Investing in you

Two years ago, I fell in love, hard. It was the kind of love that sneaks up on you, when you fall against your own will. I tried so hard to keep my emotions close but when I finally let myself fall, my lover had disappeared. In the course of 24 hours, all communication stopped and it was over without explanation.


 I was so broken, angry and sad. For months, I couldn't date. I couldn't write. I couldn't feel. 


Lately, writing has come so easily and I feel like I can pick up old emotions like river rocks and turn them over in my hand. Like a geologist, I can see their orgin, the forces that formed them and reflect on how time has changed them. Better still, I can write about them. It's a pretty special place to be.


This is something I should have written years ago, but I couldn't find the words. Now they've come.


To that love: I did all the things that we said we'd do together. I saw Niagara, I ate at all the restaurants, I watched the films. Though I thought of you, I didn't miss you; but you missed out on a lot of good things. I can't listen to Robyn without seeing us dancing at 4 am drunk off bottles and bottles of champagne; somehow, no matter how much you broke my heart, I'm still grateful for that memory.


You spilled
your romance
into my life
sticky and sweet,
I waded ankle deep
unable to avoid the fall
for you.

Now all the stars that twinkled above us,
all the bubbles that danced in my champagne,
the brush strokes that filled the galleries,
the actors that emoted in movies,
the bricks in your bedroom walls,
the threads in all your sheets,
raise their voices to mine.

We scream.

"How could you leave us behind?"

Our banshee cry goes unanswered,
like my questions
like my calls.

And I sit here thinking,
if I could buy
all the integrity in the world
I would.
So I could keep it
and invest it
and watch the interest grow.
I would be in charge.
I could hire and fire
advisers
who would help me
watch my investments in integrity grow.
And they could forecast
how continuous its supply would be
and it could be there to save me
on rainy days
when I could withdraw it
and I could use it to pay
the debt of empathy
that you owe to me.
 
Then I wouldn't have to pay
with tears
desires
time
and fears
or question
the validity and sanity
of my own emotion
passion
and intuition.

And I could use this integrity
to fill all the gaps in our conversations
to get the to the truth.
Not to make true the fairy tale you spun for me,
but to reveal your true identity:
thief of hearts
hoarder of affection
spinner of lies
and romantic deception.

And I could still love you,
and you could still love me.
But at least that integrity
would save me
from this ache
in my heart
in my rib
in my neck
and my spleen
because I would know...

which is all I required to make your debt to me clean.

Looking for...

I've been told I shouldn't think of you,
that nonchalance,
not looking,
not seeking,
searching for your grin,
desiring your hand in mine,
is the missing ingredient
to establishing our chemistry.

But missing you comes so naturally.

They tell me, "Don't look and you shall find,"
But I can't help but scan the streets
in hopes that we can meet
and I can bring you home.

See, we haven't met yet
but I can bet that,

On Sundays,
you like to sleep in.
And I'll wake up early
jog with the dog,
return to pry you
from last night's sweaty sheets
with sweet kisses and salty bacon
we'll laugh into pancakes
and your smile,
sweet like maple syrup,
will make my stomach flip
just like our first date.

We'll spend lazy afternoons
a tangle of legs and feet
brewing daydreams over magazines
about the places we'll go and grow together.
We'll talk till our mouths meet,
or enjoy the still silence
that made us feel home,
that first weekend we spent just us, alone.

And sometimes we'll argue,
I'll be moody
you, bossy.
Sometimes I'll blame you,
and you'll grow frustrated with me,
but we'll take off our gloves,
get our hands dirty,
and do the work.
Then I'll say the right thing, you'll soften,
You'll say the funny thing, I'll laugh,
and we'll love away the fears,
while kissing away the tears.

And I'll stress about which flowers to bring to your mom
and shaking your dad's hand with sweaty palms,
only to win him with political conversation,
her with washed dishes and polite consideration.

And when we hit the town,
we'll arrive with your hand on my lower back,
you'll make your friends laugh,
and I'll glitter,
girls will flirt with you
but I'll know better than to be bitter
while you work your side of the room
and I'll work mine.
We'll meet on the dance floor,
the only place we sweat more
than when we're tangled in our sheets,
the memory of which will make us
hit the streets
head home
to be alone.

And when I come to,
from thinking of you,
I can't help but look for you,
miss you,
and pray that you
are looking for me too.
So we can go home,
to build and to break,
and grow the love that will make
each half of us, whole.

After we meet...

She strolls through my dreams
and stirs me awake
with the want to write of her.

