December 17, 2008

HAVE PANTS, WILL TRAVEL

I was on the MTV After Show again last night (not sure how many times that makes now) and in addition to being engaged in yet another discussion of my age - "you're 28?! You do not look that old!" - and my "ethnicity" - "I thought you were, like, Latina!" - I was also told for the first time that I bear an uncanny resemblance to American Fererra. That's right, webheads. Ugly. Betty.



Now, to be fair, the After Show Friends who made this connection were talking more about how I sound than how I look, and they were talking about America the actress, not Betty the character, but still. I'm not sure I liked it.

Don't get me wrong. America Fererra is beautiful. And she doesn't seem like an idiot, so I don't think anyone was trying to insult me. But still. I guess I'm just a bit tired of this "you know who you remind me of?" thing. Am I really such a doppleganger? Am I not me? Am I not unique? People are always mistaking me for someone else, or telling me I look like so-and-so or "that girl from the teevee." (Though these days, that could mean I actually look like... me, couldn't it?)

Here's the latest list of people I apparently remind other people of (celebrity version):

America Fererra


Neve Campbell


Michelle Rodriquez


Eva Mendes


Pocahontas (seriously)

Shall we play that old Sesame Street game? One of these things is not like the others? One of these things just isn't the same? Too obvious?

The first four are flattering, I know. I should be so lucky. As for the last one, all I can say is that someone seriously told me that. That I reminded them of Poca-fucking-hontas. What does one say to that? Actually, what does one say to any of this? I mean, thanks. Thanks for telling me what Not-Quite-White means to you? Thanks, guys.

But back to the America thing. What do you think? Here's a few clips of her in interviews, so you can listen for that uncanny vocal resemblance, at least:

On Ellen.
On Jimmy Kimmel.
On Letterman.

What does this mean? I have no idea. Maybe I can be America's voice double. Maybe dubbing for The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants sequels is in my future. Maybe. I guess the bottom line is that I AM AMERICA. (But wait - wouldn't that make me Stephen Colbert?)

This is getting confusing. Recent clips of me on the MTV will soon be linked to via the film/tv page, if you wanna check 'em out.

Peace Out, Homies,
America! (Jen!)

Decmeber 9, 2008

YOU SLIP YOUR HEART INTO MY CHEST

I've decided something. It's about winter. It's about winter and snow and you're not going to like it. It's about how I love winter and snow and about how you should too.

(You might want to stop reading now. This is just going to get worse.)

Know what else is only going to get worse? Winter. This is just the beginning, people. This is still fall. What's coming is months and months and months of much much worse. And if you can't like it, if you can't try to love it, in fact (in the way you might love a little sibling you're not sure you really wanted) I think you'd better move. Because this is it.This is just something you're going to have to accept. It's an inalienable thing. It's time to embrace the winter. To revert to smart seasonal dressing. (Think snowsuits. Think balaclavas.) To take advantage of the toboggan. To look up and out instead of in and down.


a picture I made for Patty on the dreaded facebook - she is a hater of snow

I didn't always love the winter. It crept up on me, this feeling. But it's here now and I'm in it. All the best things happen in winter, I've decided. All the most delicious moments and most memorable memories. And the snow! The snow, guys! Everyone complains and complains about it, but snow is actually amazing. I mean juvenile poets have been using it as a primary image for ... I dunno, centuries? Those sort of cliches happen for a reason.


photos from wvs on flickr, click to see more

In the winter, Toronto is a city transformed. And when it's snowing, it generally isn't so cold. Really. Put on galoshes and go for a walk. You'll see what I mean.

I'm not being naive here. I know it isn't always going to be easy, this loving the winter thing. That's not how love works. It's going to be really hard sometimes. It's going to feel like it's always winter, never Christmas. Valentine's Day is going to roll around and break your fragile, February heart. It's going to wear you down. But you should stick with it, this hard and heavy love. It's going to make you so much happier, I promise. I know these things. I'm wise. I'm wise nearly in keeping with my years.

I am Lorelai Gilmore. I am Bumbles. I am Jane Frost.

If you're cold, you can slip your hands inside my pockets. If you need to.
Jen

P.S. Search strings that have brought visitors to my site since December 1st include but are not limited to:

• nude bums
• nice nude bums
• nude photograpny
• cock and bums
• blood vial necklace
• complicated kindness

If that's not comedy, I don't know what is.
-J


December 2, 2008

WE'VE BEEN THROUGH FAKE-A-BREAKDOWN, SELF-HURT, PLASTICS, COLLECTIONS, SELF-HELP, SELF-PAIN, EST, PSYCHICS, FUCK ALL

So, I'm a big fan of Post Secret. It's old news, and it's one of those things that I sometimes forget I like, and stop looking at for months at a time. And then when I remember it exists, there's always lots to read and see, which makes it ever-better and sort of extra delicious, which is a nice thing. 



But I'm busy. I forget things. And one of the big things I forgot in relation to

was that I actually submitted several secrets of my own to the project back in 2006. This completely slipped my mind for over a year, until a few weeks ago when I was at a friend's baby shower and saw a copy of the latest Post Secret bA Lifetime of Secrets - on the host's shelf. And guess what was in it?

 

LEST YE FORGET

Things are a happenin'. As they tend to do. Fall came, went, and came again in the meantime. It's on its last legs now, even if the calendar says different. I know better. I can smell the winter.

If you've been reading, you know I went to Vancouver for MJ & Kathryn's weddin'. Many future jokes will now have to be made about "keeping up with the Jones." I can hardly wait. Here's me and my homegirls at the reception and me with Craig, who served as my date. Note that I busted out my ten year old prom dress. Believe it!





What else? My girl Kaye had a birthday and we celebrated with gluten free cupcakes. So here's a shot from that.



And of course, Halloween happened. My favourite of the demon holidays. I dressed up as a Newsie. As in, a Christian Bale, Disney movie, circa 1992 Newsie. It was ... amazing. We partied with Cubans, as the pictures below may show.





There hasn't been any karaoke lately, which is sad, but with the end of the fall softball season looming, that may change. (Yay!)



And, of course, I continue to appear on the MTV After Show and to say inane things and funny things and things that have the audience booing me. It's fun, and nerve wracking, and lots of other things as well. I guess I should feel lucky. I guess I do.



Anyway, there's your visual update. Consider yourselves informed. Go out and take a whiff of the winter. It's coming. It comes.

Love and Pixels,
Jen

November 6, 2008

IF THE LOVE THAT YOU GIVE AIN'T THE LOVE THAT YOU'RE GETTIN'

Fact: I hate concerts.

This is something few people would admit. It flies in the face of all things "cool." To hate concerts is to hate youth, and fun, and the urban and the now. It's much worse than hating hipsters and urbanity and the pretentious (all generally accepted forms of urban, pretentious, hipsterified hate). To hate concerts is - if the criticism I generally receive is to be believed - to hate music. It's like hating ice cream, babies, kittlens and puppy dogs.

If you hate concerts, people think you're fucking nuts.

Well... I hate concerts.

I'm sorry. I just do. I LOVE music, but (and?) I hate concerts. I'd rather go to the symphony than a traditional rock show. I'd rather go to the effing opera. I just hate concerts so much. I hate the mash of people. The way they bump into and elbow me and breathe on me and stomp on my feet. I hate not being able to see (and I never can because I'm only five four and the venues suck and aren't stepped). And I hate the venues! I hate the dingy, smelly, lame-ass, overpriced venues, with their stenchy, swampy bathrooms and bad-natured staff who scowl at you if you order a water (even if you tip). I hate the eye-rolling bouncers and the lines. The lines! Oh how I hate lines. I never want to wait in line, even when and where a line is relatively appropriate, let alone when it's for NO REASON in the blistering cold.

