Escapism

I was reading an interview with David Suzuki yesterday, and he said something along the lines of “we’re ignoring the planet dying and instead focusing on celebrities” (sorry, I don’t have the exact quote).

This statement really got me thinking about escapism.

I have an obsession with stories. Not only do I spend a large majority of my time playing video games, watching movies, watching TV shows, reading books, and reading articles online, I also spend my time writing those articles, and those stories, and working on theatrical productions and, occasionally, films. My life is about stories. I live, breathe, and sleep them.

They’re how I approach the world – the experiences I have in real-world situations often turn into my best (or terrible, I guess that’s debatable) stories. My life is a series of stories, starring myself and my friends and family. I suppose this is true of all people – what would there be to talk about if not for what happens to us in our lives? We recount stories to one another every day.

Suzuki’s point mostly focused on celebrities. I do fall into this trap from time to time. I cast books in my head. I go to conventions and meet my favourite sci fi actors. I likely know way too much about the personal lives of celebrities, and I can usually name pretty much every actor I see on screen. I can even tell what commercials are shot in Toronto, based on the actors that appear in them (yes, I’m likely a dork).

Does this come at a cost? Do I ignore real world problems or situations in favour of the glitz and glamour of Hollywood? Yes. Probably.

I know the world is dying. I do a little bit – I’m all about public transit (although I’ll admit this is more for the selfish “I don’t want to learn to drive” reason – though the environmental benefit is nice) and I’m getting better about turning everything off when I leave, and doing things like only washing my clothes in cold water.

I know people are dying. There are so many terrible things that go on everywhere – war, famine, slavery, poverty, oppression. I don’t really do anything about that. I don’t know that I can. I’d love to adopt a child in some war-torn country or give money to those in need. I tell myself I don’t because I’m unemployed and have no money to give. Yet somehow I’m writing this from a Starbucks on Yonge Street – so that excuse doesn’t sit well with me. The extent of my charity is lazy – liking things on Facebook so other companies will donate a dollar, retweeting for the same purpose.

Sometimes I feel like I’m a really terrible person. Perhaps I am.

I get involved with politics to a point, but I don’t go nuts, mostly because I’ve learned there’s a lot of people I simply don’t want to discuss politics with.

I’ve always believed that telling stories helps the world. It makes us human. I still believe that. I believe we become aware of those people who are dying , the environment, everything through the media and education. I believe the arts are central to this because they allow us to work out our feelings on these things. And escapism isn’t all bad – it can’t be all doom and gloom all the time.

Do I hide in the stories? Does creating art and words make me self-centred? Am I a terrible person who lives in the arts rather than helping out her fellow man in the real world? Or can I help by writing and creating and doing? Is it a false reality? Does writing this down actually do anything for anybody or does it stroke my own ego?

I guess I just thought I’d share what was going on in my head today, as I sit in a Starbucks on Yonge, on a laptop I am lucky to have, in a life full of wonderful and terrible stories.

Graphic Novel Project – Request for Your Dreams!

Hello everyone,

So, I have a project in the works, (extremely tentatively entitled “The Rub”) which will hopefully turn into a graphic novel. It will largely be made up of real-life dreams (the sleep kind, not the aspiration kind, though I’m sure those are lovely too). To begin working on a draft, I need to collect those dreams, and where better to begin than here.

WHAT I NEED: Any dream of yours that you can describe for about a minute or longer – so this means the dreams you can remember quite vividly. The dreams you can only describe in a sentence or two will likely not provide enough material for me to work with.

WHAT WILL HAPPEN IF YOU AGREE: I’ll set up an interview, either in person or over Skype (you can email if you wish, though I’d prefer a live chat). There will be a form to sign (basically agreeing to allow your dream to potentially be used – and a decision on your part of whether or not you wish to have your name credited. This credit will not directly be in the story, nor will any images look like you – the credit would be on a thank you page only. I do understand, however, that some dreams can be unusual enough that you don’t want to be associated with them at all, so it is your choice whether or not you want to be thanked publicly or not). If I’m interviewing you online, I’ll email you the form and you’ll need to print it, and send it back to me via scan or mail (if that ever lives again). Then we’ll have a chat (which I’ll record) and that’s all that needs to happen!

