See you tomorrow Cuba!

My best friend, Chelsea Vickers and I are heading down south to Manzanillo, Cuba tomorrow for a week of fun and sun.
I'm ready for psychedelic Che Guevara murals and antediluvian American Buicks, dudes with bongos and old men slapping down dominoes, queues outside ration shops and communist cadres smoking chunky Montecristos.
GIVE IT TO ME.

See you soon,
Em

lolita from the hood

I was nervous that she just wouldn't be everything I fantasized her being, but damn, after the first note of "China Doll", you knew she's the real deal.
Her voice is deceptively strong (considering she has an unpolished  New Yorker accent) and she controls it well. She seamlessly flows from high-pitched lolita to the weathered voice of someone who has been through it all. ‘Blue Jeans’ felt twice as powerful in person as it does on record. ‘Born to Die’ is almost on par with the cinematic ‘Video Games’, and is given an extra punch with its jarringly explicit chorus. Seemingly out of nowhere, the fantastic chorus ‘let me fuck you hard in the pouring rain / You like your girls insane’ ( I thought it was hearing it wrong til I realized I wasn't).
Consumed by self-consciousness, she barely spoke except to apologies for the brevity of the nine-song set but the overall appeal of the show was plenty. As she dreamily sang, three large balloons screened grainy footage of some of the pillars of the "Del Rey" persona: Elvis, Vegas, 60s paparazzi.
There's something really special about this gangsta Nancy Sinatra.

 

xo em

lazy daze

Although my life is usually full of shit to do, people to see, errands to run and often little time to myself, I must take the time to acknowledge how much I truly enjoy laziness.

That awesome moment when you’re sitting in your room and you’re like, “Damn, I should totally go to the corner store and buy a pizza and bag of chips and eat the entire thing sitting right here in front of my computer, because I am all alone and no one is here to judge me and it is truly the little moments that make life.” But then you consider it for a moment or two, and you’re like, “But, damn, I am so comfortable in my room right now and I’m wearing my ‘society doesn’t understand me’ clothes and walking all the way to the corner store in this weather would completely negate the pleasure I would get from mounds of food, plus the cashier always tries to awkwardly hit on me no matter how soccer-mom-sad my ponytail is and frankly, I’d rather not deal with it.” And then you just end up eating that apple that was sitting in your kitchen, and your body feels somewhat refreshed afterward and doesn’t hate you for yet another in the endless list of sins you commit against it.

Laziness is awesome.

That awesome moment when your “friends” — more acquaintances with sweeter social calendars than anything — invite you to this cool party at this hot bar and you’re totally planning on going and spending about 15 dollars a pop for drinks you will spend the entire evening complaining about. You’re planning (whether you know it or not) on throwing up more around than in the toilet, ruining a new pair of shoes on unforgiving sidewalk grates (I'm so good at this!), getting into an argument at the bar that looks for a moment as though it may turn physical, but actually won’t because you’re both lame, and passing out on your floor as soon as you close the door behind you. But then you think, eh, I don’t really feel like dragging my ass all the way across town, and besides, I could spend all night Skyping, watching so many stolen movies, and taking pictures of myself drinking out of a big glass of wine. And then you do it, and it’s the most awesome night in recent memory, and your checking account doesn’t look like someone napalmed it the next morning.

Laziness is awesome.

That awesome moment when you are getting home from a night out that you actually did get suckered into, and are starting that glamorous, sexy, well-coordinated dance of stumbling out of the majority of your clothes as you fall into bed. And then suddenly it hits you: There is someone out there in the cold, unforgiving night for whom you have more than a few choice words. By gum, you have things to say, and now is the very most opportune time to call them and tell them exactly how you feel — now, at three in the morning, when you don’t remember your middle name ( I often forget mine...) and every time you swallow it tastes like alcohol-soaked Sour Patch Kids. You get up the gall to have this very important conversation, locate your phone, and start fumbling with it. But then you think — ugh. Dialing ten whole numbers? Right now? What am I, that Sesame Street Vampire? You’ve suddenly stopped caring what a phone even is, or what purpose it serves in our complicated modern society. So you do the honorable thing: You eat half a bag of Doritos and pass out in a pile of drool and crumbs. And, when you wake up, you’re in a state to fully understand how terrible that conversation would have been.

Laziness is awesome.

CASE CLOSED.


em xo

mechanic

the man that saved our motobikes/asses outta jail in pattaya, thailand.

xo em

take me somewhere

hipster exodus.

emxo

bus graveyard

Mark Mawson is a photographer from Sydney, Australia. Below are a few selections from his amazing Bus Graveyard project on Behance. See more of his work here.

