Revisioning Visions

So it has been a very long while. But, the past is past and while I'm as good at weeping over spilled cow lactations as the next girl, let's move on, shall we? Ok. 

I've been working on a vision-board overhaul. Now, before you accuse me of going Oprah on you, let me clarify. 

One: I like Oprah. I like her peppy spunk, the way she draws out her words when she's excited and more than that, I like her magazine. It's positive, self-affirming and empowering and I can read it for free while I'm waiting to purchase foodstuffs. 

Two: I had a vision board way before it was cool. Granted, it was a random pile of ideas and wants scribbled onto a piece of cardboard torn from one of my many moving boxes, at a time when I was moving more times in a year than I was menstruating, but again-- not the point.

The other day I noticed my vision board, while breathtakingly beautiful and inspiring, was rather... scattered. I am in the process of decluttering my life, my head, my everything. And in this spirit, I believe that if your vision board isn't clear, isn't straight-forward and honest with what you really want, what you really really want, then you'll only get muddy results. It's like saying "I need a new pair of pants," which could either get you a really cracking set of trousers spun of oyster-gray silk, or some sort of horrid sweaties with a shady stain in the crotch. 

Clarify. Be clear. Know what you're asking for. That was the goal.

So here is the result of my makeover: 


I paired down a lot of the photos, keeping only the ones that really inspired, entertained or symbolized things I wanted to keep in mind/bring into my life.

Here's the left-side of the board. I broke this one down into Travel, Money, Soul/Spirit, Learning and Physical Body. Using an old typewriter and post-its, I threw up goals/ideas/wants around these areas.

And here's the right-hand side of the board. Same deal, only with Art, Career, Heart and Culture. 

(For those snoopy ones, here's a closer look. I love snooping.)

 I love this photo of the two girls boxing in couture. It's rather a nice representation of the dichotomy I have. I love boxing and hard-core sweaty intense workouts. But I also like petticoats. 

 Soul and Spirit. I love the redhead in the draped fabric. She is unabashedly joyous about her difference. I love that she's celebrating her weirdness. The old lady in the bottom is a reminder to me of mortality-- not of death, but of the gift that life can be, if you work at it, and how at the end of my time here, I'd like to be as I imagine her to be-- content and ready for the 'next great perhaps'.

A reminder that geeks are sexy. Glasses are sexy. Redheads with glasses who like birds are sexy. And knowledge is sexy. The most sexy thing of all. I like to remind myself if I want to meet and have interesting people in my life, I should be interesting as well.

I love Isabella Rossellini. I love her work on the Green Porno series and the Seduce Me series. I heart her humour, courage and abundant sexiness for doing what she loves with abandon. I'm also rather married to this pic out of the New Yorker Magazine; it just exemplified "creation" and joy to me. 

I have had this picture of a chimp with a shoe forever. It reads "Stop looking for bananas from people who have no bananas. Some people just cannot offer you what you need." A good reminder to both accept people as they are, and to create / nourish what you need yourself.  

 

 Coco and Josephine. Two women who took their passion and make it a career. Plus, a horse in a dapper hat, which is just so super professional and stylish. I would like to be that pulled together.

 

If you're a close friend, you know I love love LOVE Sherlock Holmes. Deal with it. 
 

This snail in a sweater is an important symbol of transformation for me. I have a small phobia of slugs. But this little pip in his smart little green cardy is totally sweet. Reminds me that the things that fear or set me off might not be so bad... when dressed nicely. 
 

 And lastly, the bird in football helmet. The perfect symbol for who I am. I want to be free, independent and living an adventurous life... yet protected and feel like I can handle anything that's thrown at me. So this robin and his steely determination gives me strength and something to visualize. 

Perfectionism is Killing Me.

Seriously. I have this little problem with perfectionism. And by little problem, I mean that it's probably the cause of a lot of my behavior and mental road-blocks and artistic resistance. 

I need to stop trying to be perfect and just BE. 

Re-learning the violin is bringing up all this shit. It's bad enough that the actual act of playing an instrument is more than hard. 

I'm standing there, trying to keep my bow-hand relaxed, my grip right, my bow strokes long enough, short enough and that's just one hand. 

Then there's the whole fingering-- right tune, right note, right time, right string, right holding technique of the instrument, and also trying not to look fat while you're standing evenly on both legs-- don't tell me that this isn't a concern ladies, you know. 

(A little cocked hip can really forgive a few pounds. Plus, I ate an entire jar of pickles before the lesson. We all have our trigger foods.)

And then don't forget the reading the music part, which for someone who is crap at math, is akin to taking on an Asian Eminem in a Chinese rapping battle after one lesson at the local Y. 

I feel as though I'm learning to drive a car while making sushi while trying to explain the concept of Epistemology to a toddler using sock puppets and venn diagrams. 

And I also have this voice in my head constantly saying "You're not doing it good enough, you're not good enough," etc. 

