish love affair with the Opera House, rivalled
only by my feelings for Quentin Tarantino. There could probably be a reality show about it.
In addition to its aesthetic magnificence (the Opera House, not Q) there is an
incredible history of perseverance and controversy and it stands as a testament to
the power of the human mind. It is a
building that, quite simply, is not supposed to exist. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> It began as an
international architecture competition virtually limitless in its scope. The winning concept by Danish designer Jorn
Utzon was initially disqualified and discarded in the first round of the
competition. However, it was later
retrieved and selected despite a complete absence of any real logistical plans. In other words, it looked really cool on
paper, but nobody had any idea how it was actually going to materialize.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The construction was a revolutionary process that
exceeded both financial and time predictions by A LOT! (Give or take 15 times the original cost estimate.) There was widespread scepticism and contempt,
a new government that was highly critical of the project, and ultimately the
resignation of Jorn Utzon. He never
returned to Australia and therefore never actually saw the completed project
for which he was awarded the Pritzker Prize.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I lived in Sydney for about eight months, and every
time I was in a bad mood all I had to do was walk down to Circular Quay and
look at the Sydney Opera House, and then nothing else mattered because that
building reminded me that I was in Australia. That made me happy as a giant clam. Like the giant clams you find in the Great Barrier Reef. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b><u>GREAT BARRIER REEF</u></b> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyCe-PLONccLSjgN1dgb87pDwmOe7HtyTD0ju0s19Vp4IUfS62s7967vfzKzYHM3QGl0NomKgOYkwSv9YhBcVEgIdvaEEmbbcpfjNQqmjBB_f46_ZiNtwA2TG5Wqz_MK_CUZGO3e9nRLhn/s1600/reef.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyCe-PLONccLSjgN1dgb87pDwmOe7HtyTD0ju0s19Vp4IUfS62s7967vfzKzYHM3QGl0NomKgOYkwSv9YhBcVEgIdvaEEmbbcpfjNQqmjBB_f46_ZiNtwA2TG5Wqz_MK_CUZGO3e9nRLhn/s320/reef.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Jumping off a boat into the middle of a shark infested
ocean is, admittedly, a little intimidating.
You kind of feel like the biggest sucker ever for empowering Australia’s
tourism industry for a) convincing you to do it, and b) convincing you to pay
for it. But then you muster up the
courage to dive in and suddenly a whole new universe is revealed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Viewing the Reef through the eyes of National
Geographic is amazing, but nothing compares to the first moment you stick your
head under the water and it feels like you’re on a different planet. A planet that tastes like salt. You are like a spectator looking down, and
all the colourful fish and turtles and barracudas swim around like you’re not
even there. When you stick your head up
you remember that you’re back in the middle of the ocean, and it’s kind of like
you’re going between two totally separate worlds. I found Nemo and swam until my arms ached,
and it was without a doubt one of the most incredible experiences of my life.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b>Moral of the story</b>: The ocean is undeniably disgusting and contains a crazy amount of creatures that have clearly provided the inspiration for Will Smith’s
cinematic opponents. And so what if
Australian wildlife is just a bunch of merchants of death?! It’s also spectacularly beautiful. (Not so much the spiders though.) Exploration opens our eyes and makes us
stronger by pushing us to do things we wouldn’t normally do and be close to bugs that are big enough to have their own solar systems.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I am extremely lucky to have travelled all over the
world and seen things most people never get to.
