M is for ...

... Memory.

Not quite a year ago I was hit with some pretty crushing disappointment.  While I somewhat remember what it felt like, I don't exactly because how can you?  You can't live with that everyday, you have to let it go and move - sideways, that ways, anyways - ideally, you want to move forward but it really doesn't matter what ways - you just need to move.

Because I write about things now, I reopened my gift of instant recall to take me back to how I felt at that time.  I wanted to relive my memory of how it felt to really FAIL. (http://curiousyetdelicious.blogspot.ca/2012/08/fail.html)

That was absolutely me.  I was sad and disappointed and handled this sadness & disappointment in typical fashion:  I cloaked it in defensive humour and tried to forget about it.  In truth, my audition wasn't that great.  I had so much to learn.  So, I put my head down and went to work.  I lost some confidence along the way, I also lost some of the fun.  I didn't give up.  I wondered what I was doing.  I questioned my motives, my supposed talent and desire.  I sulked.  I almost quit.  Many times.  But I didn't give up.  I liked this too much.  And slowly, along the way, I sort of got my groove back.

Armed with words of wisdom and encouragement, the best of which was "Who gives a fuck, just do it." Last Thursday, I put myself in that room again.  Facing that panel which this time was stacked with four previous teachers.  I mean, really?  The Ghosts of Christmas Past meets American Idol?  All I really wanted was for the general consensus to be an overall "huh. she's getting better."  Really.  That was it.  I'm serious!  Acknowledgement of improvement is the Holy Grail of compliments for me!  Worst case scenario, I didn't want them all to think "wow.  she's really wasting her time."  But you can't think of any of that when it's your turn.  You need to check all your bullshit at the door, clear your head, trust your instincts and be THERE for your scene partner.  Even if your scene partner decides to be a guy with Tourette's.  (I'm sorry.  This was mean and I was really pissed and quite frankly, dude, you are not auditioning for Juilliard.  Tourette's is not an offer. You. Fucking. Jerk. Ah, that felt better.).  You also have to come up with some ideas and show you can make that pan sizzle.  In the end, I was happy.  It wasn't perfect, but in the grand scheme of things I felt pretty good.  Walking out of that room, I thought - no joke - okay, if I don't get it this time it's okay.  I gave 'er.

Well, of course my little Improv Fairytale reaches its epic finale with me getting in.  I got the call yesterday and when I hung up the phone I sat in my office and cried.  I was laughing and crying and my awesome Con Grad co-worker who is now a kick ass broker on Bay Street almost jumped over my desk to congratulate me and and now I know exactly what it will feel like to have Jon Hamm propose to me -  I was so fucking happy you have no idea.  I'm still so fucking happy you have no idea.  Why?  Because it's a big deal?  Well, yeah, I guess.  But more so because I didn't let my big fail get me down.  I didn't recoil into my cave of rejection, quit Improv and take up Zumba.  I stuck with it and it paid off.  It's the beginning of a long hard road of hard work, but it paid off.  I have a start and the knowledge that sometimes things work out. Sometimes you get what you want.  Even me.  Sometimes even I get what I want.  I don't want to forget how I felt last year, though.  I want to savour the memory of failure so I can remind myself that it's not the end.  It only means as much as we let it.  Pick yourself up.  Dust yourself off and GO.  Fucking GO.


M is for Memory.

L is for ...

... Landslide.

A couple nights ago I went to see Fleetwood Mac at the ACC.  We all know that I love concerts and I'm not so much a snob that I only see bands in small intimate venues.  Big, huge concerts in spacious arenas may not be ideal, but for big musicians with big music and big personas it's almost preferred.  While I'd love to see Springsteen or U2 now play Massey Hall (CAN YOU EVEN IMAGINE?!)  there's something about their anthemic music and the way they work a crowd that calls for a big huge venue.  It's an event and the challenge is in the connection:  can one be made between performer and audience in a way that doesn't feel phoned in?  If you're a pro and you care and you've got the tunes the answer is a resounding hell yes.

