c'est what?

the difference between watching this and an episode of The Hills?

2008-04-09T18:26:00.001-04:00

Gossip Girl returns April 21st!

2008-04-01T07:56:00.002-04:00

The Pixel Couch is dizzy-adorable. I have to imagine, however, that its “you need to get your eyes checked” effect is actually not so bad--it's just natural to squint and refocus when viewing something on a computer screen, right?

Designed by Royal College of Art graduate Cristian Zuzunaga, it's hard to find a blog that hasn't posted about it this week. If you buy it, do tell how it looks in person.

via Shape + Colour
and many other blogs.

separated at birth?

2008-03-18T08:27:00.001-04:00

No, it's not really me. But close enough that I’ve been asked about it all weekend--even an ex emailed with congratulations.

Do you always pose like me, doppelganger?

Thanks to Josh for the tip, ha.

2008-03-09T23:08:00.014-04:00

We got “evicted” this week. The landlord’s father is moving into the house and so we have until June 15 to find a new place. So happy that we funded her renovations and lived through the constant nagging—from thermostat wars to passive aggressive snow shoveling—only to be pushed to the curb when everyone was finally getting along.

While I don’t mind the idea of house hunting (I like to spy on others, who knew?) for the first time in my life I’m not at all enamored by the idea of change. I’ve nested in this apartment and I’m just not ready to pack it all up and move.

(Then again, something went through the Laundromat window this week while my sheets were in the rinse cycle, leaving behind a hole which resembled evidence from Law & Order. So the opportunity to find a place with en suite laundry is rather appealing.)

Answer to question #1 you may be thinking:
No, I’m not going to move in with the boyfriend. Call me Katherine Heigl, but I’m slightly old fashioned—while also being terribly bored at the idea of living in a “couples” house. And besides, we still manage to sleep in the same bed most nights. We can wait until we're married to share a bathroom and everysinglemomentever.

Answer to question #2 you may be thinking:
No mom, I’m not going to move back home. Sorry!

Instead, the next three months will be dedicated to finding a place that will let me best replicate the design I’ve been building in this apartment. I’m annoyed that the projects I wanted to complete over the next month have to be put on indefinite hold. (Peeping toms, you may continue to window-lurk, those curtains aren’t going up anytime soon.)

And at the same time, I am getting excited at the prospect of new furniture: The aforementioned renovations included the addition of a smaller door frame, rendering our couch and wingback chairs into permanent installations of the house.

Answer to question #3 you may be thinking:
Yes, the landlord is definitely getting our cheap $20-from-craigslist couch as a moving-out present. The wingback chairs, on the other hand, are much too nice and are going to have to make it out a window.

shoveling snow is not a workout.

2008-03-04T17:45:00.003-05:00

A few weeks back it was fun to mock the thrilling "SNOW! WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW!" headlines that accompanied the non-stop blizzards of southern Ontario. But now, 90-odd centimeters later, we've heard it all and no longer care. The snow is coming and it's boring.

IDS08 - klaus objects

2008-02-28T19:53:00.004-05:00

I’m trying to think of a scenario that would allow me to have both these objects...

But I just keep recalling Joey’s apartment when he moves away from Chandler. And, shocking I know, but that’s so not the style I’m going for.

Still. Pig table or rabbit lamp?

Picture the pig in a front hallway, acting as butler-console table. You have dark, aged hardwood (original to the house) or tiny black and white octagon tiles. The pig isn’t all in your face the moment you come in the door—no, he’s rather unassuming, waiting across from the closet, ready to take your mail and hold the keys.

Rabbit lamp, while it is my first choice, is simply too mrah. You could put that bunny anywhere to light up a room.

(Both from the Klaus by Nienkämper booth at IDS.)

IDS08 - loyal loot

2008-02-26T19:19:00.002-05:00

When your signature item is a series of precious candy-coloured bowls made from found pieces of log, of course the presentation has to be equally whimsical.

Loyal Loot’s IDS exhibit was positioned somewhere between a fairy tale and an easter egg hunt; it’s crisp and cozy autumn textures with a fresh spring feel.

AND FELT TOADSTOOL TABLES!

IDS08 - designLIVE

2008-02-25T23:44:00.014-05:00

It’s not fair to call it a booth: the designLIVE rooms were one of the main attractions at the Interior Design show this past weekend, complete with a velvet roped queue. (And a 10pm curfew, as Sarah and I found out during the later hours of the opening night gala.)

First up: Brian Gluckstein’s smoky-elegant living room, complete with faux library.