If there are any questions or concerns, feel free to contact me.

Thank you for your help folks. Projects are fun. 

Love,
Heather

In Case You've Ever Wondered...

According to Last.fm

A Love Letter to UTSC

In the months and days prior to the end of my final semester, a lot of people have been asking me “So how does it feel?” “You must be so excited!” That kind of thing. And now that I’ve written my final exam, everyone is saying “Congratulations!” And many people have been surprised when my answer is “No, I’m not excited at all. I love school.” It’s not quite the response everybody expects.

I also believe in being grateful. And so, this is my love letter to you, UTSC. It is also my goodbye.

I loved being at school because I love all of you. You have made the past three years an absolute joy. I loved our shared experience. I loved discussing books and plays with you. I loved the often insane amount of reading I had to accomplish. I even loved essays (well most of them anyhow). I loved discussing and making theatre with you. I loved D&A. I loved the openness and acceptance that I have encountered just by speaking with all of you – I have had more intellectual debates about art, religion, and culture in the past three years than I have ever had in my life. I loved laughing with you at all the goofy shit we came up with. I loved expanding my mind by the various classes I took (though I will admit – some classes were significantly better than others).

This is why I loved hanging around in the greyspace and LLBT. I was happy to just be around all of you. I learned more from being around all of you then anything.

Prior to my time here, when I was largely unemployed and mostly sitting at home doing nothing, my brain had shut off. I didn’t realize it at the time. I was in a numb state, where this haze prevented me from being at all creative. UTSC opened my mind up to so many new ideas and people. It cleared the fog. I feel creative again, which is something I hadn’t felt in a long time. And I owe that to you.

To everyone who is currently seeing school as a giant pain in the ass: don’t. It is so incredibly valuable, and our brief time there is so precious. Sure, it is occasionally stressful and there’s occasionally drama outside of our dramatic studies, but really, it’s such a blessing. This has been exactly what I wanted out of a school experience, and I didn’t get that when I went to college.

Thank you. All of you. I look forward to hanging out with you and working with you in the future. (ii)

Heather

i) This has been cross-posted to my Facebook.
ii) Watch out for Part 2: A Call to Arms. It should be coming around within a day or so.

Boredom and Music Quizzes

Instructions: Put your favorite music player on shuffle (Party Shuffle on iTunes) and fill in the names of the songs in the order they show up. Or you could pick your own songs, but that’s not as much fun.

My friends see me as: Pinch Me (Barenaked Ladies)

My make-out song is: Do You Want To Know a Secret (The Beatles)

My day will be like: My Number One (Paramore)

I’ll have a good day if I can just hear: It Wasn't Me (Anouk)

Next time I’m in front of a crowd, I’ll say: Keep On Rollin' (Dana Fuchs)

My message to the world has always been: Sleep Together (Garbage)

Somewhere in my wedding vows, I will include: Over The Moon (Rent Broadway Soundtrack/ Idina Menzel)

My best friend is like: Hooker (P!nk)

My alter-ego is: Greatest Hits (Sublime)

Right now, I feel: Snowball in Hell (They Might Be Giants)

My innermost desire is: Pennsylvania 6-5000 (Brian Setzer Orchestra)

What makes me happy is: Rap Medley (Barenaked Ladies)

My birth was like: Clear (Jason Webley)

My theme song: You'll Miss Me (They Might Be Giants)

My deepest secret is: Generic Blues (Weird Al Yankovic)

If I reached the top of Mount Everest, what I would scream: Untitled (Neutral Milk Hotel)

My favorite thing to do is: Le Loup (Superbus)

The story of my life is: When You Wish Upon a Star (Pinocchio soundtrack)

At my funeral they’ll play: Canada Haunts Me (They Might Be Giants)

