Park That Car, Drop that Phone, Sleep on the Floor, Dream About Me

This song wasn't around yet when I was 17. I really, really wish it had been. Because me at 17 was a solid mix of the hope and hurt and wish and despair and dreaming that this song embodies, and I really could have used a song that summed up everything I didn't have one recognizable, assignable emotion for.

At 17 I was pretty sure there was some sort of solid line delineating the youth from the adults, and that, though I didn't know quite where it was, or when I'd find it, I'd know with certainty when I crossed it.

I'm 32, coming up on 33 really, and I have to say, most days I'm still not sure I'm there. Sure, I have a job, I pay rent, most of the time I remember to deal with bills and garbage and laundry. But I am still every bit as filled with wonder and want and ache for something more that I was almost half my life ago. And while sometimes I fear it an unsettling harbinger of failure at this being a grown up thing, or at fulfilling my potential, whatever that may mean or be, it also gives me a profound sense of peace and calm.

Because I don't ever want my heart to stop hunting.




Note: I'm not in love with the video, but all the live footage was crusty.

Count Your Blessings

1) This is as close to a backyard as I have.

2) This is how I get there.

3) This is my reading nook.

4) This is how I feel when I've been there a while.

Mix Tape #4 - Lessons We Haven't Learned Yet

This mix has been ready to go for a while and should have been posted at the beginning of June, but, what can I say, I've been a busy girl.

It was born out of an On-The-Go playlist created on a Victoria Day road trip with a new, ahem, friend, but some songs were subbed in to replace tracks that have appeared in previous podcasts. It's peppier (read: less of a suicide soundtrack) that usual, but whatthefuck, it's summer. A girl can have fleeting moments of peppiness, without having to turn in her Cure card, can't she? There is a little Bob Dylan and Beth Orton to take it down a notch though. And speaking of Ms. Orton, yes, the title comes from Sweetest Decline. It's a song I go back to a lot, and that little lyric, (despite it's whiff of Oprah / Maya Angelou-ness), resonates a little too familiarly/often with me. I'd like to think that at 32 I'd have my head around the bad habits, behaviours and relationships that I should know better than to indulge in, but sometimes there is comfort in the familiarity of knowing how something is going to turn out, even if it is destined to not turn out well. It might not be good, but at least I know where it's heading.

Silly, I know, but while I'm pretty sure I'm heading into another of these future regrets, at least it's with a head shake, a grin, a self directed 'oh sweetie .... why are you getting yourself into this again? ' and a dose of curiosity about whether I know myself well enough to be right about the outcome.

1. June Evenings - Air France

2. Paper Planes - MIA

3. Before And Again - Akron/Family

4. Sweetest Decline - Beth Orton

5. Hysteric - Yeah Yeah Yeahs

6. Tunnelvision - Here We Go Magic

7. Furr - Blitzen Trapper

8. I Was A Landscape In Your Dream - Of Montreal

9. Kids - MGMT

10. The Wonder - Figurines

11. Modern Saints - The Von Bondies

12. Sex On Fire - Kings Of Leon

13. Marching Bands Of Manhattan - Death Cab for Cutie

14. Most Of The Time - Bob Dylan

15. There Is No Such Thing As Love - The Dears

16, Wish I Was Dead - Shout Out Louds

17. Bruises - Chairlift

18. All We Want, Baby, Is Everything - Handsome Furs

Cover image is being a douchbag and not linking to a downloadable, print-size ready file. However, you can get it here. The Photo was liberated here.

To add to podcasts: if you are already subscribed hit refresh. If not, in iTunes go to Advanced, Subscribe to Podcast, and paste in this: http://shes-so-melicious.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default. You can also click on the post title to link to a downloadable file.

I Wanna Be A Sedaris

It is no secret that two of my greatest pleasures are reading David Sedaris and watching Amy Sedaris. Though listening to David Sedaris read David Sedaris beats trying to read David Sedaris in David Sedaris' voice to myself. It's hard to replicate in my own head, and damn, if his voice isn't the wire edged ribbon adorning a gift wrapped box filled with kitten.

Amy though, Amy ... two words. Girl. Crush. I actually came to Strangers With Candy late, introduced to Amy and her fat suit through one of David's stories, and it's been a mental lesbo love affair ever since. She is a girly girl with a penchant for shoes and vintage dresses, has an impressively filthy mind and shares my passion for all things domestic. She is also BFFs with Todd Oldham, which pretty much makes me want to go all Single White Female on her. I bet her fake boyfriend Ricky was a looker too, though he's A) fake and B) supposedly been murdered, so it's a selling point I can't prove.

Anywhooo... this is probably my favorite Amy Sedaris moment ever. They should show this to high school girls. Because vaginal cleansing is very important. And sometimes we all need a good demo one how one tugs back the hood.

Pretty Pretty

I think calla lilies have over taken white tulips as my official happy flower.

Simple. Elegant. Classy. They're like the anti-me.

