Language is massively underrated.
Here are some words and phrases I always enjoy:
Lupus
Phallocentric
Dichotomy
Cylindrical
Catacombs
Cathartic
Anaphylactic
Itadakimas (Japanese)
Bagel
Tschuss (German)
Interdepartmental
Tardy
Retarded
Cock (as an insult)
Solipsistic
Emancipatory
Faux-
Pseudo-
Sur la table (French)
Joie de vivre (French)
Only since moving away have I realised how brilliant Yorkshire language is. Nothing's better than "gi-or" and my dad's old favourite "thrift's gone scew on't treddle". I miss my accent.
"Bung 'us" your faves, let's see what people are into these days.
Flipside.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
This weekend, I fulfilled a bit of a dream of mine: to play pond hockey.
Ok, so there were only two of us, and one of us was wearing figure skates, but it still counts. We had a goal (Lucie), a puck, and some hooking, so it was hockey.
We were playing on the frozen lake at Aidan's parents' ludicrously sexy house (I think it was Lake Simcoe but I can't be sure), and it turns out that frozen lake ice isn't quite as smooth as fake zamboni-ed ice. I definitely struggled with the bumps.
It's wierd too cos when you're skating you hear this apocalyptic "whoooomph............whoooooomph" from under you, which apparently is the ice shifting, and now and again you skate over a thin bit and it cracks, which definitely shits you up a bit. Also if you miss the puck it goes for miles.
What's stranger is that you can be noodling around on your skates and then a snowmobile will go past you, and then a car. That's right; a car. Across a frozen lake. And they're not small cars either. Crazy Canucks.
So Aidan helpfully reminded me that I had said I wanted to do a polar dip, which is where they cut a hole in some ice and you jump in the freezing water. Don't ask me why I'd said this (drunk?) but he started cutting a hole in the lake, and minutes later I was stood in my shortest short shorts (as I only had a pair of jeans other than that, and I had to wear those home) and a t shirt in the middle of this bloody lake. After faffing around for about ten minutes I finally got in the cesspool of ice, which was gross and full of mud and leaves, only to find it was about a foot deep, so really I just squatted in it, until I was pushed back onto my bum. The cold hit me. I soon got out, waddled back into the house, straight into the shower and couldn't feel my feet for about an hour. Still, I dip a polar dip! Can't wait to hit that lake for wakeboarding in the summer.
In a week I'm heading home for muchos partying with my homebodies....can't wait, and yet at the same time, it'll be really really strange. Manchester 27th, Sheffield 28th...be there bitches!
Peace out.
Ok, so there were only two of us, and one of us was wearing figure skates, but it still counts. We had a goal (Lucie), a puck, and some hooking, so it was hockey.
We were playing on the frozen lake at Aidan's parents' ludicrously sexy house (I think it was Lake Simcoe but I can't be sure), and it turns out that frozen lake ice isn't quite as smooth as fake zamboni-ed ice. I definitely struggled with the bumps.
It's wierd too cos when you're skating you hear this apocalyptic "whoooomph............whoooooomph" from under you, which apparently is the ice shifting, and now and again you skate over a thin bit and it cracks, which definitely shits you up a bit. Also if you miss the puck it goes for miles.
What's stranger is that you can be noodling around on your skates and then a snowmobile will go past you, and then a car. That's right; a car. Across a frozen lake. And they're not small cars either. Crazy Canucks.
So Aidan helpfully reminded me that I had said I wanted to do a polar dip, which is where they cut a hole in some ice and you jump in the freezing water. Don't ask me why I'd said this (drunk?) but he started cutting a hole in the lake, and minutes later I was stood in my shortest short shorts (as I only had a pair of jeans other than that, and I had to wear those home) and a t shirt in the middle of this bloody lake. After faffing around for about ten minutes I finally got in the cesspool of ice, which was gross and full of mud and leaves, only to find it was about a foot deep, so really I just squatted in it, until I was pushed back onto my bum. The cold hit me. I soon got out, waddled back into the house, straight into the shower and couldn't feel my feet for about an hour. Still, I dip a polar dip! Can't wait to hit that lake for wakeboarding in the summer.
In a week I'm heading home for muchos partying with my homebodies....can't wait, and yet at the same time, it'll be really really strange. Manchester 27th, Sheffield 28th...be there bitches!
Peace out.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Going Tribal
Ever heard of a drum circle? Apparently everyone else had, apart from me.
Well my awesome friend Jackie took me to one last week, and it was amazing. It's in a bar in the winter, park in the summer, and every takes their African drums, or cowbells, or maracas, or any other kind of percussion, sits in a big ol' circle and just plays together. There's no real leader, no real idea of what's going to happen, just one big drumming jam fest with people dancing in the middle; hippy chicks, middle aged women, guys who look like shy, unassuming college professors, anyone. The vibe is amazing - it felt like the closest I'd ever get to actually existing in the seventies. Some guys are amazing, but I was just happy tapping away quietly on Jackie's djembe (I don't know why but that sounds rude) trying to keep up. It was such a loving atmosphere, in the summer it should be sick!!
Last night we found out The Prodigy are playing T Dot. Last night my flatmate bought us tickets and earned my eternal love. Twelve years a fan and now to see those 'what you don't dare do' people..... sweeeeet!
Parry out.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Confessionism
I think I'm a masochist.
I say this as I sit here exhausted and in a fair amount of physical pain. I just got off work after having 5 hours sleep having been snowboarding all day then to the 'after-party', which I did after about 3 hours sleep having been to a gig where I moshed to an extent my body hasn't been put through since 2003. And I loved every minute of it.
My chosen career involves working at night, being exhausted, abusing my ears with a lot of shit to root out the good stuff, running around after egotistical artists then working to strict deadlines which are always a day too short. And, of course, having no money. But I can't imagine doing anything else.
My main goal is to write a novel; a difficult, stressful and uncertain process, at the end of which people slate you or praise you according to nothing more than personal preference. Writing in general is a solitary and time-consuming pastime, and horrendously under-paid, yet it makes me so stupidly happy.
The funnest and most exhilirating things I've ever done involve being fairly close to death or feeling like you're going to die for the briefest of moments, like skydiving and bungee jumping. My favourite sporting activities, surfing and snowboarding, necessitate me being freezing cold and leave me with the physical gait of someone who's been beaten up by a brick wall for days on end (which may be because I'm so unutterably shit at both of them), but I jump at every chance I get to do either of them.
I strive to travel and live in loads of different countries, despite the expense, the stress, and the fact that I have to leave behind the people I love, miss them constantly, and then have the exact same situation with the new friends I've made in the new place when I move on. My biggest hate is missing out on things but I remove myself from situations time and time again, and still the alternative isn't preferable.
Then again, maybe its not me. Maybe true pleasure only comes when you move out of the banality of everyday life and do things that hurt, things that freak you out. Maybe you have to have the lows to have the biggest highs, and I'd rather be on a wave of peaks and troughs for the rest of my life than a staid line of average 'til I'm seventy. Maybe everyone who really lives life to the full is, to some extent, a masochist.
In the glorious words of Henry Miller,
"The aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware;
joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware."
Live life.
I say this as I sit here exhausted and in a fair amount of physical pain. I just got off work after having 5 hours sleep having been snowboarding all day then to the 'after-party', which I did after about 3 hours sleep having been to a gig where I moshed to an extent my body hasn't been put through since 2003. And I loved every minute of it.
My chosen career involves working at night, being exhausted, abusing my ears with a lot of shit to root out the good stuff, running around after egotistical artists then working to strict deadlines which are always a day too short. And, of course, having no money. But I can't imagine doing anything else.
My main goal is to write a novel; a difficult, stressful and uncertain process, at the end of which people slate you or praise you according to nothing more than personal preference. Writing in general is a solitary and time-consuming pastime, and horrendously under-paid, yet it makes me so stupidly happy.
