Someday I'll fly away,
Leave all this to yesterday....

Etcetera...

I want to travel.  With a sketchbook.  And with a new passport, and ideally it would actually be stamped when I crossed the border. 

Anyway....

This is one of the best things I've ever done

The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return

It doesn't even remotely feel like Halloween.
Just sayin'.
Also, just for the record, I love my people, I love cheesy 60's songs about love and lost love, and I love dancing with pretty people.  In a non-sexual way.

Yesterday I woke up, got on the bus, saw the sunrise and thought (no joke, I can actually be made happy this easily) "holy crap, I actually get to live in a world that's this beautiful.  This is going to be a fucking great day"
Today I woke up and thought "Jesus, I don't want to get out of bed.  cold cold cold cold cold."

Neither day was all that spectacular.

blurry, out of focus, also not the best thing I've ever done...
I can't actually seem to find the best thing I've ever done....

copied from a picture my friend took.  The original picture was a lot better

vintage dress of sorts part 1 (randomly spaced process pictures)



Today I:
1.  Got clubbed by a flying two by four.  Actually, flying sounds too nonchalant.  It's more like it was shot off the back of a table saw.  Some warning would have been nice.
2.  Somehow managed to misplace the expensive mathematical instrument that I only need for three classes this year.
3.  Got advice from a professional comedian on how to deal with depression.
4.  Witnessed person I've like for two years kissing their new girlfriend against my locker.  That was fun.
5.  Had one of my friends threaten to buy me a stripper for my birthday
6.  Was reminded of the time two of my other friends showered together in my shower.  They were wearing pants. 
(those last two conversations were related)
7. Narrowly avoided accidental death by staple gun.  That was also fun, in case anyone was wondering.

The jacket-type thing... bluish... of sorts... that somehow turned into a vest...

I found this pattern for a jacket at the reuse center.

First I was going to make it this colour, pretty dark blue

Then I decided that was too normal, and I should make it this colour,

And then, I thought, what the hell, they kinda match, why not use both?
So here's my plan blue is the dark blue, the beigey is the patterned.  Or the opposite, depending on how I feel and if I have enough of that fabric.

More or less.  I'm probably going to scrap the breast pockets, because I don't like them. 

****FAST FORWARD TO THE LESS DISTANT PAST*****

Then this was my plan

OR

You can just quit halfway because it looks cool as a vest over a sweater..

1.  Test if the person from the computer company is legit: if they understand when you say you don't have the authority to do anything with the computer of this household, and they say, "have you been downloading malicious software" they're probably not legit.

2.  Sweater sleeves make excellent legwarmers when separated from the rest of the sweater.

Posting links doesn't count if it's people I know...

http://www.youtube.com/user/hannahhaderlein

My trolling friend....

She's eating a burrito.
Holy... somethin'rother...
She ate that burrito... on the lrt... and she didn't spill at all...
"Hey, you deserve ten points for eating that burrito so neatly"
She's turnin' around.
She's... lookin' at me....
"What burrito?"
What ?

Whaaaat?
She's getting off the bus.

What just happened?

I have only ever met two people that can actually make their lips curve downwards into a sad face.
And it doesn't make them look sad.  It just makes them really funny-looking.

On a completely different note...
Some people just have a really punchable face.

Funny story.
It was about four in the morning, and I was sick, sick to the point of imagining things.  I thought the flowers on my comforter looked like fairies, and I couldn't sleep, so I started sketching what I saw.  When I was done, I put down the sketchbook, looked away, and there was a moment of "what the hell" due to the fact that I had seen something move out of the corner of my eye.
A while later, nothing had happened, so I forgot about it, laid down and tried to go to sleep.  The lights were off in my room, but for some reason I felt like there was this glow around me, and I could hear singing.  I had watched Were the World Mine ( http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0476991/ ) a couple days earlier, so basically,
I thought there were homosexual fairies singing to me.
So that went on for a while.
Eventually I passed out and woke up, no longer hallucinating,
That was an awesome night

whatchyou lookin' at?

SHE'S LIKE A RAINBOW

scribbles through the ages

art of sorts

On trains and Airplanes (and being thankful)

I don't like airplanes. I find them cramped and unpleasant, and even though you're flying you still can't see the sky above you or the starts, except for those small squares cut out from the metal beside you.

On my way out of the city I was flying into the sunrise.  The shuffle on my ipod, genius that it is, somehow managed to pick the right music for the ever-changing light.  My sister was sleeping on my shoulder and the man beside us definitely thought we were a gay couple.  But despite being cramped, judged and somehow trapped while flying, I was okay.  More than okay.  Good.