Slacker

I'm a little horrified that it's been almost a month since my last post. While I've been slacking on the blogging front it's because I've been anything but in the rest-of-life front. I just wrapped a redonkulously busy sixish weeks and damn, am I happy to have a little down time. And by a little down time I mean I have a couple of free hours one night this week because I friend I was going to help with some stuff didn't return my call, relegating him to the doghouse but freeing me up to fingerbabble.

So what's been keeping me so busy?

1) More school. This time a class called Painting: Creating a Surface. It was perfect for me because I am still a little scared of / very much suck at painting, but there was high-level collage-type business, which I'm all over.

2) A friend who works at the Art Gallery asked me to gussy up as the Queen of Hearts for their Mad Hatters Tea Party. We looked at borrowing costumes from a local theatre company, but damn, costumes meant to be viewed from a stage are not so good up close. And by not so good I mean bad puffy waisted gathering, and dammit, I wanted to be a purty queen. So I decided to make it. And I say goddamn, it looked good. I look dorky, but it looks good.

Tragically I don't have any detail shots, hopefully some will roll in. The only thing I didn't make was the hoop skirt giving it the width at the bottom. That was borrowed from the theatre. The skirt is the same embroidered taffeta as the top, which is lace trimmed at the neck and arms and has mad cute heart buttons. The bustle and apron are taffeta with little gold ribbon knots, and the apron is trimmed with black beading. It's sort of scootched up in the photos, should be pulled down more in front. The corset is a rather lovely silk brocade. It's three layers thick for added stability, and, because I wasn't sure if I'd be able to get steel boning at Dressew, is boned with wide cable ties. That's right, I went hardware store Gigyver all over that shit! It worked really well, and saved a chunk of change.

The headpiece doesn't really show in those. The veil part shows a bit here, it's come of my face a bit though. Probably trying to escape. Unfortunately the photo makes me want to get a facelift.

The gloves and choker were total last minute additions, which I think lean a little towards Deadwood era madam, which, let's face it, is probably what this is going to morph into. Hallowe'en is so taken care of.

Hey, check it, Griffy agreed to model the hat! Totally adds to his Puss n' Boots appeal.

Anywhoo, that little sucker sat just over the top of the veil, which Griffy didn't model as veil + claw = sure disaster. It started it's life as a dollar store cookie cutter. See.... Gigyver!

So, that's a good deal of what's been tying me up. There's also that whole annoying job thing that both cuts in to and funds my ability to creatively dork out. Le sigh.

Oh, and yes I did use patterns, though they were modified pretty drastically. The bustle, apron and skirt are from Simplicity 2851, the corset and top are from Simplicty 9769, which for some reason isn't on the Simplicity website. The top is a chopped and de-volumed version of the nightgown thingy, and the corset has been modified to remove the busk and make a flat front.

So (or sew ... get it?), I haven't really been slacking. And I've been multitasking in GarageBand while writing this post, so the Podcast that should have been up weeks ago is almost ready.

Oh yeah, Mama's back.

Who Do You Open the Door For?

Ok M-Styles, your new post request is filled at the cost of my ability to sleep. Because I'm having residual freak out and can't settle, so I might as well write.

I was just sitting in my living room having some late night (11:30) soup, listening to Sigur Ros and reading. Suddenly became aware of an epilepsy inducing flashing light through the window. My first thought was, 'hmmm .... popo car outside, someone must me dicking around in the grocery store parking lot,' followed by 'maybe R. forgot something and is trying out a new way of summoning me' which sort of made sense, given that less than a half hour before he'd been chucking stones at my window.

So I looked out the window, half expecting a familiar face. But no, there's a relatively young, very attractive man in rolled up combat pants and black shirt standing on the back steps holding up a police badge and motioning to the back door. Now, if there had been a police car out there, or even another cop, I wouldn't have questioned it. But there wasn't. And it immediately felt wrong.

And this is the part that really bugs me. Everything in me wanted to phone the Victoria Police before I went to the door to confirm that they were actually responding to a call and that he was legit, but I didn't. I went to the back door with my phone in my hand, as if it would have done me any good if he was actually a nasty ass predator with a dollar store badge. And I held the door open a little to talk to him, as if I could have shut it stopped him from kicking it in. I was so incredibly aware of how vulnerable I was to whoever this person was, and I knew it was ok to call and confirm that he was a cop, but I didn't, lest I get in the way of someone that had called for the police.

He asked if I was in #4 (which I'm not) and relayed on the radio that the apartment with the light on was not #4, then asked me questions about my neighbours. Was it a woman that lived there alone? When was the last time I'd seen her? They're new, a couple, I've only met them once (seem nice), I'm only really aware of them when they are slamming the door on their way in and out. He said they'd had a call from her and came in to knock on their door. I locked myself back in my apartment and called the non-emergency line to confirm that the police were supposed to be there (i.e., that I hadn't just let a non-cop potential psycho killer in and now I really needed the popo), which they were. There was a lot of banging on the door across the hall accompanied by 'Victoria Police, open the door', clearly several more officers had arrived, and finally a guy opened the door. From behind my door it sounded exactly like an episode of The Shield.

