Everything for the Why

Cool little technique we're learning in Improv class:  Everything for the Why.

Why are you doing what you're doing in this scene?  Justifying your action (washing dishes, fishing, baking cookies, whatever) endows your location and solidifies your "where".   Your why makes your where stronger, so everything you do is for this why.  I'm baking cookies because there is no damn way Sally Sithman is going to win the church bake sale again ! Bam - go.  I'm angry baking in the kitchen, and who knocks on my door ?  My scene partner, who now becomes Sally Sithman, or my sympathetic neighbour or ... !  Simple beginning to a scene.  I'm sure there's a better way to explain this, but this is what I got out of teach's long winded monologue on the topic (he is a working actor, don't you know).

This Everything for the Why got me thinking.  Do we do this ?  Do we stop and think about what we're doing, why we're doing it ?  Are our whys solid ?  Meaningful ? Or are we going through motions ?  Are we just because-ing through life ?

Try it:  contemplate your whys.  They don't need to be monumental and sometimes they're as simple as "because I don't want to get fired" or " to relax" .  That's completely fine, but if your why seems slightly lame or  not worth the effort of the action, you've got to rethink things.  You've got to step back and maybe not do that thing.  Time is precious, we know this, by contemplating your why you immediately, effortlessly, honestly prioritize your life and do the things worthy of your time.   You owe this to yourself, don't you?

Bam - go : Everything For The Why, people !

January 1991

Where were you in January of 1991?  What were you doing? 

If you asked me that question last week it would take me some time to do the math, figure it out and piece it all together.  But not today - today I’m armed with a tool so powerful it makes thinking unnecessary and bad memories unembarrassing.  I am armed with:  a mixed tape.  More specifically, a mixed tape succinctly labelled “January 1991”.  The mixed tape, of course, was all the rage back in the day and I consider myself incredibly fortunate to have had the most amazing mixed tape benefactor.  SFW had a mixer (a mixer!) and worked at Starsound(s?) – possessing tools and tons of time, we were soundtracking our lives something fierce. Here’s the track list of this miraculous tape, found in the 149 dust up over the weekend:

SIDE ONE

Ride on Time

Back To Life

Ain't Nobody

Useless

Can You Still Dance

Acid Thunder

Just Started

Get A Life

Reachin

SIDE TWO

Round The Way Girl

Take Me With You

Enjoy The Silence

What It Takes

Leave Your Hat On

Hot in The City

Young Americans

Miracle

Somebody

Ain't No Mountain High Enough

The Rose

Eclectic, you bet.  Surprising, maybe.  I know you’re thinking it – no U2?  Don’t fret , U2 got their own mixed tapes, dream concert playlists, if you will.  

So now, armed with this musical time capsule, I can tell you without even thinking exactly what I was doing at this moment in time in January of 1991.  I was in 2^nd year University at UofT taking International Relations at Convocation Hall with the esteemed Janice Gross Stein.  We were learning about the Gulf War Part One but mainly, I, along with SFW (of course, do any great memories not involve her?), were staring across Convocation Hall at the perceived man of our dreams PM (we hoped he was a twin).  These were glorious times, because “All I Ever Wanted, All I Ever Needed Is Here In IR”.  With apologies to Depeche, I still sing it just like that.  We were hitting that place on Richmond on the weekends (GoGo’s?  Whiskey Saigon?) - so we could see new and different people, which is a huge plus to going to university in the city because who wants to see the same old people all the time? - and generally just having the greatest times, although you never really realize that until after the time, right?

So there you go, just like that the power of this mixed tape magically transported me back to a place 20 years ago without a second’s hesitation.  Very cool.  Even cooler?  I’ve transferred this music onto a CD and can take myself back in time anytime I want.  Perhaps coolest, though?  These songs?  These songs haven't aged a bit.  Or maybe my taste hasn't, but I guess that's pretty cool too.  Either way, I can't stop listening to this new CD of mine.    

Amazing Find.  Amazing Music.  Amazing Memories. 

Ageing

Don’t worry – this isn’t going to be a deep and new agey piece about how we should all accept the signs of aging with maturity and good humour.  Yeah, I know we should, you know you should, so just do it and stop whining.   Let's instead talk about something more fascinating :  ageing and Brad Pitt.

So I’m watching Spy Game (did you not LOVE this movie? Pitt / Redford / CIA intrigue / flashbacks / turmoil / love / war / friendship – it’s all there, so great).  The film was released in 2001 which of course is just 10 years ago but it’s not really “just” 10 years for Brad.    

I’m not sure what happened over the past 10 years.  You know the Brad I’m talking about, right?  It’s the Brad you think of when you think of Brad:  a really amazing looking shockingly handsome guy – unbelievably good looking, like Great Job, God – you did it!  You have made the perfect male specimen:  a perfect frame to match the perfect face and a really sexy voice as well as the double whammy dual sexy capability to rock a pair of pants and sunglasses like no other known human creature.   I’m not really gushing – this is all universal fact.

Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I will declare my stake in the Great Divide of Womanhood now as a George Girl.  The Clooney vs Pitt debate is a strong one amongst females the world over – you’re one or the other.  Loving George means you can still love Brad, but it’s not the same kind of love.  My love for George knows no bound or judgement, which is why I would never be writing anything like this about my Georgie (who, by the way, is ageing extremely well).  I have a huge soft blind for George and his dirty little life – that’s love!  Anyway, back to Brad : I feel 2001 will go down as the Best of Brad on film: Spy Game, Ocean’s 11 (don’t get me started), The Mexican (yes, it sucked, but he looked divine).  A really beyond great looking trifecta of cinematic Brad delight. 

After that?  We have beards and goatees and long hair (not Legends of the Fall long, just gross long) and odd head wear, not so great skin and that weird toothpick he was sporting for awhile.  We lose Jen and get The Jolie and a villa full of kids and obvious exhaustion and … we lose the look.  We have lost the perfect specimen.  There was a glimmer in The Curious Case of Benjamin Button – you know the scenes - he’s on a motorcycle and then that boat and you think he’s back, but really it was just great lighting.  Tease.

It’s all too bad, really.  For our viewing pleasure, I suppose.  But in a real life way it’s actually rather satisfying, because regardless of the charmed life Brad is leading – what, with his United Nations family, hot sex with The Jolie, philanthropic pursuits, tons of dough, satisfying career and, and, and, we’ve all got one over one him.  How?  Easy! Go right now and look at yourself in the mirror. What do you see?  I bet the last 10 years have been kinder to you than they’ve been to Brad.  Right?  Am I right? 

Okay, fine, maybe not completely mature, agreed.  But good humoured, oh yeah, baby.  I’m chuckling just thinking about it.

Your Wheelhouse

Where’s your wheelhouse? 

Where’s your go-to place for feeling confident in your knowledge, skill and familiarity?  Somewhere where, even if things do go a bit wrong, they won’t go disastrously wrong because, well, you’re ready for anything and can roll with the punches?  Your wheelhouse doesn’t need to be anything formal or something you’ve actually been trained or schooled in, but more a life comfort zone place where the best of you can shine. 

Where’s my wheelhouse? 

At first glance, my wheelhouse will likely seem a bit superficial (I’m sure at first glance I seem a bit superficial too, but I really don’t care) – it’s obviously not in an operating theatre or behind the wheel of an ambulance, but it’s pretty life crux stuff in its own little way.  My wheelhouse, if I had to say, is entertaining.   No, that’s it:  entertaining – like hosting parties.

I love hosting anything and everything:  open house drop in shindigs; bring your slippers movie nights; good old fashioned booze ups; formal dinner parties; bridal / baby showers; casual buffet affairs – you name it, I’m on it.   From deciding to do it, to invites, menu planning, cocktail concocting, cooking and getting the old place in order it’s all full on fun to me.  I will admit to being a bit of an OCD planner (you can admit I’m a LOT of an OCD planner), which takes all of the day of stress off the table, but truth be told even spontaneous affairs never stress me out – they almost relax me. 

Entertaining big & small was the way I was brought up – the restaurant business is deeply embedded in my DNA, and growing up our home was simply an extension of the family restaurant.  People coming over, food cooking, beverages pouring, lots of laughter.  It seems that any monumental occasion that took place in my extended family happened at our house.  We were pros and ran things like a military operation:  Dad was the General, of course, and the rest of us simply followed his instructions and took our posts really seriously (fun is very serious business!  Do you want to be running out for ice during a party because YOU FORGOT THE ICE?? Criminal!) – even as full grown adults and my brother as a schooled restauranteur, we never went rogue with anything.  Why mess?  We had tents and clowns and DJs and animals on spits (just lambs & pigs, relax) and so many amazing times.  Clean up was always a pain, but, hey – you can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs.