On my way back into the city I had an aisle seat, and what you could see from the windows was veiled in white anyway.  I was cold, separated from my people, and my earphones were buzzing, so the tinny voice of Johnny Flynn was no comfort.  The man beside me was watching football and he had a strange and fascinating wristwatch, and the woman on the other side of him ordered tomato juice.

The only redeeming quality was the wristwatch.  And he seemed like a pretty nice guy.  He asked my how it was going.

I think when I leave this city for good (or as close to it as I can get while people I like still live here)  I'm leaving on a train.  Trains just seem less hurried to me, more chill, and even though they're tied to the ground with iron you can still see a lot of the sky.  And I would spend most to all of the time in the observation cart.  Maybe I wouldn't even listen to music, just sit there accepting that the world rushes by.  And maybe I would write.  But if I'm leaving for good I'm not taking a notebook.  I'll write in a book without lines so I can draw too, because hell, if I'm leaving, I'm going to make it worthwhile and go places that deserve to be sketched.  Emphasis on the plural of places.

But that's still a while away.

And as for thankfulness, I'm thankful for my people. I'm thankful for the sunrise and the sunset and the stars, and I'm thankful for corduroy and Mumford and Sons.

And my cats

The satisfying result of pounding at glowing orange steel with a hammer for about three hours

Yay forging....

There is no better partner in dance, than your shadow

I am never allowed to leave my french fiddle music in the car, ever.  Ever.  AGAIN

I really should be doing Physics

Pure Speculation

Is it actually possible that everyone would be more happy if they just took the time to
breathe? 
Or just sit?
Lie down with a blanket and look at the powder blue sky?  Disappear in the mist?
Or dance around their living rooms listening to whatever their equivalent of Quebecois fiddle music is?
Build Me Up Buttercup?  Perhaps?
Did what they wanted to do insteat of what they're expected to?
Listen to music,
Turn off the music, maybe.
I DONT KNOW
Just a thought

I discovered today that my mood is almost directly dependant on whether or not I'm listening to Irish music

Finningan's Flattened Fourchette/ Fork

I found this fork on the road, while walking on the day when I painted that view of the river valley.  My friend told me I should write the story of how it ended up in the middle of a road branching off of 109th street, so here it is...

The tale of the Flattened Fork

Friends, Canadians, Countrymen,
Etcetera
Attend the tale of a man named Finnigan, a fork, and many many cars.
This is probably not a true story.

Finnigan is driving down the road with his partner Fred.
Finnigan, hungry, is eating noodles from a tupperware container
With a fork.

Fred, a fan of chopsticks, says,
"Finnigan, you are eating noodles
You are eating Asian noodles.
Chopsticks, are also mainly Asian.
Why are you not eating noodles, with chopsticks,
as opposed to a fork"

Finnigan, a sensible man, says,
"Well, Fred,
Because forks are easier to eat with"

Fred retorts with
"The french word for fork is fourchette,
Fourchette
For Shette, Finnigan
And noodles,
Finnigan,
Especially Asian noodles,
Finnigan,
Are not shette."

Finnigan does not respond.

Fred does not respond to the lack of response.

Finnigan continues eating his noodles.

Fred, in a fit of jealous rage
because men do occasionally get jealous of forks
on behalf of chopsticks,
Throws the offending fork out of the car
And onto 109th street.

Finnigan, an honourable and loyal man,
Leaps out of his car
(a classy red convertible)
To rescue his descarded fork.

Fred regrets his rash and unjust actions,
Is fearful for Finnigan's life,
Due to the fact that 109th street is a busy road,
And cars can, on occasion, be dangerous.

Finnigan, is his blinded fury, does not see the semi-truck,
Screaming around the corner
Towards him.

Fred does.

Fred shoves him aside,
And he himself,
Narrowly misses the semi-truck

The semi-truck swerves,
Runs over the fork,
And Finnigan collapses in sympathetic agony.
On the sidewalk,
Thankfully

Fred rushes to his side.

The fork lies, flattened,
On the road.

And the two men,
Eventually Forget
The Flattened Fork

And go on with their daily lives,
Neither having been hit by a car

I used to have this manic depressive plant....

HAPPY

SAD

Until, one day, I went to Winnipeg and my father forgot to water it while I was gone,so now she is dead.

Copied from a fashion ad

In my most humble opinion, peanut butter toast and cold chai cure all the world's problems

It's not the most ingenious thing I have ever done or made (and I messed up a couple of the trees) but here it is.  Edmonton River Valley, my friends

There's something oddly satisfying about pounding a piece of glowing orange metal with a hammer until it's pointy