Yet pages remain blank
as the empty sheets
that know nothing of her.

She's left me with nothing beyond
phermonal first impressions
scraps of staccato conversation
and the residue of fingertip flirtation.

Like a painter dreaming in colour
confined to monochrome
I nurse an appetite whet for more.

She is an outlined tattoo on my skin,
her compelling contours
crying to convey their chromatic depth,
left temporarily empty except for expectation.

wake.up.

sometimes I wake up immediately.

sometimes a nudge slowly rolls from slumber to consciousness.

and lately I've been a sleep.

a sleep walker through life.
a-sleep at the creative wheel.
a sleep away from satisfaction.

obsessed
addicted
passionless.

a zombie hungering for the next check mark on the to-do list.

until the full moon intervened.

she illuminated the night sky

her light fell on my shoulders
gold down my back
silver up my neck
that started the shiver
that raised the goosebumps
that aroused me from sleep.

the sun spilled over the horizon
and the morning breeze blew the sheets of night away.

her light faded into the blue of day.

I exhaled.

she was the nudge.

and now I roll toward day

awake

alive

creeping toward creativity

pulsing with passion.

Happiness

"Happiness hit her, like a bullet in the back." -Florence and the Machine

That is what life feels like lately.

Explosions of pure joy erupt in me like stars that illuminate the night sky. And like those celestial bodies those moments make me feel hope, a certain connection to divinity, like I AM on the right track, going in the right direction.

But like those stars I still find myself sinking in the lonely darkness of the night sky. And so I leap desperately, willing my patience, perseverance, and keenly trained perspective of positivity to carry me seamlessly toward the next bright light : a romance, an opportunity, a cherished moment with a friend, a perfect yoga class or dance, a well written line.

But there are too many times lately that I feel I miss and fail to make the next constellation connection to my starlit bliss. Instead I falter and fall, down to a place where I miss home, miss dancing, miss the yoga studio, miss my friends, miss being energetic, miss my sleep pattern miss the chance to write when I want to.

I then doubt myself, my path, my dreams and my resolve.

I continue to fall. doubt. pray. persevere.

Only to unexpectedly land on a new constellation, filled with a new elation that stretches perhaps farther than the last.

So I continue, leaping and praying, practicing and pushing, analyzing and reflecting, hoping that my leaps will become more consistent and my falls won't go down so far as I create my life's own constellation.

He used to sleep with his back to me.

The first few nights it went unnoticed. But when insecurities about the security of our bond crept in, as they always do, the waves of my restful sleep broke against the wall of his back. Pressed between the contours of his scapula, hoping to erode the hardness of his spinal column, I prayed for signs.

And so when his hand reached for mine in the small hours of the morning, I exhaled. It was as if each finger locking into mine whispered a single word...

I

will

not

desert

you

So I believed him.

But the addition of his promises were as valueless and dishonest as his hands that night. That last interlock was instead a parting handshake. A pre-emble to his final goodbye: a sinful act of making love. Before he attempted to slip out of my life, as silent and unnoticed as he slipped in.

Britney Spears defaces Alexander McQueen

Britney Spears' hotly anticipated video, "Hold it Against Me" dropped today to the delight of the blogosphere.

Set in a gleaming, sexy, post-apocalyptic world, director Jonas Akerlund does a pretty good job of disguising the once talented dancer's incompetence. While the quick cuts were enough to make question if there was something wrong with the video card in my computer, then contemplate descending into a seizure, the product placements were what really induced the nausea. But the final and most insulting part of the video was the rip off of Alexander McQueen's Spring/Summer 1999 fashion show.

In the video Britney, dressed in a huge white dress, reveals highlighter coloured paint that sprays from the tips of her fingers, colouring the fabric that flares beneath her. As tweens and fans are oohing and ahhing, Alexander McQueen must be rolling in his grave.

The original concept debuted in McQueen's 1999 Spring show, where the fashion world was brought to tears when two auto-painting robots spray painted a frightened model wearing a white dress. The message was complex; it was a thoughtful commentary on the evolution of fashion as a commodity, a critique of our descent into a digital roboticized age, and a reflection of our exploitation of creativity. The show was iconic and one of the most referenced moments in McQueen's career when the fashion world reflected on his death one year ago.

Today, Britney Spears and Jonas Akerlund spat in the face of the original genius behind this concept.

It is true that art evolves over time, is adapted, referenced and often bastardized. But it breaks my heart that amidst a spastic comeback attempt, where bad editing is only outdone by tasteless product placement, the memory and work of McQueen is defaced. Britney's reference to his work is the antithesis of McQueen's original message.

