True Confessions

Sometimes it's good to just let it out...tell the truth, no matter how ridiculous it may sound. Perhaps this is connected to my Catholic upbringing; this need to be absolved from my little mundane sins. Alas, here I am purging and begging for blog-god's forgiveness.

I steal toilet paper from hotels. It all ends up in the same place in the end anyway (Oh jeeze, no pun intended!) so what difference does it make if it's used here in Red Lake or used there in Winnipeg or any other place that happens to have a hotel with an extra roll of t.p?

I am slowly poisoning myself with lipstick that is full of lead because it's a really nice colour and stays on forever ( I once was completely debilitated with a nasty virus and ended up vomiting profusely every 1/2 hour for a whole day. At once point, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and was totally impressed that my lipstick was still in tact during this fiasco. That's good lipstick and also the reason why it will eventually kill me. It's gotta be toxic if it can withstand perpetual puke.)

I secretly think that people complain too much about illness and think that hypochondriacs are super creepy. People that focus on their childrens' illnesses are even creepier in my books. Who gets off on talking about illness? Does a person really need that much attention that the only way they feel they can go about doing it is by talking about their oozing sores and phlegm filled lungs? Why don't they go and run a marathon or write a great book or bake a wicked cake so that they get some cool, positive attention instead?

I think my dog has put her tongue in my mouth way more than is reasonable and it has definitely not been by choice. But today when it happened I actually thought to myself, "Now that's enough. I'm tired of snugglin' my dog and having her rotten old tongue go in my mouth." Why the hell can't I just keep my mouth closed when I'm petting my dog? No, I have to get in close and talk all goofy to her with things like, "Hi my little smooshy smooshy."

My sister got me a wicked Napoleon Dynamite toothbrush and the design is highly disappointing. Who doesn't want to have the sweet voice of Napoleon and the funky tunes of Jamiraquai jamming in their mouth at 7:15 every morning? But you have to put the right amount of pressure of the brush on your teeth in order for it to work, and it sounds all weird and muffled and makes my ears tickle just a little. My sister had awesome intentions and the toothbrush is a let down. I knew I should have kept it as a collectible but I'm constantly worried about becoming a hoarder so I use what I'm given.

Is it really graffiti if it has an important message? I think it's more like an art installation.

I walked into a dollar store in Winnipeg and actually had a bit of a panic attack because the whole place smells so bad of toxic plastic crap that I felt like I was being poisoned by cheap toys and gadgets. I feel extremely sorry for all of the workers in China that have to go to those factories every day and endure that nauseating odor. It also makes me crazy that people buy that shit, because I always see that kind of stuff at garage sales, and if they don't sell there, then I see that crap at the dump. True confession; that seriously makes me crazy and I have to calm myself down so that I don't go into freak out mode when I see stuff like that. (Refer to blog regarding precycling...)

The first time I said the f-bomb was in Grade 4, playing soccer at recess with the boys in Ignace. I screamed out, "F**k off, Billy!" because he was relentlessly teasing me. I found out later that he had a crush on me, but I just thought he was being a pain in the ass.There is a fine line between a crush and a pain in the ass and I'm kinda sorry that I didn't know the difference at the time because maybe Billy would have ended up being a great boyfriend.

I got caught raiding a garden when I was in Grade 6 and even the cops were involved. To this day,
 I think that the cops should have told my parents but instead they just gave us a big lecture and let us off the hook. It worked for me; I never did that again and felt horrible about it, but I still think the cops should have made more of a stink about it. If someone raided my garden I'd be devastated because we're actually really dependent on it every year and tending a garden is a hell of a lot of work. I think I was actually in university when I finally told my mom what I had done.

I have a potty mouth and like to say things like bite me, suck it and blow me. I know it sounds horrible, but saying those little phrases sometimes gives me sheer delight because they're just so damn straight up and to the point. Sometimes there's no better way to say that you're angry with the world then a good ol' "suck it". My son has given me time outs for swearing. I take a nap on a chair for 5 minutes. It hasn't made me want to stop swearing. Time outs blow. (As a side note, you should go into the bathroom, close the door, turn on the fan, and just say "blow me" really loud. You'll feel silly at first, but if you say it a couple times, I can guarantee you'll feel better.) I really have to work hard at not swearing at school every single day. I hate hearing kids swear. I'm a hypocrite.

I have a crazy obsession with teeth. I will be completely attracted to a blithering idiot if he has nice teeth...super nice teeth. I kept my wisdom teeth and made them into a necklace that I wear occasionally and people always say, "Are those your teeth?" and give me a look of disgust. Teeth are awesome. I was a dental hygienist in my past life.

I have grown up on the lake all my life, and I have never run a boat motor by  myself. I don't know why because I'm not afraid to, but every dude I've asked, including my dad and many other men, won't let me. What's up with that? I feel completely incompetent without having that checked off on my to-do list. Is being a part of the boat motor society kinda like being a part of the Mason's? Is there some kind of weird initiation or hazing that I don't know about? It also took me forever to build up the nerve to pump my own gas.

