Completely age appropriate

As heard while we listened to Lip Gloss" by Lil' Mama on the drive into work today:

M: What are we listening to?
C: Lip Gloss by Lil Mama. It's rather popular with the youngins.
M: You're musically regressing.
C: No. This song was meant for me. It's all about how awesome her lip gloss makes her and about how it's totally worth going for the premium brands.
M: It sounds like a song about highschool.
C: No, honey. It's a song about lip gloss. High school just happens to be the most appropriate setting.
M: Uh huh.

HRH

Home longer than gone

Getting this close to 1000 posts has me overwhelmed with nostalgia. Today I've realized that I've been back in Canada for four years, which means I've been back longer than I was away.

I was talking to my mother-in-law about this and she felt like I did, like I've only been back for maybe two years. Like living in Prague was just yesterday.

And it made me wonder, do you lose expatriate cred as you spend more time on your native soil? Not that I matters I guess. Maybe I'm looking for meaning in milestones that simply aren't there. I just can't shake the feeling that if I stay in one place too long I'll be there indefinitely.

Thing is, I really like being in Toronto. I love that 95 per cent of my friends are within the city limits. I love where I live and there's still so much to experience here. But there are also a lot of other amazing cities out there and I fear that as we get older we become less inclined to take risks.

Maybe I should just let passing dates be passing dates.

HRH

You have to crawl before you can walk

Before you read this post, try to get up from your chair. Or even better, try to do a squat. What muscles did you use? Your quads, your glutes, combo of the two? Think about it for a second.

I had a fitness assessment last night, and the results were actually very good. My BMI is good, my body fat is good, my weight is good, heart rate, all good. I was thinking I was ready to learn about how to increase my muscle mass (I'm hoping to lose six pounds of fat and trade that for six pounds of muscle in time), and then the trainer had me do some push ups.

Before anyone hauls out trainer conspiracies and personal training session pitches, he's very well qualified and he very effectively illustrated what is wrong and what needs to be changed.

So if I'm in as good shape as I seem to be, what would I need to do to improve? Let's go back to that getting up/squatting thing. When I do those motions, even when I walk or climb stairs, I am only using my quads and some muscles in my hips. Those huge glute muscles that are there to provide the strength you need for walking, squatting, an other good things, well they're doing pretty much nothing on me. Like nothing. They just sit there and wait with open arms for the sagginess of my age-related metabolic decline.

The trainer asked me to try standing up using my glutes and I couldn't do it. It wasn't like I didn't have the strength. There was just no ability to do it. It was like my brain sent a message to my central nervous system and all that was there was an Error 404 message. It feels a lot like it feels when I try to wink with my left eye. I can't do that either.

And what's worse is that the way I move now actually makes my knees worse and is causing my hip muscles to become over developed. Meaning I'm actually making my hips bigger because of the way that I walk.

So I'm hurting myself by doing this. He pressed down on the leg and hip muscles that were over-developed and I was actually yelping in pain. I'm pretty sure this man could have killed me with his thumb judging by his ability to find my weakest spots. Then he got me to stand up and posed me in a position where I was actually standing up properly, but because my glutes are so weak I almost fell flat on my face.

So how did I learn all this fundamental walking, standing up, sitting down stuff wrong? One theory is that because I didn't crawl as a baby that I didn't learn to use my butt muscles for that kind of movement. I just sat there for 13 months and then decided to stand up and walk one day.

As I grew and my knees got bad, I would try to walk in a way that would make them as quiet as possible. I also try to walk as lightly as I can. I basically walk on my toes all the time as I don't want to make a lot of noise. So that didn't help either.

I have been told that teaching my glutes to do the work will actually improve the condition of my knees and anything I can do to improve that while staving off orthopedic surgery is a totally worth a try. Also once my hip muscles aren't having to compensate so much, they'll stop that particular outward expansion and maybe I'll be able to fit back into my first pair of sevens, since they fit everywhere except for the hips and quads.

So 29 years after learning how to walk, I need to learn how to do it again. Which is kind of amusing in it's own way. Hopefully there will be less falling over this time around.

Today's sing-a-long song: "Walk the line" by Johnny Cash

HRH

A series of good starts

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that as time passes I keep growing up. It just some days, the growth doesn't seem gradual, it's shocking and apparent. Take this past Friday. I started my first RRSP. Admittedly, this is something I've been intending to do for about eight years but I always talked myself out of doing it. I find all things banking and finance intimidating, but I also have to do all things on my own terms. Sure it may have been more prudent to get it all sorted sooner, but I've done it my way, which means a lot to me. So I'm saving for my future, saving for a house one day, feeling pretty in control of things.

