Things I Have Learned While Trying to Participate

“I don’t know if I will have the time to write any more letters, because I might be too busy trying to participate.”

-Charlie, The Perks of Being A Wallflower movie

I’ve never been awesome at participating.

In The Perks of Being A Wallflower, there’s a part that talks about thought as participation. And that thinking about stuff isn’t really participating. After all, you’re sitting in your own head the whole time. You’re not actually doing anything. Participation, perhaps needless to say, entails doing something. If you’re out to be a main character in your own life, just thinking about stuff doesn’t cut the cake.

I’ve used “thinking” as an alternative, or even as a synonym, for “participating” on-and-off for a long time. This can happen when I get caught up about stories I want to write, or books, or news articles I’ve read; when I think about my family or my friends, and what is going on in their lives.

Since my last blog post, I have been trying very hard to participate.

Here are some things I have learned while doing so, in no particular order.

• Running on the treadmill while watching the Food Network is a bad idea. Especially when food has not yet been eaten that day. I did this once and learned my lesson quite quickly.
• I may be more delicate than I pretend to be. I do not know whether or not this is something to be ashamed of.
• Writing is fun, and so is reading. The past week-and-a half makes it seem like I’ve just discovered literacy. I’ve written almost ten thousand words (for someone who’s had a novel-writing dry spell for eight months THAT’S A LOT). I’ve read four books. I’m so glad reading and writing are things people can do.
• On that note, there is a reason The Great Gatsby is a classic. I finished it yesterday. I hadn’t read it before. My mind was a little bit blown.
• We actually do accept the love we think we deserve. (Today’s post is Perks of Being a Wallflower themed, in case you haven’t noticed.) It is a huge cliche, but sometimes it seems like we forget: If you do not respect yourself, few people will. I feel like respecting our bodies, minds, and emotions is one of the best gifts we can give to ourselves. (Now it is time to stop being a self-help book. Let’s continue.)
• Happiness is hard work when all you want to do is sleep for ten years. But I know from a multitude of experience that sleeping for days or months or years is not going to make me happy. Sleeping that much is probably not even going to make me feel rested. Doing stuff that makes me happy might be the only way to get happy. Maybe this is self-explanatory, but it wasn’t to me for a good chunk of my life. So there you go.
• Eyebrow piercings don’t hurt as much as you’d expect. Also, piercings are addictive. If you want to get a piercing, do it. It will probably be okay. (Emphasis on the probably.)
• Just because it is March doesn’t mean the weather necessarily realizes spring is coming.
• Looking for a job is easier when you have a job.
• Running outside in winter is not impossible. (Or crazy.) (Mostly.)
• Also, running on ice is easier than walking.
• Saving money is tricky business. Also, not having a budget and making a budget but never looking at it are basically the same thing.
• Loving someone is scary. Thinking about your happiness being hinged–in part–on someone else’s behavior, choices, and happiness is terrifying. But it will probably be okay. (Again, emphasis on the probably.)
• Tables make a place feel like home. That’s how it worked for me, anyway. My parents brought over a table-and-chairs set the other day. It smells funny and is kind of old-looking but I like it because it is mine. And now my apartment has a place to eat in it. (Since I moved in November, I’ve been using cardboard boxes or an IKEA end table for fancy dinners. Glamorous, I know.)
• Along the lines of “You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink it”: You cannot make someone communicate if they do not want to. Which sucks.
• Drinking during the week can be okay. Sometimes, you just need to go for beers with your best friend. Also, staying in with a beer and watching The Perks of Being A Wallflower can definitely be better than going out dancing.

And finally:

• That Taylor Swift/Goat video makes me laugh harder than I care to admit. For your viewing pleasure:

So that’s the kind of month-and-a-half it’s been. I’m going to keep participating, because being the protagonist in my life is nice.

And, because it’s Friday:

Have a delightful weekend.

The Correlation Between Lights & Hope

Yesterday, I took down the office Christmas tree.

I’ve always been sad to see the Christmas decorations go. It’s like the hope for peace, happiness, and joy the holiday brings is gone with the tree, ornaments, and garland.