While artists like Lady Gaga frequently reference McQueen's concepts (the Bad Romance was designed in part by McQueen and debuted at his final Fall 2010 show) at least they pay homage to him and his work by honouring his message and his intent. It is clear all those behind her music are only interested in exploiting true genius for a buck, much like they did to the young southern belle.

The result a bastardized, defaced and cheapened version of the original subversive, intelligent and thought provoking message McQueen first created. But, I suppose by now, we shouldn't expect much more from Britney and her team.

Watch the real deal below...

An ode to the sea.....

Today it is windy in the city.

The large trees outside my window dance in the night, the rhythm of the gusts inhale and exhale like the ocean. And just like that, with the even imitation of the profound body of water that has always spoken to me, my writing voice emerges.

I know it is my writing voice because it echos in my mind, strong, clear and free from the distraction of superfluous thought. I've missed its presence in my life. I've spent nights worried sick that the disconnect from vast bodies of water has caused my recent writing drought.

Like the writer in me went on strike over her heartache for the sea.

The ocean has always grounded me.

I feel like I can believe at the edge of a shore. Like I am part of something, like I understand, know and feel for the first time. Like I could believe in God (hell, I'd probably drink the kool-aid if I thought the waves told me to.)

As a young girl when my heart ached, my mom would take me somewhere beautiful. To me, the rhythmic breath of the ocean, with pebbles, gulls, crustaceans and sea-weed was the most beautiful of all.

I've had first kisses on the beach, I've swam until I wanted to sink, I've dove to 120 feet, caught salmon, cried, yelled and marvelled, I've made and fallen love. But never have I loved more deeply than I love the sea.

She taught me how to love the earth. I once dove deep into her waters, swam with the Wolfe-eels, jellyfish and anemones and surfaced to admire the curves of nearby mountains, smell pine trees and watch twilight paint the sky gold, peach and blue. Stars emerged like fireworks illuminating the sky with sparks of my new found passion for the earth.

By her side I am fearless, safe, happy, whole.

Her squalls never scare me; I've sat by her through hundred kilometre winds as she shook with rage: waves carving caves.

I've floated, slept, swam and boated.

It is only her depths that intimidate me. I wonder what she hides, doesn't confide, of her secret pains and pleasures, her innermost scars, the friends and the foes of which I'll never know.

And I miss her... every day I fight the drought, the dehydration of not being by her side. A lover love-sick I watch the clock tick-tock until I can sit, swim, sigh and scream on her shores.... silently sending affirmations that I will return to her side again.

Style in the City

Name: Sandy Kybartis

Occupation: Set Designer

Describe your style: " I don't think about it a lot. Classic, funky."

Favorite item in wardrobe: "A little Prada shrug with a fox collar"

What inspires your look in the morning: "How hard I have to work, how much I need to move around. If I will be on a construction site."






Name : Matt Davis

Occupation : Server

Describe your style: "Fierce and fabulous with classy edge."

Favorite item in wardrobe: "A watch-necklace that reminds me of my best friend in Australia, its my go-to accessory."

What inspires your look in the morning: "My agenda, whether it is work, and outing with friends

Fly

I turned 24.

When I was little I used to climb up on the counter in the bathroom and half kneel by the sink in the mirror, estimating how tall I would be in my twenties. That little girl had so much expectation about who she would be.

The career- path dreams changed (first National Geographic employee, then dancer, then yoga-teacher, then journalist) but my desires remained the same, I wanted to create change.

The number of 24 suddenly struck me. Not because of its significance, but because of the significance of 25. Because I am approaching the height of expectation of the little girl I once was.

I know what you're thinking. I know I have time, years and years, I know I am young (blah, blah, blah).

But I want to reach that quarter-century and be building something that resembles a life.

I am tired of believing that my age makes my time, energy and emotions disposable. That because I am young I need to lead a life that is frivolous and have relationships to match.

In the past two years since moving to Toronto, I have been more of a "typical young-person" than ever in my life.

Gone was the girl who trained, sweat, bled, cried and lost sleep for her ambitions.

Instead, I tried on rebellion. I hung out with people who weren't good for me, I stayed home, ate bad food, didn't hand in my homework. I kissed girls, kissed boys who smoked cigarettes and pretended I didn't care. I went to Sneak-Dees (five whole times). And now, I stand at the other end, knee deep in self-resentment, realizing that angst isn't what its cracked up to be.