Dear Venue Bars,
Hi. I don't mean to be a douchebag here, but if you don't want me in your bar, then please, don't make me wait in line. Don't want my hard earned money for your overpriced, watered-down drinks? That's fine. I can go somewhere else. Just TELL ME THE TRUTH.

I mean, if there's no one in the bar, then WHY is there a line??? There shouldn't be a line. And if there are people in the bar, if the bar is, say, legitimately full, then THERE SHOULDN'T BE A LINE. Please, Bouncer-Men, tell me the truth. Just say "Sorry, miss. We're full." I'll smile and be on my way, I promise. You don't even have to call me miss.

SIGH.

It's sad, really. The fact that concerts are, in my opinion, so often awful. Awful 90% of the time, actually. Because I really do love music. Music I can hear. Music not played at an obscene volume and steeped in feedback. Concerts are a problem for me more often than not because they taint the musical experience rather than enhancing it. Thanks to the environment, the myriad of problems associated with venue bars, and city life, and selfish and obnoxious show-rat attendees, more often than not, I leave shows LESS inclined toward the band or artist I went to see in the first place. And that, my friends, sucks. It sucks balls. It sucks the bag. Big time.

So what's a girl to do? Suck it up, I guess. I may hate concerts, but no one else I know does, and I love my friends. And I love the sorts of little indy bands that play at the venues and in the environments I abhor. So I suppose I'll just keep going. I'l wear earmuffs in the lines and earplugs inside. I'll invest in steel-toed boots. I'll get over my physical space bubble issues. I'll touch strangers for long periods of time without panic. I hope.

I've seen some decent shows lately. Even considering the headaches, they were okay. I saw this country-type band One Hundred Dollars at Sneaky Dees last week (after a freezing two-hour wait in line). And I saw a friend of a friend's band - Key Witness - at The Horseshoe over the weekend. The music was good even if the overall experiences sort of blew. I like the idea of supporting small groups. So I suppose in the end, despite all my reservations, I am a person who goes to "shows" (as the cool kids say).
 
All I'm really saying here is this: In an ideal world, all concerts would be at places where we could sit comfortably and drink comfortably, and see comfortably, and hear comfortably. There'd be no bleeding ear drums, no sweaty elbows to the breast, no broken toes. Concerts would be less cool and more fun. Is that really so much to ask? In an ideal world? 

Since I'm wishing, maybe I should start with something a little more important, eh?

Curmudgeonly Yours,
Jen (apparently, a 98 year old woman)


October 17, 2008

GOT TO BUILD YOURSELF A LEVEE, DEEP INSIDE

Being in Vancouver again is strange. On one hand, as I stepped off the plane and into the airport, I felt a bit like I was nearly home. On the other, ever since I made it into the city proper I've distinctly felt like the home I had has been sold. Or burned down. Or occupied by squatters. And like if I knew what was good for me, I'd just head right back to the airport and the hell out of dodge.

I never know what's good for me.

A couple of year ago, when I was still living in Vancouver, I wrote a stupid little story for a stupid little magazine called Vancouver View (advertorial CITY) about Vancouver's Identity (or rather, lackthereof). It was a chatty little piece called Vancouver (Un)Defined, largely opinion based, and if I remember correctly, after the most cursory research imaginable, I pounded it out in less than an hour. (I was fast, man.) Anyway, I just reread it (you can read by clicking the link above) and it occurred to me that I was completely wrong. I said Vancouver was changeable, that it had a little of everything. And even though I think that was/is sort of true, my perspective on what that amounts to is totally different now. Vancouver isn't changeable, Vancouver is still. Not stagnant, but calm. Unchanging. Steady.

Despite the proliferating glass towers, the impending Olympics, the seeming diversity of the landscape, Vancouver never changes. It's comforting, this sameness. This mild weather that rides an undulating low wave season to season, this endless construction, this city of evergreens, ever green.

I'm here again and it's like I never left, which makes me all the more relieved that I did when I did. I might have been hypnotized here forever.

My friends MJ and Kathryn are getting married tomorrow up at UBC. I'm technically a bridesmaid, but they're not pretentious people and the wedding party doesn't have to match. I plan to wear my prom dress. My (more than) ten year old prom dress. This may or may not be the best/worst decision ever. I'm just so excited that it fits me again.

And I'm a cheapskate.

ANYWAY.

Being in Vancouver is making me think about a lot of things - like what home means, and who I am now in relation to who I was then and what it means to "be yourself." In 2004 when I was living in Vancouver and still relatively happy here, I saw the movie Garden State and heard the following in regards to home (and I know, I know, it's sort of overrated, but still):

"...When you move out it just sort of happens ... you get homesick for a place that doesn't exist ... You won't have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start. It's like a cycle or something. I miss the idea of it. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people who miss the same imaginary place." - Large

Ten years before I saw Garden State I was in love with the TV show My So-Called Life, and I remember hearing the following in regards to the second thing (the thing about self):

"People always say you should be yourself, like yourself is this definite thing, like a toaster or something. Like you can know what it is, even." - Chase

So that's what I'm thinking about. It's oppressively overcast and wet here, which is what strangers expect from Vancouver, but which I wasn't prepared for. I never felt it rained as much as people said it did.  I'm foolish, I guess. I didn't pack the right sort of clothes and I'm cold pretty much all the time. I miss my new home, actually. As much as I wanted to come.

Oh well. The wedding will be fun, I'm sure. MJ & Kathryn are great, and that will make it great. That's how these things work.

Love,
Prom Fashions Barbie, Alias: Jen


October 16, 2008

IN AN AEROPLANE (not) OVER THE SEA

Things I did on my annoyingly long flight to Vancouver included, but are not limited to:

• Drinking (a cesear “spiced up”)
• Watching a little bit of the US Presidential debate (horrendous)
• Listening to Neutral Milk Hotel (one song, over and over and over)
• Eating (overpriced sandwich and free bits and bites)
• Thinking (about dehydration, mostly)
• Blogging (right now!)
• Staring (at the window at my reflection)
• Winking (just for practice – left eye, right eye)
• Reading (ALL of Augusten Burroughs’ book Magical Thinking)

So I’m sitting on an airplane, somewhere over Minnesota (nearish to Duluth if the West 
Jet LiveMap is to be believed, which of course, it isn’t,since the illustration of the plane is 
about 1/10th the size of the illustration total, which makes it seem like I’m on a jet that’s 
at least the size of Lake Superior – or something – which I am not, but I digress).

I’m here, on this plane, winging my way to Vancouver and thinking about the fact that it’s 
been hours since I ran my last errand, and about the fact that this trip is supposed to be 
fun, and about the fact that I’ve had two drinks (one at the airport, one in flight) but have 
yet to relax, which is pretty telling when you think about it. Clearly, this adrenaline/starbys 
thing has gone a little far. I mean, clearly my life has gotten away from me a little bit.

I figure I can spend the next four days in Vancouver getting back on track.

Now, before you start thinking that this post is going to degenerate into some kind of Emo 
Elf’s Lament (what?), I should make a few things clear:

1.        I’m actually not complaining.
2.        I actually LIKE being this busy.
3.        Whenever it sounds like I’m complaining, I’m really (most likely) bragging.

I really am. I really do. I’m really not. Facts, the lot of ‘em.

Ultimately, being this busy (and to a lesser extent, blogging about it) makes me feel 
capable and powerful and on-top of everything. And when I say “makes me feel” what I 
really mean is makes me realize. Or rather, remember.

I may seem diffident and self-deprecating (particularly in person and maybe to a fault) but 
I think I’m like that in part because being like that masks a truer and less appealing truth 
about me, which is that I really think a lot of myself.

I mean, if I’m telling the truth, the fact is: I think I’m pretty fucking awesome.

