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| Thursday, September 29, 2005 |
| After-School Midnight Activity: Party Prep |
Around midnight tonight, Brie and I started making "conversation" posters for the Circa 1995 party that we're holding tomorrow night.
Brie's posters are amazing, down to the last ying-yang.
Mine look like a 11-year-old made them. Of course, this was done purely for artistic merit, since I was eleven in 1995. Ooooh. Can you see the depth and thought I put into my work now?
Yah, that's what I thought.
Katrina adds her contribution to our "What do you remember. . . circa 1995?" poster.
My memory? "I got my first bra- which I refused to wear. Mainly because I was flat until I was 18."
The "before" poster. Hopefully, I'll remember to take an "after" picture before we rip the poster down during post-party clean-up.
It might be a couple of days until I get the party pictures posted, because Mike is visiting me from Alberta for the week.
So, in the interim, what do you remember from 1995? |
posted by Jess at 11:46 PM | Permalink |
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| Wednesday, September 28, 2005 |
| Mansion, Apartment, Shack or House? |
Apparently I'm going to be an apartment-dwelling gynecologist.
This game is definitely circa 1995 for me. It reminds me of long hours spent in the gym at intramurals, trying to avoid both teacher's glares and whatever type of ball they were trying to force me to play with. I was more interested in my future. A future that didn't involve jerseys made of mesh, or the pressure in the locker room to wear a bra when I was flat-chested, or 11-year-old boys making fun of me because I couldn't walk without running into a wall, let alone put a ball in a net.
So in celebration of what an unatheletic, undeveloped, proud geek I was, I encourage you all to play a game of MASH. |
| posted by Jess at 11:43 PM | Permalink |
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| Tuesday, September 27, 2005 |
| Raise your hand if you love fake appendages! |
Oh, I do! I do!
However, I can't deny that I feel kind of ridiculous. Like a Barbie. A very glamorous, small-chested Barbie, with a digital camera as my action figure accessory. "Totally Hair Barbie" always was my favourite.
I mean, I've never even worn fake nails before, and I only wear false eyelashes on Halloween. Yet, here I am, sporting a full head of human hair, most of which I did not grow myself. Thank you mystery Japanese girl(s)!
Besides, what am I going to tell people? I can't really attribute a sudden full head of thick, long hair to puberty. I suppose it's plausible that those cobbler elves that fix shoes in the middle of the night may have taken up hairdressing. . .
. . .after all, are shoes even really "cobbled" anymore? |
| posted by Jess at 2:31 PM | Permalink |
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| Monday, September 26, 2005 |
| A Rant for the Elitist Masses |
That’s right. You. You, as in, the collective sphere of elitists who are invariably reading this. An oxymoron, you think? Well, of course that is what you would think. You would challenge my argument simply by the title, without reading the reasoning. And that is the point alone.
Do you see my point already?
No, of course you don’t, because you are conditioned to disagree with everything. You are conditioned to hate everything, because each and every one of you is a unique fucking snowflake who acts as a collective blizzarding mass.
It’s more of a liability for me to admit that I like Jack Johnson (which I do) than, let’s say, Craig David (which I do). Why? Well, Craig David is blatantly uncool*, which instantly renders him likeable. My love of Craig David could be reduced to a quirky penchant for catchy pop dance songs that contain such lyrics as, “I’m not a man to play around, oooh baby.” Whereas, Jack Johnson is on the verge of being cool. As in he was, let’s say, two years ago. And now that his music appeals to the mass audiences, he is rendered instantly unlikable.
I was telling a story the other night about an interaction I had at the Jack Johnson concert when a new male acquaintance interjected snottily, “Well, that explains it.”
I stopped my story, “What?”
“Well, you were at a Jack Johnson show. It explains a lot.”
“I like Jack Johnson.”
“I’m not a fan. The song they play on the radio is annoying. He has no musical credibility.”
We have an interesting example here, because the male in question:
1) obviously hasn’t listened to any of Jack Johnson’s music apart from a radio single (although, I must note, I agree the latest album kind of sucks)
2) has based his opinion solely on one song
3) has probably chosen to side with this opinion because liking Jack Johnson right now is decidedly uncool
4) yet, the male in question readily admits he listens to mainstream radio.
My response? “I don’t listen to the radio.” (And to clarify, I don’t listen to the radio because I own a large CD collection and no radio, not because I’m on the current neo-luddite “I hate everything that involves technology, but everyday I go home and talk through the mask of msn” trend that is growing in popularity right now.)
Oh, but oh- don’t fool yourself into thinking this only applies to music. This applies to theologies, politics, ideologies, nonsensical conversations about inanimate objects. Tonight I was informed by my roommates that bananas are “in”. However, if you dare discuss that particular fruit two months from now, prepare yourself for the ramifications! No, two months from now teapots will be the hot shit.
“That shit is teapot.”
Wait, now I’m infringing upon Mark’s territory.
I can reference albatrosses at length at social gatherings, only because the subject will never be cool, and is therefore at the height of coolness. Who would’ve thought I’d be so hip, so edgy?
Another example: Vice magazine. Why do people suddenly hate Vice magazine? Well, it’s so hip that it makes fun of its readership’s alleged coolness, rendering it incredibly unhip. (Vice is instantly cool for this reason, since they hate everything. And hating stuff is cool. But since they acknowledge that they hate everything, does this make them uncool? I’m not sure. It might change next week.)
Some things are popular for a reason. Shaving/grooming your genitals is popular for one very distinct reason, which I don't think needs to be elaborated upon here.
The only thing that is popular right now is hating things (even if that thing is pubic hair). You’re only cool if you hate everything. Remember that stoner kid from high school wearing the Marilyn Manson t-shirt and playing Dungeons and Dragons all day, and working on his ‘stache? Well, he’s the coolest thing around because not only does he hate everything, but he also doesn’t give a shit. He wins by default. He’s so inherently uncool, that he’s cool again. But the moment that it’s acknowledged that he’s ridiculously cool, his cool credibility is instantly lost.
We live in a society that values originality. We live in a society that values impossibility. Originality is impossible. As soon as one person decides something is cool, others will follow. And as soon as a second person jumps on the bandwagon, that cool thing is immediately uncool.
After examining all of this, weighing the evidence and still disagreeing with me, I have one final question for you:
How else can you explain last year’s trucker hats?
I am not a vegetarian. I shop at Goodwill because I’m poor, not because it’s trendy. I believe that owning music for posterity reasons is important and brings lasting happiness. I don’t know how to use a Mac computer. I like pirates and parrots (but right now, mainly parrots). I haven’t quite jumped on the robot or ninja bandwagon (which are both very cool right now) but I’m working on it. Instead, I think about elephants a lot. I never liked boy bands, even when I was in grade eight and all my girlfriends fantasized about Nick and Howie and Brian at sleepovers. I buy chai tea in concentrate and drink it with cold milk. I don’t have any hearts or frogs tattooed on my body, although I will admit to a small black star on my hip. I regularly dance around my room in my skivvies. I know how to play ‘Magic: The Gathering’ but I have never smoked pot. I was straight edge but never drew thick black lines across my hands. I keep a blog, even though I have been told that blogs (with the exception of the politically orientated ones) are a truly narcissistic act and worthless. The only three things in life I excel at (in no particular order) are: jigsaw puzzles, hula-hooping, and Scrabble. I’m moderately okay at cribbage and sometimes writing.
I don’t hate many things.
I’m exhausted, I’m tired. I’m tired of defending my ideas, my beliefs, my music, my friends, just because they/it/she isn’t cool enough. I want to listen to Jack Johnson and drink tea and play Scrabble in bed. I want to wear slippers knit by church ladies, and lie around in my underwear all day and cuddle.
Because cuddling never goes out of style.**
*My usage of the adjective “cool” is decidedly uncool at this point in time. Awesome is a better adjective at our current place in history, which is exactly why I chose to use the word “cool” throughout this rant. However, I just couldn’t bring myself to use the word “sweet.”