I may have missed out on a platypus sighting, but I did get to see wild
kangaroos and wallabies and giant sea turtles, in addition to the most
spectacular scenery in the world. There
are so many amazing things I got to do in Australia, and even more that I didn’t. Bottom line is I love this country, and I
love all the people I met along the way who helped make this year so fantastic. And here's a giant spider eating a butterfly!</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0JOkbCTgTSqvlAz-2mynmeidYVWEtAyiG814fQIpeZ0db8c0BPzkAoByzRSm6gxdxthGEiXoycJJxdBc2NsfWpQYOv9wMOfHhFTHApHwv46_7-cHevrQ8iwX0KeJ8KAUsGTV5ggx2MhuB/s1600/spider.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0JOkbCTgTSqvlAz-2mynmeidYVWEtAyiG814fQIpeZ0db8c0BPzkAoByzRSm6gxdxthGEiXoycJJxdBc2NsfWpQYOv9wMOfHhFTHApHwv46_7-cHevrQ8iwX0KeJ8KAUsGTV5ggx2MhuB/s400/spider.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">yum!</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> "Don't forget me I kill people too!" -Crocodile</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTInxtkZqXVt_b-LTD9907JszPjKJV1W4FIGDqY6DMWqyv9qZ1XACs3SvITOjv-OJLeLA-XEQcBjxHjItsh_GXkVBuqKXwnynvJiBFrS9K_0-xgax0rIOVKM1TH85hf1QNOn7JIdx0XU2q/s1600/croccodile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTInxtkZqXVt_b-LTD9907JszPjKJV1W4FIGDqY6DMWqyv9qZ1XACs3SvITOjv-OJLeLA-XEQcBjxHjItsh_GXkVBuqKXwnynvJiBFrS9K_0-xgax0rIOVKM1TH85hf1QNOn7JIdx0XU2q/s400/croccodile.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>Ella Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17577694320378344646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7205118952704807791.post-58373317435638746792012-05-18T17:51:00.000-07:002012-05-18T17:59:11.826-07:00The Incredible League Of Incredibly Practical Superheroes<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> I went to see the
Avengers, even though I’ve never been all that enthusiastic about
superheroes. I mean, unless you happen
to be in New York City when an evil demi-God from another realm decides to
launch a total annihilation campaign against humanity, they’re not really that
useful. And that almost never happens. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">In theory superheroes could be pretty helpful in
preventing disasters, but I think they should try to address more practical
problems. So here are a few spandex
wielding protagonists that I wouldn’t mind intervening in my life on occasion.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>Captain Patience </u></b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhbcHC795_-XMTW5_aYqWxjzqFw0IUa2Xv5XCuLVlg9AVHwYV8DMF71Pf6G4Fe5GgT56vOYWmTZXRRyJIPzgqnNhx88GZUKn1v7MatvouvoMvI3Gh4pKwHQSOpZRHbSP_ESrKt8-adibuI/s1600/Captain+Patience.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhbcHC795_-XMTW5_aYqWxjzqFw0IUa2Xv5XCuLVlg9AVHwYV8DMF71Pf6G4Fe5GgT56vOYWmTZXRRyJIPzgqnNhx88GZUKn1v7MatvouvoMvI3Gh4pKwHQSOpZRHbSP_ESrKt8-adibuI/s320/Captain+Patience.jpg" width="220" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<b><u><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> In the bleak
apocalyptic social landscape of unreciprocated facebook messages, Captain
Patience stays strong and never panics.
Even in the 25<sup>th</sup> hour when she knows they’re online because
they just commented on someone else’s status 14 seconds ago and therefore the
only possible conclusion for their unresponsiveness is that they’re fucking
with her and have some sinister investment in her misery, she just stays calm
and does not crack. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> It is no great mystery
that waiting SUCKS. It sends you into a
downward spiral of insanity that convinces you that the only cure for waiting
is to do something mind-numbingly stupid, the consequences of which make you
realize that there are many <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">many</i>
things way worse than waiting. So on
that darkest day where the evil insecurity demon tries to invoke his wrath,
Captain Patience swoops down just in time to fight him off before the dark lord
forces you to hit ‘send’ on the passionately worded follow up message that goes
something along the lines of “wow, your level of idiocy is unfathomable I’m
amazed you’re even able to dress yourself”.
