Tuesday, April 05, 2005

Frivolity. I really can't stand electronics that make a lot of noise, like computers with loud fans, or stereos that you can't leave on while you're sleeping because they have a soft hum that says "I'm still on. Play the Ella CD again". I wish that all super-large newspaper headlines (like those announcing a major disaster or world event) just said "OH NO!"...because that is what they want you to think when you read them, anyhow. How did I end up feeling differently about politics than everyone else in my family? I don't think my parents did anything weird to me to create the dichotomy. Why do some dryer loads dry in 45 minutes, and others take two hours? You end up not being able to toss in the still-wet jeans that you want to wear, because your towels insist on staying clammy FOREVER. Kiefer Sutherland scares the crap out of me. Why do rich people buy clothes that are 'distressed'? Is there something they want to tell us, but don't know how? I really love snow and cold....like the kind of cold where your eyelashes frost shut. It just feels like everything bad is frozen up and the air is finally clean and clear. I have ten gray hairs, and I'm not even forty yet. Men who wear low-rise jeans and knitted caps are disconcerting, but I can't quite put my finger on why...I think it has something to do with Enrique Iglesias. Whenever I hold a baby, people tell me it "looks natural", but I always fear this is because I appear to be working on losing post-pregnancy weight. I freak out if I think someone has been mean to my mother. She can damn well take care of herself, but for some reason or other, I just go rabid at the thought of her feelings being hurt (except by me). I wish my favourite perfume was not called Angel. It just seems like false advertising. When my friends and I go out, I think it disturbs people who don't know us that we all have to try one another's drinks. If goats eat everything without discernment, why would I want to eat their cheese? That seems unwise to me.  I love French fries, Japanese pottery, Spanish guitar, Italian sheets and Chinese slippers. I can't believe how many nicknames there are for private parts, but then again, I can. I've broken my nose, most of my fingers, and most of my toes, but never an arm or a leg; I'm strictly a small-appendage-snapper. I love writing so moving that it gives me chills, but I usually get bored before I get chills, and roll my eyes and close the book. I have laughed so hard that I have wet myself, pulled a muscle and thrown up (but those were different days). I hate weird diets that make people talk endlessly about what they can, and cannot eat. I also hate excercise programs that make your regimen so complex that you get confused about what you are supposed to be doing on any given day. I hate more than anything when tiny, frenetic people who eat only lettuce leaves and Diet Coke tell you that they are "soooooo bloated". I love a good sunset better than I like a sunrise. The smell of Hawaiian Tropic Sun Oil is my personal sedative. I hate it when people get mindlessly rude when they enter into ideological debate, because they just end up sounding stupid, even if they were right to start with.  I love the smell of lemons, pine, cinnamon, mangoes, coconut, lavender, clean men, and new cars. I have rocked enough children to sleep that I think I could have enough to spread out over two years, if I got to rock each one on consecutive nights. That's 700+ babies.  I think I'm actually a pretty good dancer. I would like to create a software program that would discover every internet personals ad ever created, and generate a mass email to all those individuals that says, "Yeah, right." I really love BBQ'ed fish. How do they put the lotion in the Kleenex, and why must they call it 'impregnating'?    8:59:41 PM    build me up, buttercup... [] The Fashion Rant. Warning: Unabashed shallowness ahead, with faint hints of empowerment. A reprint from my old blog, to this new one! It had to happen. It's actually overdue. I read Seventeen magazine when I was 11, I read Vogue when I was 14, and moved onto W at 18. Now I just read everything that has pictures of people in nice clothes. I love things of fashion, things of design. I don't necessarily have the body to pull off Versace, the cool to pull off Sander, or the weirdness to pull off Chalayan, but that doesn't mean I can't look good. So why wouldn't fashion show up in my blog? I'm not an edgy, air-kissing, Hermes-bag-collecting Runway Nazi, though I do enjoy Armani, Kors, Jacobs, Von Furstenberg, and Lauren.  