When I’m drunk I say: I'm Good I'm Gone (Lykke Li)

Behind my back, my friends think I’m: Boston and St. Johns (Great Big Sea)

If I got lost on a desert island, I would yell: Orange (Spiral Beach)

When I’m in the shower, I sing: C Moon (Wings)

My love of life was inspired by the song: Thank You (Jill Hennessy)

Highschool was like: Born Secular (Jenny Lewis and The Watson Twins)

My family is described by the song: I'm Ready (Allison Weiss)

How will you die? Rigadoon (Great Big Sea)

To cheer myself up I: On The Street Where You Live (My Fair Lady)

Eco-Nomy

I feel stiff in this ecosystem.
Like a weed in the grass, unwanted.
I've never been one with the stale grey walls,
the 5x5 spacing
and the business casual embellishments.
The moment I go bushwacking,
I get a small, round fist
exploding from my stomach.
My instinct for colour,
family,
life,
tell me to turn and run.

What Happens When I Take Part in Psych Experiments

I write poetry! Yay!


I become increasingly aware of the expansiveness of the universe
Aware of how far my feet are from the ground
As if the hardwood underneath me was insufficient, a false reality
That could vanish instantaneously, causing my body to shatter
With shards of my soul floating into the atmosphere
Twinkling, fake stars in an endless sky

A Poem and An Apology.

I will get back to this. Little blog, I have not forsaken ye. I just have school to worry about for a little bit longer.

Anywho, here is a poem to tie you over.

I've never been good with stilettos.

Maybe its just my terrible balance,

but I've always preferred to keep my feet

firmly planted on the ground.

That way I can stand tall

without risk of toppling over.

2011

2010 shall end in a few days. And so, it is time for the standard "New Years Resolution" post. I figured it would be slightly more interesting than the standard "Best of 2010" lists (although I will throw this out there: the best film of 2010 was Scott Pilgrim vs The World, hands down).

Although, I don't know how much of this will be resolution. Rather, it is more like a list of things I would like to happen, or goals I would like to work towards. This is going to be a year of change, as I will be finished university as of April, and once again thrust into the working world.

The first goal can be best summed up with the words "grow up". If you know me in "the real world" I have had various conversations with people about how I do not feel like a "grown up". This is something that continually comes up in my list of insecurities. I often have minor freak outs regarding this.

I am 26 years old. I live in the same house, same room even, that I have lived in since I was 2. I am effectively unemployed, and I still go to school.

I have struggled with this. At times, I feel a distinct lack of progress in my life. I look at peoples' Facebook pages, and they are married, have houses, have fantastic jobs, have children, at my age or younger. It's not so much that I want those particular things right this second, but their lives have changed since last we saw each other. I feel stuck.

On the other hand, I try and remind myself how blessed I am. I have a wonderful family, including a mother who allows me to live at home, rent free, while I figure my life out. She's awesome. I can stay here as long as I want, and save money for when I can actually leave the nest.

I have an awesome boyfriend, with whom I can make a future with. He's also pretty awesome. I have fantastic, lifelong friendships with an amazing group of people.

But back to the resolution - grow up. I guess that goal is to make any sort of progress. This will most likely involve getting a job (which would be FANTASTIC), save any amount of money, or even just gathering materials for when I move out (I've talked with Mom about how I'm hoping to focus on buying things I can use, like vacuums or plates, rather than more books and DVDs and stuff). Any sort of progress will be super.

That's the big goal, I suppose. I have a few others, some of which are better than others. For instance, I want to be more charitable from now on (in thinking about this, it might contradict my saving money goal - hmm) as I feel that I don't really contribute anything terribly beneficial to society, other than the extremely lazy "follow this person on twitter and they'll donate money to charity" type things (speaking of which, follow @abolishcancer and they'll donate $1 to a variety of cancer charities).

This would be the "better" goal, as my other goal is to finish a lot of the video games I have half-played in my library. And upgrade to Windows 7. Some goals are sillier than others.

These are my plans for 2011. How about you?