I think if I were to ingest a pickled egg, I would spontaneously combust. On the same topic of food, if you eat a banana beside me, I'll probably punch you in the face. I hate that sound more than anything else in the world.

You know, this feels really good. They may seem like mundane little tidbits of whatever you wanna call its, but it feels nice to actually let these thoughts out. My brain has a file folder, no probably a whole filing cabinet of useless facts and information that just sits there without being given an opportunity to just go. Isn't that what dreams are for? To get rid of the excess stuff, small little morsels of guilt and frustration that we have running around upstairs so that we don't have to think about it anymore? I don't recall ever dreaming about chewed bananas or hypochondriacs, but it feels good to purge about it all the same.

You should try it. Or better yet, share them with me. I'll absolve ya' of your guilty conscience. :)

Check out Napolean's sweet dance moves

Facebook Friends, Fans and Foes

I love Facebook. I love being able to chat with Steph daily when she lives across the country. I can hear her voice in the comments that are sent to me and enjoy the banter back and forth. I love that I have reconnected with long lost cousins and take the time to stop and visit them on my journeys when I travel. I found several of those cousins in a Facebook group about "Bobinski's". I love the fact that I found my old public school friend and plan on meeting up with her in our hometown next summer to reminisce about our childhood. I love the fact that in my 37 years I have somehow been able to connected to hundreds and hundreds of people, and we like each other enough that we want to know about each other….even if just a little bit, for just a little snippet of a bit in our day. This form of communication simply would not occur for me if it was just happening through emails or telephone calls. Anyone that knows me knows that I actually despise communicating on the phone. I don't like to sit in one spot for too long and being on the phone makes me way too idle. That's another reason why Facebook works for me…..it works for my ADHD tendencies, and I can bounce back and forth between household chores, bike rides, kitchen dance parties and the like and still have the time to stop, take pause and throw a quick "howdy" to my sister where as otherwise I may have said nothing. (Teresa rarely leaves messages on my answering machine anymore because she says there's no point….I don't return calls. She's right. But I return a Facebook. It's faster. I do like to talk, I just have some kind of weird thing about phones which could be a whole other blog in itself.)

So who was it that said that today's generation is "disconnected"? I think people are communicating more now than ever before. Kids are texting maniacs. I can't believe that sometimes I hear myself saying to one of my students, "Text her and find out if she's coming to school today." Comments that come up between "mutual friends" on Facebook end up being discussed at further length. Links of interest are being sent to others. Information is being tossed around and words are flying like never before, zinging passed our eyes and ears, being quickly bitten and consumed. We are evolving into constant communicators and I'm digging it…..for the most part. We're getting to know our friends just that much more, and that isn't something to be ashamed about. 


But then there's this; 


I've curiously started to notice discretions in the terminology that is out there in Facebook land regarding "friends". I have a multitude of "friends" on Facebook and at one point I did start to do a bit of categorizing of those friends, and then thought, well, that's pretty stereotypical and judgmental of me, isn't it? Why am I categorizing these people? For some reason or another, we have decided that we want to know about each other's life in some small or big way and that's all I need to do with this list of interesting characters. To be fair though, I do have a list of "limited profile" friends, but that is simply to protect my privacy from the high school students I teach. They just don't need to know about all aspects of my life, but it doesn't mean that I don't want to share with them. When they graduate, I take them off of the limited profile, and then they find out that my life is basically what they expected it to be, give or take a bit. On top of this, I also have a fan page, where I showcase my art work and different artistic endeavors that I am attempting to undertake, and have a very nice fan base there. Now this is where I find that the terminology gets blurred. As far as I'm concerned, if a person is going out of their way to add my fan page to their own page, I am honoured by the respect they have given me as an artist. I appreciate that and consider that a kind gesture. A good handful of these people are not on my personal homepage's friend list, but a majority of them are. So if a stranger wants to add me as a "friend", I usually oblige, after doing a bit of research and letting my spidey senses check things out. Instinct is still handy when looking at a computer screen. We are still conscious after all. 


So what has triggered me to write this blog anyway? I'm pissed off. Let me tell you why. There are a lot of other artists and musicians and creative beings out there that are taking advantage of this situation and using Facebook as a catalyst for their own "stardom" without giving their fans a modicum of respect. They have not distinguished between fans and friends, so when a fan becomes a friend on their personal list (because after all, it might help in getting a Juno/Grammy/reward some day) they oblige but do not acknowledge that person. Statistically, things look good because they have "x" amount of "friends" when in actuality they have a group of strangers on their friend list that they will never consider acknowledging and that to me is just downright rude. Oh sure, there will be blanket statements of gratitude, but will they really take the time to communicate with individuals if push comes to shove? Nope. Probably not. Excuses such as being too busy, or on the road, or in the studio come up, and if that's the case, then they should probably consider not using Facebook or other sites such as Twitter as a communication tool for their creative endeavors. They should delete their group, delete their fan page, or have someone with human qualities, such as compassion and respect, at least administrate the site for them. If someone writes on my fan page wall, I am going to make sure to respond to that person. I figure not doing so is the same as being acknowledged at the post office by a stranger with a "good morning" or a tip of a hat and not responding in a similar fashion or not responding at all. That certainly wouldn't be nice now, would it? It's just common courtesy to give a small returning gesture and that's what makes us human. That is where the disconnect happens. Not in the using of Facebook, it's in the ignorant use of Facebook. 