Once all that is stripped away, I’m left with the truth. And the truth is hardly ever pretty.

It’s been awhile since I’ve had a “good” Christmas. The holidays, for me, are usually comprised of depression, family arguments, and someone in tears as we unwrap presents Christmas morning. Awesomesauce, right? But this, strangely, doesn’t stop me from looking forward to the holidays–and trying unbelievably hard to make Christmas go smoothly (or smoother than in years past, at any rate). I put exorbitant amounts of thought into presents I buy for friends and family. I play carols until bandages are required to stop my ears from bleeding.

It is perhaps needless to say that I wind up pretty upset when Christmas doesn’t live up to my expectations. We’re suppose to be happy during the holidays, after all. The advertisements tell us so; Christmas carols tell us so. I decorate like Martha Stewart on heroine.

But my Christmases? Generally, they just aren’t as merry as everyone says they should be.

Created by Meera Dave

Christmas 2012 was a good Christmas. Nobody screamed. Nobody cried. For the first time in about five years, I feel like the “truth of the holiday”–peace, happiness, and joy?–might not be a total scam. It’s a new thing for me, in my adult life. I’m not accustomed to this.

It feels wonderful.

I am fairly certain that the reasons for my “good” Christmas revolve around a new living environment and general life situation. There were big changes in 2012 that made my Christmas–and New Year, and first week of 2013–better than I would have expected at this time last year.

I guess this post has two points. First, depression–unlike your boss–doesn’t go on holidays for Christmas. The sadness is just as bad–or worse–as its always been. I think that’s something to remember now, especially, when people are feeling at a loss once Christmas hasn’t lived up to the brilliance of their expectations.

Second, that sadness doesn’t have to last forever. Of course, sometimes it comes in cycles. The happiness and empowerment I’m currently feeling could disappear as quickly as I’ve found it. The thought sucks, but I don’t believe it has to be this way. I believe that happiness is not a constant and effortless state. Happiness takes work. It is something we strive for in an idealistic it’ll-fall-right-into-my-lap sort of way. This is exactly what makes so many people unhappy. We expect  happiness, but we don’t work for it. So we don’t get it.

If I keep working to maintain happiness, I believe won’t get caught in a loop of negativity that leads to depression. And even if something goes wrong–I think I’ll be able to work it out. Maybe I won’t be awesome, or even happy. But I’ll be okay. Much more okay than I have been.

Maybe I’m deluded, or naive. Maybe I’m too idealistic.

I don’t really care.

This year, hope isn’t disappearing with the Christmas tree.

Cat Photo Friday

At the moment, life’s got me feeling like chucking my computer out the window.

On that note, let’s talk about cats.

This first video is a scarily accurate depiction of what would happen if cats and dogs could be human friends. I think the moral of the story is that chaos would promptly ensue.

For my next act, I bring you a demon.

And finally, some popcorn.

 

I hope you’ve had a great first week of 2013. (And if you haven’t, don’t worry. There’s only 361 days left ’til next year.)  Personally, after those cat videos, I’m feeling a little bit less like chucking my computer out the window.

Things are looking up. Have an awesome weekend.

How To Change Your Life

Well, look what we have here: It’s a new year (2013, for those of you keeping count). This must mean it’s time for NEW YEARS RESOLUTIONS.

We make millions–billions?–of these things every year around this time. Personally, I hear many more accounts of failure than success. It’s really tempting to say New Years Resolutions are useless, since “resolutions are made to be broken”, or because “I’m never successful when I make New Years Resolutions, anyway–and that piece of cake looked so good I didn’t even stand a chance. Pass the chips.”

I am here to tell you that you to keep making them.

Because people who do are more successful. In fact, people who explicitly make New Years Resolutions (hereby known as NYR’s, as I am getting tired of typing that whole thing out), are ten times more likely to attain their goals as opposed to people who don’t.

Ten times more likely. That’s a lot of times.