After driving home, mad with myself, frustrated and upset, and thinking of all the stupid unhelpful things I could do, I decided the only solution is to say "fuck off," to those nasty tiny little cramped thoughts that lead me into a place that's nasty, tiny and cramped. 

I will go towards what scares me, what I'm bad at (but interested in) and I will do my best not to care if I look chunky while I'm doing it. 

Because unlike my waistline, my violining will only get better with age. 

A whole jar? Blergh. 

Fitness is highly underated as an entertainment event.

So I go to try out the YWCA’s spin class.

I get there, and the instructor is late. Ok, whatever, it’s just a few minutes.

He rolls in and oh my god. He looks like a cross between this:

And this:

Seriously. An obese spandex bumblebee. About 55 years old, and doesn’t have enough balance to stay upright while putting his shoes on.

“Sorry I’m late, I waited 25 minutes for a parking spot,” he says.

(Isn’t he supposed to be a fitness instructor? What’s wrong with parking a few streets away and then WALKING? More on that later)

He puts in a cd, and the speakers BLAST music and scare the shit out of all the ladies. One screams. It was great. He then turns out the lights, so we’re in almost complete darkness.

We get started. Finally. At this point, we’re 15 minutes into a 55 minute class.

He offers no instruction other than to randomly (and I mean randomly) scream nonsensical things like “KICK IT” or “THIS IS WHERE WE ROCK THE THING” or “GIVEITHARDNOWYEAH”

He’s been on the bike for about 4 minutes, and then decides to get off the bike, wander over to the walk clock, take it off the wall, leave the room, and then comes back in a few minutes later, puts the clock back and then hops back on the bike with another scream of KICK IT.

When he is on the bike, he tells us strange fables of roosters and minor birds in China, random rambling stuff that I only catch every 4th word, because his microphone isn’t actually turned on. I do catch something about “Giving it our all—so we can go back to work PUMPED”...

We go through the motions of a spin class, but it’s clear our instructor is the least in-shape of all of us, and at one point actually has to get off the bike because he’s hyperventilating.

He then hops (climbs slowly) back on the bike, and tells us to spread our arms out like birds, to “indicate to him where our heart-rate is”. I’m still confused by that one. Interpretive dance body-reading.

Then, for the “Cool Down” portion of the class, he plays R&B Christmas carols, which digitally breakup in the CD player because he burned the disc wrong. It’s horrible. Like stretching to Bony M being put through a meat grinder.

We finish up and that, my friends, is the end of that chapter.

Sadly, he’s now on vacation for the next month, and won’t be back till 2011.

It was amazing.

Black Friday

 Personally, I see no correlation.

I love Christmas and I love presents, but this is too much. Unchecked consumption on any level isn't healthy and it isn't sustainable.

This year, I am giving charity and keeping my consumption to a dull roar.

Besides, it's really all about family, spending time... and the turkey. At least, for me. 

Puuuuhhhh... dry turkey scream.

The Meme you LOVE to Hate...

Hipsters.

Yes, I admit it. I hate them.

But not so much as "I detest them with every fibre of my being," as I do the following things:

Nazis
Acid-Washed Tapered Jeans
Seafood of any variety
Denzel Washington (More on that later)

More like, they're just fun to hate. They're so weird, what with all their beanies, v-necked shirts, ambiguous sexual appearance and strangely pinched skulls.

Die Hipsters!

So I May Have Forgotten About You...

It's not you. It's me. Really.

I didn't mean to leave you abandoned, like a ginger-haired urchin, on the streets of Bloggingsville.

It's just... I got busy. And then depressed. And then laid off. And then depressed. And then hungry.

But now I'm back. Who knows for how long. The whims of a breezy gaddabout such as myself are so hard to fortell.

On another note, how ice-cold is this fellow? Such convinction to being a douche.

Let's Talk About My Condition...

The above is a quote from what may be my most favourite movie (Big Trouble in Little China) of all time. It's got everything. Fashion. Action. Fights. Chases, escapes, death by cleavers, tiny giggling Chinese men. Exploding gods. And of course... Jack Burton. 

 

Oh, to be young, smooth and ridiculously taunt Kim Catrell, with a fabulous outfit in Chinese-red coloured silk, matching headpiece (a highly underrated necessity), and a mullet-sporting, tight jean-rocking Jack Burton. 

*swoon*

Ok. So I love 80s action movies. That's something you didn't know about me. Other favourites (which I own and my bf is rather horrified I can quote by memory): 

- Hard to Kill (one of Slim Steven Segal's best) 

- Showdown in Little Toyko (you won't believe the writing in this one till you hear it) 

- Kickboxer (brilliant if for nothing other than JCVD's dance scene.)

On a side note, just discovered that I've got a hole in the seams of my skinny jeans. On the outside of the thigh. So I've split my pants, but not in a fat-girl sort of way. So it's ok for me to go finish off those chicken fingers I have waiting on the counter.