Vive l'art

I love you. and what's wrong with that. i'd like to know. 'cause here I go again.

I professionally framed my art! This must mean that I'm all grow'd up. Well, save for the fact that I don't own any new furniture or a car. And I live in a garage carriage house that doesn't have a bathroom sink. So, save for these minor GBS things, I have fucking awesome art on my wall. I'm all fucking grow'd up, dammit.

Whose art is on my walls, you wonder? My charming ex-roomates'. Back in the hazy days of glory that was the 69 Pender Art Gallery, they showed a series of screen prints that melded the spirit of the '68 student revolution with the vapid lyrics of the Wings song "Silly Love Songs", which was written in the same year.

A simple yet poignant statement, non?

Kudos to the sovereign nation of Cameroon

Violet and I were, not two weeks ago, bemoaning our pitiful lack of new music.*(please note post below: "In Which Mata Begs For New Running Tunes"). But now our troubles are over.

My cry was answered by Cam and although I was not sold on his running music suggestion (Sorry darling, I still need a litre of cold coffee, 2 Ibuprofen and shame-inducing-wailing-black-lady gay house to get my raggedy ass in gear), I was tickled to stumble over his treasure trove of music recommendations in Golden Ears.

My biggest and most heart-felt thank you goes out for introducing me to Miss Lily Allen. Hoorah! Who doesn't love cute British birds on scooters who curse in the Queen's english?

Thanks Cam, now I can host shame-free dinner parties again.

More fondue anyone?

Famous Puppet Death Scenes

For over 80 beautiful minutes I watched puppets die, over and over again. Die, die, die. It was great.

Some were funny — outrageously funny — and some were sad, a select few were poetically medatative, filled with sobriety, revierie, and gut-busting joy. This Montreal troupe knows how to give death a good time.

Here's the thing: even though I laughed myself blue through all 100 deaths, I was left with an overwhelming sense of melancholia.

Why?

Because I want to live in a city where culture is common, not avant garde. Like Montreal, where I believe artists and non-artists alike talk openly about culture.

Sure. There's arty stuff here a-plenty. But the general public doesn't seem very open to it. I dream of a day when throngs of people flood this city to get drunk on red wine and roam hooligan in the streets, talking openly about the psychological effects of 100 puppet deaths. But I don't think that will happen for some time.

Lateral thought: Would it be funny to see the Molson indie crowd discuss the art of mime?

Amazing, beautiful, and ugly

The best acceptance speech ever.

Bowl me over you bastard

I want all my pins rocked to the core. Spring fever is forming a ball of spit in the pit of my pituitary gland. And I want more, more, more — evermore.

My Favorite Christmas Gift by Mata Hari

My fella gave me a really fun new toy for Christmas. I got the Nike+ shoe fob/itunes integrater thingy that hooks up to your iPod and tracks your runs for you.

I'm sure there is a much more succinct description of it here. Let the marketing heavyweights behind Nike and Apple explain it to you. Read all about it and then meet me right back here, okay?



Pretty cool, huh? (althouth mine didn't come with those tits. hmph.)

I have just recently gotten back into running. It used to be a bit of a chore for me. Something to be done pretty well exclusively for weight loss with little or no redeeming qualities (other than,"It feels so good to stop!").

But in this latest foray into running, things have changed. Maybe it goes along with that whole turning thirty thing but now when I run I feel strong and as a result I feel smug. And I love feeling smug!

It's awful to admit but when I am running I feel better than other people. Feeling better than people really doesn't happen very often in my life so it is a lovely, novel thing to experience. My favorite is running past restaurants full of people stuffing themselves or blowing by people all bundled up, walking their yappy little colour co-ordinated dogs. I live in Yaletown so one of these two scenarios is happening nearly continuously during my runs.

Anyways, so now I have this new toy to play with which adds even more fun to my runs. It really appeals to the OCD/AR part of me. I can track my pace, distance, time etc. and upload each run on to the Nike website where I can see my run plotted out on a graph. Ooow!

Plus you can choose your "Power Song"; when you press the center button on your iPod during your run it will play your own personal "Eye of the Tiger" (mine is currently "Keep Hope Alive" by The Chrystal Method). Go ahead and laugh but I was a raver in my time and was always inordinately fond of anthems, so there:P

However, I am now on the look out for new tunes to add to my running playlist. What music do you workout to? What is your Power Song? Remember, confession is good for the soul.

All quiet on the new year front

Well. I did it. I spent New Year's Eve all by my self. Well, sort of by myself — me, a mutant kitty and a bottle of cheap Prosecco rang it in together.

2006 was a strange year, bland and yet strangely affirming. I'm sure that in the far off future I will fondly remember it as one one of those pivotal years that moved me to inner peace and joy and a new-found enjoyment for solitude. But at the moment, I think it's been a threshold year. Not quite what I want to be. Not quite where I want to be. But it's somewhere. And I've gotten to somewhere by crawling through the jungle of my mind and making camp in its middle.

So here I am — living comfortably in the middle of my mind. I guess 2007 will be about learning how to move out of it and into this here real world (oh the irony of stating this in an online blog and through a pseudonym).

Here is a list of accomplishments and occurances in 2006:

• I moved out of a place I've been living in since I was 18 (minus a couple of years in the middle)
• I finally travelled off this continent, rented a bungalow on the beach and read in a hammock
  
• I started a new job that I'm still not too sure about
• I staved off gripping panic attacks ... without drugs (it's all about the pinkie, thumb and good memories)
• My roomates of 7 and 14 years moved to Berlin
• I moved into my own place — no roomates
• I was single the entire year
• A lovely boy cooked me a gourmet dinner for the first time ever (2007 is about receiving flowers)
• I watched friends get married, and it was good
• I endured someone say things to his new love that he used to say to me — verbatim — and was able to continue loving my past... after a couple of weeks of hard work, wine and Lost episodes
• I deepened friendships
• I bought a pellet gun and shot decoy ducks off a houseboat motoring through the Shushwaps
  
• I danced like no one was watching... and didn't blush when I fell
• I was treated to expensive champagne, food flown in from Italy, and a flight over the Georgia Strait
• I had short hair
• I had blonde hair
• I started growing my hair long