And I'm not the only one in our house experiencing new things. M has started running with me. For those who don't know my husband well, he is one of those loathable people who can eat anything and everything and not gain weight. He just has that kind of metabolism. I just don't. I have to exercise at least 3 times a week and keep the dietary cheating to a minimum just to save off the fatness. I'm supposed to be losing weight right now and just can't stop eating everything I shouldn't be.

While he has the ability to burn calories by thinking big thoughts, I can walk up a flight of stairs and not get winded. And it's one thing to look healthy and an entirely other thing to be healthy. So I was very happy when M took me up on my long standing offer to exercise with him. Just because he hasn't had to exercise, it doesn't mean that he hasn't wanted to, on some level. We started yesterday by doing some running in intervals in the park. He did pretty well except for calling me a "sadist" at one point. Even more impressive than his first effort is the fact that he's going to let me take him out running again!

In the course of two days we've become a married couple that jogs together and has retirement savings. I feel like I should do something reckless and immature just to keep everything in check.

Today's sing-a-long song: "All grown up" by Elvis Costello

HRH

40 years of evil

I am trying to write this post with a cat sitting on my wrists. A seriously shedding cat I might add.

I feel that I should report on the goodness that was this past weekend. M, Mike and I made our way to Kingston to celebrate 40 years of Golden Words. There was drinking, more drinking, a burnt throat earned through me not being patient enough to wait for my poutine to cool and many good times with friends not often seen.

My expectations for the event were totally exceeded. The current GW staff gives me much confidence that the paper remains in nice, evil hands.

Today's sing-a-long song: "Hey boy, hey girl" by The Chemical Brothers

HRH

Just one more song

Last night, M, Beltzner, Dawn and I attended the wedding of our undergrad partner in crime, Jon Krashinsky. Jon is one of those characters who leaves an indelible impression on you. He is just so fantastically alive and that delicious mix of mischievous yet inherently good. While our paths have crossed occasionally over the last eight years, it's as though it's only been a few days since we were last together.

It was really wonderful to see him so happy yesterday and to see how totally head-over-heels in love he is with his wife, Kelly. He's found the best thing ever, the thing that I wish for everyone in their relationships; someone who you can really be yourself with and be loved for it.

While his wedding was a great chance to spend a couple of moments with him, it was also a gathering of other friends from Golden Words. Kind of a warm up party for the 40-year reunion next weekend in Kingston. I don't know what it is about that time in my life or what it is about the people that were part of GW while I was there, but that bond, it's just awesome.

There was a moment while Matt Blair was DJing and he kept on playing songs we danced to night after night at the Trash, that I felt kind of like I was 21 again. Let's just ignore the horrible old lady implications of that remark and bask in that feeling a little.

I know that life then wasn't ALL about laughing at Press Nite (TM) and getting lost in the music at a club. There was drama, lots of it and stress too, but it was different. Not better, just different. I don't know. For me the day I really committed to the paper life started its uphill trajectory. I'll always feel fondly for the beginning of the really good.

Dancing to the songs that are now considered retro (ouch!) and having M, Mike, Dawn, Jon, Blake and Matt there to party with was the perfect slice of nostalgia that I needed to prepare me for next weekend. And not to sound like too much of a lame oldie, but for a bunch of 30-year-olds, we've still got it.

Today's sing-a-long song: "Hey boy, Hey girl" by The Chemical Brothers

HRH

Falling apart in half time

This evening I started one of my "holy crap depression sucks, let's be done with it" projects. I haven't actually been depressed since the end of January, but I'd made these plans then, so it seemed like a good idea to stick with them.

So I just finished my first MTV Choreography class. One hour of very fast, bootie-tacular moving. I'm actually pretty pleased with myself. Not only did the instructor (who is completely wonderful) call me out for doing a couple of moves especially well(yay!), but by the end of the class I was doing a sequence of moves I was sure I would never figure out.

Like a good type A I have already downloaded the song we're learning our routine to so I can practice in private moments I steal away. I should really just be continually enrolled in dance classes of some kind because dancing and learning routines makes me ridiculously happy.

