You want fries with that?

Sometimes when I am riding skytrain into work, and I am feeling particularly Dostoevskian, I am apt to conclude that life is just one ceaseless and ever-growing French fry craving.

This is grim.

(And McDostoevskian.)

But it is also completely symptomatic of what it’s like to be navigating the throes of my personal, and very inconsistent existential life crisis.

One day I’m just fine.

And the next, I’m expecting Inspector Porfiry Petrovich to board the train at Joyce-Collingwood and arrest me in front of all the other semi-dazed travellers, proclaiming me to be a student and murderer in equal succession.

(I think some people just call this melodramatic malaise “being in their late twenties.”)

Plus my arrest would probably be for fare evasion.

Or maybe, anti-social behaviour.

I’m no ax-murderer.

To combat this insanity (inanity?) I have been listening to a lot of ridiculously fantastic music.

I know I just wrote a post about movies that highlighted a few of the different films that have impacted my life, but I’ve really been thinking quite a bit of late about all the things that up until this point, have made me, well, “me.”

During the summer between first and second year of my undergrad, I lived in Halifax and hung out quite a bit with a fabulous lass named Kathleen.

Kathleen had a touch of the nihilism in her (as are wont all twenty year-old self-styled academics), but she was also greatly distressed by the thought of all of the books she would never read, all of the movies she would never watch, and all of the songs that she would forget about and never hear again.

So in an effort to ensure she would remember as many of these things as possible, she would carry about a small notebook and write the names of anything and everything artistic that she would encounter throughout her daily meanderings.

Her scribblings were to her, a sort of literary, musical, and cinematic catch-all.

Of late, I too have begun to employ this system.

For the past few months, I haven’t been able to leave the house without the small pink notebook that is now chock-a-block of semi-flushed out blog post ideas, daily to-do lists, and half-cocked philosophical musings.

I just hope that nobody murders me and this is the first thing that CTV finds on my rapidly cooling body.

Nobody wants to be remembered by their inability to remember to purchase both dish detergent AND QTips.

(Why can’t I remember QTips!?)

But it’s also been super helpful.

Because sometimes inspiration strikes, or you hear a tune so brilliant that it’s everything you can do not to bust a move right then and there in front of Save-on-Food’s overpriced and under-stocked egg selection, or you see a character so desperate and strange that you can only assume that they fell out of a wormhole connecting our universe with whatever bizarro world exists out past the recesses of our equally wacky solar system.

You know.

The usual.

But to get back to the music of which I earlier wrote – there is so much stuff that I wish to share with you all.

The first being my latest obsession: Jungle.

A modern soul collective based out of London, UK, they are so absolutely groovetastic it boggles the mind.

I’ve been listening to their songs on continuous repeat for the past two days.

Check them out:

They are coming to Vancouver on October 14th and I cannot wait to get my epic dance on. For this night (and never this night only) I will be the dancing queen.

Young and sweet.

Next, another British band of whom I am completely enamoured: Bastille.

Every so often I like a band so much that I will break my “no music EVER whilst training” oath, and stick in ye olde earbuds as I tie up my running shoes.

I have broken this pledge many times over the past month because of this band.

Every song of their feels as though they are speaking directly to me, and by speak, I mean mailing an emotionally resonant and personally impactful treatise express-post straight into my soul.

They are SO GOOD.

Finally, new Spoon.

(For those neophytes out there, the band is just called “Spoon” not “new Spoon.” They just have released their latest EP.)

And for lack of a more poetic descriptor, it is bloody fantastic.

I don’t think this band is even capable of releasing a crap album, because everything they release is delicious.

And inspired.

So there you are.

For all of you who are also currently conquering your own existential demons (or at least riding out the “what does it all mean!?” wave), I suggest you put on your dancing shoes and break it down.

One French fry craving at a time.

Game over man! GAME OVER!

Hey kids!

I have a confession to make.

But first –




Foot-less tights!? WHY?

I mean, it’s totally my fault that I purchased them without realizing that they are, in fact, footless.

But at the same time, I just assumed that anytime I bought something marketing themselves as “tights” that they would, you know, cover my feet.


And why in the ever-loving heck would I buy fleece-lined tights, if not for the sweet, sweet heat they would bring to my frozen tootsies throughout the long, and frigid Canadian winters?

Certainly not for the slimming factor!

These things bring a bulk to my calves previously known only to competitive stair runners and long-distance cyclists.

But I digress.

I will suffer through this fashion injustice.

