Songs from the North.

Ok so Song of the Arbitrary Amount of Time is The Cheapest Key by Kathleen Edwards. I liked this song the very first time I heard it on CBC Radio 3. It's a tune that in-beds itself in your brain. and you're glad it did.

This lady seems like she would be a hilarious person to know. And I'm pretty sure she is a Neil Young fan - which, obviously means she has sublime taste.

And Imma throw in a song that is currently - and has on and off since last year's Juno Awards, when I heard it for the first time - causing me to burst out in fits of singing. Little Bit of Red by Serena Ryder. Sooooo goooooood. Ryder has a bit of a Melissa Etheridge sounding voice, but distinct. I imagine from the sound of her singing that she must have a marvelous laugh. A bit throaty, not high pitched, but not monotonous.... just riddled with character.

Plus I love the line "come here, I'm gonna smear another colour over you." The lyrics are sweet, and I'm quite partial to a rhyme..... but it's really the delivery of this phrase that is just perfect. Like she's squeezing 'here' and 'smear' out of her throat and then just letting the rest of the words bubble forth.... Just listen to it.

So there y'are. Two lovely Canadian ladies and a sampling of their music.

Ok now enough of this procrastination. I haz studyin' to be did. So ver ver much so. Teh whole of the Medieval times in England worth of studying.

ps.

I am writing gratuitous amounts of uninteresting posts in an effort to legitimate the fact that I am not studying.

I think it is working.

Hello.

I have a job.

I'm almost done school.

I got a B+ on my last reporting assignment, because I handed it in late. But my Prof said it was A worthy. Some comfort that is, when I'm trying to gain back my fucking scholarship.

I have four exams coming up, all of which I am not in the least bit ready for.

I am seeing a girl who thinks I'm the bees knees.

I am moving out of the house in August. Oddly enough, my dad is going to beat me to the punch.

I'm fucking tired.

That is all.

Whine and Cheese.

I envy people who know what they want. From themselves, from other people, from life.... and they just go for it.

I wish I knew more often what it is that I want. When I think about all the times I've thought to myself "o dear me, how nice would it be to be in a relationship" I do two things:
1) I have to wonder if it is a relationship I want, or am I just infatuated with the romantic idea?
2) I gag a little.

So now, I am somewhat perched on the brink of something that could turn into a relationship, and I have that familiar creeping feeling of doubt telling me I should just run away a bit. Make my sorry excuses and part ways. Because really, any further and expectation kicks in. She's going to want me to feel the same way she feels. You know?

And how can I know if I'll be able to match her, emotion for emotion, want for want, if I don't even know how to respond to her when she tells me something like "I kinda have a severe crush on you.... and that's good.... but what if it backfires on me?" I know she wants some sort of reassurance about how I feel, but suddenly I became a mute. Or when she says "Do you have any expectations or anything?" and I just play dumb and inarticulate (generally quite an effective tactic).

What do I want? I don't know. She seems to know what she wants. And that's rather irritating.

When someone tells you they want to see you all the time, and they think about that all the time, and you're hearing them, but you don't feel quite the same, what is the appropriate response? I went with silence. Well actually, a nervous giggle and then silence. It is, I think, at least more tactful than being truthful, and less guilt-inducing than lying. So, overall a solid choice. Maybe.

I think I need to work more on my communication skills.

I told myself "no running away blindly this time." I told myself I may as well try out being somebody's somebody for a while, because I haven't anything to lose, really. But that doesn't change the fact that I am freaking out, quietly.

I'm whining, I know. Sorry.

Sometimes, people feel like ropes. I start thinking of Gulliver, on his travels, among the Lilliputians, getting tied down with threads. That's a kind of awful analogy, because I know loads of people are just fine with relationships, and love them and so on. And they don't think they're roped up at all.

But that's not even it. If I knew exactly what my issue was, I could solve it. hmmm.

I think part of my problem might have something to do with someone liking me more than I like them. Might be a control thing.

meh.

WHAT?!

O god. I haven't written since February?

I am shamed.

Right now I'm in media law class, where I learn how to not get sued in my future career as journalist extraorindaire. And how to get out of it, should i still get sued. Hopefully. I think if I get an A in this class, they oughta make me an honourary lawyer.

