If You Always Drink Vinegar, You Don't Know Anything Sweeter Exists

We should make more reasonable vows. The "ever again" or "never again" is the hardest part to keep! Instead we might pull ourselves off the bed, floor or couch, establish none of those other bodies are actually dead, and collapse back down, swearing: "As God is my witness, I will not drink another drop of whiskey ever again for one whole day."

Yesterday Tiffany and I threw a party in our condo. There was caution tape over the stove to ensure that no one tried to start a fire like our last party... Overall it was a great time.

Today's blog post is brought to you by my hungover director of Comedy Made Short, Daniel Christopher Lee. He is currently sitting on my couch as I type everything that he's saying. Enjoy:

"I'm going to be honest with you.

Drinking is the gateway to hell. For so many reasons. First, being in the moment, you feel like you're a million bucks, but the next day you feel like a bucket of ass.

It's bad enough having to wake up with a hangover, but when your insensitive producer is trying to ruin the writing process, it gets frustrating. Due to cable televison, due to satellite radio, due to the numbers on the front porches of suburban houses... drinking is a bad thing. For many reasons. However, modems and the internet are a great way of communication and I think that the future of behavioral methods add up to the thought process of being a superhero.

That being said, there are several things that need to be brought to everyone's attention:
One: finding the right words are difficult. Not only in scripts but in real life.

Two: when someone says that making film is all in the cut, they're an idiot.

Three: to furnish the point that I just said, film is all about everything. Everything! Good cast, good directing, good writing, good lighting, and good FOOD on set! That can add to productivity.

That being said, I don't feed my crew or my actors because I dont have the capacity and we like to use this method as a way of motivation for some of them to lose weight. Not naming names of course. But having said that, I feel that my directing skills are up to par with someone like Martin Scorsese and I think that if I were to meet him he would like me very much. I feel that we could hang out together and maybe eat some ice cream.

Also, because I'm hungover writing this, it may not make a lot of sense right now, but it will if you're also hungover. Right now I'm sitting on a couch looking at a tv. It's not on but I can see the reflection of myself. I don't like what I see. But thats not going to stop me from starting my day. As I sip this bitter, free, McDonalds coffee, I can't help but think that I want to jump out of this condo from the 25th floor that I'm currently being hungover in. I'm staring at a painting of a wet road with a chick that has an umbrella and I feel that I could be in that shot if I set my mind to that.. specific frame?

Having said that there's also a calendar to the left with nothing on it. And thats an accurate description of my life. My birthday is actually on that calendar but below the calendar is a lightswitch-- at least I think it's a lightswitch. On closer inspection... it could be anything that switches something on in a condo. Or apartment/residence. My eyes are wide in observation right now, because I'm so hungover and in a weird state of mind. I look out the window and see "Sutton" on a building. S-U-T-T-O-N. I don't know what that means but I like it, for reasons unknown in my soul. When I'm pleasuring myself I often, sometimes think about places like sutton, because its where my friend Marley met George Clooney. No wait, don't write that, thats disgusting. Tiffany walks out of her room with an awkward smile on her face as if to pretend that she was listening to the conversation but really has no interest whatsoever. As I stare into the vapid emptiness of my life I see a blank screen, representing the way that I feel my soul looks like on the inside. Having said that, I realize that in this blog / memoir / book / digital novel... I feel that right now is a happy time we're in a happy place. And I'll end this with:

I'm never going to drink again.
and not because... and not because... and not because... Tiffany just said that.
I have a green coat. It's a different shade of green. Reminds me of a tree that has aged several hundred years in Saskatchewan. The nylon is black so it makes an interesting contrast. It reminds me of the story of Christopher Walken. And a watch. See, he smuggled the watch up his ass for several years vis-a-vis the movie pulp fiction. Okay... nevermind, you can stop there....

As previously stated, I'm never drinking again."

It's Said That When The Put Their Ears To The Shell Of His Ears, They Could Hear Themselves.

When he heard music he no longer listened to the notes, but the silences in between. When he read a book he gave himself over entirely to commas and semicolons, to the space after the period and before the capital letter in the next sentence. He discovered the places in a room where silence gathered; the folds of curtain drapes, the deep bowls of the family silver. When people spoke to him, he heard less and less of what they were saying, and more and more of what they were not. He learned to decipher the meaning of certain silences, which is like solving a tough case without any clues, with only intuition. And no one could accuse him of not being prolific in his chosen metier. Daily, he turned out whole epics of silence. In the beginning it had been difficult. Imagine the burden of keeping silent when your child asks you whether God exists, or the woman you love asks if you love her back. At first he longed for the use of just two words: Yes and No. but he knew that just to utter a single word would be to destroy the delicate fluency of silence.