"Victoria Police, we had a call to this address, is your girlfriend home?"

"Yeah...."

"We need to talk to her, she called us"

"Ahhhh....ok...."

"We're coming in, is there anyone else in there?"

So, so surreal.

And in the end it seems it was a false alarm, the call was from the former tenant, and for whatever reason her number was registered there. I'm assuming it was the beautiful, sort of crazy one who was forever fighting with and breaking up with guys, and often took her domestic phone squabbles out to the hall so I could hear them better than I'd have liked. Seemed to live for the drama, that one, and I hope for her sake that it was just a drama call and nothing serious is going down.

My poor neighbours were probably fast asleep and now as skeeved as I am.

And I'm mad at myself. That I didn't take the extra few seconds to make the call to clarify he was legitimately a cop before I went to the door. That when I did I took the time to look up the non-emergency number rather than calling 911. Because God forbid I inconvenience anyone, even if it's at the expense of my own safety. Good one, Gignac.

What Time is it, Mr. Wolf?

I know, I know, it's been over a week. The internet has been a cold and lonely place. I'm awful...

Truth be told there's been a lot going on the last few weeks, but nothing I really want to write about. I'm burned out on my own shit.

So this will be short.

First thing - The Racoons last night were freaking awesome. I know, I know, the Wolf Parade comparison is stale, but come on, they faced it head on and played This Heart's on Fire. Love. Seriously, Team Vancouver, go check them out June 8th at Richards on Richards. And Team Victoria - June 12th, Sugar, CD release party. Posse up!

Second thing - Patrick Wolf.

Dear Patrick,

I fucking love you. I don't know if you like girls, and if you do you probably like little arty cool euro-chicks that read Proust and fart watermelon bubbles. I am not that girl. But I have an overwhelming desire to be your big spoon, gently nuzzling your shoulder blades to calm you when you are in the throes of a nightmare, warming your icy feet under my legs when we are curled up, burned out on the couch watching Skins, watching with admiration and a tinge of lust as you sit at my vanity, creating your Bowie-esque sexy-alien-ingenue looks while channeling Annie Lennox in the video for Why. I want to watch you kiss Owen Pallett. I don't know if you guys play that way, but in my head you do. I will be at your show at Richard's on June 6th. I know I sound crazy, but really, I'm a nice girl. Don't be scared.

xoxo ~ m

Mix Tape #3 - This is (Not Like) Home

I just spent four days with a massively crippled Mac, mourning the loss of internet and my iTunes library. Thankfully things are back on track. Phew!

This mix came together on a trip to Vancouver a few weeks ago, much thanks to a rainy evening arrival in a darkened coach (bus, not horse-drawn, sadly). It's always a little weird for me going back to Vancouver. So many people I love dearly are there, and it was home for a long time. But the city is changing so fast, it no longer feels as familiar as it once did. Ditto for some of the people that were once so close.

So, much like Vancouver, this mix is a little nostalgic and a little new. It makes me sort of content and melancholy at the same time.

Refresher Couse: It's Podcasted, so if you are already subscribed hit refresh. If not, in iTunes go to Advanced, Subscribe to Podcast, and paste in this: http://shes-so-melicious.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default

Mixtape #3 - This is Not Like Home

1. Skeletons - Yeah Yeah Yeahs

2. Keep the Streets Empty for Me - Fever Ray

3. Makes Me Wanna Die - Tricky

4. Maybe You Can Owe Me - Architecture In Helsinki

5. Fuck Was I - Jenny Owen Youngs

6. I've Been Loving You Too Long - Otis Redding

7. Straight to Hell - Josh Rouse

8. We All Lose One Another - Jason Collett

9. Disarm - Smashing Pumpkins

10. Red - Treble Charger

11. Have You Forgotten - Red House Painters

12. She Clears Her Throat - ist

13. The Blower's Daughter - Damien Rice

14. Wonderwall - Cat Power

15. Friend Of Ours - Elbow

16. No Ones Gonna Love You - Band of Horses

17. Not Your Lover - Blitzen Trapper

18. Skeletons (acoustic) - Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Image refuses to link to the downloadable cover, so click here.

A little about the tracks ...

1. Skeletons - I love this song so much I couldn’t decided between the the album cut and the bonus acoustic version, so I bookened the mix with both.

2. Keep the Streets Empty for Me - Despite hearing Fever Ray playing at Urban Outfitters over the weekend I am still willing to profess my deep love of this album. It's so where I’m at. Hipster tweens be damned.

3. Makes Me Wanna Die - Nostalgia Track #1. This was huge for me in my late teens / early 20s. Tricky and Massive Attack, pre-Portishead, pretty much took up most of my headphone time.

4. Maybe You Can Owe Me - I resisted Architecture in Helsinki based on the fact that their name is too cool. I am held back by my snobbery.

5. Fuck Was I - Love grows in me like a tumor, parasites bent on devouring its host. An antidote to all the fluffy tween-friendly radio love-crap.

6. I’ve Been Loving You Too Long - You simply can not fuck with Otis.

7. Straight to Hell - I had no freaking clue until just now this was a Clash cover. I’ve been schooled. Internet 1, Melissa 0.

8. We All Lose One Another - I put this before Disarm thinking hmmm...they just seem to need to be buddied up. Then I typed Smashing Pumpkins into Google in the middle of Jason Collett and accidentally Googled JasSmashing PumpkinsonCollett (or something like that). Oddly, I actually got a search result from Pitchfork that said this: Standout track "We All Lose One Another" opens with an echo of Smashing Pumpkins' "Disarm", then a rolling wave of acoustic guitar, violin, and piano carries Collett's vocal toward a triumphant chorus.

I could have written that. Thought stealers.

9. Disarm - Nostalgia Track #2. Billy Corgan might be a douche, but I still love this song. (Not unlike the Growing Pains with Brad Pitt. You know what I’m talking about! The Fallen Idol episode. I can’t find it on the internet machine, but holy shit, he had he played another role! What a talent! )

10. Red - Nostalgia Track #3. I’m not ashamed that I still love this song. I think I smoked weed with Treble Charger once. I’m not sure though, I was probably high.

11. Have You Forgotten - Thanks Mark Kozelek for hitting it home. Not quite an old enough friend to be nostalgic, but getting there.

12. She Clears Her Throat - You should all go buy this awesome band’s albums so they can tour Canada and I can drink beers and hang out with the kid that sat next to me in Grade 2.

13. The Blower’s Daughter - A friend of mine loved this song for months before catching ‘until I find somebody new’ at the end, which totally changes the emotional trajectory of the whole song. The Irish are sneaky that way.

14. Wonderwall - Awesome covers rarely made my mixes because there is usually annoying radio show intro or crowd noise bookending them. But now that Garage Band is my bitch it’s not a problem.

15. Friend of Ours - Again with how much I love Elbow. Every goodbye (and there have been many) I’ve ever bid a friend.

16. No One’s Gonna to Love You - Holy crap, computer fixed, podcast created, me reminded to get Band of Horses tickets. Done and done. I know where I’ll be September 5th. Soaking up the Bearded Hotness.

17. Not Your Lover - Ben was right about Blitzen Trapper. Dammit.

18. Skeleton (acoustic) - see #1

And just because it's that awesome ... more Brad Pitt ... this time on 21 Jump Street. That's right, Brad and Johnny. You're welcome.

#1 - I Am a Chronic Apologizer

This is a new thing, to fill the times when I don't have the time / inclination / exhausted drunkenness to write a regular post. Because for me (much like working out), I miss a day, then a week, then suddenly, it's been a year and I haven't posted. And I can't be responsible for the devastating effect that could have on the internet.

I very rarely do any of the list/note fill-in-your-answers-and-tag-10-people crap on Facebook, but a few months ago I was rocking some serious procrastination, so I did the 25 Things one. It was sort if cathartic and interesting in a self-reflective sort of way, and elicited some interesting responses.

So, to keep the wheels greased (hee hee, I said greased) I'm going to take on the supremely narcissistic task of coming up with 100 Truths. About me. Well, they're probably more inane facts, but they'll be true. There might be some overlap with the ones from Facebook, but I'm ok with that.

#1 - I Am a Chronic Apologizer

You know how some people have a swear jar? They have to put a quarter or dollar in it when they swear. Given the amount I swear I'd have been penniless and naked years ago (grade school) if anyone had tried to instigate swear jar rules. So while I haven't had a Swear Jar I have had an Apology Jar. It may have been a tin. Whatever. I lived with my friends Heather and Mitchell years ago, and apparently they were more disturbed by my penchant for verbal atonement that they were by the Tourette's-like gunfire bursts of vulgarity and blasphemy.

Rare and beautiful people, both of them.

Anyhow, it drove Heather so nuts that she started chasing dollars every time I'd apologize for something that didn't really require apologizing for. Which usually led to me apologizing for apologizing ... and on ... and on. Vicious circle, that.

It was brought to my attention again yesterday on a phone call to a new friend (hey new friend!). I've had a shitty few days and was scattered and not forming words right, and kept apologizing for it. Apparently a normal action would be to say:

"You know what, I'm off work in 20 minutes, and I'm really distracted right now, so how about I call you then?"

Rather than:

"Sorry, shit, I'm so scattered, I can't find my words. Dammit. Fuck. What an idiot. Sorry."

Or something along those lines.

This is a chronic issues. Not my most disturbing chronic issue, but chronic nonetheless. By way of example, I have caught myself apologizing:

• To a door I walked in to.
• For farting in an empty room.
• To a cab driver, when he didn't have the right change.
• To my doctor, when she's had to deal with less than glamorous issues. Which, really, is an occupational hazard.
• To the cat, when he runs in front of me and gets punted across the room.
• To a boss that felt bad when she had to lay me off.
  