They also make me kind of sore, but that's just age and being out of practice.

Today's sing-a-long song: "Get up" by Ciara

HRH

The miracle of pumpkin pie

It comes as no secret that I've been a rather finicky person for most of my life. In our house growing up, it was four picky people and the few things that we all agreed were tasty we would eat in repetition. It was a house of staple foods and a champion of the Nordic palette. I never really had a problem with that, but when I met M he was all about me trying everything once, having new foods and culinary experiences.

While I'm no where near the level of food adventurer that he would like me to be, I have come a very, very long way. And I've discovered that there are a lot of things that I had ruled out of my diet without having tried for, really, no good reason at all.

For example, pumpkin pie. Never in my life had I experienced pumpkin pie until this most recent Christmas holiday. I mean, my great aunt's pumpkin pie recipe was used at the Royal York for awhile back in the 50s, and I have NEVER experienced this. So wrong.

I can't even remember why I wouldn't eat pumpkin pie. I imagine it was because I'd assumed that it actually tasted like the bits of pumpkin I would nibble on while doing Hallowe'en carvings. Sure, it was kind of like turnip, but would would want that for dessert. Also I violated my belief that vegetables have no business on your plate after dinner. But I was wrong. So wrong.

I became amenable to the idea of pumpkin pie in several phases. First, a few years back, M's mother made us a pumpkin loaf, and it tasted sweet and yummy. I learned that all things pumpkin didn't mean all things gourd-tasting. Then this summer M and I made lamb burgers (you really should try them Shaver) that were seasoned with pumpkin pie spice. Again, sweet and delicious.

Finally, being friends with Tash and Chris has given me a new appreciation for pie. I've always been a pretty dedicated cake fan and thought that having pie would be like winning runner up in a beauty pageant. Also growing up in my house we usually only had one kind of pie. Lemon meringue, because it was my sister's favourite pie (as she loves all things lemon) and I just hated it. Eventually we discovered the merits of the key lime pie after some time in the southern US. I guess it was there that I began to make my peace with pie.

I have learned that pie is good. And that I have a fondness for pies like key lime pie, chocolate pie and, most importantly pumpkin pie. Tash made pumpkin pie for our annual get together and gift exchange. It was my first pumpkin pie experience and it was as close as an atheist gets to a religious experience. Oh My GOD. If there was a religion that was all about the glory of pumpkin pie and if accepting the host at mass meant actually eating pumpkin pie, I would become a theist so fast...

Anyway, I can't believe I didn't try it sooner. I'm sure that it had been offered time and time again. So it serves as another example of me being pig-headed and stubborn about something I would really enjoy and thereby losing out on years of goodness.

At least I've learned my lesson now.

HRH

Glamour and Glitter, Fashion and Fame

In the line up at Starbucks a colleague of mine confessed that she'd be spending a lot of time on YouTube recently, watching episodes of Jem. My reaction to this was delight in knowing that I could see the cartoon that shaped my girly psyche (for better or worse) and also dismay that I could see the cartoon that shaped my girly psyche (for better or worse).

Like most girls of my time I LOVED Jem. Loved the hell out of it. Whenever I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, the answer was almost 100 per cent of the time "singer." Who ever thought up the show was a frickin' genius. I'm sure my entire family was scarred for life by my repeated (aka perpetual) listenings to the tapes that came with Jem dolls.

After a conversation with Tash (one who totally surpasses me in diehard Jem fandom) today, I decided to have a look at the shows. Would they live up to what they are in my memories? The plots themselves are terrible, the animation dated, but one thing continued to strike a cord with me; the Jem music videos.

They were each about a minute and a half long, silly as all get out but completely awesome. I managed to find my favourite one, from the episode "Stiches" where Jem and the band are trying to inspire their drummer Shana (also their clothing designer) to create something amazing. The result The Mood I'm in:



Oh it makes me want to dye my hair pink. Bless you YouTube.

Update: It would be unfair if I didn't unclude my favourite Misfits song as well, We're off and runnin'.

Today's sing-a-long song: "The Jem Theme Song" by Jem and The Holograms.

HRH

Strange holiday memory

I'm at the Eaton Centre today getting another step closer to having all the Christmas shopping done (booya!) and every store is just oozing Christmas music. I don't deny it's holiday spirit raising power. Ever since I left music retail, I have been able to enjoy holiday music again, since I wasn't forced to listen to it to the point where I had hysterical deafness.