Rather, I just like beautiful stuff (at whatever price...money doesn't buy class), and stuff that makes sense. And if you hadn't noticed, fashion doesn't always make sense. People err consistently on the side of total ignorance of, or total slavery to that airy-fairy concept we call 'style'. Neither extreme end of the continuum leaves anyone looking terribly good. My mission in life is to make everyone both comfortable and gorgeous. Can it be done? YES. How? By reading everything below, and believing it to be absolute truth. I can save you. I really can. Let it begin today. Disclaimer: If you are a) into avant garde fashion, and think normalcy is for 'chickens'; b) a fashion anarchist who believes rules are just another way 'the man' is keeping you down; or c) of the impression that a certain 'je ne sais quois' allows you to wear what you want, when you want, and pull it off with style, then this blog post may not be for you. Because a) you look like a nutbar; b) 'the man' likes it when you look bad, because no one takes you seriously; and c) you're not Bjork. You may not be in a place to accept these realities yet. I welcome you to return when you're ready to stop wearing those unfortunate pants. Essential Truths: 1. Everyone already knows what size you are. There's no use trying to hide it, honey. Why should you hide it? Just be it. Wrapping the underwear equivalent of a Tensor bandage around your hips isn't going to fool anyone into thinking that you're Kate Moss, in the same way that stuffing your bra with oil, water, or gel (or marshmallow or Play-Doh, for that matter) isn't going to convince anyone that you're Anna Nicole Smith. Putting on a freaking bathing suit is not going to tip anyone off that you're not really a size 0, but an 18. They already know. Revel in the body you were given by genetics, activity, or McDonalds. Buy for your size. And stop stressing. Confidence is a better aphrodesiac than subterfuge, anyday. 2. Showing everything is bad. Showing nothing is bad. Seek Balance. Your long, black, stretchy, favourite outfit/tunic/psuedo-burqua is not as universally flattering as you believe it to be. You have lovely collarbones and nice calves, so can we see them, please? Conversely, I have no interest in seeing your buttcrack, your sideboob, or your hipbones in that unfabulous J. Lo ensemble. Put those parts away for now, and take them out to show your loved ones at another time. 3. You must not wear clothing from the decade in which you were a teenager. For me, this means I need not hearken back with nostalgia to Day Glo and legwarmers. For you, that might mean no bellbottoms or tie-dye. For another person, it might mean that 'Vintage' just makes you look like your high school yearbook photo. It's good to let go, and embrace new things. Like that guy that just started working in the office downstairs. But I digress. 4. Knock it off with the knockoffs. It's good to invest in a few items of distinct quality rather than 80 trendy little garments. Your slavish devotion to the 'latest thing' ( especially via the constant aquisition of imitation designer items) is going to leave you not only perpetually just behind the times, but always with the funny feeling that you've been had. A few trendy items balanced against a few classic items leaves you looking current, without looking straight-to-video, like Paris Hilton. The 'Simple Life', indeed! 5. Celebrities wear scary things that are always a snap or zipper away from sure tragedy. Which is why, just because you saw it on Cameron, doesn't mean you should try it. The breezy effect created by a team of stylists and a portable wind machine is not one you can duplicate at home. And ugly is ugly, even when it's stretched across a pretty girl. So find what's good for you, and enjoy it. Let the millionaires be the fashion victims...they can afford therapy when they see the photos in the tabloids. Invest in: Good undies: It doesn't matter how lovely the wallpaper is, if the drywall is falling apart. Eventually, everything just looks like a mess, and hangs totally wrong. In the same way, what you wear 'under there' helps you avoid an 'over scare'. Thongs are great for bypassing panty lines, but you're not really fooling anyone when your pants are creeping down, and your fire-engine red g-string is creeping up. Boxers are freeing and airy, but perhaps not the best choice for 'keeping the chickens in the henhouse' when you are wearing similarily breezy shorts or pants. A good bra can make the rest of you look fabulous, ladies, and a bad bra can make you look as though you're dealing with swelling from a rib injury. As in relationships, make sure what is closest to you makes you feel good, and supports you properly. Otherwise....adios! A happy pair of jeans: There is a pair of jeans out there for everyone. The Gap would have you believe that the 1,001 kinds that they sell meet your needs, but there are more out there. Try them on. See if they make your butt sing. Make sure they don't ride up so that we can see your socks. Make sure that