I don’t really like movies, I say this a lot but I’ve never really been able to elaborate on that rather pat statement. Also, I haven’t written published a post in a little over a year. These two things are entirely unrelated.

I went to see a screening of Sarah Polley’s Take This Waltz, because Sandra had mentioned it earlier, and I like Sarah Polley, and Michelle Williams — Seth Rogen, not so much, but you can’t win them all.

Due to poor planning on my part, I got there just in the nick of time, but managed to mess up something as simple as using the quick ticketing kiosk by snatching my credit card receipt, but neglecting to pick up the admission ticket that prints up afterwards. A fact that the ticket checker managed to drive home, albeit discreetly.

Can you tell that I don’t get out to the movies much yet?

I wasn’t worried about getting a seat, since I’d had the foresight to ask Nisa to save a seat for my perpetually tardy self. I found Nisa and Sandra, they were exactly where they said they’d be, and dropped off my stuff to make a break for the washrooms, and possibly a pit stop at the snack bar.

That was my first mistake: I went to the smaller snack by right by our theatre, and they didn’t have popcorn, only nachos, pretzels, and cookies(?!). I’m not one to turn up my nose at a soft pretzel, but the guy in front of me got the last premade order of pretzel bites, so I was stuck with an intact pretzel.

I grabbed my pretzel, and silently wondered if she would forget to pass me my drink, as she had for my pretzel-bite having friend, but I got my Mixed Berry Powerade with very little fanfare.

Why Powerade? Much like the odd choice of foodstuffs, the beverage selection at this kiosk was non-traditional. I had seen a girl with VitaminWater cruise by me earlier, and made the decision then and there that I would have one as well, but it wasn’t on the menu at our desolate refueling station.

Since I hate paying for tap water, I shook my head silently at the Dasani, I didn’t think I could make it through an entire movie with a super-sized fountain beverage, so that was out, orange juice seemed like an ill-advised pairing with a salty snack, and an energy drink didn’t exactly seem prudent at 7pm on a Monday night, I was left with but one option.

I hurriedly made my way back into the darkened theatre, whose doors had since closed. My saved seat was in the middle of a back row, but I still had to awkwardly glide by at least six people to seat myself. I had missed the first few moments, but I don’t really think that impacted my overall enjoyment of the film.

It was at the moment that I realised just how loud my preztels parchment diaper truly was, and I was instantly angered by my choice, and contemplated just taking the pretzel out and holding it in my hands to eat it, or repeatedly rusting the paper, which rivaled that compostable Sun Chips bag in the discretion department.

I was afforded my first opportunity to eat when a relatively unfunny moment elicited peals of laughter from the audience. It struck me as I grimaced that I don’t actually hate movies, though I do find most of them to be too trite and too reliant on pandering for laughs for my liking.

Uproarious laughter makes me uncomfortable, especially when it’s directed at a screen. It seems unnecessary, and disruptive, and I find it to be incredibly distracting, and that’s actually what I hate about movies — being exposed to other people having fun. Like, how damaged of an individual does this make me, on a scale of one to ten?

Gritting of teeth aside, I really just couldn’t get into the movie. I don’t find adultery, emotional or otherwise, to be particularly interesting or forgivable. As I’m sure my work performance reviews and my childhood psychologist can attest to, I lack an empathetic bone in my body.

I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat and found myself both hating Michelle Williams’ Margot, and Seth Rogen’s Lou, with alternating intensity. Her, for the infidelity, and he for his proclivity toward short-sleeved button down shirts.

While I enjoyed Sarah Silverman as Lou’s recovering alcoholic sister, Geraldine, most of the relationships seemed a little too twee, and forced. Lou and Margot’s pillow talk especially.

The seemingly obligatory edgy rape joke fell flat, and reeked of desperation.

I’d say that I was bored by the movie (which in retrospect, might have worked better as a play), but it didn’t even feel properly fleshed out enough to register proper disdain.

One sentence review: If I were forced to choose a movie in which Michelle Williams comes to grips with the dysfunctional reality of her relationship, I’d much rather it be Blue Valentine.

photo credit: JeffMaysh

I was ultra-productive, had a great week meeting and greeting the higher ups (new ones, who both described me as ‘awesome’), fleshed out my development goals which, in turn, led to my current boss putting my name forward for a promotion/new position tailored for my strengths and then, I had to slam the emergency brakes down on all the good mojo by having a completely unneccasy argument, wherein I totally lost my cool, with the same boss a mere two hours before I left for the week.

Still looking forward to the fortitude to just keep my fucking trap shut, y’all.

