interj. - Chiefly Canadian.
1. Used in asking a question or in seeking repetition or confirmation of a statement.
2. Used to ascertain or reinforce a listener's interest or agreement.
Eh?
I washed my hair a few days ago*, so it wasn't holding a curls as much as I'd like. I used a little Waterless Shampoo from TRESemmé, and lightly sprayed hairspray before and after curling. I let the curls completely cool before first pulling my fingers through, then the flat brush.
Overall the look is mostly achieved by pinning the 'lighter' side of the part very far back to give what the call the 'Veronica Lake' look. It's not a huge deal if the curls on the main side blend together or separate, I figure you just rock this look with confidence. (a little red lipstick of red (or coral) nails can't hurt either!)
designing a life that makes me smile...
Anna Felicity
*No, washing my hair every few days isn't gross... you'd wash your hair every few days too if it took two hours to fully wash, de-tangle, condition, blow-dry, smooth, finish and curl! My other option is always to let it air dry (which I do in the summer), but that also takes at least two hours to fully dry, and considering the current average temperature outside is still around the 10 degrees Celsius mark, I'm not particularly inclined to do that either!)
My illustration instructor once said all my ‘girls’ looked angry, and then speculated on my emotions while drawing them. She quickly moved on to critique (read: criticize) another students work, but I was left wondering if maybe she was on to something.
It’s no secret that illustration class hasn’t been my favourite subject, and I do always seem to be pissed off by the time I get to my sketchbook, but about a week ago, something finally clicked.
I felt like I had been floundering, or at the very least reached a plateau with my work, but just as I was becoming complacent with skill level, I started drawing and looking down at the page, I realized I had gotten a little better.
I'm not expecting my work to improve over night, but the little changes in my style and form really encourage me!
So what was this sketch that I was working on that changed how I thought about my skills? It was an anime drawing. I was actually coping a picture on of my classmates had printed off and to my surprise and the interest of some of my classmates, I was copying it pretty well!
My sketch of the Anime face.
Illustration doesn’t seem to piss me off as much anymore, and I’m finding more of a niche in the animated side of the drawings, but I still think they look pissed-off (but that may be more because as models they haven’t eaten in days, and not necessarily anything that’s coming from my hand...)
With that I present my most recent a project:
Pastiche /pæˈstiʃ,pɑ-/ or [pa-steesh]
–noun
1. a literary, musical, or artistic piece consisting wholly or chiefly of motifs or techniques borrowed from one or more sources.
2. an incongruous combination of materials, forms, motifs, etc., taken from different sources; hodgepodge.
My Illustrator of Inspiration: Igor Lukyanov
The Originals
My attempt at copying them
An angry/scheming woman
A sad woman
I always seem to leave my first year marketing class equally excited and with a dampened spirit.
I understand that our instructor is trying to impart on us the difficulties of the marketing world, and more specifically the fashion world, but I sometime feel that if we don’t work for, own, or are in some meaningful way tied to huge corporation, we may as well not bother.
This is or course not the case, and she backs up the other side of the argument skilfully, constantly relating to us the possibilities for those new to the industry, trying to make a go of it on their own.
As I am not overly interested in having my own line, the woes that face new designers don’t scare me as much, but I am (and always have been) interested in marketing and find that class very interesting and extremely informative (albeit a little overwhelming at times also).
Further to my point about new designers, many seem to face the same interesting decision, one that I myself have not yet resolved. To ‘Etsy’ or not to ‘Etsy’, that is my dilemma.
I have a few odds and ends I have created over the years, and while I’m not overly attached to them, and wouldn’t mind selling them at least cost, I’ve never decided if Etsy is the path for me.
Etsy.com, for those of you who may not know, is a site dedicated to aiding crafters in the presentation, purchasing and selling of their goods and supplies. They categories on Etsy range from the ever so broad accessories, the more specific geekery (geek related ‘crafts’) to needlepoint, quilts, woodworking, and they even have a specific candles section!
There are over 31, 000 items in the candles sections alone, and over 500, 000 in the accessories section, with over 25 sub-sections, which would probably be my general target area.
Etsy seems so broad and all encompassing that a single shop would get undoubtedly lost in the shuffle.
