Don’t let me turn to sand and blow away

Sometimes I hear a song and I am overcome by a sense of nostalgia so strong that I feel as though I might never recover.

I know this can read a little dramatic (and hyperbolic) – but it’s true.

I’ve been listening to Spoon’s new album quite a bit, and every time I get to the last track “New York Kiss”, it’s like an electric current of memories (memories of which I cannot even remember living) shooting straight from my brain to the deepest recesses of my heart.

This in turn produces two very unique and separate reactions: I am overcome by both a manic, academic urgency, and a mellow, practical satisfaction.

The competition between these dichotomies is stiff.

My first inclination is to press pause on this hyper, whirling world of ours and take stock of all of the ideas, dreams, and goals currently percolating inside the depths of my brain.

My immediate urge to write, to run, to play dress-up with every outfit hanging in my closet, to phone up every loved one (not only current but also long-lost) and tell them how much of an impact they have made on my life is only bested by my paralyzing and chest-clenching fear that I am not doing enough with my life.

I SHOULD BE DOING MORE (I say to myself.)

On the other hand, hearing these songs make me want to snuggle up and hunker down. I want slowly read through the dusty, tea-spattered pages of my life’s chronicle, feel the curled edges of each aging page and smell the faint traces of sunshine, grass, gravel, and rain that have helped make up the thoughts and words for each entry and each day.

I just want to sit and re-live. To feel. To breathe in the years and marvel at all the miraculous things I have done with my body and mind.

But most of all to feel all of the love that I have given and all the love that I have received, and allow my heart to beat just that little bit faster at the thought of all the love that has yet to be.


The nostalgia is strong with this one

Happy Friday you fab chaps!

Okay, first things first.

Can we all agree on the absolute awesomeness of this song?

I actually cannot stop listening to it. All this writing about my teenage years must have flipped a switch somewhere deep inside of me, because I have been rocking out to all the sweet tunes from yesteryear ALL THE LIVE-LONG DAY.

Now, if someone could just pass me my flared jeans and mini backpack, I’ll be off to get us some brown lipstick and giant silver hair clips.


Secondly, look what I purchased last night:


I cannot even remember the last time I had Popsicle sticks! I will be making these delicious, frozen noms all summer long.

I don’t know about you all, but I am much more a fan of the yogurt pop, than the traditional juice based treat, but I’m open to any tasty suggestions you might have when it comes to the art of the Popsicle.


Finally, things are just racing by, I’m having a hard time catching my breath or keeping my balance.

I went for a short run today after work, the first since my race this past weekend.

I felt great – my legs felt strong and my cardio easy. The only tiredness I experienced was just every-day, normal, “I woke up at six and worked all day before strapping on my runners” fatigue.

Speaking of flipped switches, the weather these past few days has been so unbelievably beautiful. I can smell spring in the air, and feeling the warmth of the sun on my winter-kissed limbs is a joy of which I will never, ever tire.

Tonight I am doing a show downtown, and then it is off to fete my brilliant friend Emily of Well Fed, Flat Broke on her spectacular thirty years on this great big ball of green and blue.

I am also hoping that Marc and I will have a chance to go see Jurassic Park this weekend, as well as have ample time to run about outside, like the two sun-starved children that we are.

Barbeques may also be included.

I cannot wait.

What is on all your agendas for the next two days?

I hope that whatever it is, the sweet spring sun will be shinning down on all of you.

Come on baby light my fire

Hey all you crazy cats!

It’s time for another installment of the Friday Fry-Up. But first, before we get into the meat of the matter, I need to ask you all one question:

What fresh hell is going on around these here parts temperature-wise?

It is ruddy freezing!

I mean, here I am, it’s June, and I am sitting in front of my fireplace, and it has a bloody fire in it.

A fire!


What. The. Eff.

Anywho, strange things are a-brewing, and until the wind changes I suppose we’re continuing on course for more madness and foul weather.

So let’s solider on!

First on the docket:

Awful doughnuts.