Growing up like this takes the edge of entertaining for sure, but it also added some initial pressure. I am, of course, the black sheep of the family by eschewing the family business and going into … finance, and I shied away from this sort of thing for awhile.  I figured without a full on restaurant, large house and small army backing me how could I succeed.  I soon came to miss it, though – the warm feeling that comes out of the very simple notion of breaking bread with good friends when the only real thing on the agenda is more wine and laughter.  There were obviously some initial marginal disasters (nothing blue soup or food poisoning worthy) that you can only learn from - like, some things are not worth making from scratch (baba ghanoush, seriously, why bother?), it’s typically best when you keep things simple and, of course, stick with what you know.  I’m not Martha Stewart-y in my methods or execution as sometimes I think she does forget that it’s really all about the company of friends, but I am particular (surprise!) and I prefer not to leave anything to chance.  This means there’s always enough food & drink for at least 10 or 20 more people, so please – come one come all!

There you go, friends.   I’m sitting in my house surrounded by you all, your plates and glasses are full and there are big smiles on your faces, and, maybe, I had a little part in putting those smiles there - that’s my wheelhouse.  What’s yours?

Friday, I'm In Love ! Volume One - Mr Radio

Welcome to Friday, I’m in Love!  This Friday series will share my tales, both funny and absurd, but mostly funny, from my real life as a crummy dater.  Or, maybe just my crummy dates.  Either way, these cautionary tales are public service announcements for the heart weary and hopeful – read wisely, carefully.  These “types of dates” are rare breeds indeed, so, please, fellas, don’t be insulted – and also don’t be one of these guys.   Ladies:  interesting times, yes.  On the bright side, I've already spent time with these quirky cats so you don’t have to and you’re welcome.   

Volume One: Mr Radio

I really liked Mr Radio.  Mr Radio really liked me. 

He’s Mr Radio because he is actually on the radio and I gotta tell ya, waking up to the sound of his professional voice in the morning was pretty awesome.  Like he was just talking to me, but I knew he wasn’t but he sort of was.  Anyway, his voice - what a voice!  On air, in person, on the phone, it was beyond the best.  Quite soothing, with a bit of an authoritarian vibe – quite simply amazing.  We hit it off immediately, and quite honestly there is no better feeling in the dating world than this - nothing was ever awkward or questionable it was all just so easy, comfortable and quite, well, kinda hot.  Our dates were some of the best ever - insanely spontaneous, fun and exhilarating.  

I was soon high on Mr Radio and, it turns out, Mr Radio was simply high.

You see, along with all the great stuff Mr Radio had going for him and all our shared interests, Mr Radio really really liked pot. 

He talked about it quite frequently, right from the get go, actually.  And he is from out West, which I hear is a hotbed of pothead activity but I didn’t really put it all together because it really didn’t bother me. I take no moral stand on this at all.  Live and let live, I say!  It’s not for me (okay, yes, it’s true: Never done it.  Okay.  Judge That.) but why shouldn’t it be for you? 

Over time, though?    Over time it all became a bit much.  The layers of flakey-ness peeled themselves off his very attractive frame and it all became a bit, well, tiresome. 

He’d call me at 8 and think it was 4, when he called back at all. I had to stop leaving “hey it’s me” messages because he could never really put it together that me was ME.  I could have found this curious, but I mostly found it annoying.  He was obviously ultra lax on the parameters of time, punctuality and making any sort of plan.  He slept all day most days in his apartment that was one empty case of beer, a milk crate shelf and dirty sock away from a frat house.  I could have gone on with this for a long time, but when he breezily told me he had sired a child with a gal he saw “once or twice a couple months before we met” and “it was all cool, it’s all gonna be real cool”, I guess I kind of figured his life had actually taken a clear Spicoli minus surfboard path and all I could do was laugh.  I’m really trying not to be judge-y and independently maybe these things would have been somewhat okay and kind of quirky, but I don’t know – all together? Aren’t we done that now?  When you’re a grown up and you have a responsible sort of life should you really be smoking pot all the time and being completely flakey and impregnating random girls and being irresponsible all of time? 

