Insomniacal Post

I am plagued by insomnia. PLAGUED.

So in an effort to feel marginally productive before I call it a day at 2 a.m., I’m leaving you a Brain Enema. I’m hoping the dump will purge me of some of the thoughts that seem to keep me awake at night.

The most important issue right now is this:

My friend Piera wrote an email that announced The Decline of My Girlfriend Gwyneth, hailing that her style icon fashion sense was that of yesteryear and subsequent downfall could be attributed to the uncool husband and odd choices in babynaming. A fierce debate ensued, hurling e-insults throughout the fiber-optic void, resulting in the following epiphanies and observations:
1. Gwyneth might have stolen this look from Our Britney
2. There are several layers involved when it comes to looking like a whore, this outfit only contains a Mild Dash of Whore.
3. Emeline’s D2M (Dead to Me) List has a new member on it… and it isn’t Gwyneth.
4. My current hairdo likens me to some sad aging Ramones fan gone overboard in the hairbrushing department. MY HAIR NEEDS TO BE SEDATED.
5. Nicole Kidman is AMAZING, much better than Gwyneth. (You have to read the article in this month’s Vogue.) (I can not wait to see Baz’s Australia.)
6. Piera might have been right afterall.

Moving upward and onward:

• Emeline, here’s the proof that Sharon Stone is “batshit crazy“
• Photobombing is going to be a new hobby of mine (thanks Mighty Girl)
• I just bought a new house, but it doesn’t mean I can’t stop looking, right?

Lastly, do any of you insomniacs have advice for me? This needs to end.

Sophie Calles Me

Sophie Calle is one of those artists/photographers/women that I fell in love with years ago after I read a review of this book. I admire her aesthetic and her curiosity; the way in which her work always seems to be inclusive and evolving, moving beyond the galleries of art academia and taking her work to the general public.

SHE IS HERE! IN MONTREAL!
She is offering a talk (in french only) at The SAT on July 2nd, 2008 from 7 to 9 p.m.
Her new installation “Take Care of Yourself/Prenez Soins de Vous” can be seen here ( from July 4th to October 19th, 2008 )

Gays-post-mail-on-post-male-gaze

• “Maxim Mexico takes a bold socio-political stance in the ongoing battle of the politics of representation, clearly referencing the oppressive reification of male-gaze heteronormative modes of synthesis in a semiotic blancmange of post-structural teakettle barbecue hatstand fishmonger.”
• “I’m saying, “Remember your women’s studies class! Don’t fall victim to the male gaze!” And everyone was like, “Why are you talking about the male gays?”

Fight Club

I’m not sure about your relationship with your partner, but if you’re a parent and in a relationship, sometimes there are… arguments. Ours typically strike after quite a few weeks of pure unadulterated bliss, where we can’t even believe we’d even think to argue with each other and we must have been out of our minds the last time we did. Or something.

And then suddenly there is a day where my daughter and I find ourselves leering at eachother across the breakfast table with The You?…Again?-Eyes-of-Loathing which then become witness to my quick devolution from adulthood that prompts some stomping and flailing of my tear-stained face smackdown into a pillow, while emitting self-pitying sobs like, “WHY ME??!!” and “I can’t DO THIS anymore!” (which translates into: “WHY DO I LIVE WITH A MINI-DICTATOR?!” and “How could I have believed in the ideals of an *innocent* two year old for so long?!” respectively.)

Clearly she’s the most irrational little person on the planet and her “I DO IT” insistence to tie her shoelaces before leaving the house is The Last and Final Straw. Like, “NO! I. will. put. your. shoes. on. and I . will. put. you. in your stroller. and I. will. take. you. to the park. DAMMIT! And you’re going to VOMIT because WE ARE GOING TO HAVE so much FUN!!!!#@&*! SO. LISTEN. TO. ME!”

The joys of independence echo throughout the hallway.

Anyway, in my experience as a new mother, I experience a lot of inner conflict that can generally be summed up as the battle between My Mother Teresa Alter-Ego VS. I am The Anti-Christ. Who can I blame? Generally, my partner. I can imagine that there is nothing like coming home from a long day at work to a warm house full of pent-up rage and hate. Icy dinner conversations ensue like “Fascinating! So, you got to have a full-fledged uninterrupted conversation today? HOW HAPPY I AM FOR YOU.” (As I carve his name into my bloody steak).

Without going into specifics, we kind of just went through 48 hours of that. It’s no fun. But I do think it’s completely normal. As is the result of this fight, it always boils down to the fact that neither of us fully listens to the other person and both of us do not get enough time to ourselves or with each other.

The good part about these times of conflict is I do get to understand him a little bit more, as well as understand myself as well (“WHAT? I’m Not Perfect?!…(sniffle)…Humph. I guess that’s okay?”) I’m definitely not a member of the Relationship Camp that proudly pronounces how “We Never Fight”. I always think this means that someone is compromising themselves which can never bode well for the future. But maybe I am just a cynic. But I also thinks it reveals I am passionate. Regardless, I have accepted that I fight and probably always will fight.

Hello, Tyler Durden, nice to meet you!