Except–and here’s where I think it gets a little hairy for most–you have to actually work for the thing you want. As good ol’ Dr. Phil once said,

In order to change your life, you have to make changes in your life.

Thanks, Doctor. I’ll remember that one.

See, I’d always thought that quote was totally bogus, and completely disregarded it, until several years later when I realized something: We expect our lives to change without making changes.

Mind blown.

We want to lose weight (NYR #1 of 2012, according to statisticbrain.com), but we ditch our new gym membership half-way through January for an American Idol rerun. And hey. We broke our NYR. (Already!) So where’s the harm cuddling on the couch tomorrow night and ordering pizza with the boyfriend? (Answer: THERE IS NO HARM AT ALL.)

Right.

The forth most popular NYR is enjoying life to the fullest. (Whatever that means). But I don’t see many people spending money on things that are actually fulfilling to them–yoga lessons, a backpacking trip to Nepal, or whatever. We seem way more inclined to spend on what makes us happy in the short term–i.e.: that back of chips you asked me to pass back there–rather than saving towards something more fulfilling in the long run.

I feel like if we sat down and made a list of what we’d actually like to do with our lives, and then spent some time, money, and energy on those things, we’d see much fewer grumpy people on the train every day.

In October 2012, three things happened:

1) I started a new job.

2) I moved out and got an apartment.

3) I started dating someone new.

Needless to say, October was kind of a mess for me. A high-energy, manically exciting mess. I’d gone for almost a year without making any sort of decisions–essentially, hitting the snooze button on life. In August and September, I was fed up with being a slug. So I broke up a long-term relationship and moved back home to The Parents. I was in shock, and at the same time completely electrified. I started about seven million things I’d been meaning to for a long time. I got to the top of a climbing wall for the first time since forth grade. I tried online dating. I started a new journal, and inspiration for new novels came trickling in. I swam, and ran, and walked and sung at the bus stop and felt so incredibly alive that I didn’t care who could hear me.

It feels really good to make changes.

I think this is why NYR’s hold so much hope.

They give this massive opportunity to make millions–billions–of changes. They tell you to stop stagnating, if you are, and to keep pressing on if you’re not. They give you a push. If you haven’t started, you’ll be rolling down the hill; if you’ve already begun, you’ll pick up speed.

You don’t have to wait for New Years to make a NYR, which is the cool thing. Make one in two weeks, or two months. No one’s really paying attention, anyway.

(Remember: Almost one quarter of resolution-makers never succeeded, and fail on their resolutions each year. And we still hold doors for them and all that.)

I am going to run a half-marathon in May, and do a triathalon in August. I’m going to cook more “real” food, and take painting lessons with my best friend.

We all want to do something with our lives.

And actually doing something is what seems to be the problem.

So get on that.

Cat Photo Friday

G’day, friends! I’m feeling a fat and acne-prone thanks to all this festive cheer floating around (and also, yesterday’s post was a kind of nasty). So I’m pretty sure we could use a little “Awwww!” this fine Friday.

Now, for some cats!

I saw this video (okay, it’s a video and not a photo, sue me) for the first time about two weeks ago–I think I was a little late hopping on the bandwagon. If you haven’t seen Death Metal Drum Cat, you should probably check him out.

Just found this one. “Cat Falls In Fish Tank.” Spoilers: I believe the title says it all.

It’s the last Friday of 2012–which is pretty cool. I hope you thoroughly enjoy it, and that you have an awesome Last Weekend Of 2012 as well. That’s all for now, folks!

Embarrassed To Be Human

I’ll start off by wishing everyone a (somewhat belated) Merry Christmas. I hope you’ve had a wonderful time with your family and friends and, truly and honestly, that you’re safe, happy and healthy wherever the season has taken you this year.

Sorry, folks. This is as joyous as we’re going to get today. In fact, we might just get a little ranty. I don’t like getting ranty on a regular basis, but I’m talking about something that’s really getting on my nerves.

Really. It’s not cool.

So if you’re not into reading a slightly angry, slightly ranty post this Thursday morning–no hard feelings. I’ll be posting some cat pictures tomorrow.