The colours! I’m so into purples and greys right now—during a getting-dressed frenzy the other night I noticed that the pile forming on my bed was almost entirely dove grey and mauve. My walls? Painted the perfectly-named shade “chinchilla white”. But how to make it all look like a room you'd expect to see Blair Waldorf lounging in?

Oh, hello chair. Do you know how perfect you would be for my bedroom?

The one thing lacking in the designLIVING rooms was a guide all the objects and elements. I suppose that's the point, though. You get really into something like this red table, call Gluckstein up to ask about it, and next thing you know the whole house is redecorated.

On a whole, Lynda Reeves’ City Loft room design did not impress. Much too cluttered, with colours, prints, and art from different eras. (Zebra! Hot Pink! Oriental Art! Rattan!) I think she was going for the eclectic feel that Woodson and Rummerfield do so well—but something was just off. The room was a distracting mess.

Separately, though, there were some great pieces.

Kartell’s Louis Ghost Chair is a perfect match for this unassuming vanity. But that awkward candelabra sitting on the floor has to go...

Conran's orange enamel enamors Sarah.

And last, Sarah Richardson’s rooms, which, to no surprise were flawless. The cozy retreat had all her signature touches: perfectly paired textiles, custom upholstered items, and a modern-whimsical aesthetic. It was just like walking through an episode of Design Inc.

Yes, that’s right. Birds. The sofa is upholstered in bird silhouettes. This makes me never want anything in a solid ever again. Say what you might about woodland-chic being over—this is a perfect twist to the look. And the bone table! Certainly an acceptable antler-related item to covet.

Come to think of it, I wonder what happens to these pieces now that the show is over...

2007-12-11T18:41:00.000-05:00

NOTED:
The two OldschoolTABLEs on display in Toronto (by modernist design group Thout—as in without, a name so perfect I wish I’d thought of it first) are now no longer. They’ve suddenly departed from the windows of the Ministry of the Interior and Thout’s Dundas West headquarters.

So while I used to imagine how I would decorate a dining room to complement the bright red spindled table, now I’ll just have to hope that one day it won’t seem out of the ordinary for a glossy, $3000 piece of furniture-art to appear under my Christmas tree.

2007-12-11T18:04:00.000-05:00

Approximate amount of time it takes for the Globe and Mail to scoop a New York Times trend piece? 5 days.

It used to be that the Globe simply republished NYT Style pieces a week later in their own Life Style section. (As though they really think style/trend/fashion followers are loyal to only one source, or don’t mind week-old information—please!) But more recently, local freelancers have been rewriting NYT stories with Toronto or Canada-based anecdotes.

And I must admit, while the lack of innovation usually annoying, in the case of articles about push presents, I like the local sourcing.

"I expected one, and if Adam hadn't got me one, I might have been upset," Ms. Halpern, 35, said. "A push present says, 'I appreciate what you've given me, that your body was used as a vessel for this child.'

"Let's just say that a dinner out would not suffice as a push present for most people." -G&M

Because one can never have too many quotes from entitled women discussing the many reasons why they deserve a big ticket present for giving birth*. It’s nice to know Toronto is just as capable as New York City in terms of being both detached and competitive about pregnancy all at the same time.

* It’s fair to assume that most of the high-maintenance moms quoted did not actually “give birth”, though I suppose “picked up the phone to schedule a c-section present” just doesn’t have the same ring.

2007-12-10T23:41:00.000-05:00

Things I’ve Bought That I Love

When I get together with my old roommates from university, a favourite thing to do is discuss the horrible state that our student house was in. It’s shocking, really, to go back and think about all the things that consumed every inch of available space in our six-bedroom townhouse. From piles of appliances, papers, clothing, and furniture that no one ever used, to the numerous surfaces we covered in the accouterments for said useless objects, it really was incredible that a) we thought without a doubt that the house was perfect b) our friends saw nothing wrong with our ‘decorating skills’ and c) we survived there for two whole years, never losing an item to the tide of garbage or a housemate to some incurable disease.

So now, you can’t even imagine how impressed I am with my current obsessive state of cleaning. For those two student lifestyle-dominated years (and the other two previous years spent in equally-unorganized housing) I liked to keep things clean, sure, but it was always on a for-purpose basis: I want to cook a meal—I guess I will clean off the counters; a boy is coming over—it’s time to put away the laundry. Day-to-day cleaning, tidying, or organizing was never done, or even considered. Putting the garbage out once a week was struggle enough.

Fast forward to today. Have you ever watched how your parents move through a house? It’s like an exercise in schizophrenic logic: start dusting the TV but notice that a plant needs to be watered but when filling up the watering can it only makes sense to clean off a few dishes that are sitting by the sink, and oh, looks like the recycling is full so might as well take that out and on the way back inside it becomes obvious that the doormat needs cleaning…

Yes, this is the person I have suddenly become.