(I do NOT know how to end this post! I do not want to Moralize the story or make a cute pithy summation of humanity. I just needed to write. I’m trying to write more, DO more, be more these days… so bear with me. If you want an interesting article on relationship advice, read this article: “Don’t fight in front of the kids” and other advice you can ignore”. )

So what are you doing in front of your computer?

I’m kind of wondering why my brain cells are conspiring against me, it’s like they’ve made this pact since pregnancy to NEVER work with me again. And so I’ve been stumbling around all over the place posting up half-written to-do lists that I never look at again and only seem to remember to add things to the list when I’m completely unable to do it (i.e. in the shower, buying milk, watching this show, etc.)… hence, never really ever getting anything done. I’m thinking of constructing some sort of headband with a paper scroll that dangles a constant to-do list in front of my face, so that I’m constantly reminded of what I need to do. It would be called a BrainBerry-band.

This whole “remembering” thing is useless, because the moment I have free time I either lie down and have a nap (overwhelmed by too much to do even though I don’t know what it is I have to do) or I kind of sit and then, … nothing. The MOMENT I am interrupted (i.e. “MOMMY! PARK! SHOES! YOGURT! JUICE! AFTER! NOW! I DO IT! BLOCKS AND TOWERS! TAYO TOLLER! PAAAAARK! SLLIIIIIIDE!”) I remember the 5 million things I was supposed to be doing.

But in my defense, it IS summer and hardly anyone I know seems to be in front of their computer (unless they’re working-for-money folk). I don’t know about you, but the people I know have all recently turned into raging alcoholics. These people being Mothers and toddlers. Who needs water when it’s humid? I don’t. Beer only.

Did I mention that I’m in training for a half-marathon?

Anyway, I’m writing because I can’t remember what it is I am supposed to be doing right now on the computer. Although I’m pretty sure it isn’t this.

E is 2

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Missing the boat

I am devastated. The above painting is of me (obviously a much younger me) painted by my genius mother.

She just informed me that this painting is for sale at the show she’s in right now. You see, I already have a quite a large portrait of myself hanging in our dining room, which I had to cry my eyes out for until she bought it back and gave it to me as a graduating present. How wrong would it be to have TWO large paintings of myself in the house? Honestly, I feel heartbroken at the idea of anyone owning this painting except someone in the immediate family… I’m always suspect that whomever will own it just couldn’t possibly love it the way that I do.

My first hope is that it doesn’t sell. My second hope is that if it is sold, the person really really really loves it and will sell it back to me someday.

Lastly, my mother takes commissions for portraits. If you’re in the market for a great portrait, click on this sentence to get her contact info.

All Lies

Turns out motherhood has turned me into a pathological liar.

Yesterday over at the Evil Cafe I was sharing my woes regarding the decoration of my new home. I was all “Pffft. Whatever. Decorating!? I have decided I have NO TASTE. If I could I would hire someone else to do that.” and my friend was all “Really? You? I thought what with your arts background and interest in all things creative that you would ENJOY that process?” and I replied “Nope. Not. At. All.”

ALL LIES TOLD BY ME.

Then at the Salvation Army I got into a funk, because my oh-so-funky interior-designery friend managed to sift through the shit to find the funky stuff. Meanwhile I internally grumbled over my lack of insight to see past anything but the chipped beer mugs and tin-foil frying pans. And again, LYING, I said something to the effect of “I think I *see* how it could work, but then I just see a broken lamp. And I just can’t deal with it right now.”

This same friend is also always saying “Hey there’s this neat photographer here and you should check out this person’s work and maybe you should try your hand at this” and I feel like sticking my fingers in my ears and shouting “BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH. I CAN’T HEAR YOU!!!”

Am I that done? Has my creative self-esteem dropped so low that I might as well pull out the polyester teddy-bear sweatshirt with golf-visor ensemble and call it a day? Am I doomed to become a bitter critic of everything because I can’t get my shit together? Why is my confidence so shot? Why have I limited my options to Create Genius Masterpiece or… Watch Reality TV?!?! WHY???

I REALLY have to get over myself. Also, having a room of my own would be sweet.

PS> The photo is by Richard Billingham. The image is from the series “Ray’s a Laugh”, which documents his old ailing alcoholic father, shot on nothing special film with a nothing special camera and printed at a local shop. Proving that the creative, especially in photography, is not bound to perfection and the latest technology.

Failure & Imagination

If you choose to use your status and influence to raise your voice on behalf of those who have no voice; if you choose to identify not only with the powerful, but with the powerless; if you retain the ability to imagine yourself into the lives of those who do not have your advantages, then it will not only be your proud families who celebrate your existence, but thousands and millions of people whose reality you have helped transform for the better. We do not need magic to change the world, we carry all the power we need inside ourselves already: we have the power to imagine better. (J.K. Rowling)

WOW. Even if you are not a Harry Potter fan, you should take a few moments to read her entire commencement address to the Harvard graduates of 2008. Anticipate a possible lump formation in your throat and a few extra blinks to hold back tears.

Whining child = short short post

So it’s raining and I need a coffee, so before I contemplate a better post, here are some images of the the garden from the new house that I couldn’t post on WordPress yesterday (for whatever technical problems they were having).

The Back Garden: