Tuesday, February 24, 2009

At night

At night, the corners of my room disappear. In their stead the ceiling [balloons up

into darkness to an uncertain infinity. Objects have no edges as [parents

snore tirelessly. Dimensions, blindness, time, and darkness stretch [on –

the limitless horizon and possibility of night. The side of my bookcase [gets lost

in the wall, books queue endlessly, mired and waiting. The floor, the [piles

of clothes, the furniture become a natural landscape. Here, in this [world, I cannot read

the words I write, text is black on black, words are but movements, [momentary, lost. Infinity

is punctuated by round holes where light once used to be.

Monday, February 23, 2009

The Oscars: The Good and The Bad

Some quick moments, the highs and lows of the night... The Oscars started off classy in their radiant new home, but bumbling presentations, awry musical compilations, and long-winded montages weighed the awards down. In the end however, some touching moments, eloquent Actor presentations and a few good jokes redeemed the bad touches. Can you ever really tarnish the glamour and allure of Hollywood?

Kate Winslet trades her shampoo bottle for an Oscar, and finds her whistling father.

Jessica Biels unfortunately fails to hide an extra yard of fabric from her dress.

The eloquent quints of past best (supporting) actor winners having one-on-one monologues to the nominees.

Sophia Loren pulls off hooker/bride-of-frankenstein/tanning-salon-junkie perfectly.

Slumdog Millionaire sweeps the Oscars.

Slumdog cinematographer becomes a slumdog himself and wears white Crocs to the Oscars. Classy, real classy.

Hugh Jackman charmed us with his pipes and his quips at the beginning of the show, but otherwise should have shelved it. He should have veto'd that medley from hell...

Penelope Cruz stuns us with a 60-year-old vintage Blamain gown.

Meryl Streep and her daughter go recession-chic (make that recession-ick) with their monochrome uninteresting dresses.

Mickey Rourke rocks out the Jean-Paul Gaultier.

Tina Fey and Steve Martin give us a barrel of laughs, and more laughs, and more laughs.
Quote: "someone once said to write is to live forever. the man who said that is now dead."

The elegant brand-spanking-new Oscar set.

God bless the Japanese, they can't speak English, but they can make films. And are oh so thankful. Arigato.

Heath Ledger's family give an eloquent and articulate trio of acceptance remarks.

Queen Latifah comes out with a surprise: a beautiful ballad to accompany the industry's fallen.

Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt are officially the hottest losers ever.

Angelina keeps it simple with a sleek black dress and dazzling emerald jewelry.

Will Smith flubs (outSOUNDing...) and throws out a "stick of dynamite that goes boom"

Slumdog cutiepies make it from India and share their infectious smiles (along with Director Danny Boyle's) on the stage at the conclusion of the evening.

Those movie montages (except for documentary) were just a waste of my time.

Sarah Jessica Parker and Daniel Craig should have gone over the script before presenting their trio of awards. Train wreck.

Previews of the films for 2009, nice ending touch.

Sean Penn addressing Hollywood for what they are: commy homo-loving son-of-a-guns

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Monday, February 16, 2009

a moment of transfixion in yoga class

Fold your thumb and press it to the face of your palm
wrap your other fingers, from index to pinkie, around it
close, compress, and press into line

reverse, and let your fingers blossom for your palm to breathe

Sunday, February 15, 2009

power of pop

lately, i've come to realize more and more how much individual is subsumed in a larger body. let me try and explain. each of us walks around leading our lives, writing our stories, spinning at the center of our own universes. we believe ourselves to be special, unique. and we are. that is fact. no one has lived our lives, no one has our network of connections, no one has our exact mixture of personality traits and pitfalls.

at the same time though, your opinions, whether they be about TV shows, political decisions, current events or red-carpet attire, are invariably shared by others. Others will have witty, hilarious, wry or clever comments. Who is heard depends on who is listening (your friends on facebook...), or who is holding your soapbox (...or the NYT, perhaps?).

beyond the fact of individual fame depending on networks, there is also a power in the masses, the devotees of pop culture. last night, i went to a So You Think You Can Dance Canada concert, showcasing the top ten favorite dancers of the Canadian people. I was part of a mass of people, spread across a number of demographic groups (although predominantly young and female).

What I appreciated most about the night was the fact that when dances of strong emotional value or high technical finesse concluded, the crowd knew it had seen a great display of honesty or talent. And they stood, and they clapped. And I stood and I clapped. And I realized a certain complicity. And then and there, I realized the power of pop culture.

Monday, February 09, 2009

turn around

last night, a return, Toronto to Montreal.
today, a departure, Montreal to New York.
can you say turnaround?

part of my vow for 2009, besides putting myself in more social situations that make me feel uncomfortable, was to travel more. here we have a crash coincidence of a short weekend jaunt and a 4-day business trip.

it's strange to unpack and repack in less than 24-hours.

your roots don't sink down, your roots are always in you.

Toronto surprised me. Since birth, being a Montrealer, it was accepted that I just did not like Toronto.

A long history of rivalry told me so.

But I found Toronto buzzing with life, fun and funky, and terribly efficient.

I caught up with old friends from 2, 3, and 7 years passed. I found some new faces, I discovered new places.

I was charmed by the funky artsy life that exists along Queen Street West. Toronto's edgy architecture, from the new addition of the ROM devouring the old building, to the playful design of Frank Gehry's AGO, to the positively wild OCAD (black and white, up in the sky).

Everywhere I traveled there was a woman's voice, automated, a constant guide. Next stop Spadina. I think I fell in love with the font in the subway.

And now, a wrestling match with suitcases
[wrestling matching suit cases].

Excitement simmers.

Wednesday, February 04, 2009


i feel like i am reaching in to the drain. first plunging my hand into the opaque water. then grabbing at mass of hair (etc.) to just get the words out.

i have moments, just before sleeping, when wisps of poetry appear, like the first strands of cotton candy. but i fall asleep before i can get a pen and collect.

lately it's been apathy. it's been thinking "but who cares?" and "who will read and know?" and tonight i stepped back and brushed those questions aside.

or started sweeping.

as crude and crass and asinine as it sounds, it was 19-year-old Taylor Swift's words from her interview tonight with Katie Couric plucked a chord with me: "i think I fell in love with words first..."

i've always loved words. rested on a phrase, savored a poem.

and time goes on.

and i need to stop looking for timeless and, instead, look for ephemeral, find words that dissolve, holding just a moment, enough to mirror life.

and so i resolve, once again, to keep writing.