There's $6 I owe you Heather. Though they are past incidents and I probably owe you interest. Sorry.

Wingmen are for Pussies

Dear E and H,

My ladies! So, right about now you are probably safely and happily ensconced in the sweet, bright starlight haven that is Cortes Island. If you see a dude in a newish burgundy Ford Ranger (I think, I'm shit with cars), say hi. It might be my Dad. Telltale sign will be the super smart looking tri-colour border collie riding shotgun.

As you know, I pulled the parachute on joining you this weekend. I've been harbouring a vicious cold for two weeks and was really lusting for a few days of agenda-free Melly time (PS, there are exactly two people that can call me that. No one that might be reading this are among those two people).

I had a lovely chill day, met a friend for coffee, went to Fabricland (only time I've ever gotten out of there for less than $20). By 7pm I was bored, and decided to channel the spirit of the solo hot chick from the Shout Out Out Out Out show and attempt a single sojourn out in public. So I tidied my shit up and headed out to Logan's to check out Pale Air and Mahogany Frog. Yes, the band name generator has officially run out options. (Awww...man... I made that shit up, but then googled it out of curiosity, and it exists!)

Blah blah blah, drunk irritating early 20s named Malcom and Boone (who, annoyingly, was dancing about like bloody Pan from The Mighty Hercules), high fiving all over the damn place. Anywhoo... I was sitting next to an annoying couple (what it is with me and being stuck near chicks that sound like dolphins?) and a dude struck up a conversation. He was out with another dude, apparently they were in a band 100 years ago together. I got much mileage out of teasing them about their man date. Chat chat chat, turns out he brokered my office's re-lease. Victoria is very small. Long story short, we hung out, they were leaving and I joined them for a smoke. Dude 1 left, dude 2 and I were walking in the same direction. At Pandora he was suddenly all 'yep, this is me' planted an awkward kiss on me and left. I was all 'whatthefuck!whatever!' and continued on my walk home, amused and a little confused. I got back to Le Village and, as I was about to pass Mac's thought 'wait, there is a reason I am supposed to stop at Mac's....' right... that would be my super delicate and high-maintenance kitty, who is out of home cooked food, and who I didn't want waking me up at 6 am.

So I go to Mac's to get a can of emergency tuna. But...the door is locked, and there is a 'Back in 5 minutes' sign up.

Let me tell you, nothing, and I mean nothing destroys your cool-solo-chick-out-on-the-town vibe faster than sitting outside a Mac's at 2am, waiting for the employee to finish taking his five minute shit, so you can buy a can of tuna for your whiny, bulimic 13 year old cat.

Except maybe getting home to a kitchen light you don't remember leaving on, grabbing your super sharp intruder knife and proceeding to check all the closets, behind the shower curtain, and under the bed.

It is next to me as I type, and hells yes, I'll be sleeping with that motherfucker tonight!

Oh, and I'm not sure why it's open to that page, but apparently I have entablature highlighted in my dictionary. That might be the most interesting revelation of the night.

Miss you guys!

xoxo ~ m

The Internet Giveth

I've already established that the internet taketh away. Well, apparently the internet felt baddeth, because now it giveth.

Hey, let's relive one of my less proud moments! (Internal groan)

So, yesterday I was perusing Snap Victoria looking for photos from the Shelter opening. (No photos of me, thank gawd, I'd rather be snapping them than in them. Because, well, I sort of look like this in photos.)
(Hey, it's the first image that came up when I googled worst face ever.)

Anywhoo... I noticed they had a listing for the last Urbanite event I was at. And I say godamn, the second photo down ... that's right ..... the subject of my inebriated Craigslist posting!

I had to confirm this with my wing-woman. There were, after all, several shaved-headed lookers there, but the shirt was ringing a big, loud bell.

Now, I realize that this is leaning a little (lot?) towards the side of inappropriate and creepy, but, hells, what am I if not exceptionally inappropriate with just a dash of creepy?

So, dear two readers, if either of you know who this fine young gentleman is (and don't say Matthew, I read that all by myself on the Snap page), please let me know. And if it happens to get back to the supposedly-named Matthew ... hey you! Thanks for the beer line chivalry. Sorry if this freaks you out. You seemed like a cool guy and I wanted to talk to you but I get freakishly shy and felt an 'I carried a watermelon' moment coming on. Although, in retrospect, that probably would have been a lot less embarrassing than this.

PS... I really like your shirt.

Mix Tape #2 - Get it Together, Gignac

So I had a pretty rough start to the year. Someone I love was very, sick, and he died both shockingly quickly and cruelly slowly. I had a bad cold on a Monday and wasn't allowed to visit. I went to class on a Wednesday, planning to go to visit afterwards, because it had been decided that, at that point, my cold couldn't do any harm. I forgot my phone at home. I missed the call that he had died. I found out at the end of class.