All you had to do was look at how each had approached the same subject. Where he saw a page of words, his friend saw the field of hesitations, black holes, and possibilities between the words. Where his friend saw dappled light, the felicity of flight, the sadness of gravity, he saw the solid form of a common sparrow. His life was defined by a delight in a delight in the weight of the real; his friend's by a rejection of reality, with its army of flat-footed facts. Looking at his reflection in the dark window, he believed something had been peeled away and a truth revealed to him: He was an average man. A man willing to accept things as they were, and, because of this, he lacked the potential to be in any way original.

March 12th. A year ago, today, my brother was diagnosed with Diabetes.

I went to bed a little bit mad yesterday. I try not to do this, because everyone says it's bad for you... which I understand. You should end your day on a good note, with positive emotions. However you end the day will carry into the beginning of the next day. It will decide how you spend those first two minutes when you wake up.

It affected my dreams last night. They were all over the place. I cannot understand how a dream that seems to go on forever is really only a few seconds long, according to science. I had dreams about my brother being bullied, which hurts me because I didn't have the greatest childhood friends and bullying in children is something I can't stand. I'm really passionate about working with young kids/teenagers with their confidence and attitude in life. I want to do something in this area.

In my conversation with myself/god/the universe/whoever was listening that I always have at the end of the day, I asked a lot of questions. Magically, this morning I woke up to a text message from my good friend Rachel. Words of encouragement, and subtly, the answers to all the questions I asked the night before.
I swear to you, and I believe so strongly: The universe provides answers and everything you need when you need it.

_________________________

I looked at my friend Devan's blog and was pleasantly surprised when part of her blog post was about me!
Marley visited from Toronto last week. I haven't seen her in over a year. I have a lot of respect for her - her dreams are just as big and crazy and unrealistic as mine are and she's not letting anything get in her way. She just gets it. The result of our hangout is a video that's either going to blow your mind, or… no, it'll just blow your mind.

I can't wait to show you this video. Seriously, it's ridiculous....ly awesome?

Devan also wrote something the other day that really inspired me. She teaches a good lesson. To let go. We always need to let go...
I want to let go of the friends who only want me around when they need me. I want to let go of the people who say they'll call and never do. I want to let go of the boy who wasn't willing to fight for me. I want to let go of the daydreams that he'll show up at my doorstep and tell me he finally realizes it was the biggest mistake to let me go. I want to let go of the people who say they'll be there, but never are. I want to let go of the guys who don't want me as a friend once they get a girlfriend. I want to let go of the guys who can't just be my friend. I want to let go of the guys who fall for me for a few weeks and then drift away. I want to let go of the girls who don't need me until they break up with their boyfriend. I want to let go of the people who were never friends to begin with.

Remember what I always tell you about the universe bringing you exactly what you need when you're ready for it?
...It's completely true.

Today's Entertainment News

• Katherine Heigl is set to exit Grey's Anatomy
• Beyonce and Gaga new music video. It's really long but you HAVE TO SEE IT
  Music video of the year??
  
   

Heart Fight

We circled each other, slowly, staring each other down. A fine red stream coursed from our hands and chests.
“Not this time. You’re going down this time.”
“I hope you got your plot picked out cause I’m gonna BURY YOU.”
“I hope you kept your receipt, cause I’m gonna render you defective.”
“I hope you’re not asleep on the train, cause this is the END OF THE LINE.”
The ensuing battle resembled something between modern day mud wrestling and the second to last act of every Jean Claude Van Damme movie ever made. It would be three days before we collapsed on the couch, exhausted.
“Pizza for supper?” You asked, slipping your heart back inside your blouse
“Yeah, sure.” I replied, wiping the blood from my eyes.
“Don’t get onions though, Fuck onions.”

Some people are better left in the memories I've created for them. I could live off of just a name and whatever stories I could make up. Fictional characters have always been reliable to me. How could they not? The author creates them for everyone to interpret themselves. Then when the story is over, its up to your imagination how they turned out after the book is finished. Sometimes I have to do this for real people. It's better this way, trust me.