For those of you who are sticking around, let’s dive right in.

Unless you’ve been living in that aforementioned nuclear bunker over the past month,  you’ve heard about the god-awful shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary in Newtown, CT on December 14, 2012. I won’t get into the mechanics of it, because I’m sure you’ve heard your share of excruciating, heart-wrenching details regarding this tragedy.

So let’s skip that bit.

Here’s what’s important at this point: The killer used a Bushmaster automatic rifle. The thing looks like it belongs in a war zone.  In my opinion, this weapon has one use: To kill people. Lots of people. As quickly as possible. Why this is available for public consumption is beyond me, but I digress.

Gone are the days when boys and girls want puppies and bikes and slinkies under the tree. There’s a new trend on Twitter, this holiday season: tweet a picture of the gun Santa got you for Christmas.

What. I don’t even–WHAT?

How is this even okay? What would possess anyone to take a picture of themselves proudly sporting the very assault rifle used in a school massacre less than a month ago?

I heard about this on the radio today. In Canada, we’re prone to tweeting just how much we hate the color of the iPad Mum and Dad bought us. (For the record, if you are complaining about getting the WRONG COLOR of iPad this Christmas, maybe you should Google “First World Problems” and reflect a little on that one.) In America, the trends lean more towards posting photos of you-and-your-brand-spakin’-new-killing-machine. 

This is not a post about whether or not there are issues with gun control in the United States. This is not a political statement regarding the recent shootings in Connecticut or New York.

This is a post about tact. We seem to be losing our mind, as a human species. Somehow, we’ve forgotten that when we post something online, the entire world can see it–sometimes, it’s as close as a Google search.

I assume the undoubtedly splendid young woman in the photo above would not have looked straight into the eyes of the friends, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents of the victims of the Sandy Hook rampage and said:

“Cry me a river. You do not matter, and your family doesn’t either. What happened to you and the people you love, and the people in your community, is essentially inconsequential and unworthy of my attention. I don’t give two shits that you won’t get to spend Christmas with someone you love. Look at my sweet-ass gun. Thanks Santa.”

But by tweeting this picture? In my opinion, that’s exactly what she’s said.

And this makes me feel completely, entirely ashamed to be human. Maybe I’m being melodramatic. But to think I am a member of a species so ignorant makes my skin crawl.

Remember: Only you can save yourself from looking like an asshole. For goodness sake, think before you post, tweet, blog, yodel, whatever. You’re the product of billions of years of evolution. Act like it.

As I’m sure you’ve heard, the world is smaller than ever. We’re at arm’s length from everyone in our entire global community. You can give a hug, or a slap in the face.

The choice is entirely yours.

The Hobbit: Unexpected Awesome

If you haven’t been living in a nuclear bunker for the past several  months (and, hey, maybe you have been, what with all those “apocalypse” rumors floating around), you are probably pretty familiar with The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey. It’s the prequel to Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings, which was absolutely legend–wait for it, and I hope you’re not lactose intolerant because the second half of that word is–DAIRY. It’s based on the novel by J.R.R. Tolkien, the man whose brilliance in the fantasy world few can hope to touch. It’s the first story in the fantasy genre I’d heard about–ever. (Yes, even before Harry Potter. My mum is a bit of  a Tolkien nerd.)

I was pretty excited when I saw the first trailer for The Hobbit, a year-or-so ago. For the record, “pretty excited” may be an understatement. When the dwarves started singing, I had goosebumps over every facet of skin on my body. I may have nerdgasmed. I was, essentially, in geeky-girl heaven.

Then, I heard The Hobbit would be comprised of three movies. A sliver of my excitement morphed into dread (how the heck will they stretch this little book into such a massive, epically long trilogy?! Please pass me a paper bag into which I might hyperventilate).

I learned the movie would be project at the rate of 48 frames/second–as opposed to a regular 24. (Peter Jackson…wut r u doing…Peter Jackson…STAHP.)

I heard the initial reviews. At this point, I was kind of pretty scared.