 In the end, everyone is aware of this:
nobody keeps any of what he has,
and life is only a borrowing of bones.
–Pablo Neruda, “October Fullness”

em xo

beach wave summertime

All of the footage is taken from "Riding Giants." Great surf film about the birth and modernization of big wave riding.
Those of you who patiently waiting for summer time weather ( and the dread of the months ahead) this is a temporary cure.  If you have an active imagination - take in this earful. 

See ya soon Cuba.

em xo

cold morning, warm glow

Daring on the peak, telling on the teeth
I've been down to the open road
I'll wait for you, you know
and we both end up alone
and if only we could have known

A clash of crooning titans. Emotional outpour and manufactured mess. Lyrics get lost in a sea of autotune (I'm not complaining). A happy medium between the two most talked about artists in their respective genres. 

Emily xo

let the seasons begin

If I was young, I'd flee this town
I'd bury my dreams underground
As did I, we drink to die
We drink tonight

silent world

Silent World is an absolutely beautiful photo series by Michael Kenna. Michael Kenna (born 1953) is an English photographer best known for his black & white landscapes. His pictures are absent humanity but contain the urban, suburban and industrial components of human society. The landscapes are very contemplative in what are often very crowded areas. Very easy on the eye..
Here are some of my faves:

xo em

change the world, don't just redecorate it.

protective charm

first dreamcatcher - brown suede, hemp, various beads, feathers
November 6, 2011

James Blake does Joni Mitchell

'Cause part of you pours out of me
In these lines from time to time
Oh, you're in my blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter and so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you, darling
Still, I'd be on my feet
I would still be on my feet.

wanderlust

I'm really into these oil paintings called Windows by Jim Darling.
The view from an airplane window is such an inspiring and freeing perspective, especially for all of us wanderlusts out there.

keep dreaming,

em xo

synesthesia

Synesthesia from Terri Timely on Vimeo.


syn·es·the·sia syn·aes·the·sia (sĭn'ĭs-thē'zhə)
n.
A condition in which one type of stimulation evokes the sensation of another, as when the hearing of a sound produces the visualization of a color.
A sensation felt in one part of the body as a result of stimulus applied to another, as in referred pain.
The description of one kind of sense impression by using words that normally describe another.

blog on blog

After reading a whole bunch of anti-blogging articles, mainly ones that attack fashion and design blogs, I came away with a rather frustrated feeling. I guess what bothered me about some of these articles is not the specific criticism of particular blogs (although I did think this was a tad bitchy and in some cases, unjustified), but more so the fact that such huge, sweeping generalizations were made about the practice of blogging and those who undertake it. Granted, I come from a totally biased position regarding this issue as I have a blog myself. I also invest a lot of time, energy and creativity into my blog. But I think I get rewarded for this effort in ways that are not always tangible and which don't always come down to the ever-cynical point made by critics of blogging: popularity.

Let's face it, my blog is not really ever going to be one of those uber-popular blogs that become a hit on the net. But who decided that this is the only reason people blog? It's hard not to get defensive when you read a string of complaints about how narcissistic the blogging community is. Well, lots of people are narcissistic, it's a personality trait, and it's not exclusive to bloggers. But I guess that's beside the point: the real point is that I feel some of these (quite vicious) attacks are a form of resisting just what can be done through blogs these days and how varied they actually are.

I understand the frustration of professional writers when they work so hard on a lengthy and well-researched piece of work and receive little attention, only to hop on the net and see a blogger who types maybe three sentences and gets a huge number of hits. But that's just one scenario, and it doesn't mean that blogger is inherently superficial.

I'm not going to name the articles I read, because I don't want to enter into an online argument with other people here. I guess I'm raising this topic because I find it interesting and I think I've come to really appreciate what the act of blogging has done for my consciousness and abilities as a writer. I'm also interested in the wider motivations of why so many of us blog. And after reading Elmo Keep's article, The morning after my father died, I think it has a lot to do with what she calls 'proof':

"I think I was much more narcissistic when I was in my twenties, like many young people on the internet are, trying to prove constantly that you are someone, that you’re doing something. Which also makes me think, though, are we really that much more narcissistic than people older than us? Or would this have happened to anyone who waded into a time and place where it was possible to capture and share every moment of your life with everyone you know? If we told ourselves no stories of our lives, then the things that happen to us would just be an extraordinarily confusing string of unconnected occurrences.

So I think, yes. I think they would have done it too, because the urge to prove that you were here goes as far back as leaving a hand print on a cave wall in Lascaux."