A week later, to the day, I started a working in a residency of sorts with a visiting artist who was taking part in an exhibition at the AGGV. Way beyond my experience and skill level, but I seem to have a horseshoe up my ass, and somehow I was given this opportunity. It was amazing and challenging and eye-opening ... and needless to say I was a barely-functioning wreck. Honestly, I couldn't tell you much about it, because it's mostly a big blur of Don't. Lose. Your. Shit. I lost my shit a lot anyways.

It ended, I tied to get back into the work / school swing. Mostly I just wanted to sleep for a really long time. I was getting nothing accomplished in class, other than stressing about how little I was capable of doing, and honestly couldn't have given less of a shit about work.

My cat got sick, and it cost $640 to find out he was really constipated. Under normal circumstances this would be funny.

That little adventure, the kitty colon expedition ... well, it turned out to be the last nail in the freak-out coffin.

It sort of broke my heart to do it, but since quitting my job wasn't an option and I clearly needed to take a massive load off I withdrew from my classes. Oh, and then the next day I bailed down the back stairs, and was in back agony (bagony) for about a week, so photo class assignments would have been kiboshed anyways.

I mention all this because, well, it fucking sucked, but also because a few people I've mentioned it to have given me the 'ohhh...so you quit' face/voice. And it's funny, because for me, it was a victory of sorts. I put a huge amount of pressure on myself to perform (when it's something I care about). This is a girl who argues 90% grades, because there is ten.whole.percent.I.could. do.better. I push and push and try and, well, I have some pretty destructive ways of dealing with stress. So before I got a tattoo I couldn't afford or started scratching an old itch with a razor blade I thought maybe it was time to take a load off. Yes, it'll put me behind in the learning schedule, but when you find yourself thinking this ...

It's not that I want to die, I just want a nice, long break from life.

... well, you priority-up.

Anyhow, 2009 had an unkind start. I tried to improve my mood with music. This was one of mixes that got me through. It's Podcasted, so if you are already subscribed hit refresh. If not, in iTunes go to Advanced, Subscribe to Podcast, and paste in this: http://shes-so-melicious.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default


Photo links to PDF that fold to the right size for a CD insert.

Get it Together, Gignac - Track List

1. The Shining - Badly Drawn Boy
2. In the Road - Weeping Tile (but they've been defunct almost as long as my virtue, so check out Sarah Harmer too)
3. Pills - The Perishers
4. Love is Like a Bottle of Gin - The Magnetic Fields
5. Start A War - The National
6. The Season - The Dodos
7. Red - Elbow
8. For Agent 13 - The Besnard Lakes
9. A Lack Of Color - Death Cab For Cutie
10. I Will Call You Lover Again - Loney, Dear
11. Fidelity - Regina Spektor
12. Do You Realize? - The Flaming Lips
13. Calendar Girl - Stars
14. Of Montreal - The Stills
15. Chicago - Sufjan Stevens
16. Biko - Bloc Party
17. Triumphant - Royksopp
18. He Doesn't Know Why - Fleet Foxes
19. We're Just Friends - Wilco

And just for shits'n'giggles, a little background on each of the tracks.

1. I saw Damon Gough play at the Vogue about 1,000,000 years ago. He bitched a lot about how he'd been playing so many shows that his fingers were bleeding, which, as a musician I'd pretty much consider an occupational hazard, but whatever; he plays pretty music, so I forgive him. I sort of forgot about Badly Drawn Boy for a few years (despite multiple About a Boy viewings), but he's experiencing an apartment #3 resurgence of sorts.

2. She calls early in the morning about money that I might have spent. It's a classic case of I don't know where it went. Anyone that knew me at 20 (when I was in Kingston and fell in love with this then-local band) knows why this song would have struck a chord. Anyone who knows me at 32 will get why I grimace at how it still resonates.

3. I worked at a record label in the management division a few years ago. They signed this band that made pretty music, but had horrible press photos. Now they have generically ok press photos, the singer hooked up with a former co-worker (luuuuucky), and I haven't heard anything they've done since this album. But I fucking love this song. It's so simple, and pretty, and true. I defy you to tell me you don't have a past (well, hopefully past) relationship it could be applied to.

4. It's very small and made of glass and grossly over-advertised ... uh, yeah, true that. Two truths. 1) I'm in love with the idea of love. 2) I'm in love with the reality of gin. Oh, third truth ... Stephen Merritt only wears brown. Saving time sartorially probably frees up time to write, what, 100 songs a day? Dude is prolific, just sayin'...

5. I loaned The Boxer to a friend recently. He returned it with the comment that (and I'm paraphrasing here) everything he hated about Crash Test Dummies is what he loves about The National. Deep voices done right. Songs that make me want to hug my friends. I say goddamn ...