We all have 'a song'.  That song that no matter where you are or what you're doing, when you hear it you just stop and listen.  Your mind goes elsewhere - to that place the song reminds you of - and you're emotional and, well, of course, you cry.  It's that song.  This song can mean a million things to a million people - this meaning may not even be what the song is actually about - but for you, it speaks its particular story and you are lost within in.  I think that's the power of a great song; its ability to transcend meaning and morph into what you take it to mean for you.  I'm not an expert - and I certainly have no musical talent or even very good ears - but I can feel things and I can get emotional and Jesus Christ everytime I hear Landslide I just break down and cry.  Sometimes it's sobcrying.  Sometimes it's simple flow crying.  But always, always, there are tears.  It's my song.

I'm sometimes concerned with how people will react to my public displays of crybaby, but generally my people are pretty good.  Last year at Adele, C basically said that as long as I wasn't rolling on the floor in the fetal position she'd be fine.  When I told my darling M before the Fleetwood concert that there would likely be tears, she took both my hands and said "and this is why I love you".  I mean, how I keep winning the friend lottery is beyond me.  In any case, two nights ago in a crowd of thousands, there was that connection of which I spoke - the tears flowed amidst the smiles, which is exactly what poignant memories should do.  Memories evoked by song, whose meanings are whatever it is they are to you.

Here's Landslide.  Go ahead, give it a little cry.  I will always, always have tissues.  Always. 


  


L is for Landslide.

K is for ...

... Kingslayer.

Game of Thrones!  (Spoiler alerts ahead.)

Do you love it or do you love it?  I don't know many people that don't, but mind you I tend to hang with people that like all the same things I do so perhaps I am skewing my own data.  In any event, Game of Thrones is gearing up for a stellar third season and I can't get enough.  I'm coming at it new, never having read the books, by George R. R Martin, that the series is based on, and I started on it a bit late, tearing through Season One in about a week just before the Season Two premiere.

If I'm being honest, I did need a second take.  I watched the Series Premiere and it confused the hell out of me.  Everyone sort of looked the same.  There were so many of them.  It was always rather dark.  Whose against who?  I paid very close attention.  I listened very carefully.  I almost took notes.  I thought I had it all figured out - who was who and all that, when in the last scene of this episode Jaime kisses Cersei and I'm like "WHAT?!  How did I get them mixed up?!  They are brother and sister! ???".  I was mad I had lost the character set up - after all my concentration work - but in fact, Jaime and Cersei ARE brother and sister.  That's Game of Thrones.  Not since Flowers in the Attic has sibling incest been so mainstream!  I thought I was punishing the show by not watching Season One 'live', but I was really punishing myself because like the show really cares.

Diving in fresh, nothing much changed - it's still super dark, everyone still looks the same (those beards!  those cloaks!), those that don't look the same have similar sounding names (Tyrion, Tywin, what?!).  As soon as I have someone down pat, they go off and get killed (I miss you, Gay King Renly!).  I still don't know most of anyone's name and resort to "you know the guy in the cave married to that woman who had the smoke baby" descriptions.  I'm only about 72% confident that I am following the story properly.  But you know what?  Who cares!  As was proven in Episode One, Season One it's almost a waste of time to really, really know what's going on because BAM, just like that, it could all explode in an instant. 

Any series that kills off its supposed main character in the first season has major balls.  The sequence of Ned's beheading was one of the most brilliantly filmed scenes I've ever seen.  It shocked you in more ways than one and put you on notice that anything could happen.  And anything usually does.  The storylines are accompanied by objects of fantasy - those glorious direwolves, scary smoke monsters, firebreathing dragons - but in the end it's the relationships between the characters and their attempts to find their place in the world that holds your attention.  Tyrion's desire for fatherly acceptance, Jon Snow's desire for any type of acceptance, Robb's attempts to become his own man, Jaime's petulant sarcasm as he tries to break free of his notorious past - and that's just (some of) the boys!  I want Arya to take over everything.  I want Cersei to kill Joffrey (we know she's capable, having almost poisoned her other kid last season!) while Boobs (sorry, what is her name?  Gay King Renly's widow?) watches!  While I'm admittedly a bit tired of Mama Stark, I'm totally obsessed the Khalessi.  So much so I often yell things like "WHERE ARE MY APPLES?" when I'm feeling a little lost but, alas, no one brings me any.