That's exactly it. Maybe if we started to think about blogging as one avenue via which we tell our stories, then it wouldn't seem so threatening to so many people.

emxo

speak plain

"I was born from two good people who happened to be broken."

my dear and talented friend, Andre M. Bluteau

mug wine

With the fine summer weather dwindling away, it would be downright rude not to curl up under the covers and sip on some big red gulp. Now I don’t pretend to know very much about wine but can happily invent all sorts of pompous descriptions if I am in company and feel the need to show off. After a couple of glasses the words just tumble off my tongue… Yes, I can detect undertones of cinnamon with a hint of distressed truffle - gentle ripples of vanilla radiating through the soft shades of elderflower… or my favourite, whispers of nutmeg enveloping echoes of rich oak ( I know right!)

  

In a mixture of boredom and desperation, I thought, I'll drink this liquid out of a mug, that's the correct medium for this bad boy. 

Feeling bullied by your rough red wine? Drink it from a mug! With a mug, you are in charge, you call the shots, you get a Hemingwayesque sensation in the thorax as if you were a Partisan up in the mountains, slaking your thirst before a) wenching b) killing Fascists.

Drink up!

em xo

human transit

My experience with the Toronto Transit System on October 14, 2011 between the hours of 8:00-1:00am.

1. a woman sitting beside me cutting her toe nails. yes, really. toe nails.

2. an unusual Asian man sifting through a self made photo album which consisted of himself dressed up as various superheros (batman, superman) with weight and measurements beside every photo and amateur photos of woman in obscure angles (butt and crotch shots mostly). He went on to draw (and was in fact, very talented) a picture of a scantily clad woman on the front of his Sport Illustrated magazine. However, due to his attention deficit kept stopping and going back to stare at woman in his photo album.

3. a extremely drugged or drunk (or both) gay man with a purple mohawk reading the newspaper upside down and screaming out of the subway to people to "go suck dicks".

em xo

flu diaries

Something I've been thinking about through this haze of sweat and aching:  folks who sit on their asses all day doing exactly what I’ve been doing baffles me. After only two days of moving only from bed to kitchen to toilet and back, slowly and painfully because of having absolutely no strength and dizziness, cabin fever is ensuing. I’ve watched everything on the fall tv lineup has to offer (thank god, it's pretty good) and have made a considerable dent on the movies on my hard drive. I wonder how people can do this week in week out? I haven’t left the house since yesterday morning and I’m already climbing the walls.

Although I feel alert, The Headache (it deserves caps/bold) is like someone hit me on the head with a baseball bat. We're not talking someone with normal human strength here, think of hammer-wielding god Thor.

Get me out of this island of sickness I call my bedroom. I need human interaction and for food to stop tasting like rat poison. 

Positive note: I watched Drive. LA pulp thriller. Very brutal. Very slick. Great visual flair. Although at times directionless, the acceleration should be enough.

xo em

symmetry

so many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservatism, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more dangerous to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. the very basic core of a man’s living spirit is his passion for adventure. the joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun.

"Well I got a bad liver and broken heart,
yeah, I drunk me a river since you
tore me apart”

STAY HUNGRY, STAY FOOLISH

one year later

I left on my big adventure yesterday - one year ago. Eight months of kaleidoscopic excitement and constantly chasing the waves. Some days it feels so claustrophobic here. Everything used to feel like neon lights. I miss being in the air and having a view from my window seat side where I could see the clouds below - knowing that something completely unexpected is coming my way. People comment on the change in me. I feel the change all around me - that being idle and knowing everything that I could be experiencing is the hardest part.

While homecooked meals and daily showers are a luxury I hold dear, I grew to love that backpack and dirty hair.



xo em

one hundred years of style

Muskoka one more time

Up at the Devon's cottage once more...

falling asleep with shoes on. OH HELL! tournaments. new unusual friends gallore. pitch black drunken walks. bbq all the time. no sun. no swim. dance party breakdowns. stranger text messages. charades app. sunsets. buying poutine and then immediately dropping poutine. brrrrrrr, bye bye summer.

so many grilled veggies

 sunset in Bala.

xo Em

lost and found

“In the first half of my life I moved towards all that gave me pleasure. But after the accident, the accident of growing older, I became cautious, preferring the same roads to work, a familiar breakfast, marriage. Because my memory is a limited resource, like gold or uranium, I go back over my life slowly, running fingers over the moments until I can taste them again. Remembering is like running backwards, an art I practiced with a friend from childhood, who says there are just two tragedies in life. Not getting what you want. And getting it.”
- Mike Hoolboom

Don't think twice, it's all right

I give her my heart but she wanted my soul

don't stop

 
Yougottadance. Aslongasthemusicplays. Yougotta dance. Don'teventhinkwhy. Starttothink, yourfeetstop. Yourfeetstop, wegetstuck. Wegetstuck, you'restuck. Sodon'tpayanymind, nomatterhowdumb. Yougottakeepthestep. Yougottalimberup. Yougottaloosenwhatyoubolteddown. Yougottauseallyougot. Weknowyou'retired, tiredandscared. Happenstoeveryone, okay? Justdon'tletyourfeetstop


xo em

your sails

reality x memory

"Memories are what warm you up from the inside. But they're also what tear you apart."