Anyways, what's new with me?.... not much. I didn't do a thing for reading week, not even read. I was briefly in a band, but then the other half moved to Toronto (shake fist at Toronto). I've mostly been running around for various reporting class assignments, trying not to fail, looking for sources, chasing quotes, learning the value of not procrastinating (but never actually putting that knowledge into practice), and trying every so often to breathe a little.

O and Glee is having an internet casting call. So Imma try out. Not that I think I'll make it, as I'm rather short for television, and the camera only adds pounds, not centimeters, but I shall do it anyways. I'm going to wear a tux and sing Don't Rain on My Parade.

GROUNDHOG DAY.

Groundhogs everywhere agree: six more weeks of winter! Giddy up.

Now tell me, crazies from PETA, how would we get such an accurate prediction about the forthcoming winter months if we used a mechanical groundhog? Eh? Can a machine see its shadow and scurry back into its hole? No.

It would be a lie! A clever little computer program, probably based around the Weather network's forecast, instead of the trusty mysticism and intuition of a fat and cute rodent.

Plus Wiarton Willy totally luuuubbbs his job. He sits around with a feeling of emptiness all year until February 2nd when he gets his chance to shine. Do you guys really want to be the ones to take that away from him? Hmmm?


ps. Better watch who you decide to pie in the face while you're in Canada, lest you be labeled a terrorist.

Viva La Face

Hey I forgot I did song of the weekish. So I have changed it, after a bizillion years of it being the same songs.

Two covers this random time period: Lady Gaga doing Coldplay's Viva La Vida and Poker Face as done by Mika.

I forgot about Mika for a while. I put on his tunes this weekend and suddenly remembered how thoroughly I enjoy prancing about the house singing his songs.

Gaga's there because I went to a drag show (well.... I was in it, actually, all suited up, looking like I was straight out of the '20s. Or I guess gay out of the '20s. bahahaa.) and I was reminded of her since my friend's costume was Gaga inspired in that she was a faux-queen. Meaning basically that my friend who is a girl was dressed up as a drag queen, but she's not a drag queen since she's not a dude to begin with.


ps. I won the drag show, singing Patricia the Stripper by Chris de Burgh. One hundred dollars and mad respect from a multitude of queens was my prize.

pps. Have you noticed how the tags "I fail" and "song of the week" always come together? huh....

this may indeed work

Wowsa I honestly do not remember writing that previous post. I must have been on a serious caffeine high.

Anyway. 20 10 is shaping up to maybe - but I don't wanna jinx it - perhaps, tentatively be wickedly better than '09. Or '08 for that matter. I think this may have something to do with me finally learning how to be a human being. And I don't mean conforming, I just mean I've learned to be me, a person, in my way.

And because of that, I be myself, around people. Around other humans.... It's a good time.


It's a really good time, actually.

I think I may be in love.

Hey you. Ya. You.

Dear Life,

Stop getting in the way of my blogge posting. My fans (choke. cynical cackle) would greatly appreciate it.

Thank you and warm regards,

NotAlice

F-f-f-fuck it's c-c-cold.

The whole university is an ice box. What is this?

Either they've not paid their heating bills or I for some reason am feeling the cold more than usual.

Come to think of it, my house seems colder too.

Geez nobody is paying their bills these days.

At the stroke of midnight, my carriage turned into a bus.

Hello world! Happy Christmas and merry merry New Year to all! It is twenty ten [note: NOT two thousand and ten.... imagine how much of your life would be wasted saying all those extra syllables. Don't do it, it ain't worth it] in case you have been asleep for the past three days. Which I don't doubt some people have been doing.

Like one girl I spent New Years with. If I was her, I'd sleep for a long time. It takes a lot of energy to puke as much as she did.

And on that note, guess where I was on the stroke of midnight? Not where I was supposed to be, I'll tell you that....