And for all of my prostrating and apologizing, the real truth about me is that I rarely 
actually believe I’ve done anything wrong or made any real mistakes. All of my anxiety 
stems from the fact that I’m extremely concerned with you. All of you. And the idea that 
you might THINK I’ve done something wrong (WRONGLY, on your part, of course – 
egregiously so, because I HAVEN’T). And I really want you to like me. And so, I become 
concerned. But it’s not really for the reason you think it is.

Dig?

These are commonly referred to as “issues” – as in “Jen Selk has issues.” 

I do. I know I do.

So. Yeah. I may be (and most likely am) mentally unstable, but at least I’m self aware, 
right?

Anyway. The awesome LiveMap is now telling me that the disturbingly massive cartoon 
plane I'm sitting in has crossed the state line into North Dakota, which is relatively 
believable considering that there is a lit patch of city with a mottled edge like the 
meandering and asymmetrical border of a malignant mole blighting the night below. I’m 
guessing it’s Fargo. Or maybe Grand Forks. Or even Bismark. (Stupid LiveMap. I hate it.)

Regardless, I think it’s time to stop blogging. My hand is cramping anyway. And there’s 
a long weekend ahead. Must conserve emotional energy.

Vancouver looms, if not literally, then at least figuratively, and along with it will come the 
charred wasteland of my former life.

The question is not so much about if you can (or can’t) go home again so much as if you 
should.  Particularly considering the napalm.

I’m going to listen to some Neutral Milk Hotel on my ipod and wait for wisdom. I’m not 
wise, but the right answer might come to me anyway. I’m lucky that way. Whatever else I 
may be, I’m that.

xo,
Jen

I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW

I know. It’s been a month. What can I say? In my last post, I expressed fatigue, didn’t I? A certain fedupedness?

All I’m saying is that you should have expected this. In addition to being fairly uninspired of late, the bottom line is that woman cannot live on adrenaline and Starbucks alone. Sometimes, something has to give. And in this case, the something that gave was the blah-og. I’ve never been very regular at it anyway. I never promised you anything. (Did I?)

It’s been so long, I can’t remember.

So. What’s new. Nothing really. Or everything. I can’t tell. LET’S MAKE A LIST!

1. I’m still tired, but I’m happier about it.

2. I’m still on MTV about once a week (links at the bottom).

3. I’m still playing softball only once a week, but I’ve begun playing volleyball again and my knee stopped hurting, so that’s all sorted.

4. I’m teaching all the time. That’s kind of a weird thing. I like it more than I thought I would.

5. I’m going to lots of shows and events and being wildly social, despite resolutions to the contrary.

6. I’m watching lots and lots and lots of The Wire.

7. I’m reading the same book I started a full month ago (which is insane, because I could have read eight times as many in a regular month, but hey). Love it, but it’s heavy.

8. Nathan Phillipsquare is as taciturn as ever. I continue to feed him, regardless.

More to follow,

Jen

P.S. MTV Links:

http://www.mtv.ca/?id=1596445

http://www.mtv.ca/?id=1595909

http://www.mtv.ca/?vid=276469

http://www.mtv.ca/?id=1594717

September 10, 2008

I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’VE DONE, OR IF I LIKE WHAT I’VE BECOME

I don’t know about you guys, but I’m tired.

I’m really, really, overwhelmingly, confusingly, soul-crushingly exhausted.

This is the result of a combination of things, not the least of which being that I made a resolution at the end of last year to ‘say yes to everything’. It was a great idea in theory, and initially a great idea in practice, but I feel like it’s starting to catch up with me.

Actually, scratch that. It’s already caught up with me. It’s passed me. It’s lapped me twice.   It’s kicking my ass.

I’ve also had houseguests for the past two and a half weeks and work is busy and nerve wracking and I am going to be on MTV again tomorrow night (The After Show, MTV Canada, 7:30 and 11:30 pm, FYI) and I still don’t know what I’m to wear. And (and this part is just me complaining and having a little pity party, and I don’t really mean it, but…) it feels like everyone wants something from me. They want something, but they’re not necessarily giving anything. And I may be making a lot of bad decisions. And my knee has been hurting for over a month now and though it’s been a bit better since I stopped playing softball three nights a week, it’s not better enough to actually make me happy to not be playing softball three nights a week. ☹

Like I said, I’m tired.

Beams started circulating at CERN today, in the Large Hadron Collider (the world’s largest particle accelerator) which is something I feel I’d like to blog about. It smells like a good metaphor. I don’t really know much (or, okay, ANYTHING) about particle physics or the LHC, but I know it has something to do with the origin of mass, and with dark matter and dark energy and big bang cosmology, and all of that seems like really good material. I just don’t think I have it in me at the moment to write about it. Ironically, the bottom line – which is that dark matter and dark energy are things nobody really understands (hence the “dark”) but which account for nearly all the mass in the universe – makes for the best and most basic metaphor, anyway.

I mean, there’s all this … STUFF, right? And we can’t see it, and we don’t get it, but if we send the stuff we CAN see rushing around in circles fast enough and long enough there will eventually be some sort of collision and that will help us figure it all out.

That works, doesn’t it?

I can’t even tell. I’m too tired to think about it.

Don’t mind me. I’ll be okay.
xo,
Jen


September 5, 2008

LIFE USED TO BE LIFE-LIKE. NOW IT'S MORE LIKE SHOW BIZ.

I have been remiss, guys. I know this. Things have been SO busy lately (though I know that's no excuse). Despite what my spotty posting habits may imply, I love you. You are my web-footed friends. Forgive me for being absent.

OK. The truth is I really shouldn't even be writing this post, so it won't be a long one, but I will give you the big news of the past few weeks. It really boils down to one acronym: MTV.

In the past few weeks I have become a "friend" on the "The After Show", which used to be this pop-culturey talk show about the show The Hills, but which is now not only about The Hills but about other aspects of pop culture and celebrity gossip as well. It's on live on Monday nights at 10:30pm in both Canada and the USA, and from Tuesday to Thursday live at 7:30, repeating at 11:30pm in Canada only. I've been on twice so far (yesterday, September 4th, 2008, and last Thursday, August 28, 2008) chatting and/or arguing with the hosts and the other "friends" about deep issues like if Daniel Radcliff is hot, if Heidi Montag's new music video is tragic, and if Sarah Palin is a horrible person. (Hint: the correct answer to all three of those questions is YES.)

I've also been blogging about The Hills a little on the MTV.ca website. I've written about Hills Characters Off The Hills and Hills Fashion so far. In the second post, a line has been added to my writing. It's something I would never write or say. See if you can spot it.

Editors. They're not always good.

Anyway, that the nooze for the moment. I promise a better update soon. It's September. Back to school time. I'm teaching. There's a chill in the air and I'm going to the beach this weekend. Things are pretty good.