**However, in the previous two years, cuddling did become abnormally popular. This trend was marked by the creation of New York cuddling parties. Sad, but true fact. The elitists even claimed cuddling as their own for a brief time. Also, I’ve noticed a surplus of “I love spooning” t-shirts as of late. What will the next popular trend be? Foot rubs? Back rubs? What other secret pleasures could the masses possibly decide to ruin and monopolize on? There is money to be made here. |
| posted by Jess at 11:42 PM | Permalink |
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| This isn't worth remembering. |
My awesome hair. . .
. . and Brie's awesome ass.
Coming soon: China's Circa 1995 Party |
| posted by Jess at 9:27 PM | Permalink |
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| Thursday, September 22, 2005 |
| Memories Deferred |
I've been reduced to writing jotted notes on scraps of paper, later transferring them to post-it notes, and then putting the post-it notes in my journal in hopes that at some point I'll be able to sit down and write some concrete thoughts for myself.
Which probably explains why I haven't written any thoughts for you. |
| posted by Jess at 12:03 AM | Permalink |
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| Be that animal! |
On Thursday night, all the residents of China headed to the Ram in the Rye for pub night.
Waiting in line.
I'm really good at parties, but I'm not very good at line-ups.
I'm also good at imitating a 15-year-old with bloodshot eyes.
Courtney.
Me.
Brie.
Katrina.
And Sasha, who somehow managed to look like she just completed a romantic tryst prior to posing for this picture.
Friday, Sasha pleaded with me to go with her to the Royal Ontario Museum (ROM). I had been at job training all day (after consuming one too many beers at the Ram the previous night), and had to trek through the pouring rain home on more than one occassion. Needless to say, I was exhausted, and in no mood to go to the museum.
However, after she presented a very convincing argument pointing out that the party we were headed to later in the night was in that direction anyways, I found myself tagging along with her. I tried to convince myself the experience would be fun an enlightening.
Then, for 45 minutes, I watched her take pictures for a school assignment. Like this.
And like this.
Yup. So fun and enlightening.
On our way out of the museum, she asked me if I still wanted to go to the kid's "wonder discovery zone."
Yes! Of course I did!
Sasha met her soul mate, the turtle. (She definitely wouldn't get along with the hare.)
And I began a game called, "Be that animal!"
"Be a snake in brine!"
"A fish in brine!"
We took a brief break from "be that animal!" to make some rubbings in the children's zone.
To the batcave! (I can't help but wonder how many other people have taken this exact same picture, while saying the exact same thing. None, I would guess, since I'm so brilliant and original).
"Hey, it's one of those things!" Sasha said.
"Um, a giant seagull?"
"No, one of those things! They come from New Zealand."
"Um, a giant seagull?"
"No, it's one of those birds!"
"Well, it's obviously a bird." Sasha and I stood there in stumped silence. Until, yet again, brilliance hit me. "I have an idea. Maybe we should actually read the plaque. It will tell us!"
Brilliant, I tell you!
"Ohhh! An albatross!"
"Oh, like from the movie the Rescuers Down Under!"
This conversation is relevant in remembering the night, because it was actually pretty much the only thing I discussed with people once we got to the party. Strangely enough, people are quite vocal when it comes to their opinions and recollections on albatrosses. Who would have thought?
"Be that gopher!"
"Be that leopard!" [or was it a spotted jaguar?]
My growling skills that I learned during the 2006 calendar photo-shoot came in handy here.
"Be that lion!"
Sasha and her doppleganger.
Sasha has an affinity for raccoons. Ever since Project Pigeon Poke though, I'm not sure I feel the same way.
"Be that mystery animal with wings!"
"Be that bat!"
"Be that snake!"
After this photo was taken, a sad event occurred- my camera batteries died. I was unprepared for this turn of events, and was unable to capture the rest of the night that involved a Bob Marley mega-mix danceathon, an iguana, stylish plastic bag hats and a lot of gin.