If only for potential blog hits.


Back to the original purpose of this entry – my confession.

This past Saturday, Marc and I woke up late and decided to go see Ender’s Game. It is one of his favourite books of all time, and for many moons I have been extolling the virtues of Mr. Scott Card’s literary genius to all those who asked if I too had read the book.

Only, I had, you know, never actually cracked it open.


I’m not exactly sure why I pretended that I had in fact read the book. I think a lot of it has to do with protecting my nerd cred – I have read and loved so much science fiction, that I figured by admitting that I had omitted such an important novel, people might take me less seriously.

(Even though the more I think about it, people would probably be more likely to forgive this literary transgression, than you know, LYING TO THEIR FACES LIKE A BALD-FACED SCOUNDRAL.)

Even Marc had assumed that I had read it – and was shocked to hear on our exit from the theatre that I had no knowledge of the written words in which to compare the film.

(SPOILER: I thought that movie was pretty grim, and Marc just downright hated it.)

In preparation of watching the film, I read a really fabulous article on Grantland this past Friday by Rany Jazayerli.

It looks at the controversy that’s surrounded Card and his career for the past decade – his rabid homophobia, and xenophobia to be precise – and how these views stand in such sharp contrast to the messages of love and tolerance that permeate so much of his writing (and in particular Endger’s Game and its sequels.)

It made me think of how it is we are able to separate an artist from their art – and who we are willing to make exceptions for, and why?

For instance, I have never understood Hollywood’s enduring love affair with Roman Polanski. To me, the man is nothing more than a rapist who refused to face the consequences of his actions, and I couldn’t give two cares about his movies or his talent for storytelling.

I also don’t care if John Galliano ever designs another dress, and I certainly don’t care if [insert name of professional athlete convicted of doping/sexual assault/animal abuse] ever plays another game for the rest of their lives.

And yet, despite this hard-held views, I will always, always give the latest Woody Allen film a try.

I definitely don’t feel good about this choice, but it’s something that I do, and that I accept.

My love for Annie Hall is just so strong that it propels me to seek out what this man – this quirky, strange, totally perverse man – might next deliver to the big screen.

It’s an off-putting balancing act: while I definitely do not support his life-choices (in fact, I find them downright disturbing), I do really like many of his films.

And I like that I am at least conscious enough to identify this push-pull binary that lives inside of me, despite the fact that it’s an on-going struggle to figure out where this leaves me standing – especially if we’re talking moral, and not literal ground.

But alas, such is life. I’ll just have to keep working on it.

And in the meantime, I’m going to crack open Ender’s Game and finally see what all the fuss is about.


Because if I know one thing that’s going to help both my morality and nerd cred, it will be to finally stop lying about having read the book, and to just read it.


Open up and bare it all

Hi Chickadees!

There are so, SO many things of which I have to write, but while I get my thoughts (and pictures, and videos) in order, and oil up my oh-so rusty typing fingers, I am going to answer the ten funniest questions OF LIFE posed to me by the amazingly hilarious Great Unwashed.

Please go check out her blog. You will not regret this decision.

And now! My answers:

 1. If you had to choose between Anna Karenina, War and Peace and Steve Martin’s acclaimed novella “Shopgirl” which book would be the best weapon in a bar fight?


My initial reaction was all, “UMMMM ANNA KARENINA YO.”


In terms of sheer weight (both literally, and literature-aly), The Jerk doesn’t have a thing on old Leo T. In fact, I am surprised he is even included here in the list. I would have expected something like – Anna Karenina, The Brothers Karamazov, and Les Miserables.


I only initially chose the adorable adventures of Kitty and Levin (and the insufferable angst of Anna and Vronsky) because it was first in the list. War and Peace would also pack one hell of a punch.

But I digress.

My decision in the end actually IS Shopgirl (and not just because I love the word “novella”), but because anyone who thought to start a bar fight with me, and then happened to espy that I was reading such dreck would probably realize that going rope-a-dope with me just wouldn’t be worth it.

My life would be much too sad already.

Side note: my husband really hates Steve Martin.

Like, a lot.

I don’t really care either way, but I do dig the fact that he plays the banjo.

2. What is the longest period you’ve ever gone without bathing? Please note, stays in Turkish prisons do not count.


Okay, first things first –


They are firmly ensconced in my Top Five Things to Do By Myself.

Plus I just generally hate feeling dirty. Nothing feels as good as a great scrubbing.