they don't look airbrushed on, as though you were Demi Moore on the cover of Vanity Fair, or so saggy that even 50 Cent gestures for you to pull them back up over your ass. Everyone can wear jeans, and they are truly the only item you can really dress up or down, and go anywhere. Even your own wedding....just ask Britney. Actually don't ask Britney. She's too busy accessorizing with snakes, and Colin Farrell. A signature piece. Here is your moment, 'je ne sais quoi' people. Pick something you love to be your emblem of style. A great coat. A fabulously absurd pair of shoes. A scarf that brings out your eyes. Not a vial of blood on a chain; leave that to Billy Bob and Angelina. Pair your unique find with something simple and lovely, and....VOILA! You're Audrey Hepburn, or Debbie Harry, or (insert your style icon here). Avoid Like The Plague:    Whatever you just saw Christina Aguilera wear. In fact, take notes of everything she puts on, and carry that with you when you shop. Compare what you've just taken to try on against the points on that list. If you need a gallon of self-tanner and fake eyelashes to pull something off, it's probably not worth the effort. Boys, this goes for you, too, unless your name is Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. That's pretty simple, hey? Oh WAIT....I can't forget: -try not to overuse white socks -take a pass on pleats in your pants -don't pierce over major veins -don't wear bias-cut silk over 'bodyshapers' undies -don't make a coat out of it, if it went through your windshield.  AND -A snazzy vest does not an outfit improve. Essentially, the secret to style is loving your body without dangling it at us all the time, and choosing clothes that reveal your classiest self, not your history of trend victimization. You're gorgeous, you know. And it's true, you will be no matter what you wear, if you love yourself, and carry yourself with respect. But honey....even self-love doesn't make acid wash okay. 4:01:09 PM    build me up, buttercup... [] Now On DVD! Yes, I know I'm not quite an early Scorcese film, and the Criterion Collection isn't actually reprinting my old blog in letterbox format. I did want to add a few old things to this web address, though, to effectively centralize the work I have spread out all over the web. Read and enjoy...hits from my old Salon Blog! Enough Of The Pollyanna Crap... If you're ever inclined to read my blog, you might note that I try my best to be positive about things...when possible, that is. Even in the midst of romantic crisis, or when recalling some semi-tragedy that has occurred in my life, I want to at least head in the direction of optimism. Mostly this just means making fun of myself. There are things in life that you can't put a positive slant on, however. We all know this to be true. Even Miss Meg Of The Benevolent Blogcabin has to admit there are some things that downright drive her insane or piss her off. I'm not talking war, poverty, child exploitation, racism, ignorance...those things should piss everyone off, and everyone should take action accordingly to express their discontent in a peaceable and productive manner (as in volunteering or lobbying, not just bitching). I'm talking about the little stupid things that occur daily that make me want to crawl out of my skin. I am a petty girl. For example: *I hate fax machines. I hate the double-paper-grabbing, text-smearing, ill-reading boxes of crappy technology that they are. I hate that whenever I try and send one, it makes a different noise that no one can explain. I hate that whenever I receive one, all of two words are dechiperable. Once, I had two minutes left to fax something to another business before it closed. When I loaded in my paper, the sides and back of the fax machine simply popped off, and it made a loud screeching noise like a dying eagle. I wept, I shook my fist, I lay prostrate...I missed the deadline. I don't get them, I don't like them, I avoid them. Down with faxes. *Weird Windows Error Messages. Spools are for knitting! How can my computer have a knitting error? And why is everything 'FATAL'? It's not like I'm hooked up to my PC for life support. Stop with all the drama! I hate how your computer has to ground to a crashing halt, and then it says "press any key to continue". Just like nothing happened. Well, couldn't it have just continued without asking me? I never would have known! Ignorance is bliss. *Slow walkers who pause on the sidewalk, or in the mall, without paying attention to anything around them. Okay, old people, children, and the disabled are allowed to go at whatever pace they like. They get full dispensation. Anyone else...what the hell are you doing? Can you not move to the side when you pause to answer your phone/check in your bag/talk to your friend/stare into space/sip your