Today's Entertainment News

• Lily Allen is getting her own reality tv series
• Betty White to host SNL on May 8th

Until The Writing Hand Hurts

I fell back into my memories. The night passed in a fog. By morning I was still shocked. It was noon before I was able to go on. I knelt down and gathered up the pages one by one. Page ten gave me a paper cut. Page twenty-two a pang in the kidneys. Page four a blockage in the heart.
A bitter joke came to mind. Words failed me. And yet, I clutched the pages, afraid my mind was playing tricks on me, and that I would look down and find them blank.

Holy text messages from disgruntled readers, batman.
Readers, I'm sorry that I'm back in school now and not blogging every day at 2am like I was doing during my break. Do not fret, I WILL post every day!

I'm trying to adjust to a new semester of school. Meaning, I'm trying to set my standards higher. Meaning, I'm trying to be on better behavior. Tiffany is going to start pinching me when I begin to talk back to our teachers. I do it without noticing. Most of the time it's under my breath, or to the person next to me. Most of the time... sometimes I must deal with the consequences of my actions. But now I'm just screwed because our newest teacher has INSANE SUPER HEARING and heard me yesterday when I made a smartass response to her comment. I wonder if her hearing could be considered a super power. I wonder what my super power would be. Transporting would be sweet. Reading minds would be dangerous, but sweet. Wait, nevermind. Myself and my thin skin couldn't handle reading minds. I'd rather not know what you're thinking.

Maybe I'd want the ability to stop time. I could do a lot of things if I could stop time. I could sneak into concerts. I could find more time to study. I could stop time in the middle of the test, look at the answer key, sneak back into my desk, and continue.
I could sleep more at night.

Also, how hilarious is it that my class has found the joy in turning the clocks forward to get out of class early? Genius.

Today's Entertainment News

• ShoWest to name Zach Galifianakis "Comedy Star Of The Year"
• Charlie Sheen to return to the set of "Two And A Half Men" March 19th
• Hilary Duff to write a series of young adult novels. The first one: "Elixir" to be published in October
• Corey Haim died
• Robert DeNiro to play Vince Lombardi in a movie
• First Lady Michelle Obama has donated her Inaugural Ball Gown to the Smithsonian
• Lindsay Lohan in a $100 Million lawsuit with with the E-Trade babies. She claims that the television ad for the Wall Street firm that aired during the Super Bowl and Olympics was modeled after her. It shows the talking babies that refer to "milkaholic Lindsay." Lohan's name was never mentioned, but she has famously sought substance abuse treatment. Her lawyer contends that "Lindsay is an equally recognizable moniker for her client — like that of Oprah or Madonna."

LOVE AMONG THE ANGELS

How Angels Sleep
Unsoundly. They toss and turn, trying to understand the mysteries of the Living. They know so little about what it's like to fill a new prescription for glasses and suddenly see the world again, with a mixture of disappointment and gratitude. The first time a girl puts her hand just below your bottom rib: about this feeling, they only have theories, but no solid ideas. If you gave them a snow globe, they might not even know enough to shake it.
Also, they don't dream. For this reason, they have one less thing to talk about. In a backward way, when they wake up they feel as if there is something they are forgetting to tell each other. There is disagreement among the angels as to whether this is a result of something vestigial, or whether it is the result of the empathy they feel for the Living, so powerful it sometimes makes them weep. In general, they fall into these two camps on the subject of dreams. Even among the angels, there is sadness of division.

PRIVATE MATTERS
It's true that they don't have a sense of smell, but angels, in their infinite love for the Living, go around smelling everything in emulation. Like dogs, they don't feel bashful about going up and sniffing each other. Sometimes, when they are unable to sleep, they lie in bed with a nose in their armpits, wondering what they smell like.

THE ARGUMENTS BETWEEN ANGELS
Are eternal and lack hope of solution. This is because they argue about what it means to be among the Living, and because they don't know, they can only speculate, much the way the Living speculate about the nature (or lack thereof) of God.

BEING ALONE

Like the Living, angels sometimes get tired of each other and want to be alone. Because the houses they live in are crowded, and there's nowhere to go, the only thing an angel can do at such moments is shut his eyes and put his head down on his arms. When an angel does this, the others understand that he is trying to fool himself into feeling alone, and they tiptoe around him. To help things along, they might talk about him as if he weren't there. If they happen to bump into him by accident, they whisper: "It wasn't me"

FOR BETTER OR WORSE
Angels don't get married. To begin with, they are too busy, and secondly, they don't fall in love with each other. (If you don't know what it feels like to have someone you love put a hand below your bottom rib for the first time, what chance is there for a lover?)
The way they live together is not unlike a fresh litter of pups: blind and grateful and denuded. This is not to say that they don't feel love, because they do; sometimes they feel it so strongly that they think they're having a panic attack. In these moments their hearts race uncontrollably and they worry that they are going to throw up. But the love they feel is not for their own kind, but for the Living who they can neither understand, nor smell, nor touch. It is a general love for the Living (though being general doesn't make it any less potent). Only from time to time does an angel find herself in a defect that causes her to fall in love, not in general, but in the specific.

I don't have many regrets in life.
But there are moments I want back. Not to change them, but to relive them and play them out again. I don't think I'd ever do things differently. Ever. I would even live out the worst times in my life 10 times over again if it would bring me to where I am now.

If anything, maybe I would speak slower. The same words. Slower.

Today's Entertainment News

• The Office, 30 Rock, and Community picked up for the next season
• Chantal Kreviazuk to perform with Edmonton Symphony Orchesta as part of their new season
• Farrah Fawcett was left out of the "In Memoriam" montage that was played at the Oscars to honor the celebrities that passed away this past year. The Academy says it was not an accident and she will not be receiving an apology because it is impossible to include everybody. Some are disgruntled, saying that the Academy made sure Michael Jackson was included when he had a much smaller resume than Farrah. 

Lonely People Are Always Up In The Middle Of The Night

Once Bruno said that if I bought a pigeon, halfway down the street it would become a dove, on the bus home a parrot, and in my apartment, the moment before I took it out of the cage, a phoenix. That's you, He said, brushing some crumbs that weren't there from the table. A few minutes passed. No it's not, I said. He shrugged and looked out the window. Whoever heard of a phoenix? I said. A peacock, maybe. But a phoenix I don't think so. His face was turned away but I thought I saw his mouth twitch in a smile.

It's the first day of my second semester at school. I found out that the man on the street I used to giggle at because he rolls his briefcase behind him like it was a heavy suitcase... turns out to be my new periodontology teacher. He's a swell guy.

Here's a music video I was in:


And here's a new video from Comedy Made Short!


Today's Entertainment News

• Simon and Garfunkel to tour Canada this spring starting in Vancouver April 29th
• OSCARS:
  The Hurt Locker wins best picture
  Sandra Bullock wins best actress
  Jeff Bridges wins best actor
  Mo'Nique wins best supporting actress

I Figured, If I Don't Split A Hyphenated Word Today, When Am I Ever Going To Do It?

'Why do beautiful songs make you sad?'
'Because they aren't true.'
'Never?'
'Nothing is beautiful and true.'

I'm home in Toronto now! And I'm soooo happy to be here.

I don't like this question so ill answer it before you ask...
How was my flight? It was good. Turbulence was at a minimum, which is how I like it. I didn't think too much about death during the descent, which is also how I like it. My ipod died mid-flight so I spent the rest of my time conjugating verbs and predicting the events of next week's soap operas. Specifically general hospital. That show has somehow held a special place in my heart since the teacher's strike of '01. I also had a book of Pablo Neruda poems which kept me occupied for a bit. You may ask, "Why didn't you sleep on your flight home? Considering it was a redeye flight, you should have been pretty tired"... To which I would reply: "Do you know me at all?"
Anyone who knows me well or follows my blog enough will know that I function on an abnormally minimal amount of sleep.

I get some good writing done while waiting at airports. It was especially good this time because I had just said goodbye to my family who I will not see again for 6 months. My mom will be visiting me in a few months, but other than this, I won't be back in Edmonton for another half a year!! The last half hour in the airport was spent sending some emotional texts with my best friend, so I boarded the plane misty eyed and inspired.

Airports also inspire me because while you're trying to prevent yourself from being bored to death, or trying to ignore the loud snorer a bench over, they're somewhat metaphorical. Symbolic. Whatever. Ports of adventure. Ports of new journeys. Ports of goodbyes, hellos, excitement, loneliness.

I said goodbye to my family, received some words of encouragement, hugs (minus my brother who is too cool to hug his big sister), and I was off on my way to be an independent adult on the other side of the country.