That being said I still feel like I want to try my hand at it, and I may well (one day when I have time) but until then I at least want to get some decent pictures of my work. I heard a while ago a way of creating a nice and simple box to display your work. It basically consists of an opaque Rubbermaid box on its side, some thin white cotton over it to diffuse the light, a few strategically placed lamps with ‘tru-light’ or ‘daylight’ bulbs, and some white card curved into the box to create a seamless background for your work. I’m going to try to mess around with this idea this weekend and see what comes out of it.
Hopefully I’ll have some photos to share, they may turn out nice, or they may be disasters, I’ll have to try it and see.
Today at lunch, I got into a conversation with my co-worker, one Elaine Barron by name, and Filipino by decent.
Our conversation was sparked by a newspaper article left open on the table. The gist of the article was that some British Scientist have developed an embryo with genetic information from one male and two females. Their goal was to “…one day help would-be mothers from handing down an often tragic and sometimes fatal condition called mitochondrial disease…”
Elaine and I started talking about and began to speculate on the moral complications of such procedures. The issue of a possible master race, and ‘Designer Babies’ was of course a concern, but more over our lunch hour, our conversation turned to Racism, and how absolutely ridiculous it is!
I related this story:
My friend (who will remain anonymous) and I were getting pizza, and when the doorbell rang, she went to go pay. After she closed the door, our conversation went like this:
My Friend (X): “Ugh, it was that guy who works at 7-11 too. God how many jobs does he need?’
Me (A): “Huh, which guy?
X: “The brown guy, god, he freaks me out so much!”
A: “What do you mean he freaks you out? Why?”
X: “He’s so tall! I totally didn’t tip him!”
A: “What? Why didn’t you tip him?”
X: “casue he freaks me out”
A: “You can’t not tip a guy just because he freaks you out! Just because he’s tall!!”
X: “But like, you can’t see his eyes! It’s creepy!”
A: “You can see his eyes! He wears a turban and has a beard, he’s not wearing ‘poker player’ sunglasses AT ALL TIMES!”
X: “But he’s really dark!”
A: “Was He dark, like actually dark, or did you just forget to turn the porch light on?!”
X: “Well, I don’t like him! I mean how many jobs does he need?”
A: “Are you fucking kidding me? He probably has one more degree than you, because you have none! He has at least two more jobs then you, because you don’t even have a job!”
My friend did go to Panago the next day and give the guy a tip. The unfortunate part is that her thought process wasn’t uncommon. It’s all too often that so-called “Canadians” complain about immigrants, and throw out such blatant mistruths as,
“They are stealing all our jobs. They are only here because of our medical system benefits. They just want to come here so they can sponsor all their relatives. Pretty soon our city will be over-run with them.”
People who are saying these things obviously have no idea how our immigration system works, nor do they even have any actual fact to back up their disgustingly generalized claims.
I often want to remind these so-called “Canadians” that all “Canadians” are immigrants. Everyone in Canada can relay their heritage or family back to another country, whether they be Ukrainian or English, French or Polish, Chinese or Korean, we are all immigrants. It doesn’t matter if your family came four Generations ago, or you were born abroad, racism makes no sense for Canadians.
As our lunch time conversation got more heated, we started thinking about racist slurs and speculating on how they even get started.
We figured the derogatory terms started because one person was different from another, but really everyone is different from everyone else.
You are unique, just like a snowflake, just like everyone else.
Elaine and I eventually started this conversation, which has us falling into a fit of giggles, and even though it may sounds strange, it’s no different from any other kind of racism.
“Oh my God, white people are just SO white! I mean I went outside with Anna the other day and her skin was like, glowing! I was blinded! And seriously what is up with their skin changing colour like that in the sun! I mean she turned Red! It’s SO weird! I mean make up you mind, are you white or red?!
“What is up with their hair? I mean it’s like red and blonde and brown and even black. Like did their moms sleep with like 10 guys, and it all got mixed up? And sometime it’s curly and sometimes it’s strait? God their moms must be super slutty!! White girls are such whores.
“I don’t want them near me, I might get a disease, because they are so slutty, she can’t use the same water fountain as me, I might get one of her slutty diseases! White girls are probably really easy too! But I mean I wouldn’t want like my brother or friends with one of them! They would not be faithful, no way!