I was in a shopping mall hallway,* in front of a bench containing a very very severely drunk girl propped up between two somewhat intoxicated guys and a girl fervently trying to keep el drunko awake by reciting to her eight years worth of stories about their friendship. Next to me stood the only completely sober person among us, with a scowl on her face, looking thoroughly unimpressed. Somewhere in the background was a random high school girl who, unlike the other people prowling about the halls, seemed drawn to our predicament, and despite the puke, felt she should pitch in by offering us a band aid and saying how cool our names were. She also fetched toilet paper. She was a very nice person.

So that's where I was, my unused new years club party ticket folded in my pocket, where it shall remain forever reminding me of the wasted $25 I spent on it. Bumms.

It could have been worse, we could have still been in the washroom at midnight, sitting on the vomit covered floor with drunk girl, but we managed to hoist her out of there with ten minutes to spare. But only after she managed to keel over like a piece of timber, bringing one of the people holding her up crashing to the floor with her. And only after she'd banged her head several times on the faucet, turned the motion sensor tap on with her arm, spraying me with a faceful of water, and tore her tights in many places.

None of us had a clock with a second hand on it, so when my cell phone said 11:59, we waited a bit and tried to do a count down from ten, but it was still 11:59 when we got to 1. So we just waited another 17 seconds and screamed "HAPPY NEW YEAR!" and hugged everyone who didn't have bile on them.

Don't get me wrong, I did have fun. Though it involved a lot less dancing and a lot more regurgitated food than I had anticipated.

The sad thing (not the only one, obviously) is, all the drunkeness was caused by her pre-drink. We got her all the way downtown only to turn around and get a bus back home. And another sad thing is I just met the girl that night and I'm afraid she thinks I hate her now, which I don't... in fact she made an excellent first impression until her slurred words turned into passing out. And even then, I was laughing most of the time anyhow.

I have to say though, the most disappointing part of the whole night was after we got back to the house and I went with the boys to the 24 hour McDick's and it was closed. I was craving nuggets soooo bad. It even had a neon "Open" sign turned on in the window, just to make us even more pissed and confused.

Yup. I was forced to settle for chips from the gas station.

I also made sangria before we left for the club. It was o so tasty.


Later gator.



*The hallways stay open to link two major bus stops together.

Things!

If I was a disembodied voice I would be Morgan Freeman's voice.

Hello, it's the voice of God. No contest.





The days are all melding together in a cough riddled haze. I finished exams and WHAM - sickness. Uggghhh!

DONE and fire alarms.

My semester is ovvvaaaahhhh.

Glory be.

I think - I'm not sure, but I think - I may have wrecked my last exam (Europe: 1917-1922). Wrecked as in answered the questions right for the most part and in a way that will blow my jerk professor away with their brilliantness.

That or I wrote a bizzillion pages of bullshit. I dunno.

Well, whether I rocked it, or whether I somehow rewrote the history of the Russian Revolution, the exam period itself was eventful. Halfway in, the fire alarm went off.

Maybe it was that everyone was really into their exams, maybe it was the fact that it was -20something degrees Celsius outside, maybe it was because the proctors were just staring at us not knowing what to do, or maybe it was because everyone's brains were fried from all the studyage they'd been doing, but no one really moved. A thousand students sat and blinked dumbly wondering what to do. Then few stood. And then some proctors started telling people to sit back down. Then we all sat.

And five minutes later, with the alarm still going off, everyone stood up and went outside.

There was no fire. There was probably just some asshole who got into his math exam and realized that he knew nothing. If he was ever found, failing the exam would be the least of his worries.

After being let back in, the alarm continued for another 15 ear murdering minutes. A collective sigh and round of applause accompanied its silence.


-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

And also this:[From Buttersafe.com]

This is the exact reason I stopped wanting to be a surgeon. Damn invisible patients.

Interesting note: Invisible people's blood turns visible once it leaves the body. It's an oxygen thing.

bbbbbbbeeeeeeeetttttttaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Iodine 131 is a radioisotope of iodine and has a half life of 8.02 days.

And tomorrow (actually later today I suppose) my mum is going to be ingesting some so it can tear through her body and obliterate any remaining pieces of thyroid that happened to have gotten a firm grip on the inside of her body when the surgeon went in and yanked the whole thing out.

I'm going to have a radioactive mother. Crazy.