I have no idea what this season has in store for us - but, I hear from those that have read the books that I won't be happy.  Well, okay, I can deal with that.  I can deal with being shaken out of my television complacency by a show that takes chances and doesn't write plot points based on a popularity contest.  I love the notion of throwing characters on screen that are far from perfect and do bad things without remorse - who want power simply for the sake of it and will bring anyone down who attempts to stop them.  Of course it's cruel, cutting and ruthless but it's also brilliant storytelling, especially when we surprisingly find their pathos along the way.  I personally can't wait to see how it all turns out. In a complete about turn of my own personality, I'm being patient with this one. I am NOT going to start ripping through the books! Not because I'm not curious, and not because I like waiting but because those books don't have that incredibly majestic theme song. Which, I'm quite comfortable falling in love with as it is likely the only sacred entity on this magnificent show.




K is for ... Kingslayer.

J is for ...

... Jerkface.

Remember back in the days when we were younger and dumber and couldn't say things like "dickhead" and "douchebag"?  In those days we'd have to come up with equally awful epithets to bestow on the objects of our derision.  Usually boys.  Always boys.

Endowments like dummy, stupid moron, knucklehead and, my most favourite, jerkface.

Thinking on it now, the visual image of the word 'jerkface' is so strong it's hard to imagine anything but a complete recoil when uttered - it's the perfect Elaine Benes Dance Move + Gnarly Feet On Their Way to Naturalizer combination.  It's ugly and assaulting from the inside out.  It lets it be known - loud and proud - that dude, you are directly on your way to douchebag with a pit stop at dickhead.  All you will be collecting along the way is scorn. 

Nowadays, calling someone a jerkface doesn't seem so bad.  It's a wholesome little "aw, shucks, golly, what a jerkface you are!", while cutely smushing ice cream in each other's faces fun time kind of thing.  But no.  Not for me, lovebugs.  For me, jerkface is the first step on the road to dude-blivion. 

Got that, Jerkface?*

J is for Jerkface.


*Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.  Or not.

I is for ...

... I'm back!


Well, I've never left but I did leave the Alphabet.  I just sort of dumped it and now I want it back.  I missed it.  And you know what?  The Alphabet is forgiving.  The Alphabet took me back.  It understood my need to chart other waters and realize what I was missing out on - The Alphabet is confident in itself.  It didn't grovel or cry.  It stood firm.  It knew I was making a mistake of folly and waited, patiently, for me to do my thing and figure things out on my own.  It knew I would come around.  And I did.  The Alphabet is one strong sucker.  Can't say I would do the same thing.  Not many would.  But this Alphabet of mine?  It's a keeper.  I am excited to begin anew - just me & my Alphabet ... together until the end.

I is for I'm back.

Adventures 2013 - Volume 4, So This Is What Happened - Part Two

Being outside your normal routine for a time soon has me feeling out of sorts.  While I don't miss work, waking up at the crack of dawn or my laundry, I miss my patterns - my knowing that it's time for this or that.  It's things as simple as the way my morning coffee guy confirms how I take my coffee everyday ("just milk, yeah?") which allow me to feel settled and calm.  There's none of this on vacation, which I think is why I like to plan them to death - I need to insert my own sense of knowing into my adventures to instill that sense of calm.