“And their eyes are all different colours too, and why the hell are they’re eyes so wide? I mean are they like trying to watch EVERYTHING! I feel like Anna is always spying on me! Is she trying to watch me with her wide eyes?!”
Well I’ll leave you all with that. Next time you decide to not tip a pizza guy, or you think they are stealing all the jobs, imagine how you’d feel if the tables would turned. Imagine if you were the immigrant, unfamiliar with the language, people, food, location, social norms, and traditions.
I actually first heard it in a cute little movie called “The Holiday”. It was a simple holiday film, suitable for watching with grandmas and little ones alike on Christmas Day (you know, after the presents have been opened but before you burn your house down on Christmas Day because you left the oven on cooking a 20 pound turkey while you went out to watch a movie… Idiot)
As my finger swept over the keyboard, updating my FaceBook Status today, I of course added my own little interpretation to the line, ie. “not a drunk meet”.
While it’s not a new thought of mine, but I has occurred to me in the past that is is awful hard to meet good guys when they’re drunk, your drunk, inhibitions are low, expectations are high, and the two of you are anything and everything in between.
Who wants to be sitting down with they're grandchildren and have the conversation go like this,
“Grandma, how did you and Grandpa meet?”
“Oh well, that is a great story. You see, my darling, Grandpa and I were both hammered, I mean just falling over, can’t remember your name drunk!! Grandma stumbled out of this dingy little club on the wrong side of town and there was my night in shiny armour, necking a chick. Well once she passed out, he off-loaded her on a friend, who poured that sucker into a cab, and grandpa turned to me. Id like to think I knew right then that he was the love of my life, but lets be honest, I’m not even sure of that to this day, and on that particular night I didn’t even know where my shoes were!
“If you can learn anything from Grandma, let it be that high-heels hurt like a B*tch, but make your legs look f*cking awesome! So, my darling, wear them, and then remember to drink enough so that you can’t feel you legs anymore, let a lone your aching feet.
“Well anyways, your Grandpa turned to me, and with his cute little smile asked me my name. Well at least I think that’s what he wanted to ask, but he tripped over the curb and face-planted into the pavement. It was the cutest, hottest, most manly fall I’ve ever seen. Well I think I saw it, I did blink right at that moment and may have had my eyes shut for up to a minute, or at least until the spins kicked in. I may have imagined the fall, but I know when I opened my eyes he was on the ground and his friend, who you now call Uncle Luke, was pointing and laughing.
“I ran to him and his nose and face were bleeding badly. He got blood all over my skirt, and I could never wear it again. He did drunkenly promise to get me a new skirt, but 2 kids and 3 grandkids later he has yet to deliver.
“He staggered up and asked me if I could help him to the hospital. I pointed him in the direction of the hospital and planned to move on, but something in his face just pulled on my heart strong and even though I could barely stand, and I was quite certain I was making one of the worst decisions of my life, I asked him if he wanted to come back to my place. He smiled, I think, and that’s when I noticed he had knocked a tooth out. It was beautiful.
“We made it back to my place, a few blocks away, and while he cleaned up his face, tried to stop the bleeding and tried to ascertain if he really did need to go to hospital, I changed out of my blood covered cloths and threw them out.
“Well I won’t get into all the details, my darling, but the joyous mix of alcohol, Grandmas surprising willingness, and the fact that Grandpas face had stopped bleeding and wasn’t swelling too badly lead to us getting married.
“Well actually my baby it lead to your daddy being born, it just wasn’t until after that night that I found out your Grandpa is quite the Conservative, and that turned around to bite me in the ass!”
At this point your Grandchild will cry and run to their (almost a bastard) parent, who will turn to you, give you the stink eye, and chalk it all up to crazy grandma.
Now you're a crazy geriatric, with a drinking problem, a husband you're not even sure if you’re fond of, and grand-children who hate you. It’s all because of your drunk meet.
So next time you stumble up to the bar, and order yet another Vodka-Water, and you turn your head to see what you think is a cute young guy looking your way, walk away. Don’t worry about the next drink, don’t look at that ‘cute’ guy again, and leave the bar. Go home, sleep it off, and instead try to aspire to a meet cute, not a drunk meet.