Merry Christmas!

Understandably, life has gotten a tad bit busy, around the holidays. But I haven't forgotten you, my darling blog readers! I'm working on a Dungeons and Dragons related post, which is turning out to be a lot of work. So in the mean time, here is some Christmas-related awesomeness:

Via ViralVideosNR1

Hello Fashion Lovers!

I have a rocky relationship with fashion magazines.

I'm a tad embarrassed to admit to buying them, even. I tend to pass myself off as "one of the guys", so that should, in theory, wipe those off of the slate. I also like to pretend I'm some sort of intellectual, so the vapid "look at the pretty colours" text should also, in theory, make me want to burn the damn things.

Yet I have purchased every single issue of Lou Lou since it came out. I'm also partial to Lucky. I'm not terribly loyal to anything else, but I always manage to have piles of them taking up space in my room.

Why do I do this? I mostly don't even read them! I'm paying $5 to have a book of advertisements to flip through. And even then, I skip through the last half of the magazine, which is usually devoted to makeup. (I don't get the appeal of reading about cream or eyeshadow or any of that crap. It's a coloured powder. It is slightly different from this other coloured powder! Yay?)

There's also the whole feminist/ body issues thing. I most certainly do not look like the women in these magazines. In fact, most of the stores and clothing depicted wouldn't even fit me (apparently I am "plus-sized", according to most retail sizing, I disagree and am of the opinion that I am average). These women are genetically "blessed", heavily Photoshopped, and caked in makeup. But they are what society considers beautiful, and while I know logically how ridiculous that is, I have been conditioned to agree. Only recently, and I mean VERY recently, have these magazines been devoting A SINGLE (yes, one) page to "plus sized" women. These magazines in no way represent me, physically.

And in no way do they represent me intellectually, either. The articles tend to be extremely brief, filled with bad puns and exclamations (!!!), telling me that I absolutely have to own a cheetah print this month or be completely and totally shunned by my peers. Or how I need to where 6-inch heels so that I can appear slightly thinner (I'm not fooling anybody). Don't even get me started on the "How To Please Your Man" articles (which give terrible "generic" advice, by the way).

And yet here I sit, staring at a pile of magazines that take up space on my bedroom floor. If I have so many reasons to deplore them, why the hell do I keep buying these things?

The reason is art.

I appreciate the "art" of fashion. I love that each individual piece of clothing can be a work of art on its own (and no, it does NOT need to be expensive). I love that combining it with another item creates a completely different work of art. I love the endless combinations can create endless different works of art, that you get to inhabit each and every day. My closet can attest to this.

I buy fashion magazines to see what combinations others come up with. I get ideas for my own "art". I might decide that I need a motorcycle jacket, because I don't have one yet and I can really do a lot with that, all because of what I saw in a magazine. They inspire my own art.

Now, I don't really look at the "high-end" fashion magazines (any appreciation I have for these beautiful pieces is immediately stymied by the $4000 price tag next to them). I look for things that are attainable. I'd rather see an example of a great $30 dress which I could actually buy than a $300 one. It's all beautiful, but only one is practical enough to get me inspired.

This also, by no means, implies that I am fashionable. I am far too practical for that and will choose comfort over style 95% of the time. I endeavor to make that comfort as funky looking as I can, however. The "fashion is art" attitude is why most people can very easily peg me as an arts student.

What I'm saying is, I really shouldn't be so embarrassed by this habit I've developed. In their way, they help me create tiny works of art every day. That can't be so bad, can it?

My 2010 summed up in 90 words.

It's surprising how accurate this is.

http://tweetcloud.icodeforlove.com/

The Code is in the Kidneys

There is so much information in our bodies.

It's true that our brains hold a gazillion bits of information (and even more of the useless variety). It's true that every part of our anatomy sends information back and forth to the brain, telling us things like "that's too hot" or "that's broken" or "time to reproduce more cells".

That's not what I'm talking about.

There is a fair amount of talk about the effects our cell phone signals have on us. It may cause cancer. It may not. That has yet to be proven.