I knew Howard Shore would be doing the soundtrack again, so I expected a few Lord of the Rings motifs thrown in with a solid new Hobbit theme that would stand on its own. So I knew, even if the movie was a terrible, embarrassing-to-watch sort of deal, I could always lay back, close my eyes, and listen to the music.

The Hobbit was definitely not terrible.

I saw it with my best friend, and we had many fangirl moments. We were overjoyed when the title came onscreen, accompanied by that beautiful, iconic melody Shore is known for. We were ecstatic to see Ian McKellen back as Gandalf–aged ever so slightly but  just as badass (if I had a quarter for every time Gandalf raced in to save the day, I’d have enough busfare to get home from work this afternoon). We fell madly in love with a breathtakingly handsome dwarf (Kili, played by Aidan Turner from BBC’s Being Human). We became almost violently invested in the hobbits, in Bilbo, (Martin Freeman, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy) and their quest.

Seeing this movie feels like hanging out with old friends after being apart for too long. It feels like meeting new friends, and loving them to pieces. If you are not smiling when you walk out of the theater–especially after hearing Song of the Lonely Mountains in the credits–something may be wrong with the muscles that make your smile happen.

It feels like a complete, thorough exploration of Middle Earth. It seems like Peter Jackson saw everything happening in his head while he read the book–playing out in a particular way, almost like a dream–and went out and made the movie exactly the way the he imagined it. Screw the rules. Screw what everyone thinks. This is my dream, and baby, and I will do whatever I want with it. 

I admire that.

But it isn’t all sunshine and roses. Sometimes, there was so much happening onscreen I wasn’t sure what I should be looking at. There is such an abundance of detail it is jarring, especially at first. The dwarves’ makeup is–almost?–apparent. There were a few scenes when it felt like I was watching someone play a video game. (These things can all be attributed to that 48 fps thing, I figure.)

It took an hour for Bilbo to leave the Shire, and I realized soon after that I hadn’t peed in awhile.

The plot moves slower than The Lord of the Rings (probably because there is less plot to work with–this is an adaptation of one book turned into three movies, instead of three into three after all).  But there is just so much exploration that I find it hard to fault The Hobbit on that. I’m a sucker for exploration: of characters, of a world, of life.

Walking out of that theatre, I felt like I’d been submerged in an entirely different world with scenery and characters so real you could smell them.

I was entirely, unexpectly, amazed.

Love, Reality, And Other Complicated Things

Last night, after the shenanigans of Father’s Day, the inhabitants of my household turned on the television.

There hasn’t been much on TV lately, due to the unfortunate summer hiatus of good television. But, lo and behold, we found a lovely little gem. Thanks, Shaw On Demand–without you, I wouldn’t have learned about CTV’s “Love in the Wild”.

If you haven’t heard of “Love in the Wild”:

1. You’re missing out.

2. Here’s how it works. There’s this beautiful little place in the Dominican Republic, chalk-full of huge bugs, snakes, gorgeous sunsets and more beaches than you can shake a stick at. (Think “Survivor”.) On this little island thing is an Oasis (i.e.: a five-star celebrity resort), some cabins (i.e.: normal house-things), a couple tents (i.e.: tents, sleeping bags, the works), and a “horrible little shack” (i.e.: a “primitive lean-to” that, honest to God, doesn’t look as bad as everyone makes it out to be).

There are lots of hidden cameras. (Think “Big Brother”.)

Add hot, douchebaggy men, and a multitude of slutty women. Tell them to fall in love and find The One. (Think “The Bachelor”.)

Make sure to emphasize their mortality in the game. (Don’t worry, host Jenny McCarthy takes care of that.)

Sit back and watch.

