it's only castles burning

i find it shocking and disturbing that there seems to be this growing trend of me me me within people in my age group.

i just get the general feeeling that we, as young adults as a whole, have forgotten that slightly more exists outside the spheres of ourselves, that family and friends are not only important individuals that need to be respected, but that they also make up a huge part of who we are, and in many or all cases, who we've become. the impact and influence of our family and friends, whether negative or postive, cannot be ignored and most certainly cannot be discounted.

but it seems to me like this is happening. it makes me sad, maybe because i'm so spoiled with my family. we're close, we love each other and my family consists of my very best friends. i cannot fathom not respecting each of the people within this group. i even respect the members of my family that i rightfully shouldn't, because i understand that they are individuals with differing opinions with a most definite individual viewpoint of the world.

and i'm totally contradicting myself with the whole 'respect the individuality of others and the impact they've had on your life' point i'm talking about by trying to shove my entirely singular and quite opinionated view down your throat. but it's just something that bothers me- this assertation of complete individualism without recognition that who we are has been shaped a great deal by our families and friends, despite this current and bothersome self-centred belief that as individuals, we've become who we are entirely through our own actions or reservations, without any shaping or molding in part by others.

i think that's bullshit, and that anyone who thinks that is actually part of the non-individualistic herd that consists of the likes of paris hilton and britney spears and bubble gum pink coloured shoes with matching handbags and pom-poms.

[secretly i like pom poms though...ssssssh].

regurgitation welcomed.

i'm thinking it's a sign

a picture's worth a thousand words.

where in hellfire did that saying come from, i'm really forced to wonder. meh, regardless, i have to agree with it's overall sentiment. you really can tell a lot from a photo. or sometimes you can be misled. or sometimes you can just fall in love. sometimes the sparkly colours make you want to just stare at it.

[that happens to me a lot, mainly because of my issues with sparkly colours and pretty things in general].

i've gotten some beautiful photos in the past week that speak volumes.

first, andre sent me a copy of his yellow mop picture. andre spoils me really, with his pictures. i'm not supposed to tell, but sometimes he emails copies to me. i find it very hard to impart in words what his photos mean to me because they literally leave me speechless. the random objects he captures in odd or unexpected places are my especial favourites, but really, all of his images are so astounding that i think his wordcount in picture form has reached an incalcuable number.

then, today, my liz sent me a package in the mail with a freaking hilarious cd and some pictures that have made me laugh and get lost in my mind all day. she captures people in candid moments like no other person can. and her objects, the way she frames things is both defiant and yet fells like home.

so really, i've been quite spoiled. who knew that a mop and people's hands could speak such volumes?

besides andre and liz i mean.

got a letter from a messenger

you know what i love?

ok, i mean besides the obvious- my family, my friends, good music, singing out of key and diving deep into just about anything- what i really love is when some wacked out theory that i postualte or create with friends of mine actually turns out to be right.

my sister never got her driver's license, so when she was twenty one and i was eighteen, i would often driver her places. now, i get road rage kinda-sorta, and after observing me and the cars i raged at, she postulated the theory that the worst drivers, the ones who did the stupidest things, were always old men in hats.

i have yet to see this truth discounted.

while i was at school, one night peter and i came up with the theory that one of the best ways to spend a sunny summer afternoon was sitting or laying in the sun, reading a trashy star wars novel with a glass of your favourite drink.

again- i have yet to see this truth discounted.

[and i can't believe that i just admitted to reading trashy star wars novels. meh, whatever. it could be worse. much worse. i could be reading about the torrid summer affair between the pool man roderiguo and his boss's wife, maria, and the cavorting they do while the towels are in the wash and there are plenty of suds around].

[ewwwwwwwww].

oh me oh my

i am about to eat horns. los and lots of horns that ali has made fordinner. i mst get the recipe for horns and then i can share the joy of horns.

mmmmm.....horns.

i'm happy as christmas

this morning i woke up to country music.

you should know that i am all about almost every kind of music. i try very hard not ot be a music snob but sometimes- ususally in the presence of country music, that real twangy i lost my dog and my girl and my truck but i'll get it all back when i sing this song backwards- the music snob deep within me rears its ugly head and makes a incomprehensible noise of scoffing.

the music this morning was coming from kevin and ali's alarm clock, so i stumbled into their empty room, fumbled with the clock and then just pulled the plug from the wall.

then i had coffee and all is again right with the world. yesssss.

life without music i can't go

i'm having issues on where to begin.

it's always a romantic notion. the idea of keeping a record of my actions during a day. and of course, as is entirely obvious, i am of the opinion that anyone who speaks about themselves on a daily basis with the expectation that others care enough to read through poorly typed simple nothings is a complete attention whore.

i think attention whore could be my middle name.

so, where to begin?

should i tell you about the bitter party where i ate meat on a stcik with the boys, smoked pot, did dishes and misbehaved with kate? should i talk about the ridiculous pie making events that preceeded this party, or the exam of latin flavoured doom? maybe i should begin with the crap job of packing i did, and how much i miss my roommates and their peculiar noises, habits and rituals? maybe eight hours in the crv with kevn spilling over with thoughts of harry potter, star wars and the summer we're expecting? maybe the wedding i rushed home for that wasn't worth it, and the snowstorm that made it almost impossible to get home that night- that night where my sister missed her bus and my stepfather looked up a man's kilt. or maybe, just maybe i'll start with moving out of my room and into the one with no door so that my brother and ali could have a little privacy, maybe i'll start there? maybe i could tell you about boris and faxe and the skunk and the rabbit and the corn cob and the fish and the thursday run and the way georgian bay smells at sunset.

or maybe i won't start at all and i'll just let the past month go. instead of grasping so hard to the single moments i'll take away the impressions and leave you with vague hints about a months worth of simple nothings.

maybe i'll start with that.

be yourself

when my uncle's mother was still alive he used to call her every single day. however, as his jobs changed and morphed it became impossible for him to do so, so he made sure to call just whenever he could. this, however, wasn't what ray's mother was used too, and sometimes, when he hadn't called for about three days and then did call her, she'd pick up the phone say hello and then tell ray that she'd thought he was dead.

seriously.

the point of all that? to ease into the subject of me not being dead. rather, the internet in these here parts was a bit...erm, late in arriving. meaning that neither kevin nor mom nor i had enough sense to order it until last week.

i never thought i could get so much joy from a few wires and a tiny black box.