I’m currently clad in sweat, albeit very stylish ones from lululemon that I picked up this past weekend.

I don’t generally believe in leaving the house in elasticised cotton pants unless:

a) you’re heading to the gym, or some other physical exercise-type related place
b) you’re at death’s door — like, you’re on your way to the hopistal and do not have the energy to do up the zipper on a pair of jeans.

That’s it.

Laziness (which for some reason I initially spelled with an ‘s’ in place of the ‘z’, thus taking this whole British English kick a touch too far) isn’t really an excuse, especially if you have the time to colour coordinate it with a purse. If you’ve got time to accessorize, you’ve got time for real pants ladies.

To borrow a line from one of our sub-brands’ recent campaigns: Let’s put Saturday-night effort into Sunday afternoon.

I stopped by Future Shop on Friday (?) because I was on the hunt for Incase‘s new Monochrome iPhone 4 Slider Case — and for once, I’m not particularly beholden to any colour. I would enjoy any of the three that they currently offer. It’s not nearly as spiffy as my other love, the ElementCase Vapor, but it’s also not nearly as $$$, so there’s that.

I hate walking out empty-handed, so I picked up Beverly Hills 90210 Season 6 and the first season of HBO’s Hung. I had heard good things but had never taken any action and a fully unbooked long weekend was as good a reason as any.

Since Kasia has suggested it to me first, I posted a few thoughts on her facebook wall after devouring the first season in no time flat.

• The Pilot sucked. If I had watched it when it was in its first run, I would have passed it over.
• The show grew on me, and I’ll probably finish the first season tonight if I decide to stay in.
• It’s still frustrating that the female lead, Tanya in this case, can’t just do her own thing and has to pine over Ray. It kind of struck me as being a little implausible past the second or third episode.
• Anne Heche was a brilliant casting move
• I felt like they could have explored the Jemma mindfuck a little better, it petered out a little too quickly, and then it got schmoopy. But at the time of writing it, I was only on the 6th episode. After completing the season, I stand by my initial statement. The powers that be seem to be in disagreement about the direction of the season and it feels like certain stroylines are destined to be dead ends.
• The series needs more Lenore. But I lurked and IMDB and she’s credited for 18 episodes, so I guess I can withhold my whinging for now.

What say you? Have you watched Hung, or better yet, do you have a suggestion of a show I just need to get thoroughly enthralled with?

Current faves: Mad Men, Entourage, sadly, Gossip Girl, 90210, Melrose Place [the last two refer to both the originals, and their updated versions], and the like.

I got in and was greeted by one of the contractors. I already had my sunglasses on, the small talk was limited by the lack of awkward eye contact. I threw my Lacoste tote down as I wriggled into my coat in the amount of time it took to go down seven floors.

The contractor interrupted hesitantly, ‘You know, it’s not really that cold out, right?’ I replied, a litte sheepishly, ‘Oh, I know, I just, um, really like this jacket’.

And, you know, I’m a little bit vain, and never dress for the weather. I wear what I want, ok?!

*This post was originally written in haste, and then promptly eating by the wordpress iPhone app, which doesn’t really seem to grasp the concept of saving a post as a draft.

I had drafted this post in my head, and then put pen to paper, so to speak, on my iPhone’s wordpress app, only to have an errant foursquare checkin pop up and interrupt my work. I meant to close the popup window, but actually ended up opening the foursquare app, and effectively closing the wordpress app, instead.

Now multitasking yet, so my brilliant (I assure you, it was, and there’s no proof otherwise in any case) post is off in the aether, and I’m far too lazy to try to craft it again from memory.

My social life has taken over my waking life, and when I’m not at work, I’m fulfilling some sort of long-ago agreed upon social obligation.

I’m happiest when I’m busy, don’t get me wrong, but I’m slowly starting to feel a little burnt out, and I’ve been on edge lately and the culprit is more than likely the pitiable levels of sleep I’m been subsisting on.

I’ve rediscovered my love of cooking, something that’s a little less exciting when you’re just cooking for yourself because it just mean’s you’ve got a week’s worth of leftovers. As it is, I buy my lunch because I’ve got a freezer filled with leftover casseroles, mac and cheese and leftover beef stews that I can’t stomach eating day in and day out.

On the subject of cooking for myself, I’ll let you in on a little secret: I’ve been dating, but not that online stuff I dabbled in very briefly, but someone that’s essentially been on the backburner this whole time because I was really hesitant to make a commitment. That’s pretty much all I’ll say about the subject, save for the fact that it’s working really well and I’m excited about it. I tend to not want to talk about relationship stuff if I have no complaints.