Everything Is Remade As Reason

When I'd come in, she'd call me into her bedroom, take me in her arms and cover me with kisses. She'd stroke my hair and say, "I love you so much" and when I sneezed she'd say "Bless you, you know how much I love you, don't you?" and when I got up for a tissue she'd say, "Let me get it for you, I love you so much," and when I looked for a pen to do my homework she'd say, "Use mine, anything for you," and when I had an itch on my leg she'd say "Is this the spot, let me hug you," and when I said I was going up to my room she'd  call after me, "What can I do for you I love you so much"
And I always wanted to say, but never said: Love me less.

Edmonton, it's been swell, but there are noticeable things missing in our relationship. I give, and you take. And frankly, Toronto has a lot more to offer. No hard feelings?

I really enjoyed this comment left on my blog yesterday regarding my epitaph.

It's true. I'm really busy with not sleeping.

Today's Entertainment News

• Katy Perry will be the voice of Smurfette in the new Smurfs movie
• Beyonce has opened a cosmetology center in Brooklyn which will offer a residential substance abuse treatment program that will teach men and women how to prepare for a career in cosmetology.
• Jenna Elfman gave birth to her second child, Easton Quinn Monroe Elfman
• Joey Lawrence and his wife welcome their second daughter
• Eric Dane and Rebecca Gayheart welcome a baby girl
• Naomi Campbell's driver is apologizing for overreacting and accusing her of abusing him.
• Conan O'Brien is taking his live show on the road for a national tour beginning in mid-April.
• Steve Carell and Ryan Gosling to team up for a new comedy film together
• Smallville renewed for a 10th season

Sometimes I Can Hear My Bones Straining Under The Weight Of All The Lives I'm Not Living

So many words get lost. They leave the mouth and lose their courage, wandering aimlessly until they are swept into the gutter like dead leaves. On rainy days, you can hear their chorus rushing past:
IwasabeautifulgirlPleasedon'tgoItoobelievemybodyismadeofglass-I'veneverlovedanyoneIthinkofmyselfasfunnyForgiveme...
There was a time when it wasn't uncommon to use a piece of string to guide words that otherwise might falter on the way to their destinations. Shy people carried a little bundle of string in their pockets, but people considered loudmouths had no less need for it, since those used to being overheard by everyone were often at a loss for how to make themselves heard by someone. The physical distance between two people using a string was often small; sometimes the smaller the distance, the greater the need for the string.
The practice of attaching cups to the ends of the string came much later. Some say it is related to the irrepressible urge to press shells to our ears, to hear the still-surviving echo of the world's first expression. Others say it was started by a man who held the end of a string that was unraveled across the ocean by a girl who left for America.
When the world grew bigger, and there wasn't enough string to keep the things people wanted to say from disappearing into the vastness, the telephone was invented.
Sometimes no length of string is long enough to say the thing that needs to be said. In such cases, all the string can do, in whatever its form, is conduct a person's silence.

Our minds and bodies know what is best for us. We block out memories so we don't hurt from them anymore. We have scars- both extrinsic and intrinsic- to remind us to learn from our mistakes.

Maybe when we go to sleep our mind goes through the memories of our day and sorts them, like we would sort through our garbage. Into different bins, or categories.
Reduce, Reuse, Recycle.
Forget this happened, Remember this always, Use this memory again later.
And while we're sleeping, we're being distracted and given messages through metaphors and symbolism. We're dreaming to show us the lives we could be living, and to try to make sense of the ones we are.

I tried to make sense of things. Now that I think of it, I have always tried. It could be my epitaph:
MARLEY GROENEVELD. SHE TRIED TO MAKE SENSE.

Maybe I'm sad because of all the things inside me waiting for me to be said or written down.

Maybe I should get on that.

Today's Entertainment News

• Neil Patrick Harris landed the lead role in "Smurfs, The Movie"
• Cyndi Lauper will play a free concet at Queen's Park in Toronto, July 3rd for Pride.

ALSO,
STEVE URKEL'S CAMEO ON FULL HOUSE!?
thank you Amit Sharma for posting this on your facebook. Looove it

The Eternal Disappointment Of Life As It Is

Feelings are not as old as time.