damn coffee/pull your jeans back up over your thong? I am usually going somewhere at a fairly rapid clip, and I try not to become a living obstruction to others. Maybe it's just a byproduct of living in a tourist-happy city, or maybe everyone else is struggling with increased gravitational pull, but people in my city cannot walk four paces without stopping. Unless they're running, and then they become... *Judgemental exercisers. You know the ones I mean. The people who run past you, and look back disdainfully at you while you amble at a less hectic clip. The people on rollerblades who do little circles around you because they can. The people on bikes who buzz you on the sidewalk, even though they are supposed to be on the road. You don't know if I've been to the gym today, people, so why assume that I haven't just because I'm not wearing Nike? Their tight little pants, their perky ponytails, their jerseys, their super runners, their Dri-Fit-Gore-Tex-Micro-Fleece-Hi-Stretch-Lo-Abrasion-Smooth-Max-Cooling-Warming-Range-Of-Motion-Extra-Support whatevers.....they all need to take themselves a little less seriously. Everyone everywhere now seems to look like they are on their way to the gym, even in the lineup at McDonald's....OR, they are..... *People who are dressed for clubbing, at 9 am. What is it with the invasion of the workplace camis and hiphuggers? Is every single environment on earth now designated a pick-up zone? I have seen women wearing so much makeup in the daylight that you think they stumbled out the wrong door from their theatre dressing rooms. And what is with the cleavage? We all want to look our best, but I'm not so certain we need to look at your breasts. The only thing that's worse are the exercise-nightlife hybrids....women in lounge gear with full makeup and hair. This is totally a Hollywood thing, but very few of us actually live in Hollywood. I'm all for showing off the body you have, but your pants shouldn't be so tight I can make out your veins. *Adult Contemporary Stations. How many quixotic combinations of Elton John, Celine Dion, Mariah Carey, Kenny G and John Tesh can play out in the course of a day? Ask the people who program for these stations! Occasionally they throw in a song they deem "new", but then it's something from the Backstreet Boys or Enrique Iglesias. Make it stop! The whole goal of these outfits is to offer friendly, nonthreatening, musically-benign sounds to the masses. Why? To relax us at work? To make our lives easier? NO! They want to lull us to sleep in our offices, in elevators, in malls, in doctors offices, in traffic....everywhere! Does anyone else smell a conspiracy theory? What is being done to us while we sing along distractedly with "My Heart Will Go On"? Or worse yet, "Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me" (Live, With George Michael) *People with "/" in their job title. You know the ones...model/actresses, actor/dancers, actor/directors, singer/actresses, athlete/rappers, popstar/suspected criminals. Why do you have to have everything you've ever done squished after your name? Can't we come up with a generic title for these people....entertainment multitaskers? Entertainer-of-all-trades? Or perhaps we could combine words, and invent new ways of expressing their diverse talents. Mactresses? Rapthetes? Diractors? *Axl Rose being lauded in any way shape or form. This is awfully specific, I know. But I've NEVER understood why a skinny, skanky man with a bad attitude reaps such unbelievable success in life (Iggy Pop and Mick Jagger notwithstanding). Little fan riots happen in his wake. Frankly, if you came upon someone who looked like Axl in an alleyway, you would leave the alleyway. For some reason, however, people pay money to watch his weak little ass shake it (or not show up to shake it) on a stage. I remember that I sat behind a guy in my math class in grade eight who had an "Appetite For Destruction" concert shirt that featured a graphic of a girl lying against a wall with her panties around her ankles, apparently unconscious. I had to look at that picture the entire class, most classes. He was 13. I was 13. Are you kidding me?  *Air quoters. They are everywhere, highlighting special terms and concepts for us, and sarcastically crooking their fingers in displeasure at statements others have made. It's not so much the air quoting, but the face everyone seems to make when they do it...kind of manic and bobble-eyed, as though their eyes must finish the job that their index and middle fingers started. Scary. *Plethoras of home re-decorating shows. Trading Spaces.While You Were Out. Decorating Challenge. In A Fix. Facelift. Clean Sweep. Can we not get enough of seeing nice people watch their homes being turned into Vegas-tacky theme palaces? Does anyone really think stapling yards of cheap fabric to walls makes the space 'brighter'? Can anyone else vouch for their versions of 'art'? I know these people sign contracts, but I don't know that  $1500 dollars worth of crappy renos is worth it enough not to totally walk away when someone begins screwing paint cans to your ceiling. Ahhhhhh! Time Wasting 2.0 I'm a busy person (hence no blogging of late). I cannot deny it. My days are sometimes packed far too full, and I end up wanting to squirm free of all my responsibilities and hindrances and run into the woods like Thoreau. This is not to say, however, that all my pursuits are defensible, and that I use every second as I should. Just because I'm occupied doesn't mean that I'm occupied gainfully. Sometimes, I'm on MSN. Instant messaging, like all instant things, purports to be a time-saver, a fuss-minimizer....a veritable communications accelerator. But instant messaging, like all things computer-related, eventually ends up obsessing you, and sucking your life dry of hours at a time. And like instant noodles, it can leave you with a completely weird taste in your mouth. I have contact lists on both my IM programs that contain family, close friends, acquaintences, and former staff members of mine. I officially use IM for talking to the staff who wish to keep in touch with my organization, for talking to far-flung friends, and for daily check-ins with my family. I even use IM in the office, as a sort of intercom system, rather than our phone set-up. It seems more private, and less disturbing to the coworkers in our open-plan setting. All of these uses are the kind of uses that AOL and MSN glowingly describe  in ads to promote their products. In these moments, I am the smiling girl in the online ad, clicking her way to meaningful connection.  What they don't reveal is the stupider side of instant messaging: why a 29 year old woman with an English honours degree (who works in the field of recreation, no less!) sits at her desk, and types "ZZZZZZZ" to a coworker not six feet away. Not only that, but eventually conferences in another coworker not five feet away, and says to both, "Ummm....did you guys bring lunch today?". Clearly, the efficiency quotient of the software has become watered down by my sheer need for endless, at-my-fingertips distraction. After I've been typing a report, or answering emails, or designing a newsletter, or crunching numbers for an hour, I will look and see who is online. I will take five minutes that I could have spent doing yoga or eating nutritious grains, and type about nothing at all to someone who is either in dire need of avoiding distraction, or desires it with the same fervor that I do. How else to explain the following: meg: heyyyy meg's friend: what up? meg: nah much. choo? meg's friend: just doing stuff. fried like KFC. meg: dude. aight. i should get back to work. meg's friend: ya! slacker! meg: shut up. i am so busy. Riiiiiight. Just as bored secretaries used to spend time doing their nails and gossiping on the phone, so have we taken vapid conversation to a whole new cyber level. We've developed our technology to the point where we say little or nothing with pretty fonts, annoying noises, and yellow-faced, angst-filled emoticons. Now, adults ideally use basic grammatical structure when they IM. When I talk with teens online, though, I don't have a clue what they're saying: meg: hi sweetie! are you coming in for your interview? teen: (some random stream of emoticons with a clock, a rose, a blushing face, and a sheep) meg: oh....does that mean yes? teen: ROTFL. meg: uh....does THAT mean yes? teen: URAQTPA2T!!! LMAO!!! meg: Okay, I'm gonna go now. teen: CYA! TTFN! LYF! Essentially, what was created to make us a more efficient society has yet again done what all electronic innovation eventually does: shown us new ways to waste time, created further abandonment of social graces, and widened the generation gap. So why do I stick with my IM? Without IM, I would not have the pleasure of watching my dad mistype words and claim his typos as "eurospellings". Without IM, I would never recieve random links from my friend Tom....some of which have gotten me through some hard days, like that "Smack The Pingu" game (602.5....eat my dust!). Without IM, I would not get to talk to my friend Kaida in Cambodia very often at all. Without IM, I wouldn't be able to get ahold of anyone ages 14-17. And without IM, I wouldn't be able to read the quickly-sent frustrations of my friends in seconds flat, and answer them with a totally sincere: "I love you....thinking of you.". I can't truly defend my messaging habit, but I'm not giving it up. Like instant coffee, it's cheap and dirty, but it sure works when you need a pick-me-up. 3:57:58 PM    build me up, buttercup... []

© Copyright 2005 Meg Fowler. Last update: 5/1/2005; 1:58:56 PM.