The longest I have ever gone without showering was two weeks in grade ten when I was a camp counsellor in training.

I took part in a teenage Outward Bound-type excursion, and being that we spent the entire time in the wild woods, we also went the entire time sans-showers.

I tell you, even though we had the opportunity to swim almost every day, I was practically dreaming about soap and shampoo by the end of the trip.

3. You’ve decided to take on three additional husbands and or wives, who are they? Both living and dead people may be included, although admittedly an attraction to the deceased is a little beyond me.


But such a good question.


For the purely physical: James Spader circa 1986.

Or Rafa Nadal circa all of his Armani ads.


For the purely intellectual: David Mitchell.


For the whole package: Stephen Colbert.

*brain explosion*

4. What is your most unfortunate public transportation story?

I have drooled quite a bit on the metro in my day.

Also, once, while riding the last skytrain back home I watched a guy barf all over the floor.

That wasn’t very nice.

5. Go back in time, you’re attempting to sell your five year old sibling, what is your asking price?


6. In a bid to secure the Guinness World Record for “Longest and Highest Transport of Tom Cruise” you’ve decided to piggyback this superstar across the Andes. What phrase do you repeat to yourself during the tough parts of the trek to spur yourself onwards when Tom’s pointy hip bones are digging into your spine?

The following classic line from Top Gun:


(See below video.)

No joke, I use this line almost daily.

7. What do you consider to be a valid reason for a hunger strike?

I wrote a super long answer about torture and imprisonment without cause that was super, super grim (surprise, surprise!) so for the sake of brevity I’ll just say that weird pink chicken mcnugget sludge.

The thought of that stuff pretty much turns me off food for life.

8. Name three items you hide from your spouse or significant other or even better, yourself.

I don’t actually hide much, if anything at all, from Marc.

As many of you who read this blog might have guessed, I’m a pretty transparent person.

However, for years I denied that it was me who put the dent into our old VW Golf. I also only watch Drop Dead Diva when he’s either asleep or out of the house. One time I farted on the subway and convinced him that he was in fact the one who farted.

9. Where are the hiding places for these items? Wait! Don’t tell me, I’m a terrible secret keeper.


10. How do you feel about my interviewing skills? Will they make Oprah love me?

If the big O doesn’t love you, please take some level of comfort in the fact that I most definitely do.

So there you have it!

What about you dudes? What are some of your answers to the fab-tastic queries?

Please do share.

Because let’s be honest here, they are just too good not to.

A lot of ins, a lot of outs

Hi kids!

A little while ago the lovely Runningwithoutsocks made me all shirty and blushy by letting me know that she dug my blog.

And what do you know? The feeling is completely mutual.

Her blog is terrifically awesome sauce, and I really encourage you to go and check out her stuff.

She was also fab enough to pass along some questions that I was encouraged to answer if I should wish.

And I do. I do so wish.

So as my knackered little bones sink down into the recesses of our big comfy couch, I present to you, dear readers, my answers:

If you could have any super power, what would it be and why?

Oof. This questions has (and will continue to) plague me for years. Because on one hand, it HAS to be the ability to fly, doesn’t it? I mean, I’ve been having flight dreams since as far back as I can remember, and it has always been soul-crushing to wake up and realize that I don’t have this ability in real life.

But on the other hand, invisibility would be AMAZING. As would the ability to read minds.



You see? This is why I totally suck at this game.

Can I just wish for more wishes?

Where do you see yourself in 5 years?

This is another hard one. It’s hard to paint a concrete picture, because in all honesty, I have no idea what the next six months, let alone five years has in store.

So I will say this: I will be with the love of my life, and we will most likely have produced a little human being. I will be a world-famous stand-up comedian, and M will be an internationally renowned curriculum developer.

It’s either that or shacked up in an chalet somewhere high up in the Pennine Alps, raising large families of St. Bernards and eating a crap ton of Gruyere cheese.

London 108 - Copy

Chocolate or vanilla?

I once ate a Mars bar covered in ants.

I was two years old at the time, but I’d like to think that little girl still lives somewhere inside of me.


Favorite movie?

Ooer. Also a hard one. I have many favourites: A Fish Called Wanda, Love Actually, The Bourne Trilogy, Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Three Colours (though White is my favourite), Amelie, Never Let Me Go, La Femme Nikita, The Fifth Element…


But, if I was told that I was going to be sent to a deserted island and I could only bring one movie with me, then no question, it would be The Big Lebowski.