That girl from the teevee,
Jen

August 18, 2008

EVERYTHING GROWS AND GROWS

"It’s an Ailanthus, known also as the Tree of Heaven. A persistent and resourceful little tree that was brought to New York years ago from Asia, and thrives in urban environments. A tree that can sprout in a crack of the pavement and under porches and decks and apparently, in cars. Dave’s plant will keep growing until it is nearly sixty feet tall. And at the end of every summer it will produce small yellow-green flowers. And in the early fall the flowers will be followed by beautiful, ruddy fruit, bearing seeds with little wings ... like maple keys. Its leaves will come late in the spring and every spring Dave will think his tree has died, until suddenly it comes alive. Every spring a miracle. And every spring when the leaves finally come, Dave will stand in his backyard and think of this summer and the tiny seedling he found in his car. And he will look at his tree and think … that things survive. Even without his presence. Even without him, life goes on. Life has a will of its own and he needn’t worry. His job isn’t to worry or do things. His job is to watch and wonder."- From Stuart McLean's Tree of Heaven

"She bought some Feverfew – a plant that looks like a daisy – and she gave it to him to plant in his box. It’s an herb people say can cure fevers. A pretty little plant and the leaves smell good when you work around them and best of all it seeds itself, which means it will grow again next summer. Tough little thing. But you need to be tough to live in a concrete box all winter along with the Coke bottles and the straws. And the Feverfew is tough enough for that and not without dignity. And last weekend when she was grocery shopping Morley spent another five dollars. She bought a box of grape hyacinth bulbs and she planted them one night last week when Emil had left for the night, thinking as she scraped at the hard dirt in Emil’s box, that they’ll come in the spring and they’ll surprise him. Thinking about something she had read by Rohinton Mistry. Something about that fine line between compassion and foolishness, kindness and weakness ... wondering always about how firm to stand, how much to bend." - From Stuart McLean's Emil

"Everyone knows about the tree. Everyone knows that Eugene grew it from a cutting that he brought from his father’s farm in Calabria, wrapped in a piece of linen and hidden at the bottom of his trunk. And everyone knows that every October, before the first frost, Eugene digs a trench in his backyard, three feet deep and three feet wide and thirty feet long. And when he’s finished digging the hole, he carefully bends the branches of the tree close to the trunk and ties them in place, and then he digs around the roots until they are loose and free of the earth and then he pushes the tree over and lowers it into the trench with ropes. The leafless, bound tree looks like a skeleton lying in the hole. The root ball looks like a giant head, Eugene like a grieving relative as he covers it first with planks and then with warm earth. He buries the tree. And when he’s finished, except for the disturbed earth, you wouldn’t know anything was there. And there is where his fig tree spends the winter, bound and buried, underground and out of sight. If he left it standing it wouldn’t survive the frost. So it winters below the frost. Until the warm April afternoon Eugene digs it out and stands it up and cuts the branches loose." - From Stuart McLean's The Fig Tree

AND AND AND ... that's how it goes.

Jen

Questions to ponder:

1. How can something resemble both leaves AND worms?
2. What DOES happen when you drink three beers and take one asprin?
3. Do you think the person who was searching for "gay selk suck movies" was searching for me or someone related to me, or that selk was just a typo?

This week is, as usual, all about softball. And MTV. More on that later.

The Perdeids Meteor Shower will be happening tonight. If you're out and about and you think of it, look up. I might be looking up too. And make a wish, okay?



Love from the inter-ether,
Jen

What exactly is a Pseduo? You webheads have been asking that question incessantly since my last post (in which I called Craig my Number One Pseudo). And I’m nothing if not accommodating, so here’s a (fairly long-winded) answer.

Fake Boyfriends and Why They’re Fabulous

an explanatory treatise on the Pseudo phenomenon

Linguistics

Pseudo is a shortened version of Pseudo Boyfriend, a phrase I started using (and feel like I coined) back in 1998 when Craig and I first became friends. Craig was not my first Pseudo, but if we’re going to have a linguistic discussion about the relationship between the signifier and the signified, then I think it’s important to note that he is linked to my adoption (creation!?) of the phrase.

The Pseudo Boyfriend (or, if you’re feeling like an inclusionist today, the Pseudo Relationship) despite what you may think, isn’t negative. The word pseudo may seem inherently critical in that it means fake, false or not genuine and is often adopted as a negative modifier, but I don’t believe the inauthentic is necessarily bad. It means not genuine, which isn’t the same as disingenuous, if you see what I’m sayin’.  

I think, as an adjective, the tone of the word pseudo is directly and inextricably related to the noun that follows it – in this case, boyfriend or partner. And a partner, if you ask me (and you did), isn’t a bad thing to have. As for Pseudo Partners, well, in some instances, they’re even better.

Some Pseudo Nostalgia

I adopted the word pseudo into my personal lexicon in the mid-1990s after a boy at my high school (who I particularly liked) began a yearbook quote to me with something along the lines of:

“There’s little beyond pseudo-depth that one can write in a yearbook, but…”

Oh man. Did I think he was sophisticated? Yes. Yes I did.

That boy’s name was and is Todd. (He’s actually a “facebook friend” now, and I’m sure will be shocked (and potentially amused) if he reads this.

He was older than me by, I think, five years. A boy who’d transferred to my school as a Senior to finish up after taking “time off”. I liked him right away. I didn’t have a crush on him exactly, but not being familiar with the Pseudo vibe, I just assumed I did. I had a tough time that year. Felt a little heart break. A lot of social pressure. And out of nowhere (and maybe as a result of that angst) developed this strange friendship that basically involved me and this relative stranger having three-plus hour conversations in which I’d pour my poor little teen heart out, which led to philosophical chatter about the ways of the world. It was oddly comforting.

I met Todd when I was fifteen years old, on the day after Labour Day, 1995. I remember because it was the first day of school. Since then, the truth is that we’ve only had a handful of real conversations. Less than ten, I’d say. But I credit him both with charming me with the word pseudo and maybe even with being my first actual Pseudo. I never wanted to date him. (I considered a five year age difference to be an absolute show stopper, which is pretty ironic when you think about what’s happened since, but whatever.) In the end, my friendship with Todd was essentially vague and distant. We were never truly close. But I liked it. And when the opportunity arose to have that again with someone else (and to make it better) I jumped at the chance.

Here Comes Your Man

Craig is far and away the best friend I made at Queen’s. He is fun. He gives me a hard time when necessary and is a fan of tough love, but also refuses to fight with me about anything, ever. (Which is to say, he never lets me pick a fight with him if my feelings are hurt, which is frankly the best and only smart way to deal with me.) We annoy each other at times (who doesn’t?) but I am never worried that we’re suddenly going to stop being friends, or that I can’t be straight with him about things, even if he isn’t going to like them (which, I find, is an absolute indicator of a good Pseudo Relationship). Craig is charming when he wants to be and makes a good date to weddings and formal work functions and other horrible events requiring dates. And he is one of only a handful of people (maybe five in the whole world) who has seen me absolutely lose-my-shit-fall-apart. He’s since admitted that he found it terrifying, but he’s still here. That’s Pseudo Love. My parents assume he’s either gay or that we’re eventually going to “realize” what’s actually going on and get married. I suppose that’s a possibility, but I doubt it. Know why? Because…

Pseudos Never Hook Up

Yeah. Never. Never EVER. The Pseudo Relationship is inherently platonic. It’s more than a traditional friendship, yes, but a Pseudo is NOT under any circumstances to be confused with any of the following*:

A friend with benefits.

A huckleberry friend.

A fuck buddy.

*with apologies for the use of fairly stupid and vulgar terms.

That’s the whole POINT. Pseudos are NOT THE REAL DEAL.

Hooking up is (literally?) the kiss of death to a Pseudo Relationship. On occasion, you can have an effective Pseudo pairing with someone you used to date. (I have one going right now with the boyfriend who caused the aforementioned teen heart break.) But if you’re crushing on your Pseudo for real, in the now, you’re probably in trouble. Real romance just brings too much drama into the Pseudo sphere. It takes the comfort out of the thing and lowers the relationship to the level of any generic dating drama. And that ruins it. Pseudos are, inherently, something more than all that. Something better.

So What’s The Real (Not Real) Deal?

Pseudos are people you go on dates with. They can be either gender depending on your preference (but to be a Pseudo, one must be of the gender you prefer with exceptions for bisexuality). They are not your best friends, neither are they the sorts of people you hang out with in groups, see at parties, and enjoy, but don’t particularly connect with. Pseudos are basically people you like MORE. They are people who, under other circumstances, you might have dated, but didn’t and don’t and won’t.   As a result, they are people you just … talk to.