We'll miss you, Mr. Layton

I’m reading Jack Layton’s final words and experiencing a strong reaction towards his powerful last words. Human compassion seems to be rare these days, especially in terms of politics - he will be sorely missed. 

“My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world.”

I think we should stop for at least a few minutes and think of the courage it takes to be so selfless at the bitter end.

Time to rise up Canada,

em xo

Lovely Sunday

Although there is supposedly a lot of excitement at 5:00am when the St. Lawrence Antique Market  opens, I can't say I was eager enough to witness it.  This large antique market is a mish mash of collectible everything; porcelain and ceramics, sixties furniture, vintage jewelry, rare prints and photos...

The place is stuffed full of opportunities for the wise old man that buys and sells history. I was lucky enough to listen to a bunch of great stories from the vendors about a bunch of their nick nacks. One included this dashing old man speaking about a cigar cutter that had a picture of a young Asian man smoking a cigar and was labelled "The Jap"...
Although I was in search of a nice wooden box, I managed to picked up a vintage Bulova watch circa 1983.
Great retail therapy for the hunter and collector in me...

After the pleasant rummaging I headed to Le Papillion, a large French bistro that is considered to be  Toronto's first crêperie - opened in 1974. I ordered the good old French favorite, French Onion Soup (or rather, a ball of melted Gruyere cheese hovering doughy broth). Mmm, It was perfect since it started to rain once the first spoonful reached my mouth.
There was a loveliness to this place that is most often lost in Toronto. I was fortunate to witness the surprising reaction of rain hailing down and couples and families remaining completely unaware of the violent winds and rain and continuing to enjoy their food with large grins and happy tummies on the patio while it pitter pattered overhead.

Since the weather determined that it would be suiting to catch a film, I wandered over to the Rainbow for a late afternoon matinee. The Help, arguably one of those glossy, obvious rasicm is bad themed movies, surprised me with the infectious raw power and energy from its cast. It redeemed itself by its ability to expand those common stereotypes into more complicated and layered portrayals. There was a lot of sniffing in the audience.

If this day could not have been more perfect, out of pure desire and my minimal willpower, I went to Trimurti for some amazing Indian grub.


Long walk home and passing out in my clothes is all too familiar.
Thanks for the lovely day, miss Minigan!

em xo

my own culture shock

travel withdrawl:
grief like symptoms after an extremely enjoyable adventure.
recognized by the person as excessive or unreasonable, yet overcoming it may be quite difficult.

 

in the most terrifying and amazing cave in Rayong, Thailand

bucket sized drinks, Samet Island, lifelong friends

the surprising highs

Wearing the same clothes days on end (notably when I lost my luggage for most of my time in Germany)

Sweating like crazy and being generally haggard and not giving a care

Nights wandering with strangers around the city and then getting so lost we couldn’t find our way back to the hostel, a mere block away (clearly, our pack was a bit directionally challenged).  A secret unbreakable bond

Eating cheap (delicious) street food; drinking cheap beers during breakfast, lunch and dinner

Living out of a backpack.

Washing my clothes in the hostel bathroom and having to drape various undergarments around the room to dry. 

I lost my bathing suit every time I did this.

Chris is very cool.

real life.

See new things every day or contact a travel agent immediately.



em xo

APRICOT by Ben Briand

APRICOT — A Short Film by Ben Briand from Moonwalk Films on Vimeo.

Do you remember?

xo em

strange truth

It's kinda like setting off on a journey at 4am and missing everything you love as soon as you step out of the door.

Everything goes, but you realize some other strange truth.


em xo

Roncesvalles

cable jungle

sadly, I've never been. However I know the place next door quite well...

back alley graffiti haven

Roncy has a ridiculous amount of coffee shops that are all always full.

( pictures from around the hood)

Details of life- or more commonly known as "current inspiration and/or observations"

• Pathological blusher and constantly evolving laughter
• From September until now, I have been on 11 planes and countless hours on buses/trains/trunks of pick up trucks. Due to this, I am now able to fall asleep on any mode of transportation. I have missed my stop on the streetcar several times because of it.
• I sleep on my stomach and despite many failed attempts, I cannot seem to fall asleep in any other position (unless I pass out). It sucks because I often come off as aloof, when in reality I simply cannot sleep any other way. 
• I have a short list of [irrational] fears - most of which are very specific and quirky. Most notably is horses.
• Painting, and art in general, for me, is both a release and a stress 
• I am constantly disturbed by people that watch Fox news un-ironically 

xo em