Another crisis that could have been averted with the help of Captain
Patience.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>Willimina Power </u></b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBLSlkshzOSdl0U-KqHWF0-dtZBzqKCEnaXgVguRZjQtT064He-XF1v-wp2wlTaVs1fjZgHjsxYeRhbDy6xsLeDEe6szFeTwWTvMGMry0KnBYeZeDtEImesuqw3iMJOd1cD-6deZJsazQ8/s1600/Willimina+Power.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBLSlkshzOSdl0U-KqHWF0-dtZBzqKCEnaXgVguRZjQtT064He-XF1v-wp2wlTaVs1fjZgHjsxYeRhbDy6xsLeDEe6szFeTwWTvMGMry0KnBYeZeDtEImesuqw3iMJOd1cD-6deZJsazQ8/s400/Willimina+Power.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Willimina Power is
resistant to every strain of cupcake, and serves as the first and only line of
defense against the horrible Retail Therapy Goblin. In the morning she always chooses the
treadmill over the snooze button, and after cooking her own nutritious dinner
instead of just microwaving a box of food-flavoured preservatives, she washes
the dishes instead of selling her soul to the dish gnomes to bail her out again. Everybody knows dish gnomes are a bunch of
lazy slackers and if you wait for them to do anything your cookware will breed
its own ecosystem in the sink. Of course
some of us learn that the hard way.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>The Incredible Emotional Stability
Hulk </u></b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtHZHywBDRJ9C701s_gqsmiQMl5DtcoWFiP5MAcSw2rQK0VICvtZQb_fjVR7gAkkm7PTZaFYKuEB1b899gxnxADBJyVyveF1LBm1MqzYPzjwLs8-zS0usA_d9JcYPIKONm9vwONeJ75pWQ/s1600/emotional+stability+hulk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtHZHywBDRJ9C701s_gqsmiQMl5DtcoWFiP5MAcSw2rQK0VICvtZQb_fjVR7gAkkm7PTZaFYKuEB1b899gxnxADBJyVyveF1LBm1MqzYPzjwLs8-zS0usA_d9JcYPIKONm9vwONeJ75pWQ/s320/emotional+stability+hulk.jpg" width="282" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> The Incredible
Emotional Stability Hulk has never once cried because she ran out of parmesan
cheese, and when she learns that the boy she likes doesn’t share her views on
refugee policy it doesn’t even phase her.
She doesn’t refer to minor inconveniences as “a total disaster”, and
instead of flying off the handle when missing an episode of Glee she simply contemplates
that great ancient proverb ‘She who knows Rachel’s response to Finn’s proposal
is no more wise than she who does not’. Then
she morphs into something like a Buddhist monk and meditates to the height of
enlightenment and floats away. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> She still cries at the
end of that Futurama episode with the dog, but that’s only because you have to
be born without a soul to make it through that episode without feeling like
your still beating heart has just been torn out of your chest cavity and thrown
into a vat of acid. Same applies to
Dancer In the Dark starring Bjork.
Otherwise she responds to all of life’s obstacles with her famous catch
phrase “No worries, that’s cool!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>Reality Chick</u></b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSY8gNWaofY2eddrgZP_rbrTvjFLVn9r7olsWjQBMwxW50w-VtsFsKYxur8zgTtxt-AbHLaZbbRwpf6BnR8BpY9uoHtadqy6nNFUa5PIvcPb1X5fVunqPRfTuuUh6moAdMzxyYxbNiwjny/s1600/reality+chick.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSY8gNWaofY2eddrgZP_rbrTvjFLVn9r7olsWjQBMwxW50w-VtsFsKYxur8zgTtxt-AbHLaZbbRwpf6BnR8BpY9uoHtadqy6nNFUa5PIvcPb1X5fVunqPRfTuuUh6moAdMzxyYxbNiwjny/s320/reality+chick.jpg" width="153" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Unlike many
superheroes, Reality Chick doesn’t live in some far off galaxy or top secret
lair. She walks among normal people and
is totally grounded in the real world.
She gets that imaginations can be useful, but you can’t actually live in
them because the atmospheric temperature of LaLa Land is not suitable for
permanent human habitation. She
vacations there from time to time, but her earthly responsibilities remain her
top priority when the real world needs her. She still dreams when there’s time though.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><br /></span></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Moral of the story:</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Superheroes shouldn’t leave their environment in
worse disrepair than Team America.
Problems can be solved without destroying any UNESCO World Heritage
Sites, and I mean that both literally and metaphorically. (Think about that for a second.) Minor catastrophes can breed bigger
catastrophes which can be easily prevented by not acting like a dumbass every
single time something pisses you off. When
faced with the need to relax and refrain from eating the entire cheesecake it’s
easy to turn into Jared Leto’s mother in Requiem For A Dream, complete with
Cha-Cha dancing refrigerators, speed addictions, and frantic appeals to the media
to let her have her 15 minutes. (Seriously,
WHY COULDN’T THEY JUST TELL HER WHEN SHE’S GOING TO BE ON THE FUCKING
TELEVISION???!!!) It is these moments of
weakness when we make disasters happen, but the Incredible League of Incredibly
Practical Superheroes is just the team to keep people out of trouble and out of
electro-shock therapy. And by ‘people’ I
mostly mean me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">*Note: I kept all the superheroes well stacked as is the convention. Sorry I can't draw and I'm even worse at drawing with MS Paint. I made someone verify that at least one of them kind of looked more or less like a superhero though. </span></div>
Ella Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17577694320378344646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7205118952704807791.post-28946663068576632312012-05-04T08:44:00.000-07:002013-10-22T22:34:41.046-07:00First Rule Of Dancing...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large;">Two
things I love more than anything in the entire world (besides beagles) are
dancing and violent movies. If Quentin
Tarantino directed The Nutcracker and I got to be a machine gun wielding Sugar
Plum Fairy with awesome dialogue and a yellow leather tutu I would instantly
die because I would know that life could never get any better.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLFYPUSqDB1SG03f4NDKjofPdbnwYnal-WmbgodQHbYv7Q0LD8lnbTDTmXHvWdVDuwsfP0E5Nl4ZL3-p3KGuUIq6VPR6PcOs7u3mru-a3WwSxTYK4QX8dGZfL5zdyX4-czDHo3Bib0Ehem/s1600/kill+ballet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLFYPUSqDB1SG03f4NDKjofPdbnwYnal-WmbgodQHbYv7Q0LD8lnbTDTmXHvWdVDuwsfP0E5Nl4ZL3-p3KGuUIq6VPR6PcOs7u3mru-a3WwSxTYK4QX8dGZfL5zdyX4-czDHo3Bib0Ehem/s320/kill+ballet.jpg" width="256" /></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large;">I
LOVE dancing, and the only time I ever truly felt comfortable growing up was
when I was on stage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shied away from
attention in my day to day life, but when I was dancing I was starved for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to live forever and learn how to
fly, and when my toes bled right through my point shoes I just salted and
disinfected the wounds and then did it all again the next day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I danced on dislocated knees and fractured
feet and I loved a good battle scar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
searing pain and stench of peroxide and rubbing alcohol on open wounds only
made me stronger as a person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dancing was
like Fight Club for girls, but with less anarchy and more swans. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It tested your limits and then pushed you past
them, and when you wanted to scream in mental and physical anguish you just
repressed the pain until the time when you could finally lie in the dressing
room with your feet stuck up on the wall letting all the blood rush out of your
torn up toes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was magical!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large;">Dancing is
deceptive because, even though it’s just as demanding as any sport, you can’t
grunt like tennis players, make weird faces like runners, scratch your balls
like baseball players, or hit people in the head with sticks like hockey
players.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dancers have to look graceful
and make it appear like it’s the easiest thing in the universe despite our feet
and shins simultaneously being ground into pulp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even in death we must be in perfectly turned
out fifth position with toes beautifully pointed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The problem is it makes everyone think it’s
super easy so they spin around waving their arms like assholes in mockery. If
you happen to be one of those jerkfaces who thinks that dancing is easy
maybe you should try putting YOUR FACE in a pointshoe!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Dear Quentin Tarantino, please feel free to
use that idea in any of your future films.) </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large;">Thanks to my
unfortunate exploding calf muscle I don’t really get to do much dancing anymore
(except for how I’m always rocking out to Rihanna’s “We Found Love in a
Hopeless Place” or doing the entire “All the Single Ladies” dance in the laundromat
to the music that plays in my head at all times).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I miss the life of extended highcuts and
grand jetees, and would do damn near anything to fouettee like it’s 1999.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">Moral of the story: This
article is dedicated to all the dancers who know that a good dance wound
brings with it the same sense of enlightenment as if Brad Pitt poured a bunch
of pure lye on your hand and then made you watch it burn your through your own flesh. And while I’m sorry to all my tendons and
joints that now like to spontaneously suckerpunch me as punishment for pissing
them off for twenty years, the fact is I would never trade my Cowal medals or
spotlit moments on the mainstage of the National Arts Centre no matter how
likely it is that I’ll need a hip replacement before the age of 35. It was totally worth it! </span><br />
<br /></div>
Ella Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17577694320378344646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7205118952704807791.post-41824253484163000452012-05-02T08:29:00.000-07:002012-05-04T02:19:12.056-07:00What's a Lesbian?<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> When I was younger I watched an
episode of Degrassi and thought I was a lesbian. I think that was more a testament to my
mother not knowing how to adequately explain what a lesbian was to her
pre-pubescent daughter. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">“Umm... Girls who like girls” she said. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">“I
like girls” I replied. I was not fully
aware of the sexual and/or romantic implications hidden in this ambiguous
definition.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> In
fact, I had known since the age of six that I was most definitely <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> a lesbian because, while all my
playmates were convinced boys had cooties, I was getting ostracized for knowing
that Ian Phillips was totally cute. I
didn’t know what to do with that information when I was six, and it didn’t
really matter anyway because he was convinced that, since I was a girl, there
was absolutely no doubt that I had cooties too.
