Resolutions (2010 playlist)

Dictionary.com shows 12 different definition for 'resolution', including 'reduction to a simpler form', 'the resulting state' and 'the progression of a voice part or of the harmony as a whole from a dissonance to a consonance', but I think the most relevant one for our purposes is ' a resolve or determination: to make a firm resolution to do something.' To do something. [insert Nike swoosh here.]


Presumably, the idea of yearly resolutions came about as a way to encourage people to reflect on the last year and move forward, set goals for the coming year. It's like an annual personal performance review. I've never been a fan of setting yearly resolutions, but I can appreciate the idea of a yearly ritual that forces people to reflect and reflection leads to contemplation, brain usage, focus and isn't there an app for that? You get the idea.


So, I resolve not to resolve. I'm having fun and I'll continue to do so. (That is not a resolution.)
As a 2010 send-off (and proof of just how much fun I had this year), I've done what I have the most fun doing... compiling a playlist, a yearly one, in this case:

1. Laundry Room - The Avett Brothers
2. Walk Alone (Feat. Truck North, P.O.R.N., Dice Raw) - The Roots
3. Hellhole Retrace - Girls
4. Stylo (feat. Mos Def & Bobby Womack) - Gorillaz
5. How Good You Are - Joe Pug
6. I Love You, But Goodbye - Langhorne Slim
7. Sleepyhead - Passion Pit
8. Drifters - Patrick Watson  
9. Tightrope (Feat. Big Boi) - Janelle Monáe
10. Surely - Black Dub
11. Mr. Pitiful - Otis Redding*
12. Horchata - Vampire Weekend
13. Tangle in This Trampled Wheat - The Tallest Man On Earth
14. Ghost Pressure  - Wolf Parade
15. Vaporize - Broken Bells
16. Meet Me In The Basement - Broken Social Scene
17. Swim Until You Can't See Land - Frightened Rabbit
18. Singing Softly To Me - Kings Of Convenience
19. World News - Local Natives
20. L.S.F. - Mark Ronson Feat. Kasabian
21. Congratulations - MGMT
22. Runaway - The National
23. Mama Don't Like My Man - Sharon Jones & The Dap Kings
24. The Funeral - Band of Horses
25. Join The Dots - The Nextmen

*Not all of these songs were released in 2010, if it's not obvious by now. 

Advice for the newly minted (Brooke)

I wish that I remembered being in my mother's womb, or even better, exactly how it felt to be in the world  for the first minute or five or ten. I bet there are people who remember or have even a semblance of memory from those moments. Or at least those who claim to remember and mistakenly associate some other first-ever with the experience of being born (first bath?). The first in the next generation of my family was recently born--on my birthday, no less--and so I started thinking in this vein again. Childbirth, childhood, memories, advice, and most importantly, what it's like to be born in 2010.

This child has no idea what she's in for. I can barely guess, given how rapidly our culture has changed in the last ten, twenty years. Proud parents used to rent phones at the hospital and call relatives one-by-one in due time, and eventually they might circulate or mail a picture to those concerned. Lately, most babies have made an ultrasound debut on Facebook or Flickr before they come close to making an entrance to the world. Within minutes of birth, friends and family were already demanding my exhausted sister and her husband to post pictures, name, weight, likes, dislikes, hobbies, religious views, etc. Okay, I exaggerated those last few. Having said this, the younger you are, the quicker you adapt. Perhaps I feel, at times, burdened by technology because I was born in 1980. I didn't own a cell phone until the age of 23 and I have yet to fold to the smart phone phenomenon because you can't convince me that I need to be connected at all times. Oh yes, and I still listen to records.

Over the weekend, a friend of mine gave me a birthday card/1980 yearbook. It was about 10 pages filled with old references from the eighties. Most of us had a good laugh (anyone over 26) and mused about how things have changes, like a bunch of accomplished old people *satisfied sigh, far-off gaze*. We know we're not old, and we're not nearly satisfied enough to feign it, but honestly, a world without cell phones and everywhere internet seems a trillion light years ago, doesn't it?

With all of this in my head, I put my name on a list for an iPhone and bought an old, ratty version of a book written in 1915 (Of Human Bondage). And I devised a list of advice that I hope will transcend time (or at least provide time-machine-like laughter, as did my 80s card) and help ground my little niece when she needs it.