But maybe all I needed was the right inspiration to stay clean. The personal/emotional/financial investment into my current apartment is a good start. But how about something a little sexier (aside, of course, from the boy who I do like to clean and cook for) like, a Dirt Devil Kone vacuum.

The Kone is something I am hesitant to refer to as an appliance. Karim Rashid is genius for the sleek, soft look of the Kone—made even more perfect by its white lacquered finish and friendly blue-white glow. That’s right. Plug the Kone in to charge and it radiates ambient light. I think it’s saying: “Hi, I’m just sitting here, enjoying your company. Let me know if you need anything.”

Occasionally it sucks up dust happily, but, truthfully most of the time I just like to have it plugged in, awake and glowing from the corner of my bedroom.

2007-11-20T00:45:00.000-05:00

After being forced out of my new apartment for two weeks because my landlord thought she was doing us a favour by replacing all the electrical (she apparently lives in a world where wires aren’t hidden behind 50-year-old sheets of dusty, dirty plaster and thought the job would take maybe half a day to complete—hah!) we have finally moved back in.

During the construction it was clear to us that the electricians were total douches—all too often we’d find them sitting around and doing nothing. Many holes were cut ether too small or too large. Plugs were “finished” with dead wires sticking out. Half our new outlets are not flush to the wall. Our landlord lost a month’s rent from us and paid over $12,000 to the dingbat electricians for this service.

And now, after getting painters and cleaners to fix up the apartment, we’ve discovered that the new, safer electrical system is also very, very “sensitive”. Meaning: plug in more than three appliances and you’ll have to reset the breaker. I reset the breaker approximately ten times a day—and I’m only home between 7pm-9am! The landlord says the electricians told her “that’s just the way it is” and she doesn’t know what else to do.

Things I have learned: never become a landlord. Never hire just anyone to work on your house. Never try to renovate a space without actually knowing the basics of what needs to be done—and how it’s done. Though, I must say, thanks to observing the bad fortune of my landlord, I’m going to be way ahead of the game when I do have my own place.

Oh, and I have decided that when I do get my own house it will be this house. (Or, well, something very similar.) My most recent “when I grow up” idea has been to go back to school for interior design—a thought which is only reinforced by the absolute crush I have developed on this Farnsworth House-inspired abode, custom built by architect/designer Will Meyer. Strange to feel so enamored by a large, inanimate object, but it is flirting back—my bedroom has much of the same furniture as their master.

2007-11-19T19:39:00.000-05:00

NOTED:
NineGramBrain, the not-so-secret parody blog of Rebecca Eckler’s NinePoundDictator, has announced that they’re shutting down because Icks has “slipped into such an irredeemable state of irrelevancy and uselessness that we can no longer decipher her pointless and illiterate musings and from this point forward”.

While I can understand wanting to ignore something in order to make it less relevant, NGB is shutting down at the peak of its (though not Icks) popularity. The comments section is full of both snarky random notes and obvious tips from insiders—creating a non-stop obsessive-yet-interesting discourse on all things mommy blogger and vapid journalism.

So I have to wonder if Eckler won. She did issue a “threaten” in the spring claiming to know who was behind the site, with promise to legally destroy their lives both personally and professionally. Hmm.

2007-09-11T00:46:00.000-04:00

It’s film festival season again in Toronto, which generally puts half of the population in super high alert mode for all things going-on, and the other half in a state of either “huh?” or “whatever”.

I only like the film fest for the parties, none of which I am ever personally invited to, but enough of which I manage to get guestlisted for. The movies? Mrah. I can’t even make myself go to the Paramount to see a week-old blockbuster let alone line up among crowds for a limited screening of something that my film-savvy friend Tanya can just summarize for me over cocktails the week after.

(Fun fact: when the boyfriend and I have movie dates, we rarely end up seeing the film. Instead we go for dinner, then enter the theatre lobby, ponder the movie we’ve earlier chosen to see, debate if we actually want to see it, and then leave. On more than one occasion we’ve had to return tickets purchased beforehand.)

I saw Paris Hilton last week at the DJ AM pre-festival party, but she was hiding behind the turntables all night long and, admittedly, the actions of numerous older d-bags at Ultra were much more amusing than the dancing heiress. Yawn.

And really, it seems to be local talent that delights more so than anyone international. The images of Brad and Angelina and Reese and Jake in Toronto seem just as, well, distant, as any other appearance they’ve made across the globe. It’s the same pre-programmed poses and phrases and really, I can’t tell the difference from pictures taken in Yorkville versus those from Venice.