I hope the Girl Scouts don't take away my badge. |
| posted by Jess at 12:39 PM | Permalink |
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| Project Pigeon Poke |
Yesterday, Kasia called me and mentioned it was pouring rain. My window faces a brick wall, so I went into Brie's room to watch the rain fall. While I was watching, I took a mental note of all the stuff on our roof that the subletters left behind that would have to cleaned off the roof at some point.
There was Mark's barbeque, lighter fluid, candles, a random cement block and a dead pigeon. Wait a second. . .
In disgust, I informed all the girls that we had a dead pigeon on our roof, and that there was no way we could leave it to rot. We came to the conclusion that we're modern women and could take care of the problem ourselves. After all, we put up the shelves in our kitchen by ourselves- we even own a studfinder. What does a dead, rotting pigeon have on us?
So today, China's after-school activity was Project Pigeon Poke.
Sasha was the first to venture onto the roof.
The smell was overwhelming, and the pigeon was covered in swarming wasps.
Even if I had asked Brie and Sasha to pose, I don't think they could have possibly produced faces this horrified.
Maybe it's because we discovered that the pigeon was lacking a head.
Sasha graciously offered to assume the arduous task of photographically documenting the event, while Brie and I armed ourself with our Project Pigeon tools. I held the official "pigeon poker" and garbage bags, while Brie dominated the garbage bag-covered dustpan.
Courtney supervised from a safe distance.
Brie and I moved towards our target, but the moment we touched the bird, wasps began swarming angrily around us and we calmly backed away. Okay, I guess more accurately we ran away screaming. The whole pigeon is filled with wasps.
So I came up with the only solution I could think of:
I moved the random cement block in front of the carcass. In this case, "out of sight, out of mind" definitely applies. At least it's going to have to for now.
Coming Soon: Project Pigeon Poke Phase II*
*That is, if we can get any boys brave enough to dispose of the body for us. Or maybe, we'll luck out, and the racoon that must have carried the pigeon to the roof in the first place will come back for the remains. |
| posted by Jess at 6:28 PM | Permalink |
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| Wednesday, September 14, 2005 |
| Premature Nostalgia: Defined |
premature nostalgia n.-
1. the insatiable desire to throw circa 1995 parties, particularly when one had only hit the ripe age of 11 in '95
2. a condition in which one obsessively spends hours re-examining photos of events past, even when those events only passed a week ago
3. the compelling need to rehash last night's events down to the greatest detail
That is, if you remember. And if you don't, maybe you're lucky enough to have a friend like me who is obsessed with photographic documentation.
Conversly though, the desire to photograph events sometimes results in the photographer conspiring to create or seek out events to photograph.
There is no known cure or treatment for premature nostalgia.
____________________________________________________________
The other night, I was talking to my brother online, when he asked me, "What's the difference with this new blog? What is going to prevent it from ending up like 'i enjoy being a slut?'"
The answer is simple- absolutely nothing. Thus far, all I can figure out is that I don't think that this blog will ever live up to "i enjoy being a slut" calibre. After all, I've run out of all my A-List Material. (Yes, capitalization of that phrase is fully warranted.)
At Mark's party on Saturday, I found myself being consistantly approached by people who had had previous encounters with me.
"Tell a story Jessica!" they demanded immediatly upon recognizing me. And I found myself grappling for appropriate stories (and by appropriate, I mean interesting. . .I'm not overly concerned with avoiding taboo topics) or rants that hadn't been told a dozen times before.
"I've got nothing," I admitted mournfully. People began to take offense to this. They thought I was avoiding them, or holding back. In truth, I just had nothing.
Which leads to the question, which came first; the blog or the blog-worthy events?
I really can't answer that question. What I can tell you is this- I'm severly afflicted with premature nostalgia.
And I like it. |
| posted by Jess at 2:06 PM | Permalink |
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| Tuesday, September 13, 2005 |
| China* Supports After-School Activities |
When Brie got home from school today, she asked what I was up to.
"I'm going to make macaroni cards!" I told her unabashedly, preparing myself for her laughter and criticism.