“Love in the Wild” makes relationships–and people in them–entirely disposable. Don’t like the guy/girl you’re with? Totally okay! Get to know someone else! Make out! Then, send ‘em home at the next elimination round i
The show emphasizes promiscuity. Boobs? Check. Got abs? A good jaw? You’re probably in a better spot than someone who doesn’t. The dating process is like being on a meat market. Choosing a partner is like shopping for a new handbag.f they don’t meet your expectations.The whole thing is a microcosm of our society, which is pretty depressing if you think about it. What goes on in “Love in the Wild” is probably what happens in most dating circles. The only thing with being on a reality show while in said dating circle is tensions are heightened. Also, everything happens super-fast.There’s this little psychological theory called Misattribution of Arousal, which points out that people often mistake what is arousing them.  For instance, two contestants on “In the Wild” could feel completely In Love. However: Cameras surround them, interviewers approach them every two-and-a-half minutes, and they’re always jumping off cliffs and stuff with their “one and only.”

It’s understandable that the blood might start pounding with quite spectacular efficiency. But this begs the question: Are the contestants actually aroused by their partners? Or are they feeling fear, for example, and unconsciously attributing the cause of the arousal to their partner? This might explain why so many dream couples off, say, “The Bachelor”, don’t make it in the real world for long.

I’d put my money on Misattribution Theory, here, folks. But that’s just me.

However, I believe this is what makes “Love in the Wild” so whole-heartedly entertaining. You absolutely cannot take it seriously if you don’t want to end up in a coma of depression by the end of the episode, wondering “Why am I even watching this in the first place?”

Actually, it’s quite satisfying to scream “WHAT A BITCH!” at a dumb blond who just ditched the nicest guy on the panel. Same goes for making eye contact with everyone in the room and reiterating the idiocy of the guy who slammed a handful of cake into his bedmate’s hair (true story).

It’s just wildly amusing. Ha ha. Get it? Wildly. Never mind.

The whole thing kind of reminds me of writing. Like, the savagery of it. Some people don’t like you, and they let you know it. Some people are tools about the whole process. Some people are just genuinely nice, want a good story, and if you have it, then they’ll have you (metaphorically).  Some guys spend a passionate night with you, and then leave you for some girl with a better boob job. (Sorry, I got carried away with that last one.)

Anyway, I’ve only watched two episodes of this “Love in the Wild” thing. But I keep looking for some underlying meaning, like I do with whatever I watch or read. Is it a commentary on civilization? The general mate-selecting process? Is it some twisted social experiment? Does it have any meaning at all?

Maybe yes. Maybe no. I’m leaning towards the latter, at this point in the viewing process.

But, just like with what we might first perceive as junk literature, film or art, we should probably give the thing a chance.

Because what if there is meaning? What if it could change our little corner of the world?

I guess we can only sit back and watch.

Happy Father’s Day! Have A Clip From “The Lion King”

Cat Photo Friday

Happy Friday. Congratulations: You have officially survived the week. In celebration, I am going to launch a BRAND NEW FEATURE called Cat Photo Friday! (Insert celebratory music here, maybe a circus march, some Katy Perry, or whatever you have in your iTunes library.)

On Cat Photo Friday, which will take place–wait for it–every Friday, I will post pictures of cats. Maybe pictures of my cat, some random person’s cat, maybe the odd cat video. I know: You’re probably getting almost too excited. Sorry if this excess excitement is causing any unexpected issues on your end, (i.e.: jumping up and down, loss of bladder control, concussions, etc.).

The reasoning behind Cat Photo Friday goes back to the first two sentences of this post: It’s Friday.  Serious and Important Things are not for Fridays. Cat photos, I think, are much better here.

The pictures this Friday are of my six-month-old kitten, Emrys (aka Emmy, Em, Kitten, Cat, Shithead). We got Emmy at the Edmonton Humane Society, which is a simply wonderful shelter, back in February, when he was about two months old. I almost wondered if he’d rather stay at the SPCA, with all his friends, because the enclosures are super nice and the cats seem–for the most part–to love it there.  These pictures are from his first day with us.

Emmy is a very friendly, somewhat stupid kitten. He hates being alone and will cry pitifully if you leave the room without him. These cries are enough to wrench out your heart and grind it through a blender.

Please enjoy.

 

On that note, I hope you have a lovely weekend! I’ll see you on Monday.

-L