I love this movie more than I can properly communicate. Nothing will ever be more brilliant, or as funny as this film.


Summer or winter?

Summer. No contest.

Sundresses, hiking, biking, patios, cold drinks, warm nights, barbeques, beach days, sunglasses, the smell of sunscreen and sand, running in the early morning…


What’s your fondest childhood memory?

Yowza. This is a toughie.

I have a million and a half memories that all could easily qualify for top billing.

I’ll share just one: driving around with my two sisters in our old brown van, singing out hearts out to The Beatles’ “Drive My Car.” It’s nearing the end of the school years, so the weather is warm and sunny. I’m in grade six, Jess is in grade four, and Kate is in grade eleven. Kate has just bought us slurpees and my cheeks hurt from smiling.

Remembering everything about this scene just feels like pure happiness.

Favorite band?

Ack! Also too many. Franz Ferdinand, Hot Chip, Kaiser Chiefs, Queen, Pink Floyd, Simon and Garfunkel, Peter, Bjorn, and John, Matt Anderson, The Rolling Stones.

This question is impossible!

But to pull out the desert island reference again, I’ll have to go with The Beatles.


If you could live in any city in the world, which one would you choose and why?

Probably Edinburgh. I loved living in the UK and this was my favourite city that we visited. I would go back in a heartbeat.

Edinburgh 264

What do you dream about?

My dreams are CRACKED. I don’t want to scare anyone off so I’m pleading the fifth on this one.

Your most distinguished trait (could be physical or character trait – or both!)

Distinguished, eh?

I feel like I should leave this one up to the judgement of someone else.

Character trait(s) – my passion, dedication, and drive.

Psysical – my long hair and even longer legs (which allow me to tower over people.)

Why did you start blogging?

Because of said passion. And because if I didn’t find a way of communicating all the thoughts running around my head on a daily basis I would have run off to the woods never to be seen from again.

(Until, that is, Werner Herzog decided to make a documentary about my life.)

So there you have it you fab chaps!

In lieu of the regular Friday Fry-Up, a little insight into my mad self.

We’ll be back to our regular scheduled program next week.

In the meantime, drop me a line highlighting your answers.

I will read and relish them, as I rest awhile.

Just blowin’ in the wind


I never sleep well going into a Monday.

Nutmeg and cardamom are two excellent spices that pair quite poorly with shrimp.

New shoes!


Even when I think I am sitting up straight, I’m probably still slouching.

My hair is so long that sometimes when I work out my ponytail gets stuck in my armpits.

Sometimes I imagine Brian Mulroney looking at his son, and then looking at Justin Trudeau, and then thinking, “HOW THE HELL DID THIS HAPPEN?”

I really must remember to let my bras air dry. I don’t want to give away all my hard earned cash dollars to BIG BRASSIERE.

Donuts are really great.

So is a cup of milky, hot, sugary coffee.

(But never together.)

Dance parties are always worth it, even if it’s only with one other person.

Sometimes it rains sideways, and this makes training runs very uncomfortable.

Richard Ayoade is a stone cold fox.

TopShop is currently trolling us all, but –

Put a bird on it!


Yesterday Mr. M and I bought our tickets for the Big Apple and I am SO EXCITED.

I cannot speak, or write “cleaning out my closet” without pretending that I am Eminem.

I like peanut butter M&Ms best.

Also this:


Today, the sun is shining and the sky is a light daisy blue – a treat the likes of which we have not seen for many, many moons.

It is mindboggling to think that we are already into March. Indeed – minutes, days, weeks (and months!) seem to be careening by in the blink of an eye.

I just signed up to run the ScotiaBank Half-Marathon with Team Big Sisters. I’m hoping to raise $1000.00 (the same amount as 2011, the last year that I fundraised with the organization.)

After taking some time off to rest my little bones, I am back to full-on training mode. I ran 16km this weekend, and am looking to slowly amp up the mileage as the seconds kick down to my first race of the season: The Sunshine Coast Half on April 7th.

My darlings, do you ever feel as though you are standing the precipice of something huge, but you don’t know yet what it is?


I feel as though I am balancing precariously over a large, life-changing expanse, and I want so badly to jump into the void, only I cannot see what I will be getting myself into.

All my nerve endings seem to be extra-sensitive – and the winds of change are making my arm hairs stand on edge.

Maybe I will just have to Alice it – take a deep breath and crawl down the hole.

And if I catch a glimpse of a sign-post (pointing in any which direction), I will be sure to let you know.