Instead, she excitedly asked me, "Can I help?! I have construction paper and stickers!"
We then proceeded to squeal like little girls, and ran about the house gathering supplies. (To increase this mental imagery, you can add to the equation the fact that Brie was wearing a skirt, and I was wearing a dress with not just one, but three bows on it. I also had to stand on a chair to get stuff out of the cupboard.)
We had a box full of markers, stickers, construction paper, glue, scissors and of course, the best part. . .
Macaroni! (Our subletters left behind bags of the stuff. We have to put it to good use, somehow.)
Tonight, I took a break from the grudging studying task of reading The Psychology of Human Sexuality (yes, it's such a boring and painful class to be enrolled in, you have no idea!) to head down to Mick E. Fynn's to give Red the finished product.
He was quite pleased with the card, I think.
None of us, however, are pleased with the ridiculous humidity we are experiencing. I know everyone in Alberta is frustrated with the non-warm weather, but keep in mind that humidity equals a perma-shiny complexion (see above), and an odour that no deordorant known to man can combat.
I'm going to go shower now, and continue reading my textbook. Although not necessarily in that order.
* Amongst our group of friends, we have adopted the practice of naming our homes. Think plantations in the old south, ie. Tara in Gone with the Wind. China is the nickname given to our house, because we live above a Chinese food restaurant. It is also funny when used in sentences for obvious reasons, such as the title of this post. |
| posted by Jess at 10:50 PM | Permalink |
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| Sunday, September 11, 2005 |
| Jesus loves Jenna! |
Yesterday morning, I was awoken at 9 a.m. by the Cabbagetown Festival in full-force. I went out on the roof to sit in the sun with Brie and watch the Parade pass by.
When I went inside, I got a phone call.
It was Jenna, who was unexpectedly in the city.
On a break from the rugby game we were watching, we went in search of hot dogs only to be found by the "International Festival of Faith" parade. (Word on the street is that Jesus loves Toronto!) After seeing two parades in one day, I knew that the day had something special in store.
Okay, actually, I just had plans to go to Mark's place for a party, where I took tons of profile pictures with no significant meaning or context.
Sarah is one of my token journalism friends. She learned to use chopsticks for the first time last night.
Calvin used to be one of Mark's roomates at Homewood. He is well-known for his "calvin pins" (most frequently found in every nook and cranny of a host's home after a party, also seen on my purse, and on Clavin's shirt is this picture) as well as his artwork (also featured in this picture).
This kid is named Mikey. We know each other mainly via the blog-o-sphere.
Katrina was also making friends.
Mark was just dissapointed that his drink was empty. So I typed him a very special word document and saved it to his desktop. "Mark's Post-Party Note from Jessica!!!!(Yes, this warrants exclaimation marks.)" was the very special and very long document name of the given word document.
This is one of the last pictures of Julia taken before she had to retire to her room. The little gaffer was just too tuckered out for all the excitement that night had to hold, I guess.
Or, she was upset that Brie and I ate all her thai food. Maybe she went to her room to mope.
Or, most likely, she was just really trashed and passed out prematurely.
Later in the night, Vanessa encouraged us to write on her with permanent marker.
And I tickled Brie on the couch.
And in conclusion, Brie looked adorable today, despite being very tired from last night's events. |
| posted by Jess at 8:39 PM | Permalink |
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| Remodel Everything |
Moving In
After spending over a week sleeping in other people's rooms, my Ikea furniture finally arrived Thursday night.
Brie and I were hungover from the previous night's kegger, but we knew that we could handle the situation.
Okay, only with the help of Mat, of course.
Four hours later, I had a bed to sleep in. Which was a good thing, since we were trapped upstairs due to the obscene amount of recycling that had collected during the moving process.
Mat Loves Doody.
"Dewey? What's dewey? Like the dewey decimal system? I didn't know you liked that! I love the dewey decimal system!"- Me, after being unable to decipher Court's writing, and just confused in general.