The funnest and most exhilirating things I've ever done involve being fairly close to death or feeling like you're going to die for the briefest of moments, like skydiving and bungee jumping. My favourite sporting activities, surfing and snowboarding, necessitate me being freezing cold and leave me with the physical gait of someone who's been beaten up by a brick wall for days on end (which may be because I'm so unutterably shit at both of them), but I jump at every chance I get to do either of them.
I strive to travel and live in loads of different countries, despite the expense, the stress, and the fact that I have to leave behind the people I love, miss them constantly, and then have the exact same situation with the new friends I've made in the new place when I move on. My biggest hate is missing out on things but I remove myself from situations time and time again, and still the alternative isn't preferable.
Then again, maybe its not me. Maybe true pleasure only comes when you move out of the banality of everyday life and do things that hurt, things that freak you out. Maybe you have to have the lows to have the biggest highs, and I'd rather be on a wave of peaks and troughs for the rest of my life than a staid line of average 'til I'm seventy. Maybe everyone who really lives life to the full is, to some extent, a masochist.
In the glorious words of Henry Miller,
"The aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware;
joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware."
Live life.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
A severe lack of clouds
I keep getting myself lost in the smallest moments of happiness lately. It's almost as if I'm watching myself in a movie when this happens.
Tonight, for example, I was walking to my friend Lucie's house for a scrumptious dinner when I was struck by a sort of smug euphoria. Shuffling along Adelaide with the cold wind in my face and and my hood pulled snugly over my head, I was listening to the crescendo of my latest favourite song, To Lose My Life by White Lies (which makes me feel a bit spacey anyway), when I glanced to my right and observed yet again the crystal clarity of the downtown skyline and the lit up tower. Most nights here it's too cold for any cloud cover so the lights from the scenery are so bright it's astounding, and you can see the lines and shadows of the CN and the surrounding skyscrapers almost too clearly. As I perceived this for the hundredth time I felt my face fall into a beam of happiness, and watched myself turn and walk down University with the self-satisfied grin of a person who's somehow managed to plant themselves in a beautiful city.
The same happened on Monday night after a gig I went to review, where I'd had a surprisingly good time, met some really cool and interesting people and got some free Jager shots from my new friends the bartenders. I strode the two streets home and found myself stuck in a persistent grin which subsided only when I fell asleep.
It's strange how the little things and the random people can make you appreciate what you have, where you are and how comfortingly brilliant life really can be.
Tonight, for example, I was walking to my friend Lucie's house for a scrumptious dinner when I was struck by a sort of smug euphoria. Shuffling along Adelaide with the cold wind in my face and and my hood pulled snugly over my head, I was listening to the crescendo of my latest favourite song, To Lose My Life by White Lies (which makes me feel a bit spacey anyway), when I glanced to my right and observed yet again the crystal clarity of the downtown skyline and the lit up tower. Most nights here it's too cold for any cloud cover so the lights from the scenery are so bright it's astounding, and you can see the lines and shadows of the CN and the surrounding skyscrapers almost too clearly. As I perceived this for the hundredth time I felt my face fall into a beam of happiness, and watched myself turn and walk down University with the self-satisfied grin of a person who's somehow managed to plant themselves in a beautiful city.
The same happened on Monday night after a gig I went to review, where I'd had a surprisingly good time, met some really cool and interesting people and got some free Jager shots from my new friends the bartenders. I strode the two streets home and found myself stuck in a persistent grin which subsided only when I fell asleep.
It's strange how the little things and the random people can make you appreciate what you have, where you are and how comfortingly brilliant life really can be.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Culture an' shit
Happy February! Time is going much too fast, I don't like it.
At the moment I'm having a bit of a chuckle of the collective freak-out going on the UK. 6 whole inches of snow! How does anyone cope?!