Anyway, I'm in Sears and the song All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth comes on, no doubt sung by a performer who is humorously adept at sounding toothless. For a moment I was amused by it and then suddenly I was overcome by a memory.

I was five, maybe six or seven years old and it was Christmastime. As was usual then in my life, I was in a choir and we were preparing a holiday revue of some kind. It was definitely the primary grades. I know this because it was that time when everyone was loosing their baby teeth. Everyone but me, who is dentally retarded.

When I was younger I had a pretty nice singing voice. I was always in the choir, always just shy of the solos (sigh), always in music. I had some talent and my parents and school provided me with a good amount of training. By the age of nine, I could belt out New York, New York like it was nobody's business, but I digress.

There was but one opportunity for a solo in that particular year's all-singing, all-adorable, all-dressed-in-festive-sweaters holiday review. There would be but one child that would have the chance to get up and sing and that song was going to be All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth.

I wanted that solo and I wanted it bad. But it would not go to me. Instead it would be the defining moment in my vocal career, where I would passed over again and again for solos. Sometimes for kids who were better, sometimes for kids who were cuter or simply for kids who were blonder. This time I was for a dirty blond boy, who was the ONE kid in the class who had managed to actually lose his front teeth in time for Christmas. I don't even remember his name. I remember his hair, I remember he really couldn't sing and I remember staring at him with all the hate in my little heart as he bumbled his way through the song.

Here I am, 30 years old; an adult and I'm overcome with a hot flash of injustice. Sure the kid got the holiday solo for having the prop to go with the song, but I SO would have rocked that song. Sure I had pretty much all my teeth but isn't that usually a GOOD thing?

Oh I so need to let go. I bet he was more embarrassed than happy about having to get up and sing with his teeth like that. And I suppose I've learned over the years that when people don't give you an opportunity to make an ass of yourself in public you just have to get creative and find your own way to do it.

Today's sing-a-long song: "Christmas Is" by Lou Rawls

HRH

Kicking it old school

It seems that the sun has abandoned Ontario. I'm used to my sunny fall weekends to draw me out of my bed and pyjamas on the weekends, but when it's grey, it's so hard to not stay in, cook warm winter foods and wear copious amounts of flannel.

Indeed, this weekend I left the house only once to pick up the supplies I would need to make a hearty beef stew with butter biscuits baked on top, as well as the odds and sods required for a proper Sunday roast beef. Both first time cooking choices that came out splendidly I might add.

When we were packing for Prague and M's half-brother texted me asking if I could bring over some of my PlayStation games (he is ten after all) and I decided that it would just be easier to take the whole PlayStation over and give it to him (since I never play it anymore), I made a fantastic discovery in the back of our TV cabinet. I found my very old, first generation NES. Back then I didn't have the time to plug it in and give the old games a whirl, but yesterday provided me with an unprecedented amount of free time in which I could reminisce.

We plugged in the nofriendo at around noon and I don't think it was actually turned off until just before midnight. Now this is nothing compared to the marathon sessions I would play when I was a kid, but I was none the less pleased. The only games I still have are Super Mario Brothers 1,2 & 3, Rad Racer, Bubble Bobble, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles game, the Legend of Zelda and Link.

The Nintendo had been turned on for mere seconds and we had resorted back to the "remember to play fair" rotations from our youth. I was particularly blown away by how I really hadn't forgotten many of the moves. It's like there is a section of my brain that has all the moves from the Super Mario Brothers series, the Legend of Zelda and Bubble Bobble indelibly stamped on it's grey mushy matter. It was insane. So insane that just like when I was 11-years-old, I couldn't find the second labyrinth in Zelda. I could always find all the other ones, but the second was like a black void of "I totally can't find it." M eventually had to look it up for me online. I still got to the end of the sixth labyrinth at the end of the day yesterday.

Tash and Chris came over for dinner and were soon enthralled with the old games as well. Watching eachother play and cheering on almost became as fun as playing the games ourselves. I don't usually save things, I'm the "holy crap, throw it out already" yin to M's "everything is sentimental" yang, so I'm not sure what made me hold onto my NES for so long, but I'm truly happy that it did. I guess I'm mostly a huge creature of habit, so for me, the NES is what video games are. Sure it's amazing to play things on an Xbox or a PSwhatver, but I don't have the same attachment as I do to the NES that I spent more hours than I would like to admit playing. At the very least my parents can say they got their money's worth.