6. This is one of many reasons that I am bummed to miss Samsquantch this year. Damn you $640 vet bill for feline constipation, and also damn you chronic-yet-still-undiagnosed colon issue that makes travel suck! (Me, not the cat.) And for which I have a GI appointment the day I'd leave for Sasquatch. Damn you (Alanis Morisette definition of) irony!

7. Can someone please explain to me why Coldplay is so friggin' famous, and hardly anyone knows Elbow? Chris Martin has (apparently) said that Fix You (the only palatable Coldplay sing since A Rush of Blood to the Head, and even then, only when I have my period) is a rip of Grace Under Pressure. Plus, Elbow was in 9 Songs. Which has some great live concert footage ... if you can get past all the normal looking people fucking. Seriously, the IMDB keywords for this movie include voice-over narration, female to male foot in crotch , black panties and Antarctica. That's got to be worth your $2 down at Pic-a-Flic, right?

8. What's with all the fantastic husband/wife teams coming out of Montreal, anyways? Tabernac! I should have stuck it out there ....

9. All the girls in every girlie magazine can't make me feel any less alone ... Nor the porn on xtube, nor the one night stands I'm not having. PS, remember before The OC? Before frat boys liked Death Cab... sigh ....

10. You know what? Forget Montreal. What's with Sweden upping the ante? Hey Per! You started a trend. Of Swedish awesome. Plus, they have cool punctuation.

11. I just realized this is a heavily dude dominated mix. Hey Regina, thanks for pillaging my mind grapes and making it a hit song. I hear in my mind all these voices, I hear in my mind all these words, I hear in my mind all this music, And it breaks my heart ... um, yeah, sort of the story of my life.

12. The first in a trifecta of songs that talks about death. Wonder what's been on my mind (grapes). Also, Wayne Coyne is sexy, writes songs I'd like to wake to having murmured in my ear, and has a big ball.

13. This song was big for me when I was floundering in Montreal, and it still is. It used to be more about all of the things that I thought were so easy just got harder and harder each day, but lately I'm more feeling I can't live forever,I can't always breath, One day I'll be sand on a beach by a sea. PS. That would be fine. Or go all John Prine, whatever. Just, please, don't bury me, down in the cold cold ground.

14. May 9th at Sugar is the place to be if you are in to Andy Samburg looking fellows, with Arafat scarves tied over their mouths, talking about the Gaza Strip. Oh, and also, rocking.

15. Hi, my name is Sufjan Stevens. I'm the most attractive man born in 1975, play upwards of 26 instruments and am writing a full-length album for each state. How's your life coming along?

16. Hey! Look! A song about cancer! What a surprise. Seriously though ... Kele and the boys have soundtracked a few vulnerable moments (see: Kruezberg and SXRT, for starters), but oh my god, this song ... I'm fucking crying. Fuck. If I could eat your cancer, I would. Indeed.

17. Because after that I need a hug. Thanks, Royksopp.

18. So then you shake it off, and throw on some Fleet Foxes. Sub Pop still has mojo.

19. The other story of my life. Not just that I have a terminal case of just-a-friend, but also the whole make some coffee, hold me up, try to talk me out of giving up. Hmmm... yeah I can think of a few friends who've filled that job description over the years.

Ok, that's all.

Dear Laurie

I went to see Chad VanGaalen tonight.* This wouldn't qualify as relevant in any sense (trust me on that) except that it got me thinking about you. Specifically, the last time I saw you. I don't know if it was the overwhelming youthfulness of the crowd - they'd have been, on average, the age we were last time we saw each other - or the aching earnestness of the skinny boy in the Handsome Furs shirt on stage, but goddamn, for a moment I was back at the Trash, at a Hayden show, hugging you a fast and disbelieving goodbye before the reality of my pending flight, the finality of the evening, and the inevitable tears set in. I remember you leaving before the show was done, and me waiting to chat with Hayden and getting him to sign a thieved poster for you. My memory gets sketchy around here, but I think I left it outside your apartment door on my way out of town. It always struck me as funny, that our last night would be at an CanCon indie show, because, really ... Down By Law, Sebadoh ... the bands I associate with you and that time, Hayden ... not exactly on par. But I suppose that wasn't really the point.

The point was that it was two of us, for the last time, in a long time.

We met over a boy. His name was Dan, and we both volunteered to decorate for the Student Film Society’s Hallowe’en party because it was at his house. Long story short, we did a fair amount of not so surreptitiously sizing each other up at the meeting, and by the end of the walk back to campus had sort of grudgingly admitted that ourselves that we liked each other. Random Dan facts: his birthday was on Valentine’s Day; he was once in the audience of Jerry Springer; and apparently he is a part-time farmer now. WTF?