Yesterday, after eating a super healthy lunch, I went and bought five timbits from ye old church of Canadiana (aka Tim Hortons) – because noting tastes better after a cracking salad like those sweet little glazed balls of heaven.

I got in line with the six hundred and ninety-two other crazed patrons and waited to have my order taken. After waiting roughly twelve years, I reached the front of the cue and placed my bets.


Placed my order.

I asked for two honey cruller, two sour cream glazed, and one chocolate glazed.

(Urg, I never know why I bother ordering that solitary chocolate timbit because it is never, ever tastes all that great. Slightly stale and just…missing something.)

The first two however are far and away the two top offerings available at ole’ Timmy Hos – seriously, take my word for it, I am a card-carrying timbit connoisseur.

Here is the honey cruller:


It was dee-lish.

However, I was pretty disappointed when I bit into the other donut hole because low and behold it was not my beloved sour cream but old fashioned glazed.



That crap tastes like bread soaked in expired dish soap.


(Full disclosure – obviously I’ve never eaten a Sunlight saturated baguette before – so don’t get any ideas! It’s a simile you smug bastards.)

And it was a bummer!

So all in all, out of five treats, I had three, but only enjoyed two. This is not exactly world-destroying events here, but like I said, I feel as though the universe is subtly letting me know that things aren’t exactly in balance these days.

Second on the docket:

Joe Fresh Fashion.

Now normally I am a pretty big proponent of Mr. Fresh and the clothing for sale at his establishments. I’ve bought some terrific stuff that I continue to enjoy, both for work and pleasure. However, if you visit one of his stores at the moment you might be surprised to see an overabundance of bat-shit weird, weird stuff.

Like this Finnish flag inspired shirt:


Or this “Is it clothing, or a walking magic eye puzzle?” dress:

It’s always some stupid sailboat.

Or this neon orange disco suit:

I – I just don’t know anymore.

(I also think that they were implying that you would wear the suit with the paisley green collared shirt.)

Seriously, at what LSD binge were these pieces not only designed, but then sewed together as utterly wacko separates!?

Also, can we mayhaps make an effort to stick to one decade to “bring back” at a time? I was one to believe that we are currently experiencing a resurgence of 90s nostalgia, so let’s keep the 70s and 80s at bay for the next little while – at the very least (we don’t need to bring them back at all, if that option is still available.)

Speaking of which – PEPLUM.



Just no.

They are hip flaps.

They are Malibu Barbie.

They are winged menstrual pads, designed as a dress.

They are no.

Just yell no like you mean it, and then just run away!


Moving on.

Third on the docket.

The Cranberries.

Speaking of flashbacks, the other day I was getting ready for work, listening to CBC radio 2 as I am often wont to do in the am. As I stepped out of the shower, I caught the very tail end of the song “Dreams” and I had a very affecting flashback to the day I finished grade five and I heard the group’s song “Zombie” for the ever first time.

Man, I loved that song.

(Is it just me, or did music – for the most part – mean a hell of a lot more in the 90s than it does now?)

I remember taping (!!!) that song off of the radio and listening to it on repeat for hours and hours and hours.

I always laugh to think of myself as the crazy tall, gangly awkward nerd who would half walk, half dance around singing Soundgarden, and Pink Floyd around the school hallways.

I remember discovering Smashing Pumpking in grade four. I heard “Today” being played from my sister’s bedroom while practicing highland dancing in my basement.

In grade six I saw the music video for Beck’s Loser. Kind of weirded out, but also really intrigued, I asked my friends if they would buy me the CD for my upcoming birthday. They did, and it was AWESOME.

In grade seven, sitting in Mr. Bell’s English class, Simon Eisler played Weezer’s Buddy Holly for our “Song as Poem” class project. I rushed home, found my sister’s Weezer CD and listened to the song on repeat for probably the next three years.

Maybe music didn’t necessary mean more in the 90s on the whole – perhaps it just meant more to me. Individually.


Stuff to ponder as we head into a rain soaked weekend!

What are you favourite doughnut flavours? Do you like Joe Fresh? And what are your strongest music memories?

I’d love to hear about it as I stoke my fire.