The Pseudo Relationship is traditionally a one-on-one sort of thing. Pseudos have a lot in common, or at least a sympathetic understanding of each others' ideals and world views. Each finds the other endearing in some way. And most importantly, as already stated, Pseudos meet for traditional date-type activities (coffee, dinners, long-walks, etc.), but ultimately, it’s the quality of the interaction that counts. Pseudos are people you share secrets with. You discuss real stuff that might otherwise be reserved for actual relationships (serious personal history, family, heart break, deep and abiding views on pop culture, etc.). You see what’s appealing in each other, sure, you just don’t want to go there yourself. Maybe it’s weird, but it works.

Speaking Of Weird, Some Wild Card Issues (Flirting, Set-Ups, Etc.)

I want to make one thing absolutely clear, because I think there are a sticking points where people might pause on the road to buying the whole Pseudo concept: flirting is permitted. Innocuous flirting, I mean. Nothing that might truly be misinterpreted, nothing too aggressive. (Sidebar: I’ve often been told that I am a big flirt, which isn’t fair, really, since I think the judgment is based entirely on the fact that I giggle and smile   a lot, both of which are protective/defense mechanisms and neither of which I reserve for men, but I digress.) Some Pseudos are flirtier than others. My friend Nick, for example, is a flirt. That’s just who he is. But he’s a non-threatening flirt who uses silly, canned-lines for comedic value, and spreads that vibe among his friend-circle fairly indiscriminately. Craig, alternately, is actually not much of a flirt. He tends to reserve his flirting for women he’s actually interested in dating and/or hooking up with.

Strangely, I’ve found that flirting is most common with Pseudos not when both sides are single (which is what you’d expect) but when both sides are firmly linked to other people. I think this is because, if both people in a Pseudo Relationship are single, there’s really nothing definite keeping them apart, and flirting might therefore give rise to scary questions like “why aren’t WE together?” But if both Pseudos are with other people, if you carry the certainty that you’ve both (or even just one of you has) definitely chosen something else and therefore, the certainty that there is absolutely no potential for you as a real couple, Pseudos can partake in a little flirting with no pesky what ifs nosing their way in to ruin the vibe.  

And while we’re talking about vibes and what ifs, I think it’s worthwhile to mention that Pseudos often go through a period where they try to set each other up. I don’t know why. I think it’s an anxiety thing. It tends to happen early on, when the Pseudo Relationship is new and maybe unsettling because, let’s face it, many people aren’t particularly accepting of opposite gender friendships. Deep down, a lot of us are Harrys (as in, Billy Crystal in When Harry Met Sally) who don’t believe men and women can ever truly be friends. As a result, many new Pseudos pass through a period where they try to prove that they are NOT interested in the other person “that way” by pimping each other out.

In my experience, Pseudo setups rarely work out. Pseudos tend to be good at supporting each others respective Real Partner choices, but terrible at picking those people themselves. I think the mistake made most often is that we pick potentials for our Pseudos who are either just like us, or exactly the opposite, neither of which makes much sense. Nick and I discussed this the other day because he is my only Pseudo who’s never tried to set me up. When I asked him why, he was predictably cute about it. “Because I want you all to myself,” he said. “I don’t want to share you.” (See the Flirt Factor, mentioned above.)

The Oh at the End of Pseudo

In the end, all I’m really trying to do here is explain what a Pseudo is. And before you start thinking me a big pseudo slut, let me say this: I don’t actually have a lot of these relationships. I have a few. At the moment, I also have a couple of male friends you could say I’m Pseudo Dating, but they are not (yet?) actual Pseudos. It’s a small circle. It takes a lot to get in. I love these men because they are kind to me in a way the men I’ve actually dated have certainly never been. They’re steadfast and into the fidelity of friendship, which I love. And most of all, though I expect a lot of them, they never let me down. That’s the criteria. I guess it’s a lot to ask, but if you can get it, why wouldn’t you?

Pseudos are seriously good stuff.

Anyway. Asked and answered. You brought this on yourselves.

Love,

Jen

ARE YOU READY FOR THE REAL REVOLUTION, WHICH IS THE EVOLUTION OF THE MIND?

Remember last week when I said I’d blog again tomorrow? ‘Member that?

I am SUCH a liar, eh?

Oh well.

Know what, interwebs? I just had the BEST birthday week/weekend. Like, it was way better than any of my birthdays have been in YEARS. My 22nd was pretty good, sure, but that was a long time ago, and this was just as good if not better than that. By far, actually.

Actually, by a mile. By a million miles. By a billion miles.

That’s how good it was.

To be fair, I suppose it’s not really saying much to say this birthday was better than the last few. I mean, my birthdays in recent years weren’t exactly a big deal. They were nice enough, sure, but with D’s birthday falling exactly one week before mine, and me being the … nicer (?) of the two of us, July was usually his month.  

That’s okay. It’s mine again now. And. It. Kicks. ASS.

Want to know what I did to celebrate? Okay. Let’s activate something resembling a photoblog.

Thursday Night: French Dinner with Craig, My Number One Pseudo.

Friday Night: Karaoke with the Boppers (Which had nothing to do with my birthday, but which I decided to THINK of as birthday related… no pictures survive, so use your imagination).

Saturday Night: Party and Dancing (At Home and the Velvet Underground)

I got lots of neat presents including LOTS of books from Kaye, a comic book from Neil, clothes and pie and a hilarious bookmark from Patty, and two tickets to Avenue Q from my sister. And there was cake. Oh so much delicious cake (from Emily). And wine (from Elaine, etc.) And at least one Jäger shot from Rob. And generally excessive imbibing, which I regret just the teeniest bit. Most of all, there was fun. So much fun.

Sunday night marked the end of a massive social streak for me. That rainy recovery day was a relief actually. It gave me time to work out that I had been out EVERY SINGLE NIGHT for the past 25 nights. Every night! And I’ve been working every day and playing softball three times a week too. How did this HAPPEN?

I’m social. Or rather, I want to be social, but I don’t always succeed. I’m big on my quiet time too. But something’s just sort of shifted and I’ve become this huge … I dunno, party girl? No. That’s not right. I’ve just become something else. I don’t know what it is yet. Maybe I’m evolving. Or adapting. Something’s happening, that’s for sure.

On my birthday I got an email from my Vancouver friend Andy, whom I rarely talk to anymore, but often miss. His emails to me are some of the funniest I ever get. Anyway, I guess I must have told him a bit about my new busy lifestyle when last I wrote, because one of the things he put in his birthday message was this:

“That is so cool that you have become a party girl. Leaving for Kingston definitely changed me and I think it’s much easier to change who you are when you arrive in&nbspa new place. I know you were always fun, but fun in an antisocial hermit way. Still pretty fun, but with a little bit of ‘If you don't get off my land, I WILL KILL YOU’   mixed in.”

Was I? He’s kidding, of course, but there’s some truth to what he’s kidding about. If that’s who I was, then who am I now?

I am someone who feels like this (by NatalieDee)

 

And I’m someone who reads stuff like this (by Overheard):

 

And sometimes when I play softball I look like this:

 

And I'm thinking for Halloween, maybe I'll be this:

And I’m happy, that’s for sure. The happy is hanging on. It feels good.

Love,

Jen

July 16, 2008

EVERY POP SONG ON THE RADIO IS SUDDENLY SPEAKING TO ME
(sixth in a six-part series… which means, it’s over)

Cassette From My Ex
the stories and soundtracks of your earliest loves

Why I Like It: It’s emotional, earnest, and touching. I like it because it speaks. It speaks in the same way High Fidelity speaks. In the same was the first mix tape anyone ever made me spoke.

It spoke, I listened, and that was that. Everything changed.

My musical tastes are pretty eclectic. I like almost everything (if we’re talking genre) and a very limited amount of things (if we’re talking songs). I like classical music and serious rap. I like opera, country and punk. I like, I like, I like. That’s me. But the thing I like most is sharing the things I like with other people. And I’m pretty sure that’s because of that very first tape. That very first mix.

