Practice makes fucking perfect.

Hello Anger, it’s me again.

The five stages of grief:

1. Denial (I can’t believe this.)
2. Anger (I really can’t fucking believe this.)
3. Bargaining (fucking kill me.)
4. Depression (I really really can’t fucking believe this.)
5. Acceptance (fuck it.)

In the past 3 years, I have become good friends with each stage. The more times you do it, the better you get.

I am so. fucking. over. it.

Might as well get a one way to acceptance, but not before a small layover to visit my friends in depression. We’ll make it quick this time.

Perfect mood for some dark and gothic Anne Hathaway.

Anne Hathaway 3 Anne Hathaway 5 Anne Hathaway 6 Anne Hathaway 7 Anne Hathaway 8 Anne Hathaway Anne Hathaway2 Anne Hathway 4


Neither here nor there

Sometimes the best paradigm shift comes from the most unlikely of sources – my typically spoiled and undeniably sheltered little brother. Underaged advice of the day: if you know what you want, nothing else matters. Everything else is neither here nor there (of course there was no way he phrased it that eloquently, but that was his point).

Anyways, given that I have work early and I can already feel the effects of old age burrowing deep into my bones, I will keep this post quick and simple. I didn’t want to lose the momentum of consistent posting so I figured I’d at least post some random end of the weekend musings.

Weekend highlights:

1. Spent quality time with the broskis: we watched Elysium, which by the way was so garbage that he didn’t mind using the washroom midway through. And everyone knows, movie washroom breaks are SO taboo.
2. Watched some old, rotund greek man dancing to greek music and throwing paper towels in the sky (wasteful, yet endearing).
3. Went to Chapters and bought a sketch book (I’ve finally decided to hone in on my non-existent artistic abilities). I’m also a stationary slut, and so went ape shit over all the pretty stationary they have on sale.

My weekends are so exciting, I know.

Last post I put up photography by Jean-Baptiste Mondino, picking ones that seemed to integrate best into the musical theme of the post. I’ve decided for this post I would continue with his photos because he definitely has better ones, and overlooking them would be a shame. It was somewhat hard narrowing down which images I wanted to share because I actually like a majority of his pictures, which isn’t always common. He is a french fashion photographer and a videographer (mostly making music videos for many well known artists), with his spectrum of pictures encompassing both the conventional fashion editorials and something a little different. Thank god for massive uploading, because despite my attempts I still could only wither it down to 20+ photos (which is the most I think I’ve ever uploaded yet).

Style: "COLOR"

At first I tried really hard to limit the number of pictures I was going to post because I was afraid I’d run the risk of making this post a little too long and boring… but then I realized it was 1:30 am and that I did not give an ‘eff’.

Art is art, and exposure is awesome. Not that this tiny little blog would make much of a difference, but whatever.

Check out his page for more of his photos and videos:

05 – Instant Crush

Photographer: Jean-Baptiste Mondino 

Someone asked me once if I get tired of walking around listening to music all day.The truth is, yeah. Sometimes I do.

Realistically? I have small ear holes, and after awhile the ear buds make my ears ache.

But aside from that, no I honestly do not. To me it offers a backdrop that mimics a double-hinged door capable of swinging both ways. On one hand it can serve my mood, whether it be a moment of self-pity or an aimless meander through the city. A fact especially true given that I am free and perfectly capable of picking my own songs. After all, I made the playlist – I can push the door whichever way I want. But then there’s that one moment where you forget that the door swings back, and you’re hit unexpectedly.

This probably just sounds like a load shit, but give it a moment to contextualize. Like any other normal easily impressionable person, shit happens and your emotional cues respond accordingly. In fact, what I’ve come to realize is that somethings are generalizable to the entire population, and it is because of this that people can write love ballads, create rom-coms (romantic comedies for all you abbreviating noobs), or talk about heartbreak in the same “demolishing-the-world-of-kleenex-with-a-tub-of-ben-and-jerrys” way. Everyone rides the love coaster, and everyone’s advice is nearly identical. So when dealing with depressing shit, you plug in to depressing music (cause that’s just what you do, just flip to any montage of any movie where the protagonist is dealing with some sort of epic lost love) – which to me has been ridden with the likes of death cab, the postal service and the XX.

So, you’ve picked your poison. You want to wallow? Go ahead. Push the door in that direction, I mean you’ve perfectly catered your playlist for that exact reason. Just be aware, that when it swings back you’ll get hit with the likes of track 05 – instant crush. And although this song is about some sort of demented love triangle, the name itself and the uppity beat of the song gives you a fleeting reminder of what it was like to have that moment of connection brought on by the slightest inadvertent brush of arm hairs, the childish but not so childish peripheral side stare; or that sudden increase in heart rate when  it feels like you only have five seconds to perfectly (and seemingly effortlessly) craft something both parts intriguing and indifferent to say. This is where you become an overplayed cliche, and know that everything will be okay while hoping it’ll come again: an instant crush.

Do my ears hurt? Yes. But getting hit by that door, damn can it be refreshing.

On a city gallivanting note – my thing this summer has been free outdoor films. Entertainment for those living under the poverty line. I think my love for outdoor films came to fruition during last years open roof festival which was a combination of a local band and a documentary (which is still on by the way). I must also be subconsciously emotionally sadistic in nature, because I have made it my thing to catch the romance themed TIFF in the park series at David Pecaut Square every Wednesday. The selection was just too perfect I couldn’t resist, with the likes of young Cher and Nicholas Cage in “Moonstruck”, the  classic Meg Ryan/Tom Hanks duo in “Sleepless in Seattle” and who could turn down Robert Redford in “The Way We Were”.

FYI: There are free movies playing almost everyday of the week (i.e. Sundays at Christie Pits, every second Friday at the Junction, Tuesdays at Yonge and Dundas). This Wednesday there will be a screening of “Triplets of Belleville” at Harbourfront, which I highly recommend and is a total must see.  Plus it’s pretty sitting outside, and the ambience is always nice.

Donnie Yen on screen @ Reel Asian Film Festival (there is still a free exhibit at the TIFF bell lightbox)

Donnie Yen on screen @ Reel Asian Film Festival (there is still a free exhibit at the TIFF bell lightbox)

Watching a movie with shoes on is so overrated.

Watching a movie with shoes on is so overrated.

TIFF in the park

TIFF in the park + CN tower



“if your not busy being born, your busy dying” – bob 

Fancy meeting you here…

Why hello world, nice to see you again.

I know it’s been a while, but life just caught up with me. It’s been a busy few weeks (months really), but I’m taking this lazy evening to compose a long overdue post. I’ll officially be finished my clinical year soon, in four weeks to be exact. What’s more scary then being released into the real world, with no guaranteed job prospects, is the idea of actually having a job that requires taking on life altering responsibilities without the safety blanket of someone way smarter then me.

But the idea of being a REAL adult… one who has a career, a house, a home, a family, or a “forever” relationship (maybe even a car, or at least a bus pass) – is straight up effing daunting . Allegedly there’s no time stamp on these things, but when the world around you is walking in the same direction (supposedly I am of “that” age), you can’t help but want to follow along. Plus, secretly behind this computer screen I really am just another human subject to implausible romantic comedies. But luckily, the pull of societal expectations does not supersede my drive to ultimately do “whateva tha hell  I wan'”.

I had wanted to say Happy Chinese New Year, when it actually was the advent of the New Year. Unfortunately at the time I was actually studying (seriously, I am not joking). But hey it paid off cause eventually I ended up with 100% and 94% on my two presentations, and yes I am totally bragging. After all, you are your own biggest fan (besides your mom of course). Anyways, better late then never: Happy Belated Chinese New Year!

So in late celebration, I’m highlighting fashion photog Chen Man. I read an interview/article about her last year, and have liked her ever since. Beijing born and raised, this 28 year old fashion photographer aims to combine traditional chinese culture with modernism in her photos. Using 3D-photo-fixer-upper techniques (i have no idea what this would actually be called), she has created her own style and has been featured in many different fashion mags. And here I am, JUST getting started.


Self portrait

Chen Man self portrait on the Great Wall

Excerpts from  A Lover’s Discourse: Fragments:

“Am I in love? –yes, since I am waiting. The other one never waits. Sometimes I want to play the part of the one who doesn’t wait; I try to busy myself elsewhere, to arrive late; but I always lose at this game. Whatever I do, I find myself there, with nothing to do, punctual, even ahead of time. The lover’s fatal identity is precisely this: I am the one who waits.”


“I look for signs, but of what? What is the object of my reading? Is it: am I loved (am I loved no longer, am I still loved)? Is it my future that I am trying to read, deciphering in what is inscribed the announcement of what will happen to me, according to a method which combines palaeography and manticism? Isn’t it rather, all things considered, that I remain suspended on this question, whose answer I tirelessly seek in the others face: What am I worth?”

― Roland Barthes, A Lover’s Discourse: Fragments

Breathing Class

The other day during my pulmonary rehab rotation, I attended breathing class.

To better understand the relevance, I shall explain.

Pulmonary rehabilitation is usually attended by people who have breathing problems. Most of the time there are issues with the lung, and disease within the airway itself. Basically, the people here can barely walk a few steps without feeling short of breathe and starved for some air. If they’re not already on oxygen (it’s a drug, you know), they’re pretty much heading down that path.

Truthfully, I was slightly nervous because I actually have no idea what goes on in breathing class, and I’m always afraid someone will ask me a question to which I will respond with a wide eyed blank stare. So at 9 am, I walk into breathing class and quickly notice that everyone around me is a legal senior citizen, with the exception of one girl who must have been in her forties. Everyone has oxygen, a cane or some sort of assisted walking device.

Now before I continue, I want to point out that I have a highly competitive nature. Keep this in mind as you judge me. Please.

As class progresses, we learn different breathing techniques, how to cope with attacks of breathlessness, the best way to breathe etcetera etcetera. To be honest, they work us kind of hard: we walk around a bit, stretch, make ourselves short of breath while applying and perfecting our breathing excerises. We even do some tai chi; which, might I add was deliciously free. I mean all and all, as a twenty something, somewhat healthy female whose only real (yet significant) ailment is laziness, even I was tired.

So what do I do? I try to compete against the old people for who can be a better breather. At everything. I try to make my tai chi flowier, I try to walk faster, stretch further.

“Teacher: Breathe in and out, and if you can handle it stand up”

And this, my friends, is where I realize what a competitive loser I am. Why? Because I am obviously the only person standing since clearly I have no lung problems, require no oxygen and can walk freely on my own. In my mind, I think I’m really pushing the limits, when really here I am, trying to outdo these nice old people who just want to breathe. I am such a monster.

But seriously, there are so many things in life taken for granted, and I can definitely say breathing is one of them. It comes so naturally, that the idea of it taken away is so unfathomable, that it’s not even possible. Imagine how dreadful it must be to not be able to walk more then three steps without stopping, or suffocating just to brush your teeth or change your clothes.

Lesson here? Love your lungs. (also, nobody likes a competitive boar)

So, in conclusion of a slightly depressing subject. I will continue the pattern of “insert-here-somewhat-relevant-yet-completely-irrelevant” photos that I like. As we need air to breathe, and the whole jumping in the air photo pose thing is so popular now a days (notice how I cleverly bridged that with an enormous stretch), I’ve decided to post photos from the Fly Series by Melvin Sokolsky who very creatively did the jumping in the air thing way before of his current day counterparts – in 1965.

Harpers Bazaar Spring Collection, 1965.

Harpers Bazaar Spring Collection, 1965.

Harpers Bazaar, Spring Collection, 1965. I particularly like this one because of the models expression, the background and the candid cuddling couple in the corner.

I particularly like this one because of the models expression, the background and the candid cuddling couple in the corner.

Harpers Bazaar Spring Collection, 1965. I just think the model here looks like she's having a blast.

I just think the model here looks like she’s having a blast.

Basically, he made his models jump, took mid air shots and made it look awesome. Since I believe all artists deserve some recognition, I’m going to post a link to his blog for some free time perusing –