You were different than most of the people at Queen’s (translate: didn’t eat ivy or row boats). Although I didn’t eat ivy, I did formerly row boats. However, I was from a crappy public school in BC and apparently spoke funny (i.e., didn’t pronounce vowels through my nose). I had badly bleached hair, and an eyebrow piercing and tattoos. You had always perfect (though ever-changing) hair, bigger tattoos, loved Spike Jones and were a huge dose of awesome antidote to the ridiculous girls in my dorm, with their Anne Geddes babies-in-flowerpot posters, Backstreet Boys, and constant pre-bar fighting and crying and making up. Ugh. Never even mind my one roommate who upped the barf ante with a Little Mermaid poster and Love Fool by the Cardigans on constant repeat. But I digress.

We lived together in our second year, with three other girls in a house that was, apparently, of former ill repute. Exhibit A being the Peterborough Needle Exchange shirt we found under the deck ("Don't Fuck With A User Unless He's Hooked on Condoms"), and Exhibit B being the cab drivers that thought we were hookers. I was broke and had to take what I thought at the time was a year off, working two shit jobs at the mall, never thinking that was the end of my higher education. I’d come home all grouchy from doing time at Le Chateau, with its endless Savage Garden soundtrack, or reeking of coffee from a shift at Second Cup and you’d be there, all lovely and raring to go out dancing at the Trash (remember shopping for the right running shoes? The ones that had enough bounce to let you get back on the heels?), or to do whatever it was we did at the grotty little place up Princess ... I can’t remember the name of it. I do remember sitting there, totally skeeved on mushrooms, convinced that my spinal fluid was leaking out of my neck tattoo.

We had fantastically fun nights, we had terribly scary nights, we hosted an epic party for which business card sized flyers were, unbeknownst to us at the time, handed out around town. We hitchhiked to Ottawa to catch a bus to Montreal for a rave (god, that word makes me shudder now). We returned the karma later that year by picking up a hitchhiker who not only turned out to be a carnie, but actually had a hook for a hand. I think every Sarah Michelle Gellar movie was based on this incident.

We pierced out tongues and ate popsicles. We talked about boys (invariably named Jason) and how your kids would be born with tattoos and wearing beaters, and ate chips and french onion dip. You trained me to make Kraft Dinner just.how.you.like.it...which was weirdly chunky. You took me to the SPCA to adopt Griffin, who paid you back by eating your chair and Bjork poster, and bringing in fleas that left the one other awesome roomie (hey Shannon!) and the two less awesome roomies alone, but left you so scarred below the knee that your mom offered to have him put down.

You had inarguably style and a pretty fierce sense of self. I was always a little in awe of you, and still am. Because I was, and in some ways still am, always searching, but you, you always seemed so sure.

So that night, a hundred years ago at the Trash, Hayden singing his slightly off-key sensitive boy music, I had no idea than that, what, 11, 12 years later it would still be the last time I saw you. Or that after all this time, and all the incredible friends I’ve made since, that there would still be a hole where you and your ever-present (diet?) Coke used to be.

You have two beautiful daughters (with a new addition on the way) and a husband who I've never met. Of course I've seen photos, and heard them on the background on the phone during our fleeting and awkward conversations. I had the opportunity to meet your husband and your beautiful Grace, of course, at your wedding. Your wedding that I was so excited for, and ultimately didn't attend. Small dose of the honesty here? And I'll type it fast because this is going to hurt. It wasn't just time off of a new job and money and logistics that that kept me from making the trip. Yes, those things were factors, but factors I could have mitigated and made work. It was me, indulging my old friend Depression, terrified of who I'd become, or rather not become, and who you'd always been, so beautiful and so fucking real (to paraphrase your song), and how I wouldn't fit anymore. As much as I love Facebook for facilitating reconnections with a lot of people I've lost track of over the years, the access to the lives I haven't been a part of, and the photos that show, so clearly, that I don't fit in them anymore, is the ugly flipside of that coin. I couldn't face being the nostalgic friend, the novelty that no one quite understands how they once fit. So I pulled the parachute. I went to Vancouver for the weekend instead and saw Bloc Party and Final Fantasy, feeling the whole time every inch the asshole that someone who, because of bullshit insecurities, skipped the wedding of one of the most important people to grace her life should. I'm so sorry. Your photos were so beautiful, and I should have been there, taking them.

I didn’t go to Chad VanGaalen expecting to come home to such an aching sense of nostalgia or want of a friend I haven’t seen since my 20s were still starchy fresh. I also didn’t expect to be gleeking beer in the hair of some dime-a-dozen indie ‘ho trying to douchebag her way between me and the stage, so surprises all over the place here. The beginning of the year was a bit of a shitstorm for me, and out of the loss and opportunity and franticness that all barreled together came a balls-out desire for some straight up honesty, and to say thank you to some people who have been so very important to me.

So Laurie, you’re first one the list. Thank you for being one of smartest, strongest, and unapologetically herself women I’ve known. I hope that, one day, when I have daughters, they will know you. Because I want them to know that independent and challenging and true to self is beautiful. And I can’t think of a better way than knowing you to deliver that message.

* I started writing this Sunday after the show, but due to a bad cold, a strong martini, and total lack of appropriateness filter put off finishing and posting it a few days.