Sunday, September 4th
One of the reasons I can't restrain myself from keeping a blog any longer is because of all the hot outfits my roomates and I pull together, which we consequently take pictures of.
There isn't much of a story here. It was a long weekend and we went out for drinks with the girls.
Brie and I.
Katrina and Vanessa.
Sasha and Julia.
We're narcassistic like that.
And, my new tattoo.
Wednesday, September 7th
Last year during Frosh Week, I went out drinking eight nights in a row. This year during frosh week, we didn't really go out with the exception of the kegger (which sadly, there is no photo documentation of).
I think that since last year I've matured and grown as a person, and don't feel the need to go out partying night after night the week before school starts.
Instead, I feel the need to go night after night the week after school starts.
Wednesday, Court, Eric and I went to Ram in the Rye to watch Cuff the Duke play a free show. Naturally, we had to drink beer while doing so.
It was on this night that I annouced that I was going to start a new blog. Court and Eric insisted that I take a picture of this guy's shirt for that exact reason.
Halfway through the show, Court couldn't control her bladder any longer, and we had to leave the patio (which there was a line to get onto due to the free concert) to go to the bathroom.
I nearly had an orgasm when I spied the newly installed dartboard.
This guy nearly had an orgasm when he spied the opportunity to put his arm around a girl and jump into a random picture.
Back out on the patio, the boys were playing an awesome show.
I never clap along. Mainly because I can't count time very well.
We also ran into Julia back out on the patio, before we called it a night.
We like Courtney's new shoes.
Thursday, September 8th
I went to keep Brie company at the Laundromat before the O.C. started on Thursday night, and we made it back to the house just in time for the opening credits.
My thoughts on the O.C. this year? It seems to me that the writers of the show were so incapable of creating a new and interesting story arch that they resorted to the good ol' dialogue-free days involving couples cohorting happily on the beach while waves crash in the background. Hell, there was even a beach campfire! I was irritated beyond belief and came to this one conclusion- I really, really wish I was part of a beach montage.
That would be awesome!
Instead, I'm stuck in some sort of digital photo montage of partying in the city.
I don't mind.
Eric randomly came over to join us before we went to the Ram in the Rye for pub night.
Brie and Eric.
Katrina and Court.
Friday, September 9th
Every year, Ryerson hosts an annual Parade and Picnic at Centre Island, featuring free bands and, of course, beer. Because the event is organized by the Student's Union, we are allowed to skip our Friday classes penalty free.
Court, Mat, Katrina, Sasha and Brie wait for the bus.
Waiting for the ferry.
Brie's hot Oakley sunglasses.
At some point, I got jealous that everyone else was being photographed, and I was being excluded. (Yes, I realize I was the one taking all the pictures, but that's beyond the point.) So I decided to remedy the situation.
Sasha on the ferry with her Oakley sunglasses.
Hey! Look! The cliched and often photographed Toronto skyline! Wow, like we haven't seen this image eight thousand times before. So what's the difference here? Well, I'm the photographer.
Out at Centre Island, the Ryerson kids were out in full force for the beer, er, I mean, the music.
And we ran into Julia again!
Brie and I also got free ice cream from an ice cream vendor. Presumably because we're this cute.
We also saw Red with some ladies. He licked tattoos on us. (Little does he know that Brie and I have a solid defense againsts his deformation tactics; baby oil!)
And then Metric took the stage. Emily Haines looked and sounded awesome.
She looked even better after she demanded that the security guards remove the barriers so that the crowd could get closer to the stage. She also alluded to the inicident at the Mod Club when she got in trouble from the bouncers for encouraging a mass of people up on stage to crowd-surf with her.
Over in the corner, we couldn't resist from dancing to "Dead Disco."
My favourite part about this picture is the guy in the background watching. We had a small crowd gathered around us, composed primarily of males.
I usually hate girls who sit on their boyfriend's shoulders during shows. But it was something about the music, or the crystal clear sky, or maybe it was just the alcohol in my blood stream that made me find the scene somewhat beautiful.
Let's go with the sky. |
| posted by Jess at 8:04 PM | Permalink |
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