I can’t remember if I was already totally enamoured with the first guy who made me a mix tape of if it was the mix tape that tipped the scales. I really can’t. I don’t know where that first tape falls in the chronology. I just know it was important.

So much care used to go into the process. When I look at that first mix, I can see the work he put into it, from the track list, to the pacing, to the deliberate setting of a particular mood. In retrospect, a lot of the music was terrible, but at the time I couldn’t see that. I couldn’t hear it. That small aspect of the bigger thing that was the tape didn’t seem to matter. It was about more than just the music.

I don’t even have a tape deck anymore, and I’ve considered getting rid of the tape (of all the tapes) many times, but the truth is, I don’t think I will. They mean way too much. Nothing, and way too much at the same time. They’re little bits of tangible nostalgia. Little bits of life recorded.

Lately, I’ve been making a lot of mixes. I don’t use tapes anymore (obviously). I tend to burn CDs from MP3s. But I put in the same sort of care I did when I was still making tapes. I make liner notes, covers, little pieces of art. I name the albums. And every time I do it, I take my cue from that first tape. That first tape that was made with so much care, just for me.

The latest mix I made was for my new friend Kathleen. I have a pretty major girl crush on her at the moment, which I guess explains things. I’ve had a lot of crushes lately. There’ve been so many new people in my life this year. As a result, I’ve made a lot of mixes. Here’s a list of last five – all compiled in the last three months:

• Yesterday That Wasn’t There
  
  
  
  
• The Arc of a Love Affair (It’s a Concept Album)
  
  
  
  
• On The Other Hand… You Have Different Fingers
  
  
  
  
• Beautiful, Sad and True?
  
  
  
  
• The Cheese Stands Alone!
  
  
  
  

It’s ridiculous, I know. But people seem to appreciate it nonetheless. And that makes me happy. It doesn’t even bother me that nobody’s made ME a mix in ages. In years. (In fact, in so long, I can’t even remember the last one.) I really don’t mind. (I’m not being sarcastic here, I swear.) It would be nice, sure. I’m sure I’d be charmed. But it’s not about that. What I really care about - what I really love – is making tapes for everyone else. I like watching my new friends put their earphones on. I like watching their features as the music changes. I like hearing what they hear. It makes things new again. It makes things fresh. And I hope (I hope!) it makes them happy.

Because that – making them happy – is what makes me happiest of all.

ANYWAY.

Thanks for reading the web-series guys. I hope you liked it. It was fun to share some sites with you.

In exactly one hour, it will be my birthday. I feel good right now. Tired, and busy and happy. Happier than I’ve been in ages. I’ll blog again tomorrow.

I’m ready.
Jen


July 15, 2008

MAMMA SAID KNOCK YOU OUT
(fifth in a six-part series)

“My mum is just a mum, which is an unforgivable thing to say in any circumstance, except this one. She worries, she gives me a hard time about the shop, she gives me a hard time about my childlessness. I wish I wanted to see [her] more, but I don’t, and when I’ve got nothing else to feel bad about, I feel bad about that.” – from Nick Hornby’s High Fidelity
(which incidentally, will lead very well into tomorrow’s instalment. Stay tuned.) In the meantime, let’s talk about yo momma, specifically:

Postcards From Yo Momma
a repository of modern day maternal correspondence

On a meta level, I’m actually sort of against mom-bashing. Moms are ultimately and generally pretty good people. They made us, after all. And for the most part, they mean well. They care. They’re earnest. All that stuff is good stuff. But in reality (down in the dirty dugout, where I really live) I’m really all for making fun of the one that bore you.

Making fun of my own mother has made me friends, frankly. (Sorry, Ma.) Sure, the jokes are cheap and not particularly clever, and they capitalize on something that is, deep at its heart, just a wee bit mean, but the fact is: mothers are funny. They can’t help being that way. And if we find them so, maybe we can’t help it either.

Excerpts from the site:

The Launch Pad

Virginity

Ding Dongs

Sometimes, you’re in the mood for this sort of humour and Postcards From Yo Momma can deliver if you’re in the right sort of headspace . That nut-bag quality that seems to exist in all mothers is amusing. It is just is. It don’t mean she loves ya any less.

Admittedly, a ding dong,
Jen


July 14, 2008

I LOVE YOU PERIOD
DO YOU LOVE ME QUESTION MARK
(fourth in a six-part series)

Punctuation = comedy. Who knew?

The “Blog” of “Unnecessary” Quotation Marks
misinterpreting bad punctuation since 2005

Why I Like It: Isn’t it obvious? The “sarcasm”. The “silliness”. The “quotation marks”. It’s all just great, in part, because it’s all kind of inferred and constructed by the viewer. Misused quotation marks don’t automatically equal sarcasm, nor are they inherently funny... except that this “blog” seems to prove that somehow, they are. Good “idea”, “good” blog. I “like” it.

Check it:

Thank “God”

You are Being “Observed”

Well, that was “fun”.

“Jen”


July 13, 2008

EVERY LITTLE HEARTBEAT, EVERY LITTLE BREATH
(third in a six-part series)

I like street art. I like art in general, sure, but I especially like street art. I like the cleverness of it, the anti-capitalism of it, the authenticity (though, I’m not so naïve as to think all street art meets those criteria). Some does. This mostly does:

Little People – A Tiny Street Art Project
little handpainted people, left in London to fend for themselves

(also see: Inner City Snail: a slow-moving street art project.

Why I Like It: It’s hard to describe exactly what it is that makes this art so wonderful. It’s clever, yes. Intricate, yes. Smart and cheeky? Yes. And it’s often sad, too. Strangely poignant and beautiful and odd and unsettling. There’s an element of trickle-down inspiration at work here. Knowing that this project even exists makes me want to look more closely at the world. I think it inspires adult-appreciation of the minutiae, which is sort of like being little again. It’s kids, mostly, who looked closely at the ground, at the environment. They know all the blades of grass, all the cigarette butts, all the bugs. They find four leaf clovers and pennies and lost bits of jewellery all the time because they’re always looking, and this art makes me want to look too. That’s worth something.

Besides all that, the Little People project clearly takes a great deal of effort and a great deal of heart. The little people truly are left to “fend for themselves” and they’re often quickly destroyed and/or lost. They don’t last. Considering the work that goes into the hand-painting process, this must be emotionally difficult. Sure, the photos remain, but the art itself goes (though in the grand scheme of the project the photos are an essential part of the art-whole, I know).I really like Little People, because with them, Slinkachu does something hard. If his work is darling (and it is), he doesn’t murder it, exactly, but he does let it die. I wish I could do that.
 
Examples:

Little People in The City   (from his book cover)




Rush Hour (from Inner City Snail)



Slinkachu does other art as well. You can check it out through his “complete profile” link.

Tune in tomorrow for a little more.

In love with all things wee,
Jen


July 12, 2008

SMELLY CAT (IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT)
(second in a six-part series)

I’m going to start this instalment of the web-series with a caveat: I am not really a cat person. I am, in fact, allergic to cats. Not debilitatingly so, but enough to keep me from having one. Besides that, cats sort of freak me out. They’re always looking too intensely at things that are invisible. They seem to hear noises that I can’t hear. They eat bugs. And they bring you dead rodents as presents.

Cats, in other words, give me the heebie jeebies AND the willies. They’re just kind of weird.

Still, there’s some funny stuff on …

I Can Has Cheezburger
lolcats and funny pictures (of cats and other animals)

Why I Like It: I’m not sure I fully do. There’s some truly terrible stuff here. Cutesy, schmaltzy, treacley garbage of the worst unfunny sort is in abundance. But there are nuggets of gold to be found. Neil, who has been introducing me to all sorts of great stuff lately, turned me onto the site by selling me on the lolrus (see below) at a moment when I was particularly in need of a dose of the ridiculous, and I’ve been returning, looking for an equal laugh ever since. Lolcats and the fact that they exist at all is representative. The site ultimately represents a subsection of people who like their pets a bit too much, but at the same time, who are actively participating in an open forum community, interacting with the world, and generally making an authentic attempt to appeal to each other, to discuss, to be part of something. And that, in itself, is appealing.