I was always a girl with a dream. And I still am.

But I am also now a woman who doesn't want to live in a dream world anymore. A woman who wants to make dreams into reality. Many of my dreams have come true, but I am ready to cash in on some of the big ones. The ones that felt so big that they were impossible, the dreams about the things that meant something to me. The ones about making change, about living in a way that makes me feel proud to wake up in the morning, about allowing myself to feel whole.

So, I've wiped my slate clean, cleaned skeletons from the closet.

I've been talking honestly for the first time ever. I've told people when they hurt me, when they angered me, when I felt negatively. And something magic happened: they didn't run, they didn't retaliate, they didn't leave or tell me to.

I've purged the old relationships and what-if's my heart was hanging on to and hoping for. I've sifted through old and new dreams and ambitions. I've studied old wounds and realized I don't want to use them as excuses to hold back anymore. I've reached out to old friends and new ones. I've taken a good long look in the mirror, at the mistakes and the messes I've created and realized I know how to clean them up and best get to it.

I stand now, and realize that I am ready to live. Really, really live.

I have a city of possibility.

A home.

Friends who are family.

In the past, I've had inspiration and vision, but for the first time I feel like I can clearly see my own potential. I see that I haven't risen to it. As I stood on the edge of achieving my dreams I was missing the faith in myself to take that final leap. Toward success, toward rewarding relationships and friendships, toward stability, intimacy and achievement, all the things that have for so long scared me.

But now, I am ready. Scared, but ready.

I'm going to jump.

If I don't land on the other side... well, then I might just discover I can fly.

Toronto's Coffee Conspiracy

In the last year, 22 independent coffee shops opened across the GTA. From Leslieville to the Junction and beyond has emerged a world where baristas are local celebrities, coffee is treated like fine wine, and buzz words like profile, crema and umami mark the average customer an expert.

Still for many, the world of independent coffee shops remains an intimidating world of overpriced beverages, haughty customers and judgmental staffers.

But a small group of shops led by Matt Taylor and Douglas Tiller of Queen Street's Mercury Coffee Bar, informally known as Toronto Coffee Conspiracy are seeking to change that. United by a mandate of education, cross promotion and community, they hope to breakdown the barriers between shops and bridge the gap between expert connoisseur and average customer.

“The idea is a collective of coffee shops that work together to promote and involve customers in certain events,” said Taylor. These events will include coffee tastings, or cuppings, signature drink events, and latte art competitions judged by customers.

“This is about explaining the difference between a latte and a cappuccino or experiencing the difference between a Guatemala Antigua and an Ethiopia YirgaCheffe,” said Taylor. “People can then start developing their palate and understand where we are coming from helping to eliminate exclusive sort of 'coffee snobbery'.”

The first initiative the collective will undertake is creating a Toronto based 'Disloyalty Card'. The premise, thought up by Gwyllin Davies, a London-based barista, creates incentive for customers to leave the comfort of their regular coffee haunt and visit others around the city.

A customer would redeem the card at one of the seven participating shops: Mercury Espresso Bar, Manic Coffee, Sam James Coffee Bar, Crema, Dark Horse Espresso Bar, Blondie's or Cherry Bomb. The customer would then travel to all other participating shops to redeem a stamp with the purchase of a drink. After visiting all seven locations, they would take the fully stamped card back to the shop they started at and receive a free beverage.

“We're promoting quality coffee around the city but also, in a way, promoting different neighborhoods that you might not normally visit,” said Taylor. The collective hopes to kick off the Disloyalty Card April 20th.

Tiller hopes that the collective will not only stimulate community among customers but also among shop owners. “Within most industries there is a sense of competition, rivalry, infighting and backstabbing,” he said. “ This [initiative] kind of stops that at the root.”

“It is about a camaraderie, about promoting good, fresh coffee and about promoting other people's shops because we aren't the only ones. It's showing that we don't hate them and they don't hate us,” said Tiller. He hopes as time moves on the collective will expand beyond the seven shops currently involved, “it's not about being an exclusive club, this can grow out from here.”

Allan Gardens

Located mere steps from the Ryerson Campus the Allan Gardens Conservatory is a rare gem in the downtown core of Toronto. Built in 1958, the historic site features six greenhouses that connect and intertwine to provide onlookers with 16,000 square feet of botanical displays.

“It’s impressive, Allan Gardens is a pretty sketchy park and [the conservatory] is surprising.” Luka Misolovic a second-year Biomedical Engineering student from Ryerson University who uses the conservatory for study breaks.