The point is, think about how much information is passing through you. WiFi signals, cell phone signals, even the remote control to your television send out invisible beams of data.

There is someone's banking information being passed through your kidney as we speak. Two long lost friends are connecting again via Facebook through your gall bladder. Someone is downloading Lady GaGa mp3s to their iPod via your appendix. Someone is calling a cab through your liver. Someone is playing Halo 3 with a guy in Japan through your intestines. Someone is "sexting" through your spleen.

Peoples lives are being lived through you, and you've never even met them.

We talk about the global village and how the world is more connected than ever, but it goes further than that. We are connected via the hundreds and thousands of people that our information passes through to get to someone else.

It's a wondrous thing, in a sense, because it is yet another thing that connects us to other people. Their information is inside of you, and your information is inside of them. It's also a dangerous thing, as it could very well be killing us. It could cause cancer, or another ill-effect we won't become aware of until twenty or thirty years from now.

It sounds like something out of a science fiction novel. We are all connected. What you put out into the world passes through so many different people to get to someone else. The air you breathe in is full of data.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

A brief interlude...

Well, since I made my mom cry with the last post, I thought I'd write something that is not SO dramatic and serious. That will come this week. In the meantime, I shall sit and squee about the Mass Effect 3 trailer.

It's SO PRETTY!!!

Blackbird

Hi folks. I thought I'd begin with something a bit older. I wrote this in 2006.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night

Take these broken wings and learn to fly

All your life

You were only waiting for this moment to arise

- The Beatles, Blackbird[i]

I can safely say that on almost every day of my life, I have heard at least one song by The Beatles. My dad was a huge fan of theirs, and he passed that on to my brother and I. I never get tired of them, and I’ve been hearing their songs for twenty-two years. More often than not, my dad would be strumming one of their songs on his guitar; most of the time it was the song Blackbird. That’s always how it was in my house.

The most significant, life-changing experience that has occurred in my life was losing my father to cancer last year.

He had cancer for the first time when I was 8 years old, though I didn’t know it at the time. I knew that he had to see a special doctor once a week, and I knew when he had surgery that they had taken most of the skin off of his right arm. Later on, my mom finally told us that it had been melanoma, and he had a large mole removed from his arm. I found out a lot of our play-dates with my friend Ashleigh had been merely babysitting so that my mom could take dad to treatment. The surgery was considered a success, but he never really had any feeling in most of his arm after that.

Last year in March, my dad found blood on the inside of one of his shirt sleeves. He discovered a large lump on the backside of his arm, almost exactly were his mole had been removed thirteen years earlier. He was tested, and a month later he was diagnosed with melanoma once more. We then entered the lengthy process of determining what treatment he should take.While this was going on, his back was starting to bother him. It was getting increasingly uncomfortable for him to get around. His doctors assured us that this was unrelated to his melanoma, and sent him off to physiotherapists who said that it was probably arthritis.

By July, he was bed-ridden. He couldn’t walk, he could barely get up to go to the bathroom. He certainly couldn’t make it down the stairs. One night, he just couldn’t get up to go to the bathroom, and we decided that this had to be more than just a bit of arthritis, and we called an ambulance.He was admitted to the hospital in mid-July, and then finally it was determined that the cancer had spread into his back, and a tumor had, in fact, crushed part of his spine.

He began radiation treatment soon afterwards. He didn’t lose much hair (although, he didn’t have much to lose anyways), but he got increasingly weaker and lost his appetite. He was in the hospital for over a month, but then in August the doctors determined that he was healthy enough to be treated at home.

The house took quite a transformation. We rented a hospital bed and had it in the family room on the first level of our house. We bought a commode so he didn’t have to travel far to go, and a walker so that if he did have to get up, he had more help than we could give by holding him up.Three weeks later, he had taken a turn for the worse. He was in diapers, and my mom was getting increasingly frustrated because she just couldn’t move him to change him. The tumor was hideous. It was black and mutated and it smelled horrific.