Being over here has made me realise I really do love the British way. We're affable, self-deprecating and take things in our stride. This doesn't mean I don't love the how the Canadians are friendly, vivacious and passionate about life in general, but it means I kind of appreciate where I come from a little more than I used to. We also encourage binge-drinking, which is always fun.
Over here they make buying alcohol as difficult as possible. In Ontario you can only buy drink in one of a few places; the Beer Store, the LCBO, or the Wine Rack. The LCBO is the Aladdin's cave of alcoholic beverages, and going in there to get one thing inevitably ends with arms full of new goodies. Unfortunately these stores are few and far between, and close at ridiculous times. Not being able to get a bottle of wine at the supermarket will never sit well with me.
They do make being healthy a hell of a lot easier though. The city is overpopulated with gyms, and everyone is on teams or does classes. There are some great Vegan eateries around, including Fressen which is delicious but unfortunately never open. They're so crazy about physical activity they have invented a silly amount of things to do in freezing weather too, and there are free skating rinks around the city. Cool beans.
There is also art everywhere. In my part of the world, Queen West, galleries are ten-a-penny, and there are comedy nights and theatre shows pretty much every night of the week. Me and Lou went to see a stage adaptation of Pride and Prejudice on Thursday which was really good - very funny and easy to lose yourself in, despite the terrible English accents. And only ten bucks!
Speaking of accents, an English woman at work today couldn't tell I was English. Damn my tendency to pick up other people's speech patterns!
My wicked flatmates Tomo and Louis have a blog if you want to check it out, they've been blogging since we got here so have this whole thing down pat! http://tomandlouincanadia.blogspot.com/
If this doesn't brighten your day, nothing will:
http://www.walksydneystreets.net/index.htm
Alan was 94 and walked around all the suburbs of Sydney taking hilarious and informative photos (an uncommon combination) with an iron determination and his socks pulled right up to his knees. I think we can all learn something from his vigour, if not from his fashion sense.
Keep on walking Alan!
H out
At the moment I'm having a bit of a chuckle of the collective freak-out going on the UK. 6 whole inches of snow! How does anyone cope?!
Being over here has made me realise I really do love the British way. We're affable, self-deprecating and take things in our stride. This doesn't mean I don't love the how the Canadians are friendly, vivacious and passionate about life in general, but it means I kind of appreciate where I come from a little more than I used to. We also encourage binge-drinking, which is always fun.
Over here they make buying alcohol as difficult as possible. In Ontario you can only buy drink in one of a few places; the Beer Store, the LCBO, or the Wine Rack. The LCBO is the Aladdin's cave of alcoholic beverages, and going in there to get one thing inevitably ends with arms full of new goodies. Unfortunately these stores are few and far between, and close at ridiculous times. Not being able to get a bottle of wine at the supermarket will never sit well with me.
They do make being healthy a hell of a lot easier though. The city is overpopulated with gyms, and everyone is on teams or does classes. There are some great Vegan eateries around, including Fressen which is delicious but unfortunately never open. They're so crazy about physical activity they have invented a silly amount of things to do in freezing weather too, and there are free skating rinks around the city. Cool beans.
There is also art everywhere. In my part of the world, Queen West, galleries are ten-a-penny, and there are comedy nights and theatre shows pretty much every night of the week. Me and Lou went to see a stage adaptation of Pride and Prejudice on Thursday which was really good - very funny and easy to lose yourself in, despite the terrible English accents. And only ten bucks!
Speaking of accents, an English woman at work today couldn't tell I was English. Damn my tendency to pick up other people's speech patterns!
My wicked flatmates Tomo and Louis have a blog if you want to check it out, they've been blogging since we got here so have this whole thing down pat! http://tomandlouincanadia.blogspot.com/
If this doesn't brighten your day, nothing will:
http://www.walksydneystreets.
Alan was 94 and walked around all the suburbs of Sydney taking hilarious and informative photos (an uncommon combination) with an iron determination and his socks pulled right up to his knees. I think we can all learn something from his vigour, if not from his fashion sense.
Keep on walking Alan!
H out
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