Today's sing-a-long song: "Play my game" by The Donnas

Promising indications

I spent the first three-and-a-half hours of being thirty in a kareoke bar singing my heart out with some of my best friends. Prospects for the rest of the decade are looking good.

HRH

Black Sunday Approacheth

So here's my plan. I'm turning 30 on Sunday (boo) and I'm not altogether pleased about it. I've really enjoyed my twenties. They've been very much of the awesome. From age 22 on, things have just kept getting better and better. And I'm not ruling out the possibility that my thirties will continue on that curve, I just have trepidation.

With 30 comes expectations. My excuse of "well, I'm pretty young for that" is going to start seeming really silly when all the pressure to buy a house and start a family gets started (ha, gets started... Like it hasn't already). Honestly, I'm not sure which terrifies me more; Owning and being responsible for a home or spawning and being responsible for a rug rat. Both leave me paralyzed and fighting the urge to pack up my husband and cat so we can all try outrunning the sun together.

I'm doing really well for 29. I have a good and generally stimulating job at a respected place, I've traveled around the world a touch, I have my youthful looks and I generally come across as pretty confident and with it. I am still kind of young and hip. Once I turn the corner for 30, I'm less impressive. How can I be 30 years old and not own my own home? When I see children I hear no ticking clock, but instead feel a powerful urge to flee (cause like dogs, kids can smell fear). That's not very on top of things for 30.

And I can't even begin to tell you how much it saddens me that very soon I will be one of those people that teenagers mock for not being able to act/dress their age. I try on some of the clothes out there and I look at myself in the mirror and think "who exactly are you kidding?" I have no tolerance for drink and hangovers affect me for days. I already can't handle rock shows and a lot of the new music out there kind of sounds like crap to me. It's terrible.

It's like that situation when I was a kid where when Kingston finally got a MacDonald's play park I was too tall to play in it and could only watch the other kids have fun through the window.

I'm not sure why I allow myself to be so cliché and use these kinds of milestones to apply a self-inflicted mental beat-down, but here we are. I just feel like Sunday morning there will be a mini-van out front waiting to take me to some suburban hell with screaming children jacked up on sugar, a track suit and a house with a room we don't use unless company is coming over. I can hear the banana clip clicking into place on my head like a prison door slamming shut.

Rage. Rage against the dying of the light!

So my plan for this weekend is to have as much fun as I can so that I don't even noticed that I've crossed the threshold into the decade of expectations. On tap there is a dance class with Dawn & Tash, a massage at a fancy-smancy spa, dinner with friends, the promise of pancakes (though I fear M will try to do the unthinkable and put things other than pancake in my pancakes, like fruit...) and maybe some zen time in the park, weather permitting.

I'm going to try to let the weekend pass with some dignity and try to remember that the only expectations that truly matter are my own. And I fully expect to 30 to keep on track with the positive curve of my life.

Today's sing-a-long song: "Move Along" by The All-American Rejects

HRH

Ma'amed

It's one month to my 30th birthday. I've been really fortunate to have all this wedding planning and excitement to keep me busy, otherwise I think I would be miserable.

Turning 30 has not been something I've anticipated or approached with any kind of maturity or grace. I don't like it, I don't want to do it and the notion of it makes me sad. I like my youth and the flexibility it brings. Turning 30 seems like all kinds of things that I'm not interested in. Some that I am interested in, but a lot that I'm not.

Anyway, one month to go and lots of fun distraction that may help it pass without pain. I'm getting married to the most awesome person in the world and that makes me float on air. All floaty unless stuff like today keeps happening. When the staff at Starbucks shout to me "here's your tea Ma'am" I die a little on the inside.

Ugh.

HRH

Seating for the elderly

Last night my favourite band in all the world made it's way through Toronto. Tragically, Muse had signed on to play at The Docks. For those who do not know, it's the Toronto venue/club that recently had its liquor licence revoked due to noise complaints and is also known for being the most terrible rock venue known to mankind. It's a long, skinny building that, I swear, slopes uphill towards the stage.

This configuration makes it really easy fort things to get claustrophobic really quickly. I've noticed that as I've gotten older my already low tolerance for being touched, grazed or jostled by strangers at rock shows has basically faded into nothingness. I have no patience for it and it's something that slowly drives me insane over the course of the evening. I know I shouldn't let it bother me, but it ultimately ends up ruining any concert experience I'm trying to enjoy.

