I had a blonde-moment yesterday when i realized that i had confused the dates of both my Friday night and Saturday plans. Luckily, both moved one day later, so there was no conflict. However, i found myself with nothing to do on a Friday night - and that is not okay.

I decided to head over to my father’s football game (he’s head coach of the Midget St. Laurent Spartans) and when no one was willing to step out of the stands to do the yard markers, i volunteered. I figured the likelihood of anyone else qualified as a referee stepping up to the plate (haha, i love mixing sport metaphors) was unlikely. I ended up having a great time kibbitzing with Charles, from Sherbrooke, whose son is the other team’s star-running back and George, the linesman referee. The game was pretty good - the score was very close and the weather was lovely even though there weren’t any really huge hits that made my heart pound with excitement.

Of course, watching a football game is rather nostalgic for me - particularly when the players are pubescent teenagers not adults or true children. Well, it would be really nostalgic to watch the little guys play, but i think it would probably end up taking me to a much happier place because i did LOVE coaching the atom teams for three years back in the day.

So, now this post transitions into my emotional development… i bet you didn’t see that coming. I’ve been dreaming about him a lot lately and going to a football game and realizing that the other yardsticker knew both his mother and his younger brother sort of made me gulp. I miss him. I miss talking to him and watching TV with him. I’m moved beyond pining for him as my boyfriend (or i’ve managed to get it under control would be more appropriate), but i miss him in my life as a companion. It’s been over a year since i last saw him. Two-and-a-half years since it was over. I can crush, date, flirt and pretend - but i’m still mourning.

So, Friday Night Lights had a bitter aftertaste last night as i drove home alone.

Akumu Ink is a Montreal-based clothing company that provides dark, yet whimsical designs printed on American Apparel t-shirts and tote bags to a growing, loyal client-base. Incidentally, the designer, Joey, is a friend of mine from high school and i have very fond memories of his sketches in my agenda - most of which implied that i smelt like cat food. Thanks for that dear!

On Tuesday, i had arranged for Joey and Dora to come in and meet the big cheese here at Twelve Ounce where i am currently employed. Listening to them talk to a successful t-shirt, jeans and other urban wear manufacturer and wholesaler (we produce and distribute such popular brands as Crooks n’ Castles, Rocksmith, Artful Dodger and Blac Label internationally) was an eye-opening experience. I gave them a quick tour of our showrooms upstairs, where Marc has kindly agreed to hang their goods to see if they have the appeal he thinks they do - and bring their line to Magic, the needletrade in Las Vegas, this January.

I bought one of their shirts (see left) last month and it has quickly become a favourite in my weekly rotation. Joey kindly put forth that it fits me perfectly (but i wear a large, so i am not THRILLED about the fact) and i must say that i find it uber-comfortable AND stylish. UBER. Hadn’t used that word in a while.

I’m interesting in seeing how their small company progresses. Their successes will likely continue to make me feel that i am doing nothing with my life - but that doesn’t mean that my sour grapes make them any less impressive.

One night last week i couldn’t sleep. As i lay there, i decided to make a concerted effort to “relive” as much of my life as i could by reviewing the memories both of key events and people whom at one time or another were important to me. My friends and family have often seemed astonished at my ability to recall minute details about people and places that for them appear to be lost in a hazy past - i do believe i have been called an elephant - and i attribute much of my strong grasp on my past experience on these concerted efforts on my part to relive and recount, if only to myself, the memories i have managed to store. Like language, i think memories are either used or lost and although ten years down the road i might actually have forgotten the event in question, i CAN remember retelling it to myself in a moment of downtime some three years later. But enough about those aspects of my personality that according to my therapist demonstrate how i became a historian.