Just as there was a first instant when someone rubbed two sticks together to make a spark, there was a first time joy was felt, and a first time for sadness. For a while, new feelings were being invented all the time. Desire was born early, as was regret. When stubbornness was felt for the first time, it started a chain reaction, creating the feeling of resentment on the one hand, and alienation and loneliness on the other. It might have been a certain counterclockwise movement of the hips that marked the birth of ecstasy; a bolt of lightning that caused the first feeling of awe. Contrary to logic, the feeling of surprise wasn't born immediately. It only came after people had enough time to get used to things as they were. And when enough time had passed, and someone felt the first feeling of surprise, someone, somewhere else, felt the first pang of nostalgia.

It's also true that sometimes people felt things and, because there was no word for them, they went unmentioned. The oldest emotion in the world may be that of being moved; but to describe it-- just to name it-- must have been like tryig to catch something invisible.

(Then again, the oldest feeling in the world might simply have been confusion)

Having begun to feel, people's desire to feel grew. They wanted to feel more, feel deeper, despite how much it sometimes hurt. People became addicted to feeling. They struggled to uncover new emotions. It's possible that this is how art was born. New kinds of joy were forged, along withnew kinds of sadness: The eternal disappointment of life as it is; the relief of unexpected reprieve; the fear of dying.

Even now, all possible feelings do not yet exist. There are still those that lie beyond our capacity and our imagination. From time to time, when a piece of music no one has ever written, or a painting no one has ever painted, or somethin else impossible to predict, fathom, or yet describe takes place, a new feeling enters the world. And then, for the millionth time in the history of feeling, the heart surges, and absorbs the impact.

Yes, this is my second post of the day.
I recently blogged about how the universe sends you the things you need when you really need them. The universe sends signs and messages. I believe very strongly in signs and messages. Very strongly.
"Coincidence is god's way of staying anonymous"

I was (again) wondering how long I should carry on this blog for. I was wondering if it was helpful, if anyone cared, and if I was even good anymore.

Then, in the form of an anonymous poet, the universe let me know that this is the right thing.

In all the pieces of my life that I have lost in the last x amount years of my life, I am slowly gaining them back through words.

Thank you for not knowing me, for pretending you do, and even for letting me pretend you do too.

Just Thinking That Your Thoughts Are Different Than Mine

The first language humans had was gestures. There was nothing primitive about this language that flowed from people's hands, nothing we say now that could not be said in the endless array of movements possible with the fine bones of the fingers and wrists. The gestures were complex and subtle, involving a delicacy of motion that has since been lost completely.
During the age of silence, people communicated more, not less. Basic survival demanded that the hands were almost never still, and so it was only during sleep (and sometimes not even then) that people were not saying something or other. No distinction was made between the gestures of language and the gestures of life. The labor of building a house, say, or preparing a meal was no less an expression than making the sign for "I love you" or "I feel serious". When a hand was used to shield one's face when frightened by a loud noise something was being said, and when fingers were used to pick up what someone else had dropped something was being said; and even when the hands were at rest, that, too, was saying something. Naturally, there were misunderstandings. There were times when a finger might have been lifted to scratch a nose, and if casual eye contact was made with one's lover just then, the lover might accidentally take it to be the gesture, not at all dissimilar, for "Now I realize I was wrong to love you". These mistakes were heartbreaking. And yet, because people knew how easily they could happen, because they didn't go around with the illusion that they understood perfectly the things other people said, they were used to interrupting each other to ask if they understood correctly. Sometimes these misunderstandings were even desirable, since they gave people a reason to say, "forgive me, I was only scratching my nose. Of course I know I've always been right to love you" Because of the frequency of these mistakes, over time the gesture for asking forgiveness evolved into the simplest form. Just to open your palm was to say: "forgive me".

If at large gatherings or parties, or around people with whom you feel distant, your hands sometimes hang awkwardly at the ends of your arms-- if you find yourself at a loss for what to do with them, overcome with sadness that comes when you recognize the foreignness of your own body-- it's because your hands remember a time when the division between mind and body, brain and heart, what's inside and what's outside, was so much less. It's not that we've forgotten the language of gestures entirely. The habit of moving our hands while we speak is left over from it. Clapping, pointing, giving the thumbs-up: all artifacts of ancient gestures. Holding hands, for example, is a way to remember how it feels to say nothing together. And at night, when it's too dark to see, we find it necessary to gesture on each other's bodies to make ourselves understood.

Post office.
They know my order just like a coffee shop would... if I drank coffee.
"14 stamps. 3 International. 11 Domestic."
"Couldn't sleep again?"
"You know it."
An increase in my insomnia results in an increase of handwritten letters.