Like last night, there was this one kid beside me wearing possibly the cheapest polo shirt I have ever encountered. The fabric of this thing was like a brillo pad? How do I know this? Because he was wedged right up against me and was constantly in contact with my arm. He was also perpetually in motion. Even though the show hadn't started, he was moving. I had no personal space and any time someone tried to push their way up to the front, I was knocked completely off balance and had to cling to M just to stay upright. It was hot, cramped, I appeared to be surrounded by people who were all at least 6'3" and I was being chaffed by a hyperactive teen wearing a shirt made of burlap.

And I paid for this experience?

M and I had to get out of there, so we set a meeting place to find Chris and Tash at the end of the show and starting pushing our way back to find some kind of free space in the building. And where did we find it? By the bar. Sure, the band was really, really far away and the sound was sadly distorted, but I could hear and mostly see the show and get the horrifying thoughts of the Whitesnake club fire out of my head.

Which was handy, because I needed that space in my head to enjoy yet another superlative Muse performance. And even though The Docks sucks donkey ass it's good that we went. "Why?" you ask? Well it seems that the next time Muse will be playing in the great city of Toronto will be during the Virgin Mobile V-Cast Festival on Toronto Island. It's a two day festival featuring bands like Zero 7, Gnarls Barkley and one of my top-five-and-I've-never-seen-them-live bands, Massive Attack. So it's a two day show that I would be pretty keen on attending. Another Muse show outdoors and finally seeing Massive Attack. Oh, but when is the show? September 9? Oh, that's funny. Really funny.

Ahh well, I can only assume that if Muse is in town on my wedding day that I can expect an acoustic set at the reception.

Today's sing-a-long song: "Far Away" by Muse

HRH

Rollerskates

I can't stop thinking about rollerskates. I never actually owned a pair. Anyone who's seen me ice skate or rollerblade knows why. I think it's the Madonna video for Sorry that's sent me down memory lane. It evoked all kinds of nostalgia for me (the rollerskating, not the kidnapping and dance-fighting) and I can't seem to shake it.

Many weekends in my pre-teen years were spent at the local roller-rink, Studio 801. When I was little, it was the coolest place in the world. It had, in my worldly Kingstonian opinion, the biggest rollerskating rink in the world, a 5-pin bowling alley, a huge arcade, a bunch of those inflated castles as well as a ball room and a dance floor. My Xanadu-loving, 11-year-old brain thought it was heaven.

I remember one of my favourite shirts to wear at the roller-disco was this white sweatshirt with Garfield on it. He was holding scales to look like the Libra sign. I think I tried to wear it off one shoulder so I could dress cool like my older sister. I think I only succeeded in stretching and semblance of structure out the neck of it. And hello! Garfield! Nothing says cool like Garfield. Yes, the sweatshirt, the pinned black jeans and my hair cut super short in the back and falling over my right eye in the front. This memory clinches it. I have ALWAYS been a weirdo.

Anyway, it was so cool and I loved it. In reality, Studio 801 was a tacky hole, but I didn't and I guess that I don't care. It was a lot of fun and skating round and round in circles to Pour Some Sugar On Me is pretty much as good as it gets for a girl of that age. The rink was dark so no one could really see how bad I was at it. I was moving past people quickly so no one could hear me singing along. Most importantly I got to spin around under a disco ball and feel like a star.

I think they've since turned that place into a driving range and I have since learned to express my roller-skating superstar ambitions in private.

Today's sing-a-long song: "I'm alive" by Electric Light Orchestra

HRH

A familiar ring

How strange it is to be reading about flooding in the Czech Republic and not be there for it.

HRH

Still got it

One of the side-effects of living in Canada again or the work that I do has been a generally inability and aversion to reading fiction. Most of the time I am pleased if I can find the will to read a magazine feature. I'm not sure why. For most of my life I've consumed books like breakfast, but in the last 2.5 years I think I've finished, maybe 10 books. It's really strange.

Anyway, this evening I hopefully took a step towards turning that around. I read The Lovely Bones from front to back in one sitting. Proving to me that I can read and leaving me to wonder exactly why I'm not.

HRH

The usual, big square building filled with boredom and despair

My mother forwarded my sister and I a letter from one of our highschool teachers. It seems the long, death-like reach of the highschool reunion has come forth to claim us. Thankfully, rather than bring us back year by year, my highschool has mercifully lumped all fifty years worth of students into one, three-day event. Meaning if I decide not to go back, it's very much unlikely that my absence will be noted.