In preparation for this treatment, she has had to cut iodized salt out of her diet (which is really hard given that salt is apparently in EVERYTHING), among other things. Like chocolate, which I have a feeling was harder for her to give up than the salt.

Anyways, she has to go off and live in isolation for a few days so she doesn't turn us all into glowing green people with flippers. But the stupid thing is, the hospital, where she is getting the treatment (called ablation), and which is equipped to handle radioactive people, refuses to even keep her there for a day. So instead she gets sent out into the world to share her beta particles and gamma rays with everyone.

When they say health care for all, they damn well mean it. Iodine 131 for all!

It's a good thing she is a responsible human, and hiding herself in an empty apartment for a week. Otherwise, who knows how many people could get Chernobyled?

It is especially important that she not be around me or my brothers, since (irony) radiation causes thyroid cancer, and it is also familial! Yipppppy.




Ok, well, I'm off to go pretend to study some more.

ps. The treatment is called ablation. Not the hospital.

pps. But don't you think that would be a cool name for a hospital? Ablation Hospital. "AH!" for short. Same thing people say when they find out they need to go there.

PS. by the way, etc.

Here is the Semi Precious Weapons t-shirt I bought.

It is simple, but I think it effectively conveys their message.

[Picture: Yellow t-shirt with block letters saying "I can't pay my rent, but I'm fucking gorgeous. Semi Precious Weapons"]

That signature right there apparently says "Justin Tranter" though I have a sneaking suspicion it is just a "J" with a squiggly line after it.

I asked for an autograph and he went right for the boob area. What a rock star.

The rest of the band's sigs are on the back, and some involve my name, so I won't put up a back view, seeing as how this is an anonymous type thinger I've got going on.

O and if youz is interested, here is the band:

Cole (Bass). The dude who signed my sailor hat.

From Left to Right:
Dan (Drums),
Stevy (Guitar),
Justin (Lead Vox)


Those there on Justin are the yellow tights I mentioned before. I want them.







And while I'm here, I'd just like to make a general plea to the media at large to stop calling articles and reviews and other things about Lady Gaga "Going Gaga for Lady Gaga" or some other, equally uncreative variant of the same headline. It was moderately clever the first time, but after the bizzillionth profile of the girl, it has gotten old, grown a beard and died. Think of something novel, gosh darn it.

"Raise a glass to mend....

My room is a mess and must be cleaned and I have an exam on Friday that I need to do some hard core studying for, since I know next to nothing about the material. Sooo.... naturally, I'm here, honing my procrastination skillz.

It has been many a day since last I wrote. And I call myself a writer...

Right well, I never did a review of the Gaga concert. But really, what could I say that you couldn't infer from my open invitation for her to marry me? I dunno....

It was like being at a play, I suppose. A play with an ambiguous story line and a near lethal audience. I had to have CONSTANT VIGILANCE (Mad-Eye would be proud) to ensure no one accidentally crushed my 11 year old brother.

She had multiple costume changes with each get-up more ridiculous than the last. I'd say my personal favourite was either the black spiderweb type body suit she had going on or the space-age Bowie-infused glittery light-up extravaganza she wore for the first few songs. Or maybe the Cleopatra-style golden bondage suit. There really were too many to choose from.

How 'bout this one with the built in external rib-cage?

(If you click to embiggen, the pictures will only get blurrier. I wouldn't recommend it)

But more than the madness of her clothing (if you can call it clothes.... not sure it quite falls under that category. Maybe underwear. Or art) it is her voice that sets this woman apart from many disappointing pop tarts/stars of today. She can actually sing. She has inflection in her song, emotion in her voice... she sounds legit. And if I'm gonna pay for a concert, I better damn well get to hear the artist's voice, real time, coming from their actual mouth.

The show began with a projection of a free-floating Lady Gaga on a screen that made up the 4th wall of the stage, with a count-down in the corner to when she would appear. [Note to anyone planning any type of show: count-downs make EVERYTHING way cooler (I mean think about it, what usually follows a countdown? Something crazy... a spaceship launch, a bomb, New Year's.... the anticipation drives people into a frenzy, I'll tell you that)]. When she finally became visible in her light up costume beyond the screen she sang "Dance in the Dark," off her new quasi album.