Now you may be asking me, how do I find these so-called ‘meet cute’s? Where are they? How do I obtain one of my own?
Well first of all it can’t be bought, traded for, planned or designed you capatilist pig.
This isn’t Burger King, you can’t have everything your way! You can’t plan you love life, any more that you can plan the weather! You can, howver, plan for your life to happen, much like the weather.
Watch the signs.
The weather-man says it’s going to rain, but you don’t think will. What are you smarter that the weather-man? Did you go to weather-person school? Do you suddenly know how to read weather charts? God, you really a pompous ass, aren’t you??
Sorry.
So, let’s say you don’t bring an umbrella or a raincoat, and later you find yourself in the midst of a torrential downpour. You're there, standing in the rain, cursing the skies, and the Great Creator of theUuniverse, and even the weather-man, but let’s face it, you have no one to blame for this situation except yourself. You were given the warning and you chose not to listen, or care.
It’s the same with your love life, except instead of possible showers today, it’s a chance at love today. And instead of only occurring during the rainy season, and in the event of high humidity in the summertime, it’s happening every single day of your single life! (pun intended)
You know the opportunity is out there, but are you choosing to ignore what you see around you? Are you ignoring those hypothetical clouds on the horizon, and instead choosing to let the blurry vision of drunkenness guide your way?
So you’re watching for the signs, and I’m now going to hypothesize that one if these ‘signs’ hits you smack n the face (get your mind out of the gutters, okay that was probably just me). This sign, lets say goes something like this.
~*~*~*~
Suzy had worked on the cake for about 3 hours the night before. She was on her way to the party now, and even though she wasn’t sure why she was even going to this party, she had already baked the cake, so she might as well go. There was no doubt that Trevor would be there with his new girlfriend. The hotter one, the one he’d dumped Suzy for, but they still had a lot of mutual friends. She felt like she kept making up reasons to go to the party, and she hadn’t found a reason yet not to go. It was true she didn’t want to, but she hadn’t seen Trevor since he’d broken up with her, and she really did need to get out of the house more.
It didn’t help that after Trevor had broken up with her she left his place upset. She shouldn’t have been driving, but she just wanted to get out of there, and she didn’t even see that cat. She’s swerved to avoid it and wrapped about that lamp post. Now she was car-less, and using public transport. The bus smelled funny, and she had the cake on the seat next to her. She didn’t completely trust the cleanliness of the seat, but the cake was in it’s cardboard box, and it felt safe enough, it wasn’t like she was going to open it in the bus, there was no way she was going to expose food to this air!
As the bus tolled along it course, she suddenly wished she had an iPod, or even a cheap Walmart MP3 player. Everyone else on this bus seemed to have one, and they were able to suitably shut themselves off from this disgusting situation. She guessed that no one else was happy about having to take the bus either. The bus slowed, two more stops to go, she thought. Her stomach started to twist up. She was nervous, really nervous about this stupid party.
She should just skip it! No, she couldn’t do that, she’d already baked the cake, and people were expecting her, weren’t they? A few more dubious looking characters got on the bus and the last few chairs filled. She was a little unfamiliar with bus etiquette, but she moved to pick up her cake. As she did so the bus lunged forward and an unsuspecting passenger fell causing a domino affect. More and more decrepit bus passengers fell eventually ending in a young man toppling into the seat next to Suzy. All of this would have of course would have been a somewhat awkward bump if Suzy had moved the cake in time.
Suzy had not moved the cake in time and the young man now squirmed on the seat, realizing that hit something on his way down and now that something was all over his pants.
Suzy stared at the young man, mouth gaping open, in disbelief. He had crushed the cake!! He’d destroyed it! It was gone! Three hours of work for nothing!
Suzy couldn’t speak. She turned forward; other passengers were staring at the two of them. She could feel her face flush and before she could think she pulled the bell to stop the bus. It was one stop too early, she could walk, and she wanted to get off that bus as soon as possible! She wanted to get away from their prying eyes.
“Excuse me.” She whispered. The young man with cake on his pants obliged her. He was obviously as confused as her, and didn’t know what to do other than get up and let Suzy by.
She waited for the bus to stop and exited through the backdoor. She took a big step towards the curb. The bus driver, oblivious to what had just happened, and his role in it all, was apparently having difficulties steering today as well as accelerating.