• Never forget the importance of reading a good book, in any medium. You will feel richer for it.
• Don't wait for occasions to buy gifts for people you love.
• Ensure you play outside of your comfort zone enough. Join a club. Travel alone. Write if you hate writing. Sing if you hate singing. You don't have to tell anyone.
• Learn how to cook for yourself.
• Make time for breakfast and staring out the window in the morning.
• Bundle up and enjoy winter. Make snowballs and forts, no matter your age.
• Find humour in something every day. Even if it's at your expense.
• Decide on an instrument and learn to play it. You don't have to master it to understand the importance of music in life and how it feels to make it.
• Stand back once a year and evaluate your life. What are you proud/not proud of?
• Don't be afraid to say you're happy or not happy.
• Determine how a genuine gut instinct feels and follow it. Accept that you are an ever-changing being and what you liked last year you may not like this year, or vice versa.
• (Relates to above) Don't be flaky. Nobody likes flaky.
• Quality, not quantity.

Easy, right? Good luck in life, baby Brooke.

Auntie Erin

My verbal ticks

I recently read something on verbal ticks: words or phrases unique to a person. I'll assume they are called ticks because these words/expressions are equally annoying and useless in conversation as they are in nature, not to mention the fact that they are small and generally go unnoticed by most unless they are persistent. The fact that they are persistent, useless, annoying is what makes them ticks.

I should add that verbal ticks are often much different than written ticks. There are most certainly "tick" words that I overuse (just by using them once) in my writing that I would nearly never say aloud, for whatever reason. The rising waters of social media and instant messaging will slowly weaken this disparity (have you noticed people using text-y acronyms like LOL and OMG in speech lately?), but for now, there remains a bit of a palace gate between verbal and written ticks.  Like "most certainly" or "undoubtedly", for example. I don't recall the last time I used this phrase verbally. It could be that it's a little redundant ("certainly" will do) and has a upturned nose, professorial air to it. Either way, it's not all that convincing. In fact, if you were so certain, you wouldn't need to tell anyone just how certain you were.

My most annoying (to me) verbal tick is "for sure", instead of a simple "I agree", which is likely how it would end up on paper. Or "hmmm"-ing aloud while I'm thinking, as though nobody is aware I'm thinking really hard until I let on with a loud hmm. (Also, it's more difficult to think clearly when you're humming.)

Hmmm, certainly I should watch and aim to rid my speech and writing of these undoubtedly useless ticks. For sure, I'll try.

That song would sound perfect in a closing montage!

http://theoatmeal.com/blog/awkward_movies

I laughed out loud (yes, I just wrote that out in full) at this comic. The expression on "you too!" dude's face is absolutely spot on. We all do this and sometimes even realize we did it and cringe. In a recent what-are-you-up-to-this-weekend sort of office conversation, a co-worker of mine solemnly noted that he would be attending a funeral over the weekend. I wished him well, and almost immediately afterwards, he attempted to end the conversation with "well, enjoy your weekend" and of course, I returned with the auto-response "you too!". I love comedy like this.

What I really want to talk about are soundtracks. My moods and thoughts have often been dictated by music. I've always thought that the best job in the world would be to choose music for films. I don't mean so much scoring films. My musical talent has never and will never stretch that far, sadly. I've always had an affinity to certain movies if not only for their soundtracks and perfect placement of pivotal music. Alternately, I love certain real-life moments when they are underscored by the right music, like the right tune in a grocery isle (Mellow Yellow - Donovan) or in the ears, under the snowboard helmet (Organ Donor - DJ Shadow) or while sharing your deepest secrets (Time Has Told Me - Nick Drake) or for waking up (White Winter Hymnal - Fleet Foxes).

Artists are often stigmatized for selling their music to be included in a commercial or soundtrack. This is not a black-and-white argument. In fact, the decision to sell music can be a savvy move when it's done with care. For example, some artists may take issue with selling a tune to the next over-the-top Michael Bay production (of the Transformers empire), but not to, oh, say Wes Anderson's next venture or maybe anything starring Michael Cera. And undoubtedly, there will be those who feel quite the opposite.

Perhaps I just haven't done my proper research (and apologize if that's true), but why hasn't anyone used Radiohead's "Nude" in film? This song inspired this post. In fact, as a bit of an homage to this song, I think I'll start taking note of the names of films and particular moments when I think "Nude" should've been part of the score. Could you call that a hobby?

Kindred spirits and dreams

It's probably nothing more than a coincident that I happened to see the movie Inception shortly before I had an uncharacteristically vivid dream. I've always wished I was that person who remembered dreams in the same vein as useless sports trivia, but that's never been the case. It's like trying to wrestle open a door fastened with a bungee cord. Tiny bits half emerge seconds before the door slams shut again with ferocious authority. My mind teases me that way. I also admire the person who claims to keep a notebook bedside and despite the hour, awakes from a dream and immediately writes down the details (for what I assume will be a close analysis later). I'm neither a rememberer nor a dream note taker. I push the mental snooze when I awake from most dreams, hoping to fall right back in.

In this particular dream, I only recall one piece. I got the innate feeling there were many lost pieces and sometimes I felt as though I had one too many glasses of wine and my dream friends took advantage of me. Dreaming is, after all, the safest way to lose control. The piece that I remember involved me and a friend of mine. We told familiar stories as if we'd grown up next-door neighbours and been in the trenches of war together. It was obvious to me who this friend was, even though I don't remember seeing his face or any other telling signs. I do recall a hat, which is strange because I don't ever recall him wearing a hat like that. Before the dream ended, we both laughed uncontrollably at something. I don't remember what but that laugh felt better than any laugh I've ever had in my real life. I hate this omission from my memory.

Either way, I almost immediately awoke, unstoppable smile on my face, to realize that I don't and probably will never know that person so well in my waking life. Why was I so comfortable with said friend in my dream when that's almost never the case in reality? When I tired of this vein of thought, I began to wonder if anyone ever made major life decisions based on dreams. People make decisions all the time based on hunches. And personally, I find the "I had a dream" rationale much more difficult to argue than "I had a hunch". Nobody can argue with your dreams.

Self-imposed power outtages

I've been in exile in my condo for a few days now. This is rare, especially in August, but I've enjoyed it. So much happens when I'm not around! The posh business people in the generic building a few blocks over had a rooftop celebration that I'm sure included gel and martinis (wish I had binoculars right then); the clouds move faster than I ever remember them moving and the new neighbour has a funny, potentially annoying problem with his smoke detector letting him know his apartment is hot, not burning, just hot, which is pretty much all the time in August. We suggested he remove the batteries for the evening (it was late when he made his confession) and get it checked out the next day. He seemed surprised by our suggestion and the fact that smoke detectors have batteries?!

After consideration, we decided that our made-up story of how the previous occupants moved out with complaints of chronic headaches, possibly due to toxic levels of carbon monoxide, was a devious and unneighbourly move.

Part of this condo exile has been on account of the weather. Things got a little stormy a few nights ago when we heard/saw a goliath strike of lightning that seemed like it hit about three blocks away. The ensuing fire truck and sirens were our proof. A friend from out of town was staying and our much-anticipated dinner was nearly on the table when the buzz stopped. The fish tank stopped dripping; the television quietly bowed down to the intensity of the storm; the clocks stopped insisting our dinner was late, as usual, and the ceiling fans conceded to the natural winds outside. Lights out and stove cooling our better-be-ready yams, we lit candles and observed silence between conversation, thunder and sirens. Luckily, my decanter is not electric.

It struck me that this whole experience made me feel as though I was in a sanctuary. It seems we're so used to noise, buzzing always, that we had forgotten how wonderful it was to be without it. Without so much distraction, the flicker of a candle on a wood table is pronounced. And is it just me, or does conversation seem secret and exceedingly precious around candlelight? Our roomie for the week just returned from South America and living in Costa Rica for nearly two years, so she wasn't fussed. Any amount of panic in a situation like this is pedestrian to her and I was happy to have someone to revel in the simplicity with.

When the power eventually made it's way back and we began re-setting clocks and scrolling through music and flicking channels and googling again, I felt a mild sense of disappointment, which is why I've decided to give myself a self-imposed power outage one evening a month. I understand the mesmerizing storm and the element of surprise will be missing and yes, it might be slightly annoying to set the clocks and hope the fish tank filter resumes without fail, but not enough.

I'll report back on my first reenactment.

Have legs, will run for advice

Having just booked a ticket to Kathmandu, I felt the need to start a regular training regime, particularly one that includes stairs or steep inclines of some sort. As I run/walk/go in the general upwards direction, I think about how I've always perceived this place like I have Transylvania. Just saying the name of this exotic city aloud elicits thoughts of lingering and unexpected fog. It feels good to say it, so I do so on a regular basis. It imposes itself on otherwise humdrum conversation like an Irish accent and begs to be heard.

I'm going to come back to Kathmandu later. After all, I still have two-and-a-half months to contemplate it.