Cooties is a real romantic deal breaker when you’re six. But still, I had been tricked by Degrassi
into false lesbianism because I didn’t grasp the difference between ‘liking’
and ‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">like </i>liking’. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> What
I gathered from the show was that it was pretty damn complicated being a
lesbian, and I was a little confused about why girls liking girls even mattered
that much. Who better to resolve that confusion
than Canada’s finest selection of after school television writers and child
actors? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> Several
years later I was teaching Highland dancing at a community centre downtown. One of my young mischievous students around
the same age I was for the Degrassi incident was busily checking out some of
the posters in the studio instead of doing what she was supposed to. As I was about to tell her to go do some
dancing, she turned to me and said “What’s gay lesbian and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bee</i>-sexual?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> I
should probably mention the fact that at that time I was studying Criminology
with a concentration in Law, and one of my Law electives was a seminar on GLBTQ
Charter of Rights issues. So literally a
few weeks prior to this event we had spent our entire three hour opening
lecture defining these exact terms. If
ever there was a Highland dance teacher equipped to tell an eight year old what
a “bee-sexual” was, that Highland dance teacher was me! Instead, my response was “DO YOUR SWORD DANCE!!!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Moral of the story: No matter how
many Law classes you take or episodes of Degrassi you watch, explaining
sexuality to children really fucking sucks.
But the explanations we get when we’re young stay with us through life,
so I’m sure glad the definition I got was as simple as girls liking girls,
rather than something along the lines of “it’s an abomination of God and they’ll
burn in hell for an eternity”. One thing
that is certain is that kids are really curious. Possibly even <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bee</i>-curious. But if they’re
in a Highland Dance class they probably should just do their Sword.</span></div>Ella Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17577694320378344646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7205118952704807791.post-59571643423247247002012-04-12T20:35:00.001-07:002012-05-04T20:51:45.249-07:00I Find This Message Creepy"We noticed that you've been a Weebly user for 2 days, 11 hours, 10 minutes and 24 seconds, but you still haven't published your site!"<br />
<br />
<br />
1. Chill out I've been busy.<br />
2. Why is my website so important to you that you are running a doomsday clock? Alerting me to the precise number of seconds is a little intense.<br />
3. Exclamation point?! Seriously?!!! It's been two fucking days since starting a website, it's not like I got drunk and ran over a baby. There's really no need to scold me. And I haven't been given any of the content yet so it's not even my fault. You're stressing me out Weebly!<br />
<br />
<br />
When Twitter sent me their 'where the fuck did you go?' message they at least waited a few weeks. The automatic messaging system recognized that we needed some time apart, but gently reminded me that it was waiting whenever I felt like I was ready to come back. It gave me my space and let me know that it still cared. And now we're back together, still taking things slow, but I feel like things could blossom between us again.<br />
<br />
Weebly, on the other hand, is acting like this overprotective monster and I think it might kill me in my sleep.<br />
<br />
I have never spent long enough away from Facebook to know how they handle their defectors, and I probably never will. I love you Facebook, you complete me.<br />
<br />
<br />
*UPDATE*<br />
<br />
And then this appeared in my inbox:<br />
<br />
"It's been 6 days, 6 hours, 39 minutes and 24 seconds since you last logged in, and we're starting to get really worried.<br />
<br />
We were just getting to know each other. You created 1 site, 2 pages, dragged on 1 element, and then... nothing."<br />
<br />
1. Please don't file a missing person's report on me. I still exist. I just updated facebook not that long ago.<br />
2. We weren't really getting to know each other. Have you been watching me in the shower? I feel kind of uncomfortable.<br />
3. It is 1 day, 13 hours, 27 minutes and 46 seconds before I file a restraining order.<br />
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*UPDATE*<br />
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Hopefully I have laid to rest all those creepy messages from Weebly as the website is now up and running at <a href="http://www.travellerstrax.com/" target="_blank">www.travellerstrax.com</a>Ella Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17577694320378344646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7205118952704807791.post-84860455523779727362012-04-09T21:59:00.000-07:002012-04-09T21:59:13.073-07:00The New BeatIn the 1950s a powerful literary movement known as the Beat Generation was born. They were a group of iconic literary figures who pushed boundaries, challenged social norms, and sought meaning and answers through their lives and their literature. It was an age where the people were taking control and demanding social change, and while it may have been ugly at times, it was instrumental to paving the way for the increased equality we have today. There is no denying that their behaviour was sometimes questionable, but the writing of Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, William S. Burroughs and Charles Bukowski has long served as an important anthropological insight to an era.<br />