I celebrated another anniversary* at work recently: it has been a little over a year since I joined the company. I had a few stumbling blocks, but my personal and professional growth has really accelerated in the first and second quarters of the fiscal year.

I was recently promoted, and I’m already knee deep in more responsibility, but loving ever new challenge that presents itself. We talked about my developmental goals for teh next 12 months, and my boss padded my already inflated ego. I also mentioned that I felt as though my supervisor was sort of holding me back development-wise, though I suspect it’s entirely unintentional. We shall see…

My new boss and I have clashed a ton, but it’s great to be able to sit down and talk with her on a one-to-one basis because we see eye to eye on more things than I would have though going into this review.

2009 – 2010 was a big year for personal development. I’m a vastly different person than I was 3 years ago, and I barely even recognize the person I was 5 years ago.

*It just occurred to me that I’ve reach a more sombre milestone today as well, June 16, 2010 marks the 5-year anniversary of my sexual assault. The man who assaulted me has since been convicted, which was both a huge relief, and incredibly freeing. I don’t think it’s something I’ll ever be able to truly get past, but it’s also not something I think about on a daily, weekly, or monthly basis anymore.

I don’t know if you’re heard, but a generous donor has stepped up and offered to match all the donations to the Fresh Air Fund until June 30,210. No donation is too small, I urge you to do what you can.

The Countdown to Summer 2010 is on and The Fresh Air Fund is in need of host families. If you or someone you know is able to host, please sign up now.

In 2009, The Fresh Air Fund‘s Volunteer Host Family program, called Friendly Town, gave close to 5,000 New York City boys and girls, ages six to 18, free summer experiences in the country and the suburbs. Volunteer host families shared their friendship and homes FOR up to two weeks or more in 13 Northeastern states from Virginia to Maine and Canada.

The Fresh Air Fund relies on donations to provide memorable summers to NYC children.

The Fresh Air Fund needs hosts for the summer of 2010.

More than 65% of all Fresh Air children are reinvited to stay with their host family, year after year.

Thanks to host families who open up their homes for a few weeks each summer, children growing up in New York City’s toughest neighborhoods have experienced the joys of Fresh Air experiences.

Fresh Air Fund Host Families

“It is rewarding to see the smile on our Fresh Air child’s face as she enjoys the simple things we take for granted…”

Friendly Town host families are volunteers who live in the suburbs or small town communities. Host families range in size, ethnicity and background, but share the desire to open their hearts and homes to give city children an experience they will never forget. Hosts say the Fresh Air experience is as enriching for their own families, as it is for the inner-city children. There are no financial requirements for hosting a child.It should be  Volunteers may request the age-group and gender of the Fresh Air youngster they would like to host for up to two weeks. Stories about real Fresh Air host families and their New York City visitors are just a click away!

Click here to learn more about becoming a host or call (800) 367-0003!

The fact that the bar that my grad decade is going to is douche central has absolutely nothing to do with it. I just squeaked into the 00s, so it makes sense because The Cabin is the sort of bar I *loved* when I was a minor/a bar star, now? It’s like subjecting me to 6 hours of Axe commercials/shitty campus beer gardens.

I sort of agreed to swing by the Trillium province sometime in July (most likely for Canada Day/my mother’s birthday) so a trip home is inevitable, just temporarily delayed.

As an immigrant myself, albeit one who has lived here for almost the entirety of my 26 years, the premise of Teresa Toten‘s anthology on Canadian immigration appealed to me on a personal level.

That inevitable innocent question, “Where are you from?” is both unintentionally divisive and a reminder that you’re not quite good enough at passing as a native. As a visible minority, it’s especially confrontational and sure to put you on edge.

The book lends itself well to a casual read-though, as the anecdotes are short enough that you can easily read through one or two on you commute, or while waiting at the airport, without feeling disjointed if you forget to pick it up again for the rest of the week — something that’s bound to happen with all this lovely spring weather we’ve been having. Sunshine, unfortunately, is a major distraction — not that I’m complaining.

The key word is relatable, I suspect most, immigrant or not, will be able to empathise with the feeling of intentional/unintentional exclusion related by the authors.

I encourage you to check it out for yourself at you local library, or purchase it on Amazon or through your favourite local bookseller.

[Related] Torontoist Book Review

For disclosure purposes, it should be noted that this book was graciously provided to me for review by the Penguin Group. I encourage you to check out their selection of new releases and give them a follow on twitter if you want to keep up on Canadian literary releases of note.