It's the training regime I want to talk about. I hate to use the word 'regime' to describe what has been a half-hearted attempt at best. Typically, I like to run down the promenade, down Victoria Park Hill and up the stairs from Victoria golf course a few times and run/walk home from there. I know this isn't much, but it incorporates a little of everything in a manageable time frame.

First off, stop laughing. Indeed, Edmonton has it's very own promenade perched on the lip of the river valley peering over Victoria Park Road. It stretches from 116th to 121st Street. I'm shocked at the number of Edmontonians who eye me suspiciously when I call this stretch of avenue a promenade. Honestly though, if you were over 75, you would know this place. It's the avenue of the old and wise.

The first time I ventured out to try my route, an 87-year-old woman (name unknown) waited as I ascended my final go of the stairs. "My daughter does that six times a day, you know." She also noted that if I continue to do this (six times a day?!), I would look as good as her at 87. She looked pretty able for her age! Noted.

The next time, I met Freddy. Where to begin with Freddy? He lives on the promenade and if you make eye contact, you may as well discount a good half hour from your day. Having said that, he will make it well worth your time. Freddie is 84 and here's his life secret: "No alcohol but the finest cognac." Oh yes, and only share it with your real friends (because it's expensive). How do you know real friends from your fake friends? "Look them in the eye and you'll know their character."

This man is straight out of a Dostoevsky novel. In the span of 30 minutes (him talking; me listening), I saw the lighthearted Freddy ("How old was that other lady you were talking to here? Does she live around here?" - referring to the 87-year-old lady from my last jaunt), the humorous Freddy ("you're young, but not that young."), the thoughtful Freddy ("this modern architecture [referring to a new condo on the promenade] it's built like a prison! Why would I pay $1 million to live in a prison!") and the dark Freddy ("I survived for 70 days on leaves during the war.")

After a half hour, I had to tell Freddy to save some stories for next time we run into one another and I cut my stair climbing short to make my escape. It's rare that you meet people so sure of themselves and of life. Over the weekend, I found myself wondering what Freddy or the nameless 87-year-old woman would think about _________. I wonder if I'll be more inclined to talk to strangers when I'm old?

Tonight...six flights of stairs, the finest cognac and hopefully another gem to add to the agenda.

My obsession with nutella...

...or anything that tastes like nutella, for that matter. The thick, chocolately, gooey stuff I actually broke my fork in is called Nutkao. It's a rip-off. That's when you know your addiction has come full circle...you start buying knock-offs, mainly because they are cheaper, but also so you can test your knowledge of the original product. Is the cheap Nutella knock-off as good as the original? Is it (*gasp) better? Are there more of less hazelnuts, protein, carbs, fat in it? Can I get away with putting in in my morning coffee? Can it make a meal on its own?

Let's talk Nutella and culture now (because I'm obsessed, you see). Nutella seems to have a higher cool factor than peanut butter. I reckon it's because mom and/or dad or you, if that's how it went down, never packed you a nutella and jam sandwich and sent you packing to learn your ABCs. An n&j sandwich just doesn't have the same ring to it as pb&j now does it. Perhaps another reason is that it's from across the pond. It's foreign and foreign = instant cool. If we bring nutella down to a peanut butter level, it's actually hazelnut butter (hb&j) in the way that Kleenex is tissue paper. Let's face it though, even at the trailer park level, hb&j still sounds like a mid-range, trendsetting retail outlet or a sexually transmitted disease.

My obsession calls...

The First Post

D'you reckon a blog is the ultimate blank page? You might even say it's a compounded blank page because there's really no end to it; it could go on indefinitely.

I started this blog for a combination of reasons. First of all, I hate writing in a book with a pen or pencil. I can't write fast enough and I can barely read it later. I used to love the act of putting pen to paper until I realized that it was simply a romantic cliche I kept for all the wrong reasons. My thoughts emerge more naturally this way.

Next, photos. I've always wanted to capture life in words, but lately I've become obsessed with more visual types of communication like film, photography (although it remains a slow journey to teach myself the fundamentals) and fonts. God, I love fonts. I promise I will post photos to complement my entries, when it seems right.

Finally, this is my antidote to procrastination and writer's block. Yes, sir, please give me a small injection--one part procrastination and one part writer's block--and announce me forever immune. Similarly, I hope the more I write, the more ideas will flood my mind and explode all over this blog. I'm sorry to leave you with that visual.

I had intended to explain the blog name. Until next time...