Some examples:

1.       The Lolrus.


2.       The Lolcat (as related to the Lolrus)


3.       An unrelated comic:


This third image is not from I Can Has Cheezburger. It’s from a comic blog called XKCD (a webcomic of romance, sarcasm, math, and language).

It’s a cute site, and I felt this comic was relevant, but I decided not to post a whole entry about XKCD on its own.

More to come. (Not “moar kittehs” though. Fear not.)

Meow.
Jen


July 11, 2008

DOUBLEYOO DOUBLEYOO DOUBLEYOO DOT
(the first in a six-part series)

I’ve long been a fan of sites and blogs like FOUND and Post Secret. I wrote (or assigned/edited) stories on both sites several years ago. I’ve also submitted to Post Secret myself, though I’m not gonna reveal if my secrets have been published, lest you begin to know too much.

Anyway, what can I say? I’m into the internet. But I must admit, in recent years, my enthusiasm for viral web trends and clever blogs (like Stuff White People Like, Garfield minus Garfield, etc.) has waned a little. I’ve just been too busy, I guess. Busy with real life.

Luckily, I’ve come to the realization that real life is lame, and as a result, I’ll be posting a series on some of my wasting-time-on-the-web favourites. Some of this won’t be new to you. I’m not pretending to be a trendsetter. I’m just sharing. Make of it what you will.

The first installment is below, with additional installments forthcoming. I’ll post one a day, every day, until my birthday next week. So expect to read about six sites in total. Ready? Go!

Passive Aggressive Notes
painfully polite and hilariously hostile writings from shared spaces the world over

Why I Like It: What’s not to like? I think almost everyone who’s ever lived in the world has come across notes of this ilk. And we all occasionally fall victim to the overwhelming desire to pen such missives. Life is, and people are, after all, annoying. Roommates fail to wash dishes, strangers pee on the seat, coworkers the world over steal our Hot Pockets when we’re not looking. Such is life. And as such, PAN tells the truth. Mind you, what I really love about the notes on this site is what they say about North American culture, literacy, and the things that preoccupy us.   I love the wonky grammar, the typos, the misused punctuation, sure, but I can forgive all that, and besides, that stuff is only surface-level funny. What I really love most about these passive aggressive notes is that they unfailingly seem to exhibit a tri-part combination of illiteracy, unbridled AGGRESSION, and true insanity/delusion. Brilliant.

A few examples:

1.       To the Mens

2.       Potluck: I’ll Be Bringing Ribs and Hats


3.       Like a Clown Out of a Circus Cannon (Rocket Pubes)


You’ve gotta laugh, right? Unless you choose to go the other way (which is to say, the way that leads you to weep with dismay at the state of humanity).

More webtastic webbery to come, guys. See you tomorrow. Get pumped!

xo,
Jen


July 8, 2008

COULD YOU PLEASE EXPLAIN THE HURTING?

Sorry the following photo is kinda fuzzy. I am not ambidextrous.



It’s just a bruise. Looks much more striking in person. Especially when compared to the healthy counterpart.

Hurts a bit, though. I admit, it hurts. People keep telling me to go to the doctor, but I ain’t gonna. Nosir.

What else? Well, I also started a fire in my apartment the other night because … well, there’s no because. It’s not like I did it on purpose. The lingering result is that everything I own now smells like burnt toast. My clothes, towels, sofa, hair, the air in general. Burnt toast, the lot of it. This is bothersome for many reasons, not the least of which being that I could totally be having a stroke right now, only ... how would I KNOW?

Ow. That’s what I have to say about that. Just ow.

Jen
P.S. Do any of you want to come to the Jays game with me on Thursday? I’m saddled with an extra ticket I already paid for and I’d hate to waste it. Yes? Email? Yes?


July 6, 2008

NOBODY KNOWS ANYTHING IMPORTANT

Okay, so not only is the blah-og sticking around, but apparently we’re going to pick up the pace a little.

This is… surprising, I know. Roll with it.

It occurred to me today that I haven’t been keeping y’all properly updated. I’ve been doing all this emo rambling, but I haven’t really been TELLING you anything, have I? Bad me. This must be remedied.

Before we begin, a teaser on the topics to be covered (because I want to entice you to read to the bitter end). So, webheads, expect to be enlightened on all of the following:

1.       Sporty exploits
2.       Work snafus
3.       My slow rise to super-stardom and world domination
4.       My deep and abiding love for a Hollywood c-lister
5.       My beta fish and his hotly debated name
6.       Recent near-death experiences (and the painful results)

&nbspReady, steady, go!

Agenda Item 1: Ballin’

My team won the Spring championship! That’s right. The Blitzkrieg Boppers won the recreational division playoffs a couple of weeks ago. We’ve consequently decided to move up a division, so now we’re playing at the intermediate level in the summer season (with a few player changes). Here’s a pic of the team (or rather, most of the team) after our big win:

Sorta pretty, ain’t it?

Agenda Item 2: Workin’

My office is FREEZING. So cold, in fact, that on Friday my boss offered to go out and buy me a blanket. Only, the lone store close by that carried anything blanket-esque was the dollar store. And the only blankets available at said dollar store were baby blankets. But you know, beggars can’t be choosers. Alas, I forgot I was wearing the darn thing and waddled into the afternoon staff meeting with it wrapped around my shoulders. So now more than half the staff has seen me swaddled in a too-small bit of baby-blue fleece covered with cartoon ducks and the words "quack quack quack". Adorable? Yes. Professional? No. Who wants to take bets on how long it’ll be before I get fired?

Anybody?

Agenda Item 3: Famin’ (Not to be confused with either famine or flamin’, neither of which I am experiencing.)

I’m gonna be on Cosmo TV again. They’ve invited me back to the show Oh So Cosmo to speak about yet another item of vital pop-culture importance: PDAs. We may be shooting the segment tomorrow. What are your thoughts on the topic, guys? Public Displays of Affection - are you for them? Against? I’m not sure where I stand. I’ve been guilty of participation in the phenomenon of late, which isn’t to say I feel so good about it. Weigh in, would ya?

Agenda Item 4: Stalkin’

I’ve written before about how I love Zach Braff’s blog, right? (I have.) But the truth is, he’s a really unreliable post-writer, and as a result, I sort of stopped checking his site awhile back. It occurred to me last week, when I really needed a laugh, that it had been well over a year (and possibly even two) since I’d even glanced at it. So I spent a little time catching up on him last week and I’m so glad I did because that boy is really effing hilarious. Like, snort-out-loud-wish-he-was-my-interweb-boyfriend hilarious. One of his posts is titled, “Blog. Cog. Snog. Frog. Oh my Gog!” I’m sorry, I just find that so adorable.

Here are some additional choice excerpts:

“I’m not sure when or why the tabloid angle on me was decided that I am a cad. I would have much rather it had been that I am secretly a dentist or that I love soup … Yes; I am dating. When we shoot Scrubs I spend every waking hour of my life in an abandoned and haunted hospital. All I can date there are ghosts and they tend to be horrible snugglers. So anyway, blah, blah, blah. Don’t believe the hype.”

“What is the deal with all these myspace spammers lately? You’d think after Tom sold the company for 100 zillion dollars he’d spend a few bucks of it on trying to figure out how to stop that. Everytime I check my page there’s something like, “I love this fucking ringtone so much I wanna have sex with it all night long. I wanna impregnate this fucking ring tone. I wanna knock up this ring tone and marry it in Vegas, then have the wedding annulled the next day. That’s how fucking excited I am about this ringtone.”