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As much as I'm a huge Jack Kerouac fan, for me one of the really fascinating elements of the beats is how they formed such an influential movement of writers. Being a writer was a cool thing to be, and there was a support network that fostered "spontaneous creativity" and built on the ideas of one another on the fringe of New York City's upper west side.<br />
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Every so often there is a literary Renaissance, and I always felt a little sad that I probably missed out by a few decades. But in fact, I recently realized that our generation is actually living in one of the most amazing literary movements in all of history. Thanks to the rise of social media EVERYONE is a writer. It's no longer reserved for people who publishers decide have the right to express their opinions, it's an activity and a medium that is universally available. Thanks to today's globalized world there is a virtually limitless network of people with whom to share ideas and tell stories.<br />
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With facebook and twitter and tumblr and blogger people are writing constantly. There is always pressure to come up with something concise and captivating. Nobody wants to repeat the same old status every day, so they come up with their own unique voices and metaphors. Social media forces people to actually think like writers and gain an appreciation for it. Maybe not everyone is the reincarnation of Charles Dickens, but the fact is that social media is bringing writing to the forefront of society and social interaction in a completely unprecedented way.<br />
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Twitter even acts like a publicist when you get lazy. I had sort of stopped doing the Twitter thing, and about a month later I got a notification they missed me. Translation: Stop being a big dumb slacker! The pressure to update something regularly is a kind of motivational force. Sure a lot of the time it's people talking about what they had for breakfast or how they're really tired, but some of the funniest things I've ever read have come from the minds of people that I know and love. And it's so constant that it means we're forced to think daily.<br />
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So maybe its a literary generation that sits in the nearest Starbucks instead of camping out in some shack on the side of a mountain or a crackhouse in the wrong side of town, but hey, it's our generation. I love that we live in a society that has embraced the introvert and made writing an important part of our social life. I like realizing how brilliant or funny some of my friends are that I may not have otherwise known. Even though some people make fun of the fact that everyone has an opinion now, I don't think that's such a bad thing. Self-expression is a great thing, and the level of honesty with which people are writing with is enabling readers to become more confident in themselves realizing there are other people who they can identify with.<br />
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Moral of the story: I am grateful to be a part of an era where ideas are so freely exchanged and thinking is both encouraged and facilitated. I love that we have taken the idea of "spontaneous creativity" from our generational predecessors and used technological advances to make it our own. I love writing, and I love that so many other people do too.Ella Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17577694320378344646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7205118952704807791.post-34804553457674061672012-04-01T20:21:00.002-07:002012-04-12T21:29:13.884-07:00Aerospace Engineering 4 KidsI have always been a pretty curious person. I like understanding how things work and why they are the way they are, so I ask a lot of questions when I am learning something new. As a result people tend to find me frustrating, but I have always been this way even as a little kid.<br />
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One day when I was about three or four I needed to know how airplanes fly, so I went up to my dad who I considered to be the supreme keeper of all knowledge and wisdom and asked him "Dad, how do airplanes fly?" My dad is not a physicist of any kind, so he couldn't really give me the sort of super in depth explanation I usually like, but he said he thought it was maybe something to do with forced air.<br />
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"Okay" I replied, totally content with his vague explanation. <br />
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But Dad knew there was a catch. I never gave up on anything that easily. <br />
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"Why don't we go check your Charlie Brown Encyclopedia?" he asked. The Charlie Brown Encyclopedias always had the answer if he didn't.<br />
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"Nope, that's okay I get it" I said confindently.<br />
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He was puzzled. He was pretty sure his toddler wasn't suddenly an expert in aerospace engineering after the explanation "something to do with forced air" so he demanded I explain it to him.<br />
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"Okay" I said. "One stair, two stair, three stair, forced air..."<br />
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We were both satisfied with that response and I eventually went and got a bunch of Arts degrees.Ella Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17577694320378344646noreply@blogger.com0