But back here, ah, the fun unfolds. The film fest was the perfect topic to make Leah McLaren and Rebecca Eckler’s otherwise subtle cattyness suddenly enter the realm of obvious. (Until recently it was reserved to darling Leah subtlety lamenting about the lameness of ending up as an Albertan lawyer’s stay-at-home wife. Ouch.)

When Eckler professed her desire last week to be adopted by a celebrity entourage in the National Post (“With friends like these, who needs publicists?”) the article was quickly countered by McLaren’s weekend Globe Style column titled “Who needs enemies with friends like these?” which argued the patheticness of celebrity hangers-on. Well played as it was well-timed, indeed.

My friend Jenny is equally compelled by the local gossip scene, but probably because she film fest bumped into a CBC radio personality with whom she’s had a long-time crush. And he flirted back. Which might not seem like a big deal, but at least unlike a Hollywood somebody, there’s still the very real chance of a second encounter before next September.

2007-09-05T00:56:00.000-04:00

I’m moving out in a few weeks, and no, not into something I bought, like I once professed I would only do. It’s an adorable rental in an equally adorable section of downtown, so yes, let’s all be happy for me.

I tell this to my aesthetician, who is one of the most opinionated people I know, and she scowls, ripping away verysensitive hair as she lists off the reasons why I should not be moving away from my parents.

“Do you know how much it costs to buy a house? Save up! If your parents are not that bad to live with, why are you leaving!”

I don’t want to let her logic sway me, but because she does the best waxing in Toronto there is some part of me that invites her judgment.

It’s not like the decision to move out was an easy one to make. Once I said goodbye to unlimited spending money and monthly vacations, and started prepping for a life sans insta-laundry and dinner, there was the whole issue of actually finding a place. My mega-pickiness was not helped by the fact that fall rentals are absolutely dreadful to find.

(Yes, it is possible to spend $1600 a month on a 3 bedroom apartment above an old Chinese restaurant where evidence of a small electrical fire and black mold infestation makes the landlord simply shrug his shoulders.)

But at the same time, this anti-move rhetoric was coming from a thirty-something woman who last month was surprised to hear that my parents ‘allowed’ the boyfriend and I to take a romantic holiday in Sonoma, California. She moved out of her parents’ house when she married her husband. They have 3 kids and live in the suburbs. She thinks I should be saving up to buy a similar abode. Nothanks.

Instead, well, instead I’m measuring and remeasuring Victorian-sized doorways and windows and getting happy headaches from carrying (er, assisting in the carrying of) large pieces of furniture. The energy I once reserved for keeping track of every single craigslist rental is now being channeled into finding key items in their for sale section.

Is it weird that I feel like I’m finally coming out of winter hibernation? I know I’ve been doing things all spring and summer, but it seems that something is finally starting to happen. My fingers are crossed that moving is going to set a lot in motion.

2007-07-06T08:18:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago I was quoted in an Ottawa Citizen article about the twenty-something mindset on engagements and diamond rings. Yesterday I went to my first-ever bridal shower. Tomorrow, according to both high and low wedding culture sources, is the luckiest day to get married. And so, in celebration of all things nuptial, I thought I should share one of my most favourite pastimes:

Mocking the pictures and comments on Facebook’s various “Being Engaged Rocks!” groups.

I understand the need to share and overshare “interesting” things about one’s life (hello, this is why I have an oh-so-personal public blog). However, wedding/engagement websites seem to bring about a certain lack of decorum that is unparallel to anything else online. Perhaps this is connected to the whole ‘me day!’/entitlement/bridezilla culture at large, or perhaps it’s because most Engaged Facebookers are under the age of 21. Either way, it has resulted in a self-congratulatory parade of photos featuring the ugly, uncouth, and downright offensive choices that today’s blushing brides have made.

Showing off engagement rings is the main reason all these groups exist. Because by flaunting their diamonds, brides-to-be can translate their love into a commodity that is more easily assessed by jealous friends and family. Sure, saying “he really loves me!” is fun, but it’s simply much more meaningful to post a pic online with the carat count in the caption.

Sadly, some fiancées have not yet figured out how to best show off their assets.

Some might say it’s the fat positioning of the hand that ruins this picture. However, I think if you spend that much time lacquering the tips of your nails bright red, you could at least clean off the bed and throw out the water bottles. You know, unless you’re as committed to looking trashy as you are to your fiancé.

You know they were going for an adorable “holding hands!” pose, but sadly, wound up with alien fingers on hairy knees. Sigh.