//puts on the much hated Nickleback's "Photograph" because it sadly works for this situation... Looks at highschool photographs

I've been out of highschool for 11 years now. Yeah. What a strange time in life. I'm still in touch with Laura as getting through those five years created an ever-lasting friendship. But looking back at all these photos and my seriously over-plucked eyebrows... It's just a mix of emotions.

I remember playing a lot of basketball and playing a lot of double bass. There was a lot of drama, a lot of angst and a good lot of time spent driving the roads around Kingston listening to the likes of Nine Inch Nails, Kate Bush, EMF, Stone Temple Pilots, Belly and Jesus Jones.

I got a school letter at graduation for my achievements in sports, music and student's council. I also had a school jacket that said "Falcons Basketball" on the back, with my number and position on the side. I have a class ring too. The stone... Garnet of course as our school colours were garnet and grey. I did stuff and I was involved, black eyeliner use aside.

I remember my car very fondly. We mostly called it "The Beast" for obvious reasons. I mostly loved it. It was a totally no-pressure car. It was on it's last legs, I could fit two double basses in it and my parents and I covered it in surf and snowboard stickers to give me that very important Kingston extreme sports cred. It was actually a really smart plan. The people I fooled.

I have all these photos of people with their arms slung around eachother like we were all going to be best friends forever. I think I even knew then that for the most part it was an act. With the notable exception of company of La, I didn't really ever find that I really connected with anyone in highschool. They were, for the most part, nice and good people working their way as best they could through adolescence. I guess we just weren't really making our way through in the same fashion. Truth be told, I didn't really feel like I fit until I met my friends in University and beyond.

Like everyone else I harbour a few resentments and I know that there are a bunch of things that I owe people apologies for. No one grows up without making a few mistakes. (Like wearing overalls that much! And if you can see it, that is a plaid coat. Oh grunge)

I guess I have some time to decide if I'm going to go back. I feel like I'm a totally different person from who I was then. I wonder really, when I'm back in the company of these people if I'll see if I've changed at all.

Today's sing-a-long song: "Philadelphia Freedom '76" by Elton John (inside joke)

HRH

The insomnia of Chelsea produces monsters

I had a really good sleep a few weeks back. Like one of those sleeps that the people in mattress commercials pretend they're having. The kind of sleep that Dagny Taggart always seemed to have. It was spectacular. However it seems that I experienced that blissful sleep at a price. That price being that I've slept about three to four hours a night for the past two weeks.

I'm a creature that does not function well without a good amount of sleep. At least seven to eight hours a night. For the last two weeks it's just been getting worse and worse and I can't figure out what's keeping me awake. I'm quite happy, my friends and family are happy and healthy, work is no more stressful than usual, I exercise at least three times a week, I eat healthily... I just don't get it. Things are really good, so why am I not sleeping?

I'm not hallucinating yet, but things are starting to develop a bit of a haze around them. M has suggested that when I sleep I'm not actually sleeping, but I have a split personality that is secretly flying across the country starting makeup clubs. I guess it's when women secretly take their femininity back? ("Her name was Elizabeth Arden... Her name was Elizabeth Arden...")

Anyway I don't want to resort to anything chemical to help me sleep as natural sleep is what I really need. I've tried warm drinks, I've tried playing video games, I've tried imagining a ball moving slowly around an infinity symbol, I've tried saying words like "applecake" over and over again until the word loses all meaning, I've even once tried taking a shot of Bekerovka (the result was me passed out, not sleeping). No change. I can be barely awake at 9:30, but the moment I'm in bed I'm wide awake and staring at the clock for hours on end.

So tonight I'm down to the bottom of the barrel for non-chemical sleep aids. Even though I'm exhausted, I ran a little harder than usual on the treadmill today and I had some rice with dinner in the hope that fatigue and carbs will combine to create a coma. I'm also going to try to meditate, even though I have no idea how it's done. Apparently you have to try and concentrate on something and just one thing for 30 minutes. I don't think I've ever been able to do that, let alone actually sit still for 30 minutes. When I told M about this he asks if I was turning into a hippie and then offered to put on a Yanni CD for me. I didn't think we even owned Yanni CD. God I hope we don't.