“Remember Romper room when they would say goodbye to a few random names? They never said Zach. Stupid room.”

I don’t know why I like this stuff so much. I just do. Dear Zach Braff, you are adorable. I am a fan. I admit it. I admit fandom.

God, I wish I was funny (like that). I really do. Or you know, that someone equally funny loved me. Something like that. Although, this is a dangerous desire, I know. I read something in a novel about this idea once – this desire to be funny.   I won’t name the book, but in it, one character is sort of giving another single woman character dating advice and she says, “Don’t be funny. Funny is the opposite of sexy.” Later, the advisee protests. “Listen,” she says. “Funny is the best thing I am.” And the wise adviser, being wise, says, “Making jokes is your way of saying Do you love me? And when someone laughs you think they’ve said yes.”

That line gave me PAUSE, lemme tell you.

Okay. What else? (You’ve made it this far! Don’t stop now!)

Agenda Item 5: Namin’

You know Nathan, my beta fish, right? Nathan Phillipsquare? Yeah, him. I really love that little guy. He makes me happy. I named him Nathan for a variety of reasons. For one thing, it seemed a very Torontonian sort of a name and I was down with that. Also, I had no friends named Nathan at the time, so it was sort of neutral. Finally, I just thought it was funny (see above). Alas, over the last year, I’ve met a lot of Nathans. Four, actually. And recently it’s just become a bit awkward. Every morning It's like, "Good morning Nathan! I love you Nathan! Here are your pellets and yummy yummy blood worms Nathan!"

I don’t like it much anymore. So what do I do?

Patty is insistent that I should rename him Oscar (as in De La Hoya). She’s already started calling him that herself. But I don’t know if I can! I mean, I’ve had the little guy almost a year already! In human years, he’s like, 25 or something. What if, when I turned 25, someone had said to me, “Okay, so, the Jen years are over. We’re done with the whole Jen thing. From now on you are … Matilda! Be Matilda. Matilda is who you ARE. Go forth, Matilda. Prosper.”

That kind of thing would have seriously fucked up my identity, don’t you think?

Agenda Item 6: Hurtin’

I hurt myself at softball practice this morning. Like, maybe bad. Like, were I more readily able to cry in public, I might have cried, bad. See, I was pitching, and I guess pitching in such a way as to cause my team mates to hit a fair number of line drives at me. Nathan (see!?) hit two right at my head, basically. Both missed. The first whizzed by my ear in a disturbing way, but wasn’t super close. The second actually grazed my neck. I felt it. Yikes. After that, I was pretty skittish, but I kept pitching. My friend John was last up to bat and the whole time I was throwing to him I had a bad feeling. Tempting fate, you know? And indeed I was. He hit one right at my head, and I didn’t have time to think or duck or anything. I just instinctively threw my (right, ungloved) hand up to protect my face.

Result? Face: saved. Hand: fucked.

It’s taken me about a year to type this post, in fact. One handed, baby.

After this whole thing went down, Neil commented on how strange it is that I giggle incessantly, regardless of how I’m feeling. I did end up doing a lot of giggling immediately after taking the hit as a matter of fact. Some of you will know what that means. Sigh.

Really, it’s not so bad. The ball mostly caught the meaty part of my palm, and I’m sure nothing’s broken. At first, I was a little scared, because my hand sort of curled up in frozen shock at first. I couldn’t move it at all. I tried. My brain told my thumb to move and my thumb said no. (Actually, it said, “fuck off” because it’s mean that way.) That’s a weird and frightening feeling – telling your body to do something and having it refuse. But the numbness wore off pretty quickly. And the boys were all lovely and nice about taking care of me after. Neil brought me a shwarma (yum!) and John gave me strict icing instructions which have helped. I’ve been icing it on and off all day and it feels pretty good now. I don’t bruise too easily, so it looks pretty good too. Just a bit swollen. It’ll probably be way better by tomorrow. (I hope.)

Okay. Gotta stop. For one thing, it’s mental to be typing all this with one hand. For another, it’s terrible to write a post this long. Bad internet manners. That’s what I’ve got.

That, and a messed up hand … and a beta named Nathan … and a crush on Zach Braff … and a date with Cosmo TV … and a dubious work-rep … and a sporty hobby that often gets me hurt (physically and emotionally), but that’s fun anyway.

Yep. That about sums it up. Consider yourselves up to date.

Peace and Love and Pieces of Love,
Jen


July 3, 2008

I'M A FRAGILE TOUGH GIRL

Interwebbers, I love you. What can I say? You rallied. You emailed. You were effusive and flattering and lovely and I love you. I appreciate you. I’m frankly a little bit afraid of some of you (‘cause let's face it, some of you over-zealous voyers are creepy) but for the most part you're just cool people and you've done it. You've convinced me to continue the blah-og. For the time being anyway, jenselk.com shall live on.

You made it happen!

So … now what?

Let’s rap, I guess. This is what we do.

How about a metaphor?

Acclimatization. It’s about getting used to stuff, right? Specifically, it’s about organisms getting used to change in their environment. I’m an organism (I function independently!) so I think it works.

I’ve been thinking about acclimatization because my beautiful, wonderful friend Diana just got back from a trip to Africa (for her honeymoon) and recently wrote me an email about what it was like to climb Kilimanjaro. “We did the climb in six days,” she wrote. “Two of the six days really weren’t fun … I would highly recommend a ten day climb if you want to try Kili. Six days was just not enough to acclimatize … We both felt lightheaded and a bit confused …I felt very nauseated and Dave was ataxic… However, some of this is supposed to be ‘normal’ and I guess things are okay as long as you don't have a headache.”

That’s just perfect, isn’t it? Lightheadedness. Confusion. Nausea. Ataxia (which btw translates to “lack of order” and medically refers to a lack of coordination and wonky muscle movement). And the best bit: knowledge that such things are NORMAL and acceptance of the notion that everything’s okay … as long as you don’t have a headache.

How true. How fundamentally true. I don’t need to climb a mountain for this stuff. This is how I feel EVERY. DARN. DAY.

I like acclimatization much better than adaptation as a metaphor. Adaptation is about evolution and evolution takes too long. I mean, it’s great and all, but it requires so much patience. Acclimatization happens in the now. It’s relatively fast. It’s more comforting as an idea. We can get used to stuff. We might think we can’t, but we can. If we need to, we can.

I can.

Diana isn’t my first friend to climb Kilimanjaro. My friends Craig, Rob and Paul did it last year (and Craig wrote a story about the experience for AGENCY (click to get the issue). Of acclimatization Craig wrote, “Doing anything at that altitude requires a huge amount of effort … even sitting up too quickly can result in an instant headache.” He also wrote of the final ascent to the peak: “As close as we were to our goal, several climbers quit during this last leg. Many had rushed, and we came across them on the trail. Some were vomiting, others looked drunk or confused. I was fortunate to feel relatively clearheaded, though I admit I was forced to focus all my thoughts on propelling myself forward – right foot, left foot – in order to advance.”

Did you catch that? Many had rushed. That’s it, isn’t it? That and the bit about the need to focus on propulsion. On moving forward. That’s metaphorical GOLD right there.

So what, though, right? Big deal.

Looking back over the emails they sent me, I noticed that Diana and Craig ended up expressing similar thoughts about their respective trips. They each had their own take on Africa – Diana, being Diana, focusing on poverty, the kindness of strangers, ideas about social and institutional infrastructure, and Craig, being Craig, focusing on physical challenge, climate change, the environment, and existentialism – but in the end, they both had the same fundamental things to say. Craig wrote, “I wish I could accurately describe the exhaustion, exhilaration and excitement … but I’m not sure I’m a good enough writer. Maybe it’s not something anyone can accurately describe.” Di wrote, “It's so hard to describe Tanzania in words. There's such conflicting tension between so many human emotions.”