 
Do you have those people in your life that you see on a daily basis and you take comfort in them being in your daily routine? I don't mean your roommate or the security guard in your building or even your parents, I mean the strangers that you see so often you feel like you know them.
 
The cashier girl at the store across the street. The man asking for money on a cardboard sign in front of my school. The violinist on the corner of college and yonge.

The violinist showed up less and less as it got colder and when it got to be full-on winter, he disappeared. He's been gone for months. I'm really hoping he'll reappear in the spring, just like the green leaves and the birds do. Maybe when I hear him play again it will feel like he never left. We can pick up where we left off.
 
If the homeless man isn't there, I get a twinge of guilt. And worry. I hope he's okay.

If the girl at Shoppers happens to have the day off, I feel kind of sad. It's like looking forward to seeing an old friend and being cancelled on. How weird is it that I feel a connection to the girl that rings through my milk?
 
When one of these things are missing, the rest of my day is out of place.

What if this turned out to be one of those six degrees of separation situations!?
The girl at the grocery store smiles all the time because she's hiding her pain from the void in her life of not knowing her father, who HAPPENS TO BE the man in front of my school asking for money... BUT ACTUALLY it isn't. Her REAL biological father happens to be the violinist, who plays on that street corner close to the shoppers so that he can be closer to her and he is so hopeful that one day she will hear his music... which he learned from the homeless man, who used to be a famous composer but lost everything when he fell in love with the girl's mother, (who apparently had been sleeping around since she didn't know who the real father was- the violinist, or the homeless man who was not homeless at the time). She chose the homeless man-- who was not homeless at the time-- to be the girl's father because he was wealthier and had more to offer at the time, but then changed her mind when she realized that he loved his music more than he could ever love a woman. She took everything he had in their divorce and to make money, he sold his violin to the violinist, who was at the time, his best friend. Just before the woman died of a cancer created from the guilt of the immense secret she held inside her, she told the violinist the truth- that he was the father. Because both of the men loved this woman, the violinist and the homeless man's friendship fell apart when this truth came out.
There are some scars that can never heal and it is possible to break a heart so bad you can't ever return to the safety it once provided you.
So in the end, the daughter did not have a father. Or a mother. The famous composer (the homeless man) did not have his music, or his love. The violinist did not have a friend, or also his love. They all lost everything.
Because of the woman.
Moral of the story... don't sleep around?

I've been reading too many novels and probably watching too much tv.

I'm ready to go back to Toronto now.

Today's Entertainment News
 
I hope you like this song. You better get used to it, It's going to be the summer of ALEJANDRO

I Watched You Climb The Wrong Incline... But What Do I Know?

"Some women choose to follow men, and some women choose for follow their dreams. If you're wondering which way to go, remember that your career will never wake up and tell you that it doesn't love you anymore"
--Lady Gaga

I love this quote. It kind of makes you feel powerful, but kind of makes you feel small. All at once. It really makes me think.

I know several people (including my mother) who would throw some very strongly worded opinions at me regarding this quote.
I'd like to hear them: Go.

Completely separate note... I've finished moving out of my room. Everything is packed up in boxes that I may open in a few years to sort through memories from my childhood. Among these things are lots of loveletters and hateletters (yes, hate letters..) from my old best friend Kaitlin. She's one of the most solid best friends I've ever had and I miss her all the time. There's also a lot of books that have letters from the people who gave them to me hidden inside them. Those are a few of my favorite things.

This is all that is left of what used to be my bedroom:

Today's Entertainment News

• NYC police are on the hunt for Naomi Campbell after she attacked a limo driver an ran off yesterday afternoon
• William Shatner will receive the Lifetime Achievement Award at the 2010 Banff World Television Festival
• Bruce Willis has a cameo in the new Gorillaz video
• Jessica Simpson will make an appearance on Oprah today and will address the comments John Mayer made about their sex life
• George Strombo has joined the cast of Michael McGowan's film, Score A Hockey Musical
• Jersey Shore's JWoww applied to trademark her name.
• Robert Pattinson set to be a wax figure in NYC. March 25th

It's The Wrong Kind Of Place To Be Thinking Of You

...One night he meets a man under a bridge. They share the vodka the man has in a brown bag. And because the angel is drunk and lonely and angry with God, and because, without his even knowing it, he feels the urge, familiar among humans, to confide in someone, he tells the man the truth: that he's an angel. The man doesn't believe him, but the angel insists. The man asks him to prove it, and so the angel lifts his shirt despite the cold and shows the man the perfect circle on his chest, which is the mark of and angel. But that means nothing to the man, who doesn't know from the mark of angels, so he says, "Show me something God can do". And the angel, naive like all angels, points to the man. And because the man thinks he's lying, he punches the angel in the stomach, sending him tottering backwards off the pier and plunging into the dark river. Where he drowns, because one thing about angels, is that they can't swim.