Open to the public free of charge, the six greenhouses each display different botanical themes. The main Palm House, constructed in 1910, contains tall banana palms, hibiscus and ginger plants. Other greenhouses include cacti displays, orchids, waterfalls and ponds that attract visitors of all ages and walks of life to unwind and find inspiration.

Maryanne Whiteman, a former journalist from Ottawa makes a point of always seeing the gardens on her visits to Toronto. For her, the seasonal shows remain a large attraction. “As a gardener it gives me ideas about what to buy and what I can do in my own garden,” she said. What she finds particularly unique about the space is its proximity to the downtown core and its accessibility to the public.

Misolovic agrees, “It’s an asset to the city.”

View Larger Map

*photos courtesy of gothereguide.com

Style in the Streets of Toronto

"Even in the winter, I like to have a pop of colour," says Christine Colombo outside of Anthropoligie in Yorkville.
"This is me, this is my personality," said Carol Nardi, who chose this beautiful combination of fur for its stunning texture.

Style in the Streets of Toronto

Braving the cold streets of Yorkville, Cristina Ion pairs soft grays and peaches. We love the contrast between the strong boots, heavy wool and soft peach blouse.

Shirky and Herminda weigh in on the death of the newspaper

As print publications lie bleeding profits on their death bed the internet thrives as it redefines the way we consume media. Clay Shirky, a technology analyst at New York University, says the main issue with the way publications are adapting to the internet is their misguided idea that the organizational format of newspapers is transferable to the web.

Alfred Herminda, founding member of BBCnews.com and professor at the UBC Graduate School of Journalism says that the newspaper once provided convenience. It bundled information, from news to horoscopes and recipes and conveniently delivered it to your door.

"The impact of the internet is that it has unbundled the newspaper," said Herminda."Now you can customize and personalize content to your liking." This, paired with the quick pace of the internet means that the web has both diminished the value and newsworthiness of newspapers.

Herminda says that as journalism moves forward, it must push and reconsider the very role of the modern journalist. “The job should be less about simply gathering information it should be about contextualizing information, letting readers know why it matters and what it means,” he said.

Herminda and Shirky both agree that while journalism has not been devalued by the internet, the newspaper has. “We must think beyond the delivery mechanism and begin to view the newspaper as a concept,” said Herminda. “We must continually ask ourselves, 'does this concept continue to fulfill a need?”

A couple enjoys view of the Tuscan countryside outside Cortona, Barbora Simek, photo

Photos II

Photo Time

Online evolution

As the internet's presence continues to evolve and become more and more present in our lives, it also pushes the evolution of journalism. In a lecture at Ryerson University today Jim Rankin, journalist for the Toronto Star, explained the way that he has used the web to bring to life his story 'Crime and Punishment'.

Rather than writing a customary feature with the lengthy findings of a freedom of information request, Rankin turned his findings into a multimedia rich web feature.

Crime and Punishment features

• flash maps
• games
• interactive time-lines
  
• articles
• video
• graphs
  

In combination, these features come together to create an engaging experience for the eyes and ears. Rankin says using all that the web offers in form of video, photo, audio and visuals is important to online success. That, and good promotion.

"If you build it they won't come. Unless, they can find it"- Jim Rankin

Want them to find it? Turn to social media, he advises. For example, in order to promote their content the Toronto Star deploys:

• Twitter
• Facebook
• YouTube

Here is a peek at one of the award winning videos The Toronto Star and Rankin's team created for the project.





*photo of Jim Rankin courtesy of King's University

Naked ambition

Get ready to drop your trousers in the name of inner beauty, Canada. How To Look Good Naked, the popular British reality TV series, is coming to the great-white North. Aiming to reverse self-image and esteem issues in one inside-out make-over How to Look Good Naked Canada, will hit the airwaves weekly on the W Network. While long term results are not guaranteed, and highly questionable, the show is a step in a positive direction in a world that idealizes single-digit dress-sizes.

Following the tradition of the British series, each week host Zain Meghji and a team of "fashion experts" will lead one woman through a surgery-free makeover and a series of self-esteem building exercises. According to the W Network, by the end of each show one woman will have brought her "inner beauty outside," and drop all attachment to the "unobtainable bodies you see in the media". To show off their new lease on life the women will then participate in a nude photo shoot and walk down the runway in her intimates.

While its a tall order for a one hour episode to turn around years of bad self-esteem, it is refreshing to see reality TV attempt substance, and dare we say, social service.

How to Look Good Naked airs 10pm ET on the W Network