Suzy almost had to jump to the sidewalk, and sighed as the bus drove away. She watched longingly after the bus, suddenly aware that she’s just left the cake on there. She didn’t even care. Anxiety and relieve washed over her simultaneously. She didn’t even want to go to party. It was a stupid idea to go. She wasn’t going know anyone there and she didn’t have cake to bring now. She slumped over and turned to cross the street. She may as well go home.
As she turned she walked right into someone.
“Sorry.” She muffled as she tried to walk by.
“No, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Can I do anything for you?”
Suzy looked up and saw the young man from the bus. The one that had both destroyed her cake and freed her from the horrific day that had lay ahead of her.
He looked about her age, and despite the fact that she knew he currently had cake on his pants, he was quite well dressed. She wondered what he had been doing riding the bus. He continued to stare at her as she analysed him, and she suddenly realized he had said something,
“Are you aright?”
“Yeah,” Suzy answered, “I’m fine.”
“But I ruined your cake. That must have taken hours!”
It did, she thought.
“Can I buy you a new one? It won’t be the same, I know, but you obviously needed a cake, wherever you were going.” He looked around, residential houses surrounded them.
“No it’s fine; I’m not going to that party anymore.” She answered.
“So quick? But it just happened? I mean I just sat on it. I mean destroyed it. How do you already know you’re not going?”
“I didn’t want to go, so now I won’t. I don’t have to now. So… thanks, I guess.” Suzy stumbled over the words. She just really wanted to go home and sulk. Maybe she could make another cake, and take it Trevor later. He had always liked her baking.
She took a step to the left and the young man countered. She took a step to the right, and he moved again. Why wouldn’t he let her by? She scowled, not exactly at him, but the whole situation.
“Can I -” he stopped, looking at Suzy’s expression.
“What?” she demanded. What did he want? She knew what she wanted. She wanted him to leave her alone.
“Umm, can I… umm, can I take you out for a coffee,” the words came out in a rush. “Or umm, yeah, a coffee? Or tea?”
Suzy stared at him. Did he just ask her out? Did the guy with cake on his pants just ask her out? The cake he had destroyed, her cake.
He looked at her. He was no doubt, questioning her mental stability at this point.
“Sure.” She replied. What did she have to lose?
“Good!” he beamed! “I’m John by the way.” He moved out of her way and ushered her to the corner. She had no idea where she was. Which stop had she gotten off at again? As they walked in silence, she saw a coffee shop on the next corner.
She introduced herself.
“I’m Suzy.” She put her hand out.
“It’s nice to meet you Suzy.” John beamed again. Suzy thought he smiled a lot for a guy who had just sat on a cake. John started apologizing again and asked again if there was anything he could do to help her.
“You already have helped me.” Suzy smiled.
Her phone suddenly buzzed in her pocket. She took it out and looked at the screen: “Trevor – cell… incoming call”.
Suzy hit the ignore button and turned her phone off. She and John walked up to the coffee shop and walked in, John talking the whole time, filling the silence easily. Suzy listened attentively, smiled at his jokes and felt more comfortable with him then she had in two years with Trevor.
~*~*~*~
So that was quite a long meet cute, but it proves my point. Take your headphones out of your ears, or put your cell phone down! Get off your computer (after you're done reading this of course). Experience the world around you and pay attention to where you are. Don’t text during a meal. Don’t take a call from friend down the block or waiting in the idling call outside. Turn your phone off sometimes!
When the signs come along, and don’t ignore them. Instead I suggest you ‘ignore’ all the distractions in your life. Ignore all the people who try to own you rather then want you. Ignore all the people who disregard you rather than love you. Ignore all the people who try to change you rather than appreciate you for who you are, faults and all.
Try hitting the ignore button.
The meet cute was better described in the movie “The Holiday”: Eli Wallach's character Arthur Abbott (a retired Hollywood screenwriter) described a meet-cute by saying
“Say a man and a woman both need something to sleep in and both go to the same men's pajama department. The man says to the salesman Ted, I just need bottoms, and the woman says, I just need a top. They look at each other and that's the meet-cute.”
Those are the kind of stories you want to tell your grandchildren.