Will it change? Will people out there in Facebook land see that creating a fan page is a hugely conscious undertaking that needs to be thoroughly considered before being created? Again, probably not. These people are unfortunately, riding on the coattails of their fans with swelled heads of idolization. They're using the adage, "But I'm giving them my music, or my art. I am sharing with them. I'm sharing my passion with the world" and blah, blah, blah, crappity crap. But that creativity should occur regardless of whether they have the fans on Facebook or not (if they are true to their art form). So it comes down to this…..technology can work to our advantage here. Call these fan page creators on their actions. Start asking them about their art, their music, their style, their drive, their passion. Learn about them, learn from them. And if they're not willing to share, then take advantage of technology and delete them, because ultimately, they really aren't that personable after all. Hang on to the human beings that will tip their hat to you, even if for just a bit. Because you're a human being with your own thoughts, and you deserve that respect.

Cavebabies Were Born in December

Man, I just came back from a phenomenal house concert; JD Edwards and his charming, and equally talented girlfriend, Jessie Havey (formerly of the Duhks). My head is buzzing with exhaustion and euphoria and I really, truly should be sleeping but I'm caught up in the moment of this month and digging it. March is a great month, so far, and I'm less than a week down the road.

I decided not too long ago, the day after the month of February ended actually, that I from here on in declare that February is obsolete in my life. I've had it with that miserable excuse of a month. In my world, January will now be extended an extra 15 days, running to day 46. Then it will kick in to March, starting at negative 15. Screw February. It's the worse month ever on record of any month there is. It's miserably cold but starting to get muddy, so you never know whether you should wear rubber boots or can get away with sneakers. My dog's fur gets caked with dirt and ice after a walk and then slowly melts mud blobs all over the house, no matter how hard I try to keep her confined until I can give her a good rubdown with yet another good towel. By February, I'm tired of snow, and now I have to deal with mud and snow? No thanks.

And by mid-February I am a moody, brooding soul, at the pinnacle of artistic tension and frustration. It comes with months of being holed up inside, reading, conversing, focusing on my art and writing, being introspective and pensive. It takes its toll after a while. I feel I can't possible exploit one more thought out of my squeeze-dried brain. February makes me mentally tired. Bleck.

But as soon as the last second of February 28th ticked itself into March 1st, the moon blasted itself full and my mind went completely blank. Instant transformation occurred, thoughts were gone and my body completely inundated my grey matter. I have not had a silly thought in my head for a week and it's been fantastic. I think my knuckles have been bleeding from dragging on the ground and I haven't minded, just stocked up on band-aids. Because March is about desire; carnal, guttural, spring desire. And there must be some logical reason for what seems like an instantaneous switch from thought to desire that can be linked right back to our old caveman days (Man, those cavemen have had to take the blame for everything, eh?) I figure it's because the natural mood drug, Vitamin D, AKA sunshine, is absorbing into the bones and resurrecting the body. Most cavebabies were probably born around December. I wonder if the statistics are connected to this banal theory void of any research whatsoever. My brain's hurting from thinking this much. Did I mention that I haven't thought in a week?

And I don't mean to sound like suddenly we become a bunch of heavy breathing sexual heathens devoid of any intellectual capabilities  in March but you can't deny this sense of "something's in the air"....people have more pep in their walk, doors are being opened for strangers at the post office, people are wearing brighter clothing, people are wearing less clothing and feeling the air on their exposed skin, windows are rolled down, you can hear the bass music from the truck that drives by making everyone undulate to the rhythm until they get to their desired locations, more eye contact is being made, smiles are being exchanged....collectively, we seem to be erasing the crappity crap (Thanks Jen, for sharing that quote with me) of the winter. That kinda feeling goes way beyond the mind. It seeps deep down into the blood where it pulses. And by the way, there's nothing wrong with being a bunch of heavy breathing sexual heathens devoid of any intellectual capabilities every once in a while.

So I suggest that if you're still stuck in the cavernous hell hole of February still, that you take the time to peel off some layers. Heck, go outside and look up at the night sky and take a deep, deep breath and just smell March and soon enough, you're going to feel it too.

"It hurts to see you leave without the taste of your last touch" JD Edwards "The Rose"