A friend i had become much closer to in the past seven weeks left the city on Monday and i find myself missing the prospect of spending time in his company. Reflecting on why this is while walking to the grocery store today, i found myself making a list of the foods and activities i find myself associating with those dearest to me. Fondue, poutine, southern comfort with cranberry juice, driving down country roads aimlessly, flea markets, hot tubs and afternoon naps will always make me think of Steve. Crackers, cross-country skiing, Donkey Kong, sangria, the food network and Silverchair will always make me think of Veronica. Lisa is perogies, cucumber salad and doing dishes. Guitars and Belle Province breakfasts are Eric. Guacamole, sushi and Central Park are Zach. Ilya is conjured by any reference to 2005, fireworks and world travel to exotic locations. Mojitos, brie and drives to the train station are my infamous Auntie Lorraine. My Grammy is a pair of golden bird scissors, buttons, jewelery, pollywogs and gardening. The list continues… and i realize that there is very little overlap between individuals. I think this might account, in some way, for why i am always looking for completely novel things to try with new people - i am trying to establish new associations which won’t challenge my old ones. I enjoy living life this way: encountering mundane phenomenon that i intensely associate with those i treasure - even if these associations are artificially intensified by my neurotic need to remember.

Slurpees, cookies, cigarettes and Latin translations are now more meaningful stimuli in my everyday life. I am happy for this, even if the prospect of their now being memories rather than future experiences saddens me just a bit.

As you find yourself putting off writing a final draft of your dissertation by doing an unnecessarily detailed edit in red ink, you are excited by the idea that your use of the term “world view” merits a footnote on Habermas… and you’re going to have to look up that citation.

When i was a little kid, one of two anglophone children in our neighbourhood (the other being my younger brother who weighed substantially less than i did), park activities that required interpersonal relations were oftentimes… problematic. I remember spending quite a few moments of my summers attempting to come up with a way to ask some other child if they would go on the teeter-totter with me. Of course, i had no idea what the word for teeter-totter might be.

I have now asked two separate Francophone gentleman, when the topic was on the table (and yes, see-saws come up in daily conversation occasionally - most recently when the definition for a Latin word we needed to translate was “totter” or “vascillate”) and neither had an idea what i was talking about. Thanks to the invention of the internet, however, google images and online dictionaries have now permit me to share with you my newest fascination.

There are two words for see-saw in French: the very unhelpful “balancoire” - how one is supposed to differentiate between swings of the normal, swaying variety and swings of the up-down variety i cannot fathom - and the more interesting “tape-cul.” The word for see-saw being “smack your ass” spawned many chuckles. I am still grinning about the naughtiness of this park amusement.

I spend too much time doing Latin. At least i manage to make it… interesting? sexually-charged? whatever it is… i thought this was amusing.

I first fell in love with Banana Yoshimoto’s writing in CEGEP when we had to read Kitchen as an international component of a Literature class. Actually, thinking back, the entire literature program offered by the International Baccalaureate was just fabulous. We also read Cymbeline, King Lear, WWI poetry by Owen, Sassoon and Rosenberg, Kiss of the Spider Woman and The Wars. From this list are four of my favourite authors and one of my favourite Shakespeare plays as well as my favourite poem… And just this week i was thinking that the IB was a huge waste of time… I must rethink that.

Goodbye Tsugumi was exactly what i expected of Yoshimoto. I can’t really explain what that means though for her writing is … light, almost trite, yet profound and unexpected. Her characters approach the world from a perspective so radically different from my own i find it difficult to believe how caught up i get in their memories, feelings and relationships. The main character, Maria, returns to the seaside town where she grew up after a year living with in Tokyo and has to come to turns with her adulthood, her relationship with her frail yet passionate cousin Tsugumi and the nostalgia for things past. It’s just lovely… Tsugumi is a great character, unbelievable at times, but since the story isn’t told from her perspective it isn’t entirely a problem. I love how Yoshimoto always has at least one transgressional romantic relationship in her books… and this one was no exception.

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I know i have been neglecting the online world. I haven’t posted in over a week, am not checking my emails and just don’t feel like being caught up in my own head right now. I figure it will pass. Another chapter is due tomorrow… i am scared about being able to pull off what now looks like the impossible again. Eep. My time has pretty much been completely devoted to Latin and working lately… and if you need to contact me… try facebook.