All in all, not a bad ring picture. Until you realize she’s posing on her fiancé’s chest. The caption says “don’t worry, he’s not naked!” but it’s still an entire frame of scrawny bare skin. Best to keep this one to yourselves.

And speaking of keeping it to yourselves, this is a professional engagement picture. A pose usually reserved for Cosmo photos shoots, romance novels, and misty black and white posters found in university residence rooms, I hope this couple doesn’t plan on sending announcements to anyone over 60. Or their own parents. Slate was right, the photojournalism style really isn’t ideal for all wedding pictures.

And finally, the pièce de résistance:

That is NOT an engagement ring. For a female at least. Because I suppose if you proposed to a football player, that would be the most appropriate token of love. Also note the words “economy” in the background—either a clever ironic comment on the explosion of metal and crystal on her hand, or notes from class proving that our fiancée is flaunting the ring between lectures.

Bonus picture:

If anorexic twelve-year-olds are getting married, does that increase or decrease the chances of us healthy twenty-somethings finding love? Seriously.

2007-06-26T19:21:00.000-04:00

I am so ready to quit the gym.

Ah, but you saw this coming, didn’t you? Because my gym-going has never been consistent. It generally comes in three month bursts and then fades away the moment it’s warm out because I really believe that summer sweat burns away all and any errant calories.

Too bad I forgot this when I signed a year-long contract last fall. At the time I was convinced that the $60 automatically deducted from my account each month would be enough motivation to get me on a treadmill a few times a week. Reality check: I am paying a dollar a minute for an hour long yoga class every four weeks.

Pshaw. I don’t need the gym. I’ve got other things to occupy my time—and not just lazy things, but physical activity things!

We got a new dog about a month ago. Named Candy, she’s a 4-year-old American Fox Terrier/Chihuahua mix and was brought up from a pound in Kentucky where she was on death row. I adopted her for my mom as a present for mother’s day, from a private dog rescue through PetFinder.com. I can’t even begin to describe how much I freaking love the dog.

(Honestly, if you want a new dog do the adoption thing, don’t buy a $2500 puppy mill puppy from a PJs. I’m amazed at how well trained Candy is—she came housebroken, leash-ready, loves other animals, doesn’t beg—it’s tragic to think she was so close to being put down.)

So yes, when it’s the end of my work day, I think about the sweaty, crowded change room at the gym and the fact that I’ll have a choice between watching soaps or staring at someone’s back fat as I workout. Then I picture Candy jumping four feet in the air and licking my face before we run circles in the backyard and go for a long walk. The puppy always wins.

And when I’m not playing with her I’ve got another new favourite thing: bicycling. It’s just too convenient to go from store to bar to party to home to brunch to park on a bike, especially considering that summer traffic/construction makes going anywhere downtown a thirty minute ordeal or $15 cab ride. And I already feeling guilty enough for commuting out to the ‘burbs everyday—a drunken bike ride from cinq-a-sept to the boyfriend’s bed is the best way to counteract this.

Also related: The parking lot at my office has been colonized by a new company, causing RESERVED signs to appear on every good spot. This forces perpetually-late me to park very far away on the floor with no elevator service. But the dangerous hike up the down ramp every morning is treating my calves nicely.

2007-06-06T08:31:00.000-04:00

If claiming that the entertainment industry stole your writing for profit is the new trend, then, hello! I am so relevant!

As a 13-year-old I was one of the few people in my school to spend countless hours on the Internet hard-coding websites and chatting with strangers across the globe about, well, everything. I wish I still knew the URLs to my old sites (hosted on Angelfire and Tripod and usually called Princess Paige’s Palace or something equally adorable) because, like reading pubescent diary entries, they would now seem quite entertaining.

Anyway. This incessant internetting was also directly linked to my obsession with Degrassi Junior High and Degrassi High. The show had been off the air for something like five years, and I was rediscovering it through reruns on Showcase and the CBC while obsessing over every little trivial detail with fans online. We had webrings! And email newsletters!

So, this is where the interesting-slash-super-geeky part begins. In 1998 we started writing fan fiction (it should be noted that I was the youngest contributor, with the bulk of my online Degrassi friends being genXers) and I partnered up with two guys from Israel to develop a website to host our self-written television series “The New Generation of Degrassi”. It would follow Emma, Spike’s daughter, as she started school in the newly-repaired Degrassi Jr High. Mm, sound familiar?

A few months after we posted character sketches and a draft of our first script we were contacted by Playing With Time Inc. (the creators of Degrassi) and told to cease and desist. The premiere of Degrassi: The Next Generation was officially announced a few years later by CTV and one of the new characters was named Paige. (I freaked out about this here.)

