June 2008 Archives

A lot of the time, I wake up from dreams feeling a strong connection to the people I dreamed about. More often than not, they aren't even real people. They're just people I've made up in my sleep, or modified versions of real people. That doesn't seem to matter. In fact, it may be better to wake up with strong feelings about imaginary people than real ones. I'm imagining a world in which we could control who we meet in our dreams, and carry out long term relationships with them. After all, if you wake up from the dream world feeling like you've just had really good social interactions for your entire dream time, then isn't your social life just that much richer?

Latest project that may never see the light of day: a totally wonderful organic, vegan, Reinheitsgebot compliant, pseudo-lambic beer. Also, it has a made up name and a pretty logo. The whole thing is meant to appeal to a young generation of picky, snooty beer drinkers. If it ever sees the light of day, I'll write about it in more detail. If it flops completely, I'll still write about it in more detail. Until either of those happens, I have a fun secret to keep.

I've gotten into the habit of hunting for things on Craigslist. First I was looking for a job, then I was looking for an apartment. I found both. Short of looking for a relationship, I'm running short of things to look for on Craigslist. It does occur to me, however, that Craigslist (or indeed, any classified ad directory) presents an interesting system for organizing life. There's housing, jobs, personals, for sale, services, discussion, and community. Those categories encompass what people tend to want out of life. We need jobs in order to get money to live. We need places in which to live. We need people to share our lives with. We need things to fill our spaces. We need activity. Craigslist basically handles all of the necessities of being human.

I'm thinking, then, that we should use craigslist as a complement to more sober systems like Maslow's heirarchy of needs. I'm not saying that we need to throw Maslow out, as there doesn't seem to be a heirarchy evident in Craigslist, but I do think that classified ads provide a very good measure of what it means to be human at this point in time.

Fact: most cyclists cinch or roll one leg of their pants so that it won't get caught in the bike chain.
Logical conclusion: Make a pair of pants with one leg shorter than the other.

I'm working on a pretty interesting project at the moment. My favourite little gallery is having a rummage sale right now. They're inviting artists to take something from the sale and get inspired. The finished works are going to be shown at the closing party. So, you might ask, what kind of object did I take and what am I doing with it? I took this completely killer mid century cocktail shaker. It happens to be massive, as well as super classy. It's made of glass and has red, gold, and black birds printed on it. What am I making, then? As the title of the post says, I'm making the cocktail dress that should go with it. It has an empire waistline, and the bodice is entirely crocheted. That gives it a pleasant sense of both weight and naffness. The crocheted bodice is in cream and brown and looks very mid-century housewife. The skirt, though, is where it gets interesting. There are some disorganized strands of crochet, but the majority is a solid red jersey with gold birds drawn on. That's all the stuff that's actually finished. What I'm still working on is attaching shiny things to it. After all, I need to make it match the shiny bits of the shaker. For that, I'm employing little tiny plastic charm bracelet ornaments of helicopters and astronauts, as well as junk jewellery. That last bit of ornamentation won't be happening until my thumb recovers from the crochet marathon. Pictures when the whole thing is done.

I've been noticing lately (or always, take your pick) that love and romantic interpersonal relationships are a pretty frequent topic of discussion among people. Whether it's a discussion about loving and losing, or a horror story of spectacularly garbled communication, or the standard junk you find in every woman oriented magazine in existence, the concept of romantic love is everywhere. This is cool, because it happens to be a fun topic to discuss.

Because romantic love is interesting to talk about, and because I've been needing a nice, entertaining project to add to my already full plate, I've decided to start (another!) new zine. I'm calling it Labour of Love, and it truly is going to be one. It's going to be my prettiest zine yet, and I'm even going to try to publish it on a semi-regular basis. Basically, because everyone likes to talk about it, I'd like to add a little deeper thinking to the topic of love, in an entertaining and well packaged zine.

If anyone other than search engine spiders are reading this, I'm totally welcoming suggestions on this one.

When I was younger than I am now, ten years ago, for example, when I was half the age I am now, I had more dreams. Everything in my life was going to be a big deal. I anticipated huge accomplishment, but I never seemed dissatisfied with what I had. I would invent perfectly spherical flying cars with nubbly little wings sticking out the sides and jets powering the whole works. Aerodynamics be damned, I thought that a spherical air car would be the most profoundly cool thing ever. I was an inventor and a fashion designer in my own mind. I discovered that Barbie dolls were insanely difficult to tailor for. I dreamed up a load of things that would hit the market years later. I was irate, just a few weeks ago when I saw a vending machine in a rest stop washroom selling toothbrushes with built in reservoirs for toothpaste. I've been told that when I was little, I'd speak French in my sleep. I barely even speak it awake anymore. My nightmares used to transport me to other dimensions, filled with human eating aliens. I'd save the world of a night. Now, even my good dreams involve things like credit cards and modems. In short, I'm worried that I've lost something. I've lost my capacity to have very big dreams. I've learned to be a little too realistic. I've lost my magical, optimistic dream world and replaced it with a life overly constrained by reality.