My recollection of reading Milton what is now five years ago is a little hazy. I know i was sitting in a hairdresser’s waiting room for the last hundred-or-so pages of the assigned readings and that it gave me a new-found appreciation for the depth of research put into what was then one of my favourite videogames, Diablo.

Paradise Lost and Satan played more strongly into my reading of Melville’s Moby Dick; the descriptions of the white whale that reference the descriptions of Satan are just stunning. In a perfect world, i would have the time to reread Paradise Lost, but i shan’t complain for i get to re-read Machiavelli’s Discourses on Livy this week.

This post was inspired by a recent article on The Guardian’s Book Blog that can and should be read.

When i was a little kid, i used to spend an inordinate amount of time weaving paper together to form rug-like designs. I remember doing this particularly for holiday cards at Sunday school and even taking out a book from the McCaig library in order to hone my skills. I never managed to create anything worthwhile, but i felt special managing to overcome my poor drawing abilities with at least something pretty.

Peter Callesen, a Danish artist, takes this sort of activity to a beautiful, elegant place. Using mostly A4 paper (the kind you use for your very own printer), he makes the most lovely sculptures i have seen online in a very long while. Incredibly complex and yet simultaneously simplistically elegant - using but scissors (or some other cutting device) and the blank space left behind, he creates buildings and wall-mounted designs that capture your attention. My particular favourites were of foliage and wildlife.

The artist says the following about his work:

About my paper works

My paper works have lately been based around an exploration of the relationship between two and three dimensionality. I find this materialization of a flat piece of paper into a 3D form almost as a magic process - or maybe one could call it obvious magic, because the process is obvious and the figures still stick to their origin, without the possibility of escaping. In that sense there is also an aspect of something tragic in most of the cuts. Some of the small paper cuts relate to a universe of fairy tales and romanticism, as for instance “Impenetrable Castle” inspired by Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tale “The Steadfast Tin Soldier”, in which a tin soldier falls in love with a paper ballerina, living in a paper castle. Other paper cuts are small dramas in which small figures are lost within and threatened by the huge powerful nature. Others again are turning the inside out, or letting the front and the back of the paper meet - dealing with impossibility, illusions, and reflections.

I find the A4 sheet of paper interesting to work with, because it probably still is the most common and consumed media and format for carrying information today, and in that sense it is something very loaded. This means that we rarely notice the actual materiality of the A4 paper. By removing all the information and starting from scratch using the blank white 80gsm A4 paper as a base for my creations, I feel that I have found a material which, on one hand, we all are able to relate to, and which on the other hand is non-loaded and neutral and therefore easier to fill with different meanings. The thin white paper also gives the paper sculptures a fragility which underlines the tragic and romantic theme of the works.

In 2008, his work will be featured at the Perry Rubenstein Gallery in New York and the Helene Nyborg Contemporary in Copenhagen. I sincerely regret not having known about this artist when i was in Copenhagen last year as i would have done my best to check out his installations. I suggest you do not let the opportunity pass you by if you are in either of those parts of the world this calendar year.

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I’ve decided that Sunday is going to be devoted to different art forms as they are found online. This is the second installment in the series and it fits into an overall attempt on my part to create some consistency among my blog posts and expand my writing repetoire. On that note, if you find anything particularly cool that fits into this theme - please DO email it to me in order that i may write a post and attribute its genius to your surfing capabilities. If you should be so inclined, feel free to write your own post as a guest blogger for full accreditation too. I am always open to sharing the creative juices.

Yesterday, we established that people scream on rollercoasters because it intensifies the thrill. But, what happens when you go too far? Are adrenaline junkies like all other junkies? To some extent, yes…

In a chapter entitled “The Corruption of Games” in his aforementioned work, Roger Caillois argues “to adapt vertigo to daily life, it is necessary to substitute ambiguous chemical power for clear-cut physical effects. The desired stimulus or sensuous panic, which is brutally and brusquely provided by the amusements at a fair, is now sought in drugs or alcohol” (51).

Do this mean that those who abstain from drinking and drugs for reasons of “not liking losing self-control” are also likely those who don’t enjoy amusement park rides of the more thrilling variety? I’m not very fond of the “spinny” amusement park rides - teacups, strawberries and salt shakers have been known to ruin many an otherwise perfect day - and i also don’t like the lack of co-ordination that comes from drunkeness. I’m more interested in the “pompette” euphoria. Scratch that… i’m more interested in euphoria generally.

Perhaps i don’t like these rides and that state of intoxication because i always feel clumsy and uncoordinated? If the pleasure in these activities is a sense of control in a loss of control - or the disjunct between the sensation experienced intentionally and experienced by a “real” stimulus - then perhaps i have uncovered why i don’t like alcohol all that much. And perhaps, even, why i don’t like a lot of games that others fine invigorating - i don’t like feeling incompetent, or rather, more incompetent than i already do. Kite-flying may be my favourite sport - and although i am not very good at it, i sure do enjoy cheering on the person holding the string!

Caillois mentions that this “corruption” of games occurs in the animal kingdom too: He lists five or six different species of ants (one being Formica sanguinea of which there is a picture to your right) that because of their love of liquid secreted by another larva, will neglect their own larvae and, often, self-destruct. Is it comforting or disheartening to know that both games and drug addiction are not distinctly “human” activities?

So, the second, more complicated answer to why we scream on rollercoasters is “because there is no such thing as enough.”

Or, we COULD interpret the link between innix games, those that consist in creating the sensation of vertigo, and drug/alcohol use as a validation of recreational substance usage - but not abusage. I guess, as with anything, there is a thin line.

Although i don’t scream like a little girl very often, I’m a huge fan of rollercoasters - to your right is one of my favourites, The Incredible Hulk at Universal Studio’s Islands of Adventure in Orlando, FL. The story goes that after that ride it took me a good 45 minutes to even orient myself in the amusement park enough to lead my parents and brother (all glasses wearers who don’t see so great at sunset) to the exit. I was “loopy” to say the least. I hadn’t really thought about WHY people scream on these rides (and other theme park attractions) until reading Roger Caillois’ Man, Play and Games translated by Meyer Barash (Urbana & Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2001), but it has given me some useful insight into one of my more rambunctious pastimes.

Caillois divides games into four categories, the last of which is illinx which includes “those which are based on the pursuit of vertigo and consist in an attempt to momentarily destroy the stability of perception and inflict a kind of voluptuous panic upon an otherwise lucid mind” (23). Common examples include the Haitian game mais d’or in which two children hold hands, touch feet and lean back before swirling around in a circle until dizziness ensues and dervishes. Rollercoasters definitely fit into this category… and as Callois points out “in order to give this kind of sensation the intensity and brutality capable of shocking adults, powerful machines have had to be invented” (25).

Racing cars, motorcycles, bungee jumping and rollercoasters - activities we seem to associate with adrenaline rushes, in Caillois’ terms are about distorting the pervasive reality. This activity is pleasant because we are lucid. Are crazy people able to cope with rollercoasters? I don’t know.

It’s worth noting that this sort of activity is not something only humans partake in: Dogs chase their tails and water-rats spin as if caught in an eddy. There is something inherently pleasureful in distorting reality.

So, why do people scream on rollercoasters? Caillois argues that comparable sensations include: “screaming as loud as one can, racing downhill and tobogganing” (24). People scream on rollercoasters because it heightens the sensation. Aren’t we vertigo junkies? I will have to change my rollercoaster etiquette. Apparently in an attempt to not look like a moron (which is ridiculous, i admit - i’m on a rollercoaster!), i have been limiting my experience! At least i throw my hands up in the air and have been known to wait the extra-long time to get a very front row seat (i recommend this for Space Mountain at Disney’s Magic Kingdom particularly - it was AWESOME!).

Wikipedia conveniently has a list of the Rollercoaster Records for your perusal. If i didn’t have such a travel-bug, i might consider investing some of my time into take a spin on all of them.

(This post is in two parts… if you can guess where this discussion is going next… you get a cookie!)