At that point, college had started again and I was supposed to be in Toronto doing the first of two major assignments for my final year of film school. I was in class on Monday of that week, and I went home immediately afterwards instead of staying in residence.

I cried the entire way home, much to the chagrin of those in the train around me. I had realized that day what was going to happen.When I got home, my mom had told me that the doctor had been in to see him. We had a decision to make: whether we wanted him at home or in the hospital for “this”.

He was dehydrated and barely breathing. We called an ambulance.He perked up a bit with the help of a drip, and became more coherent. That week we made sure he was never alone. We took shifts of staying at the hospital with him overnight, helping him have a drink He even talked a bit, mostly to thank us and tell us he loved us. He even said he liked my hair (I tend to dye it “unusual” colours like blue, purple, etc. – my dad would roll his eyes every time).

Blackbird singing in the dead of night

Take these sunken eyes and learn to see

All your life

You were only waiting for this moment to be free.

Blackbird fly, Blackbird fly

Into the light of a dark black night.

- The Beatles, Blackbird[ii]

He passed away on September 16, 2005, at about two in the morning. I was outside in the hall, I couldn’t watch.

The next few days (with the funeral and the preparations for it) were largely a blur. My boyfriend and friends were there for me, and I will always be grateful for that. We played two songs during the funeral: Here, There and Everywhere (it had been my mom and dad’s first dance at their wedding) and Blackbird, both by The Beatles. I was back at school a few days later – I had already missed one of the major assignments.

I guess I’m supposed to talk about how this has been a significant change in my life, besides the obvious.

My house has changed significantly – we have a lot of new furniture, we had new windows installed, new curtains, new paint – it doesn’t look like it did back then. My mom’s changed her linens to reflect only her taste. We changed all the paintings in the living and family rooms. We got 2 new cars in the past year. This is merely a cosmetic change; an outward reflection of what’s changed inside.

My mom chose to retire early from teaching, she just wasn’t into it anymore. It’s incredibly odd to have her just be at home all day.

I think I have grown up a lot in the past year, which is not something I think would have happened if he was still here. I do way more chores than I did before (we were a bit spoiled in that way), because I don’t want my mom to have to do everything. We’ve both had to learn about taxes and the paying of bills and all of the financial stuff that my dad did. It’s a bit more of a forced growing up, but it has happened.

What hasn’t changed is the music. I still hear The Beatles almost every day, being strummed on the guitar. However, now it isn’t my dad, it’s just my younger brother. However, I’m sure one of the first things dad did, after saying hello to the rest of my family, was go introduce himself to John Lennon and George Harrison.

Each one believing that love never dies

Watching her eyes and hoping I'm always there

To be there and everywhere

Here, there and everywhere

- The Beatles, Here, There and Everywhere[iii]

---

[i] Beatles, The. “Blackbird”. The White Album. CD. Apple, 1968

[ii] Beatles, The. “Blackbird”. The White Album. CD. Apple, 1968

[iii] Beatles, The. “Here, There and Everywhere”. Revolver. CD. Apple, 1966.

Boldly going where many men have gone before...

This is my very first post on my very new blog. Huzzah!

I figured that since I've guest blogged here and there, and write for various websites, I may as well have somewhere to link back to, that isn't just my twitter. Which, of course, you can follow as well.

You may be wondering what the point of this blog is. I've done personal "this was my day" blogs in the past (for several years in fact - looking back on it, it was an excellent chronicle of my time in college). This is not what this blog is to be.

This blog is for me to write in. I know that sounds like stating the bloody obvious, but it's true. This will not be an account of my day-to-day life, but rather a place for me to write reflections, short stories, poems, or whatever else I choose to post. While it won't be a completely impersonal blog, it won't be quite so personal either. You might also get some amusing links now and again, or plugs for the various writings of friends and colleagues.

There, that is my fancy introduction to my fancy new blog, which is severely in need of a redesign. When I make up my mind as to how I want the damn thing to look, I'll let you know.