Here’s the thing. On paper, sure, this sounds too coincidental to be a coincidence. But really, the concept of a Degrassi sequel was something every fan talked about. And using the character of Emma is a pretty logical lead for the show. You just can’t copyright obvious, universal ideas.

Oh, and SPEAKING of big media stealing ideas from others...
C’est What, July 2004: “I want a big guy, maybe as a boyfriend or just a friend, to look all bodyguard-ish and walk around with me when I go shopping.” -Paige
The National Post, September 2005: “I wanted a massive bodyguard, one who looks like a bodyguard and not just a friend.” -Rebecca Eckler

2007-05-08T18:28:00.000-04:00

Let's talk about Lean Cuisine. You know, the tiny-portioned microwave dinners which serve best as the punch line in jokes about single women with multiple cats? Mmm yes. Even I cannot defend my own fondness for the meals without having to mock them in the same breath. Because as much as I find them delicious, and as much as they don't contain the 650 calories that all other microwave meals do, Lean Cuisine is still pre-packaged preservative-filled pseudo-diet food. Acceptable as a mid-day snack but horribly unsuitable for a whole meal—an entrée with more negative connotations than actual mouthfuls of food.

And I know I'm not the only one to think this. I happen to work in an office which is unusually concerned with my eating habits (making me feel, more often than not, like the ditzy villain of a Cathy cartoon) and so yesterday I thought it best to sneak a Lean Cuisine into the microwave rather than face a barrage of questions about food choices.

(Side note: soy milk, apparently, symbolizes one's fear of fat and calories in milk. Who knew?)

But as the office kitchen is the ditzy villain of global warming (no recycling system) I held onto the box so I could later safely dispose of it in a Blue Bin. Oops. Before the microwave beeped, I was caught by a co-worker.

"What! Lean Cuisine? For you!? Why do you need to be eating this? You don't! You don't need to worry about that, your figure is fiiiiine."

Please, someone inform me of the proper way to respond to such an inquisition. A casual "I like the taste," is okay, but that's not answering the unspoken, real question at hand. So maybe a better reply would be along the lines of: "Thanks, I already know I am hot and thin, but Nicole Richie just keeps changing the definition of skinny on me!"

I told my sister about the exchange and she responded that only a few days before she too had been made to feel awkward about Lean Cuisine. By a grocery checkout person who stared her up and down as he rang in her five frozen meals. He double bagged them and then asked, "Are you sure you'll be able to carry these out?"

There should be no shame in choosing an alternative to XL Hungry Man Beer Batter Chicken and Cheesy Fries! And hey, at least I'm not that girl who thinks "Well, I did walk the stairs—twice!—and had a bowl of Special K before I took the dog for a walk. I will treat myself to eight pieces of puffed rice crisp!" No way. My sacrifice of a lunch was rewarded with a bulk bag of chocolate covered almonds.

2007-04-19T18:11:00.000-04:00

Two things that don’t seem important now but will be totally in your face by June:

Knocked Up
About half way through the screening of this movie, I thought to myself “how many more times will I see Knocked Up this summer?” The answer was a number somewhere between three and seeing it so frequently that I memorize the entire script and annoy my friends with preemptive laughing on every joke. And oh, there are so many jokes! All very clever, well-timed, and delightfully inappropriate, making the things I laughed at in 40 Year Old Virgin seem soo 2005.

Unplanned pregnancies are usually nothing more than contrived plot devices, to give an otherwise boring story a twist or to enable character revelations. But in Knocked Up, the pregnancy is both the entire movie and not at all significant. The real narrative is about relationships, friendship, and all other personal growth topics usually reserved for cheesy rom coms. Judd Apatow and his usual cast of characters really can make any topic incredibly hilarious and brilliant. Seven weeks to go until I can see it again...

Navy Blue Nail Polish
Goodbye black and deep purple and maroon! Hello navy blue. It’s possibly the only thing I could put on my fingernails (other than tiny mirrors) to make me want to just stare at my hands all day. Opaque, deep blue is hard to find right now—those metallic, translucent tints are not what I’m obsessing over—but give it a few weeks and the right shade will be everywhere.

2007-04-11T18:14:00.000-04:00

It seems that lately my alma mater has been up to no good. True, I left Western with a few, how to say this gently, negative opinions of the school. But as the past year progressed, I forgot about all the things that annoyed me and instead started to crave the carefree, crazy days of yore. Unfortunately, those good feelings have again been tarnished.

The first annoyance came by way of a sweepstakes-style envelope, claiming to be an URGENT!! letter from the UWO Alumni Relations department. Inside was a request for information, for everything from my updated address, phone number, and career status, to recent photos and a personalized message about my time at Western.