Madness ensued in the form of a stellar set. High-lights included: her questioning of the audience asking "DO YOU THINK I'M SEXY? DO YOU WANT TO FUCK ME?!?" (My brother was minorly horrified.), her intimate rendering of "Speechless" with just her and the piano (which the whole crowd seemed to know despite the fact that it had only come out around five days prior to the concert), a dentist chair on which everyone seemed to die at one point (even the Lady herself), and the time one of her backup dancers lit her a cigarette and I thought 'man, someone should give her a bylaw ticket, how funny would that be...' [Ottawa has a no smoking in public establishments bylaw].

She finished up with an encore of "Eh Eh (Nothing Else I Can Say)" and "Bad Romance" which she sang from the centre of a giant metal Bohr-Rutherford diagram minus the electrons.

When I showed a picture of that to my mom she said it must mean Lady Gaga thinks she's the centre of the universe.

"No mum," I replied. "Then she would have to believe in a geocentric model of the universe, and I'm sure she's smarter than that. Surely she only thinks she's the centre of the solar system."

I'm so cheeky.

But in a very scientific, I-can't-help-it-I-have-only-two-social-skills way.

The only quibble I saw was when she seemed a bit iffy on when to come in for "Beautiful and Dirty Rich." I could have sworn I saw her motion to a dancer in a questioning fashion, but then, who the fuck knows what I saw, the crowd was so thick and tall it was a work out to see anything at all.

Speaking of shortness, my poor bro. He's about up to my chin. Many people took pity on him and pushed us ahead of themselves.

That went on for a bit until we hit this wall of bitch. It was several girls who were just nasty about making fucking sure that this little 11 year old kid didn't get any further. I completely understand people not wanting to let us past them, we never pushed to get past people, and I'm surprised we got as far as we did. But these girls were quite wicked. They were calling my brother names to each other just loud enough for him to hear and using their asses to push anyone behind them backwards. For some reason they felt entitled to more room than everyone else on the floor. I wanted so badly to break them. Instead I spent a good deal of time devising ways to get away from them before I flew off the handle. My brother took to calling their ring leader "the whore."

Other people on the other hand, amazed me with their kindness. Some people took it upon themselves to ask others if we could move in front of them. But one girl - and whoever you are, I wish you would read this - saw my bro and put him on her back for a bunch of songs. So thank you soooooo much to the girl with brown curly hair and a purple and black scarf for being an amazing human being and restoring my love for humanity just when I thought it was gone due to "the whore" and her posse.

Putting him on my back wasn't nearly as effective as putting him on the tall girl with the purple scarf, but that's what I did, after the she left. Dear lord he's heavy. It didn't help that I tried to dance with him up there.

So there you have it.

O and Kid Cudi, the other opening act after Semi Precious Weapons, was a'ight. Not quite my cup of tea, but I enjoyed it and his rappiness. Brother dear, though, actually fell asleep standing up during his act. I just looked down in the middle of "Pursuit of Happiness" to find he had his eyes closed, oblivious to the roaring crowd. It was ok though, since he had no way to fall down, as we were packed in too tight.




.... all the broken hearts of all my fucked up friends"

Hola El Niño

It's December 2nd, and it's a positively tropical 7 degrees Celsius outside.

Huh.

I CAN'T PAY MY RENT BUT I'M FUCKING GORGEOUS

WELL. AT THIS POINT YOU MAY BE THINKING I PRESSED CAPS LOCK TOO HARD AND IT STUCK THAT WAY. BUT NO. I AM ACTUALLY SHOUTING!

(and also pressing caps lock would be the smart thing to have done. I just held the shift button down the whole time. I got halfway through and thought 'GEE I SHOULD REALLY JUST PRESS CAPS LOCK. O WELL FUCK IT, I'M ALREADY HALFWAY THROUGH')

Anyways. On to business. I went to LADY GAGA yesterday with my lil' brotha. And I shall speak more about that later, but right now I have an English assignment that is overdue, so I'll make this brief. Suffice it to say, I may have shouted "MARRY ME GAGA - IT'S LEGAL HERE!" several times. I'm assuming she'll get back to me on that one.

After touring, obvi.

Right, but what couldn't wait til post-English essay was the opening band: Semi Precious Weapons. They were.... wilde. Like, take-your-clothes-of-on-stage wilde (PS, don't click the link if you have a problem with seeing a man's bum. I didn't record that, but someone a few rows ahead of me did. Lucky tall bastard) (PPS, I don't give a fuck, click the link anyways, it's EPICNESS INCARNATE).

And ya... I was quite taken by them. They rocked my fucking socks. Seriously, not sure if my socks will ever recover. But that's ok, I'm willing to sacrifice socks for music. Any day.

Semi Precious Weapons even went and hung out in the lobby after the show and did autographs and pictures. That was thrilling. And they were lovely people. Cole the bassist signed my sailor hat (which I insisted my bro wear to the concert. I also made him wear my red skinny jeans and a silver belt. He was soo on board.) And Justin the lead singer had the cutest yellow plaid tights on. Jealous. I'm also slightly envious that he is a six foot tall man and can walk/dance manically around in six inch heels, while I am a 5 foot short girl who can't deal with heels period. Really, at my prom even, I wore my heels for all of 77 seconds before I ditched them under the table and danced around barefoot. o wellzz.

And that is why, when I get around to changing it, Song of The ____ goes to Semi Precious Weapons. I am a fan. In body and soul. And Facebook. HA.

Magnetic Baby - Semi Precious Weapons
Semi Precious Weapons - Semi Precious Weapons
Her Hair is On Fire - Semi Precious Weapons

There is always an over-abundance of scantily clad women in the vids.

ps. I bought a SPW T-shirt with the title of this poste on it. My mother was not impressed.

hmmm

On Friday mornings, the weekend always feels like it has so much potential. More often than not, by this time Sunday, all that potential has been wasted, and I spend the rest of the evening kicking myself/frantically doing assignments.

A+ for another well wasted weekend. Fuck.

On a happier note, I'm going to Parliament on Tuesday to watch 45 minutes of mud slinging and name calling called Question Period, when the elected members of the federal government gather to ask each other questions. It's just a whole lot of showboating and ridiculous antics. The opposition asks questions of the party in power, and everyone gets indignant. Michael Ignatieff's eyebrows become scarier, Jack Layton's mustache takes on a persona of it's own, and Stephen Harper has a constant look of smug constipation (I didn't know it was possible to be both at the same time, but honestly that's all I see when I look at him).

And then I'm going to be like a real journalist and participate in a scrum, which seems scary and useless at the same time.

Last time I was in a scrum, I was playing rugby. I wonder if they bite in this one?

..... I know I will.

I like the word "fervor"

Hello people of the world (HA)!

I did not combust, implode, explode, evaporate, or shrivel into a hollow, inhuman husk of a body from doing my project. I did, however, discover the wonders and slightly freaky effects of energy drinks. Maybe it is because I avoid them with impressive fervor, or maybe it's because of the three coffees I had prior to downing most of the energy drink, but for a good half an hour, I looked like I'd just done a line of cocaine.

The bottle says it is to "help temporarily restore wakefulness when experiencing fatigue or drowsiness" but this bottle of toxicity went way beyond being useful and put me into a state of 'wakefulness' that rendered me too fidgety, hyper, giggly, ridiculous and restless to actually get any work done. My orange-haired friend thankfully cut me off from my supply and drank the rest herself. And in the meantime, I went and ran up and down two flights of library steps in an attempt to calm myself down.

After that, I eventually went back to being a normal person, able to speak without bursting into fits of uncontrollable laughter. That was around 10:46 pm. An hour later, I took the bus home (a sketchy thing at the best of times, but midnight on a bus is a rather alarming experience. Yet I find myself there all the time) and at 4:30 am, I fell asleep with my paper not done, my computer precariously on my lap. At 5:11, I jolted awake in shear terror that it was time to leave for school, realized I had an hour and a half to finish the thing, and finished it. Success!

It's probably crap, but no matter, at least it's done. Now I can start crying on the inside about other imminent deadlines.