It’s too bad, really.  Mr Radio’s potless persona was pretty amazing and I suppose his potfull  persona had it’s charm too.  I mean, there’s nothing really wrong with a guy like this – hell, I have a friend who married a guy like this – but I didn’t want to be Mr Radio’s momgirlfriend,  as I awaited things from his scary closet to pop into random conversations.  Talk about a buzzkill.  Who even knows if Mr Radio was as into me as I thought – I’ve come to think he liked my clean place, well stocked fridge and proximity to the bong shop down the street. I’m sure solid relationships are built on less, so, yeah, maybe I am searching too hard for something that’s right in front of me.  I’d like to think not. 

I do miss Mr Radio’s voice every now and again so it’s mildly reassuring to know I can just turn on my morning radio and get a little hit of him.  Pretty sure he’s getting his hits too.

Enough Already

Impressive Hollywood pedigree
Academy Award Winning Actress (now is not the time to discuss the merits, but Cate was robbed).
Blogger
Wife of Acclaimed Rock Star
Mother of Two Super Cute Kids
Pals With Really Cool People
Fitness Business Owner
SNL Host
Cookbook Author
Recurring TV Guest Star
Possessor of Recording Contract

Enough Already.  Enough Already Gwyneth Fucking Paltrow

I know you all love her and I, once, loved her too.  How can you not - she's full of class and poise and smarts.  Talented, gracious, so stylish. She speaks fluent Spanish and hangs with the Prince ! Admittedly, she's made some pretty questionable film choices, but I'm not sure if they were all her fault (Thanks for buying me that Oscar, Uncle Harvey, sure I'll make View From the Top for you!), so I'll slack her for that. The superlatives never end and I think it got the best of her.  She now wants to do everything and is everywhere.  Singing at The Grammy's AND Oscars, traipsing around Spain with Mario Batali, front row centre at Fashion Week, magazine cover over magazine cover, Glee, it never ends, does it ? The Gwyneth Paltrowfication of the world is numbing me.  What's next ?  Cirque de Soleil ?!

Enough Already!  Go look after your kids, make Chris some soup for his haggard voice (we know you can do this from scratch), read an amazing script (you must still get those, right?) OR focus on the singing OR one other of the gazillion things you think you need to do. Stop bombarding us !  You don't need to be a super-hyphenate.  You're better than that, Gywneth - you don't have to prove anything to anyone.  What is it ? Are you bored ?  Unfulfilled ? Do you need a hug ?

As William Blake said (I know you'll appreciate that, smartie pants ! ) : You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough.

It's more than enough, now, Gwynnie,  much more than enough.

So Uncanadian

But is it really?  Just because something is Canadian do we have to like it, even though it’s crap? 

You know what I’m talking about people - it’s quintessentially Canadian with roots ingrained deep in our psyche.   The nation has bestowed it a nickname and the company itself uses our own national hero as a spokesperson (those are some heartwarmingly good commercials, I will admit).

It’s Tim Horton’s Coffee.  And it’s crap.

Gross.  Crap.  I don’t know how the people in charge of coffee (The Juan Valdez Cartel?) actually allow Tim Horton’s to call their coffee coffee.  Are there not standards?  There should be standards!

You all know I love my coffee.  I don’t drink it for its magical wake up properties – I drink it because I love how it tastes.  Bit of milk, slight stir, nice and hot  … I could drink 10 a day.  But I don’t because that’s just excessive and apparently not good for you.  Whatever.

Back to “Timmy’s” – Timmy’s!  How quaint!  This insipid nickname even annoys me.  “Going to grab a Timmy’s, can I get you one?” – Yeah, and pour some kerosene with a lit match down my throat while you’re at it.    NO!  No coffee is better than Tim Horton’s coffee.

I know this is almost flag burning unpatriotic but I will not waver. I’m not a ‘just because’ type of person and I’m not going to drink that swill just because it’s Canadian and it’s on every street corner and really the only drive thru in town.  NO!   I love my country, I do, and my enduring love affairs with peameal bacon and Kiefer Sutherland’s voice prove that.  I just wish my country loved me enough to stop the charade known as Tim Horton’s “coffee” once and for all.