If all that doesn't work, I may haul out my old organic chemistry textbook or one of my Czech workbooks, because they used to put me out like a light. My last resort will be fetching a musical toy I had as a child, an orange owl, that played a soothing lullaby. The music would slow down as the owl would run out of power. I'm sure M will love the melody.

So wish me luck and if anyone has any suggestions of how to naturally fall asleep or if someone has the magic guide to actually getting your brain to stop, let me know. Please, please, please let me know.

Today's sing-a-long song: "Calculation Theme" by Metric

HRH

Now this would have been handy

I was in an HMV last weekend, which isn't really such a blog worthy event, but what I saw there kind of was. When I started working there eleven years ago (!!) there wasn't much of a uniform. I remember being distinctly told in our orientation that the company was all about having individuals as staff and that wearing uniforms every day just wasn't going to happen.

Now companies change ownership and rebrand. These are realities. And over the five years I was employed there, by then end I was wearing a staff-shirt every day. Not without a whole lot of complaining and evoking references to the "Musictown" smock from Empire Records of course, but that was mostly because I was young and mouthy. At the end of the day, really, it was just a T-shirt.

So I was in an HMV this weekend and I was totally struck my something looking at the female staff. Sure all their staff-shirts matched, but it had gone far beyond that. All the female staff had chosen one of two looks. The first, which I think totally works in a record store, was that of "rock chick." Black straightened hair cut in the style of Joan Jett, tight jeans, a big studded belt and Converse sneakers. Oh and a hell of a lot of bracelets.

All the other girls on staff (that I could see) we identically attired in their own way. It began with the closed toe Birkenstock sandals, and then it was the same brand of black yoga pants. Yoga pants? When did HMV turn into Lululemon? When did yoga pants become a rock fashion staple? They all topped the look off with the "I worked on this messy updo for an hour" hairstyle, and with the exception of one of them, they were all blonde. I've never understood working on your hair for that long and then putting on exercise clothes and actually going out in public that way.

It was just really strange and it got me thinking about working music retail now and working music retail then.

Kids starting work at a record store must have it easier these days. The vastness and popularity of google has to make it easier to answer those really hard questions about who sang what and what inspired who. Back in the day (oh I'm dating myself here) a lot of it was simply stored in our heads and having little music factoids required a lot of love music and a love of research. Now, I'm positive that there are still certain skills needed to be a good record store employee, but it has to be so much easier these days (falling profits thanks to itunes aside).

One thing I would have love to have had then is this. A guide that maps music out for you, gives you a bit of wry writing to go with it and provides hours of entertainment. You wouldn't even have to bullshit to people about knowing where things came from, because you could really find out! Of course, this particular guide being all about electronic music makes me love it even more.

Today's sing-a-long song: "A Girl Like You" by Edwin Collins

HRH

My Left Hand

This weekend I was overcome with the need to play my double bass again. There are still several elements of it that need to be fixed, but I decided to get crafty and see what I could do in the way of interim solutions. It needs a new bridge, as the old one is very warped from high-tension strings and a new endpin, another high-tension string casualty. And as I have secured a benefactor (aka Mum) I will go and get them fixed as soon as possible.

You see, my makeshift craftiness can't fix the problem I have whereby my E string isn't high enough off the fingerboard. So it rattles and buzzes, creating very un-E string like noises. Which is a shame because the E string is the BEST string on a double bass. That said, I still have 3 other strings I can play around with.

So I tuned them up today, put a ton of rosin on my bow and started playing. Oh bliss and oh joy it was nice. That warm low tone filled every cell in my body. Holding it while I played felt like the most natural thing I've ever done. It was great. It didn't sound great. Oh heavens no. There's no way you can pick up an instrument after a 5 year absence and even touch any of your former glory.

However, all was not lost. While I wasn't amazing, I still knew what I was doing and I feel fully confident that I can get it back. That is, after the searing pain in my left hand goes away. If you've ever had your hand pulled apart horizontally by the index finger and the pinky you have an idea of what I'm feeling. Apparently if you don't use certain muscles for 5 years they get a little hostile when you catapult them back into action. I honestly haven't felt pain like this in my hand since I started 18 years ago.



But I will not be deterred. I got back into running, I taught the muscles in my knees how to behave this year, so why should my hand be any different. And just like I love my time running, I can't wait to get back to playing music.

Today's play-a-long song: "L'elephant" by Saint-Seans

HRH