It would be sweet if my phone's ringtone would blurt out what the call was concerning:
"Best friend crying cause boyfriend cheated again"
"Mom wants to know if you're eating healthy"
"Boyfriend working late tonight"
"Telemarketer. Let him down easy"

It wouldn't affect my decision in answering the call-- I always answer my phone. On the first or second ring if I can get to it fast enough. I think I've written it enough in this blog for you to understand that being reliable is a huge thing to me.

Comedy Made Short!:

Today's Entertainment News:

• Roll up the rim has begun! whoo!
• Christina Milian welcomes a baby girl
• New season of Dancing With The Stars contestants: Kate Gosselin, Pamela Anderson, Chad Ochocinco, Aiden Turner, Erin Andrews, Shannen Doherty, Buzz Aldrin, Neicy Nash, Nicole Scherzinger, Evan Lysacek. Begins March 22nd.
• The Bachelor Finale last night!! ...I should have known better than to go on facebook before watching the finale. Facebook statuses ruined it for me!!
  Tenley.. you were dumped, but you took it like a champ. I feel for you.
• Next season of the Bachelorette starting in May. No big surprise, she is gorgeous and a fan favorite... Allie! 

Adulthood: Waking Up From A Nightmare And Realizing There's No Bigger Bed To Climb Into

I walked around uptown today for almost two hours talking to myself, and hoping I wouldnt see anyone I knew. I avoided my own reflection in the store front windows, and thought about the time you told me you always check my horoscope too.

Sooo... how about that international sporting event?? I can just imagine the amount of hangovers going on in Canada today.

My mom is trying to be more affectionate. She comes into my room early in the morning, announcing: "I'm here to be more affectionate". This is all fine and good, I just wish she'd be affectionate at a reasonable hour. Anyway, she'll sit in bed with me and we'll talk. Last time she sat in bed with me was 2 years ago to read my Biology 108 textbook to me when I was sick.

She asked me if my mind goes off on tangents around other people or if I just do it in front of her and the family. No mom, this is just the way I function. To which she told me... (jokingly?) to grow up. Then my brother told me that I just got "owned".

This kind of upset me, so I just stopped talking. I always think to myself when I'm upset at someone/something: "That's it. I'm not talking to you anymore. And if I have to, I'm not going to be enthusiastic about it!!" But then somewhere along the line I get distracted and start telling jokes about renaming your IPod to "The Titanic' so that when you plug it in, it says "The Titanic is syncing"

And then I remember! "WAIT! I wasn't supposed to be talking to you! Forget everything we just laughed at together, we're still not friends!"

I'm looking forward to returning to Toronto and the Groeneding residence (Groeneveld+Kinding) where my tangents are welcomed - and sometimes even written down and used in conversation!

While I was explaining this same story to my friend later that night, I poked myself in the eye while using grand hand gestures to show my enthusiasm for the conversation. I really fucking dislike hitting myself in the eye. It's always a huge disappointment to me and my dexterity.

Also, I've been swearing more. Which is un-ladylike, I apologize. The cast of Comedy Made Short is a bad influence on me when it comes to my vocabulary. I'm not complaining! CMS is the best part of my week.

Today's Entertainment News

• Kate Gosselin has joined this season of Dancing With The Stars 
• The cast of Glee will be performing in 4 cities for a concert tour in May:
  May 18 Phoenix, AZ Dodge Theatre
  May 20 Los Angeles, CA Gibson Amphitheatre
  May 21 Los Angeles, CA Gibson Amphitheatre
  May 25 Chicago, IL Rosemont Theatre
  May 26 Chicago, IL Rosemont Theatre
  May 28 New York City, NY Radio City Music Hall
  May 29 New York City, NY Radio City Music Hall
• Lenny Kravitz will be joining U2 on their tour this summer!
• Coldplay releasing a new album for christmas