I was to send this all back to a P.O. box in Toronto and then presumably 6-8 weeks later receive an order form for the “UWO Alumni Guide Book, yours for only $49.99 plus shipping and handling!!”

All my classmates are on Facebook, of course, so I saw no need to participate in a book that would list me next to Bill Smith, class of ’77. But what was with the cheesy “don’t delay, reply today!” letter and the P.O. box in Toronto? (Western is in London.) Some simple research uncovered that the letter was written on behalf of UWO and the book was actually being created by an American company, Harris Communications.

And so, on one of my more feisty days, I called the real Alumni Relations department and demanded to know why I was being solicited by an American company to provide personal information for free, only to have it sold back to me. Why wasn’t this at least being done by a Canadian company, or, even better, why couldn’t Western employ their own graduates to create the book?

(I had also received an application for a UWO Alumni credit card that week, and politely inquired if giving my contact info to third-party companies was all Alumni Relations did.)

My concerns were all appreciated, with hopes that I would continue to be involved in alumni affairs. Thanks, Western. Now perhaps you could remove the pathetic postings by Vector Marketing from the “Full-time Marketing Jobs for Graduates” section of the career website?

But! The fun doesn’t end there! This week, another issue came to my attention, this time via Facebook. The Gazette, Western’s daily student-run newspaper, published a rather controversial “article” in their annual spoof issue. Under the premise of satire, the narrative was titled "Labia Majora Carnage" and detailed angry Women’s Issues Network members at Western staging a "take back the nightie" march. It cumulates with:

Upon seeing the chaos, London Police Chief Murray Faulkner stopped greasing his nightstick and intervened. He grabbed the loudspeaker from [Jennifer] Ostrich's wild vagina and took it into a dark alley to teach it a lesson. To Ostrich's dismay, the vagina followed, giggling as it said, "I love it when a man in uniform takes control."

(It should be noted that both names are badly-disguised pseudonyms which represent real people in London—the actual police chief and a female student involved in women’s rights on campus, who apparently also frequently protests inappropriate content in the Gazette.)

At the same time, the article was published under a pseudonym and the actual writers have not yet been revealed. Which is understandable: from my experience, those who delight in bad arguments, cheap shots, and ignorant opinions love the veil of anonymity. If you really think what you have to say is valid, you will always attach yourself to it.

I’ve been told that the creation of the spoof issue involved the newspaper staff writing stories while drunk. I believe this, because only stupid content comes out of drinking binges. True satire, truly hilarious writing and clever commentary on current events reads nothing like the content that the Gazette produced. The spoof article is both offensive and incredibly pathetic. It makes me ashamed for my school and for the newspaper. A newspaper I once wrote for. Euck.

The outrage sparked by the article has passed through Facebook circles and now has national coverage, with the CBC, Toronto Star, CanWest, SunMedia, and CTVglobemedia all reporting. So despite those who say that people are overacting about the article (and the Gazette maintains a rather lazy “it was a joke, get over it, we can’t please every minority, don’t take yourself so seriously!” attitude) the desire for resolution of this issue shows how important equality and respect for all is in this country.

Yes, stick to your contrived excuses Gazette staff—and remember to not take yourselves so seriously this spring when those same media companies decline you for jobs.

2007-04-09T16:56:00.000-04:00

Monday morning at the airport I hug the boyfriend hello, as he stayed home for Easter weekend while I celebrated belated birthdays with my sister, mother, and god-mother in Las Vegas. And hey, the rebirth of Jesus is also about gambling and showgirls, no?

"I missed you so so much!" he proclaims while hugging me close.

"Sweetie," I say, kissing him on the nose. "I was only gone for three days you know."

"Well sorry Paige, but I did! Some of us are not robots!"

"No! I mean, of course I thought of you! And missed you! It’s just.. such a.. short... time. Um." Apparently I've failed at correctly expressing my ‘distance makes the heart grow fonder’ sentiments.

We are quiet for a bit, walking towards the parking lot, still in embrace. And then, without thinking, I speak.

"...I...oooh!! Oh! I missed my car!"

2007-04-03T19:54:00.000-04:00

If you've had a conversation with me over the last three-or-so weeks, you will have most certainly been bombarded by my love for Slice. Hello, best thing to happen to Canadian television since, well, MTV gave CanCon pop culture something to fight for. Or be fought over, depending on who you ask.

Slice is essentially nothing more than the Life Network with better branding, but this is exactly what our television landscape was lacking. One catchy slogan (drunken Paige shouts "Slice is MY VICE!!" while grabbing the remote from the boyfriend), dozens of clever ads ("I started watching Slice because my friends are boring. And, I hope, illiterate."), and incredible on-air promos (Don't you want… traces of peanuts? …AT A MALL!) all combine to give Slice an automatic boost over any other Canadian station. The strong brand identity means viewers don't need to know, or even care, what exactly is on—they'll tune in because Slice simply promises to deliver.