This particular trip in that regard has been challenging.  Aside from our hotels, one concert and one restaurant we have generally had no idea what we're doing.  My natural inclination to freak out at this has waned substantially - we are being so well taken care of and I'm finding routine and pattern in people rather than things.  Take for example The Glasses Family.  We first happened on them at our hotel in Bilbao.  Mom, Dad, Brother and Sister - tall, lean and blond, all but the sister with glasses.  Andrea and I talked for hours about them.  Does sister feel superior because she's the only one with perfect vision, or left out because she doesn't have glasses like everyone else?  We saw them for breakfast at the hotel, for tea later in the afternoon and, much to our surprise, at the airport heading for Brussels.  We gasped with glee as if it was a family reunion!  THE GLASSES FAMILY!  Going home to Brussels!  With us!  They had no idea who we were and I'm sure didn't give us a passing glance at any point during our random run - ins over the past couple of days, but that's the way it should be:  no one should be watching professional people watchers!  We're boring!

We lost The Glasses Family at the Brussels Airport (or, maybe, they finally lost us), but weren't sad for too long as we had another real-life family to meet: the Zadows!

My dear friend Matthew moved with his family to Brussels about six years ago.  He's an opera singer and there's simply more work and training for him in & around Brussels - he's short train rides away from Antwerp, Paris, you name it.  His wife, Maggie, is a teacher and their boys, Malcolm and Duncan are two of the most whip smart charmers you'd ever hope to lay your eyes on.  We parachuted into their lives for two days and, again, let the natives take the lead.

The Zadows picked us up from our hotel in the late afternoon and we embarked on a stroll through the city that basically involved chocolate, beer, mussels, frites, gaufres a bit of history and plenty of laughs.

I often joke that I drink about two beers a year.  Judging from my beer consumption in Brussels, I'm probably good for about a decade now - it's just that the beer doesn't taste like beer there.  It tastes like delicious!  Matthew did a great job choosing for my palate (black cherry!) and I wanted to try it all - light, strong, fruity, all of it!  I'm a "when in Rome" type of person and Belgium is Beer.  In fact,  beer  in Belgium is served in specific glasses and if the bar or restaurant does not have the right glass to serve what you ordered, they will either not serve it or apologize profusely.  I can completely dig standards like that, so after many taste tests and very full bellies we head back to the hotel for much needed sleep and the anticipation of tomorrow.

To say I'm excited about going to Bruges is a massive understatement.  I AM SO EXCITED TO GO TO BRUGES!  The town has held a magical place in my mind well before the amazing 2008 film In Bruges, starring Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleason.  Of course there's a small worry it won't live up to my expectations, but I calm myself down knowing that even if that happens there will be chocolate.  Lots and lots of chocolate.

We're picked up from the hotel by just the boys as Maggie is tutoring, and embark on our 40 minute train ride to Bruges.  As we arrive, the weather is foggy, gray and almost mystical.  It's as if we are on set of our own murder mystery movie.

Made complete with a 90s soundtrack:

And swans in love:

The day continues with whimsy just like this.  Cobblestone streets, horse drawn carriages, boat rides, chocolate shops upon chocolate shops, beer, frites and a climb up the Belfry.

Bruges is a ridiculously charming place.  The type of place that seems to only exist in movies or Disneyland.  We now know that's not true - ridiculous charm exists in Belgium and its name is Bruges.  We're off now, to the Zadows for dinner.

Ah, a comfortable sofa, neverending glasses of champagne, delicious food and glorious company.  Did we mention Shaggy on the sound system?  Why not!  Everything rolls when you're open to it and I couldn't have imagined a more perfect final night.

And so, a trip that began with a casual sentence over dinner has come to an end and I can't say that my delays in posting about it weren't due to the fact I'm still in denial - I miss Alex and Raul and Uri and Adrian and Matthew and Maggie and Malcolm and Duncan and The Glasses Family and our anger management cab driver and laughing with Andrea everyday and eating loads of chocolate and pinxtos and drinking bottles of vodka with a squirt of lemon juice and beer.  I miss drinking beer!  I miss singing Debbie Gibson.  I miss my holiday.  And that's why we need them.  To shake us up and out of our normal day - our routines - to see life fresh and new, when we're there and also when we're home.  To make us fuller and richer in experience, so we can see that our ways aren't the only ways - it's a big world out there lovebugs, and it's up to us to explore it.

Let's Go!