And deliver it does. I did my share of Life Network viewing back in the day, but the amped up programming of Slice keeps me locked on channel 41. It's just sooo entertaining, always providing the perfect distraction. (And ego boost, because I'm not in debt, constantly berating my spouse, or raising a family of bratty kids.) Even the online portal is clever—Slice.ca is filled with gossipy articles, advice tips, and personal tricks. I want to write for them. I want to work for Slice!

I also love that most of the shows are Canadian-made. That way, instead of watching the failing marriage of Jane and Billy from Nowhere, USA, I get to identify street signs and discover that this week's unhappy Newlywed, Nearly Dead couple is from Pickering. (In which case, I understand! I'd be on the brink of desperation too!) Same with Til Debt Do Us Part: I just care so much more about the monetary mishaps of others when I can identify with the cost of living.

And, if you're curious, Slice isn't just for girls. I don't want to name names, but I do know a certain group of men who were riveted by a recent episode of Rich Bride, Poor Bride. To the point that they talked about how bitchy the bridezilla was for days afterward. Which just proves, I'm not the only one starting conversations about a television channel.

2007-03-23T19:58:00.000-04:00

I'm impatient I'm impatient I'm impatient! It's spring—the time of year when everything is on the brink, and so on comes the usual seasonal cynicism and boredom. Winter is ending, spring is "here" but it's still too cold for delicate shoes or to open the sunroof without first cranking the heat. I'm stir crazy, and I just need to make it to that next… well, to whatever is happening next.

I blame my boredom in part on Terra and the province of Nova Scotia for showing me such a good time last week. Four days of lobsters, wine, oysters, country air, and East Coast pot was enough to make me want to give up landlocked city living. And my vacation could not have been more perfectly timed, dropping just the right amount of distraction into my otherwise too-much-routine life.

But now Terra's returned to Italy for another semester of winery internship, and I'm just back at a desk in suburban Toronto. The juxtaposition of our respective livelihoods is too painful for me to really focus on, so instead I field questions from mutual friends, demanding to know how they too can live the life of Roman Holiday. And after all, the best of friends aren't jealous of each other, but rather relish in smug feelings of being cool by association.

And I must make a note of today, because it is my and the boyfriend's one year anniversary! A year ago: I was home from London for the weekend, and met him downtown late at night in a very blind date “is that you?”-style manner. Then we quizzed each other truth-or-dare style in a park, sat on a tower of picnic tables, swung on the monkey bars, and drank bourbon out of a flask. I shared my mittens to keep his fingers warm, and later walked to his house to watch funny GoogleVideo clips and play board games. And yes, we are still so fucking annoyingly cute.

So if a day I've been so keenly waiting for doesn't change my impatient mood, a decadent night in Montreal to celebrate will at least ease out most of my restlessness. Or make returning to normal life on Monday morning that much more bothersome.

2007-03-20T19:52:00.000-04:00

Tuesday morning on the verge of being late for work, I'm rushing around the house on a warpath to get dressed as fast as possible.

"Lauren! Where is your white polo shirt??" I shout to my sister, knowing that item will be the thing to make my currently uncoordinated outfit complete.

"Oh, I know what you should wear..." she begins to suggest. But I cut her off with a squeal, spying my gym shirt crumpled in a ball beside her dresser.

"WHHHHYYYYY IS THIS HERE ON THE FLOOR!" I shriek.

"Oh, I was just looking at it on the weekend," she calmly replies.

"And then left it here hidden in your room? AHHHHH!!" I shriek again. "I wouldn't have looked in my gym bag before leaving today to check for it, and working out topless WOULDN'T really be an option this afternoon!"

Lauren is smart and knows how to counter my unnecessary early-AM sass. "FINE. I guess you don't need my help. BYEE."

She goes downstairs to the kitchen. I am still in a getting-dressed frenzy, looking for something decent to wear when I spot her work pants (yoga pants) on the floor. Without a second thought I grab them, hide them in my gym bag, and walk out the door.

Later on Tuesday morning...

Text message from Lauren: "Okay did you take my work pants to prove some sort of retard point?"

Yes. And I am wearing them to the gym.

Her reply: "Gaaaaaaaah!"

I can only imagine how this sisterly love will grown when we move into our own place in a few months. Will our antics reach a whole new level, will we kill each other, or will we simply stop being bratty siblings? Stay tuned on that one...