Saturday, July 3, 2010

A Rearranger of the Proverbial Book Shelf....

Greetings from a mind set of far far away..

Guess what? My computer had decided to become a moody, over emotional and extremely difficult preteen. I suppose I should have guessed this, especially since my tired Mac is nearing the ninth year of existence. This does not excuse it's latest temper-tantrum... which ended up locking me out of two years of writing files. Now, perhaps I'm over reacting. Words are all recycled right? It's a blank slate to begin again. You could even go on a  High school Musical quoting binge, "It's the start of something new", "Just like kindergarten", and "Don't worry, we're all in this together!". 
The reality is that with the disappearance of those documents, is a loss of life. I'm writing a book, or, at least attempting to. There were original chapters, character descriptions right down to their blood type and poems "they" were going to write. It was a tangled up, dramatized, assortment of childhood dreams that I'd given birth to. Words that I'd loved. People that I'd loved. 
Technology being the marvelous stable database lost them, barred me from the world I'd created. Ironically, I'd written a poem the night before in my journal about the ridiculous dependence humanity has on such things. Karma sucks. Despite the bad luck, I'd thought I might share what is left of the lost and hopefully entertain with a tale about a violent storm. 

                                                                   The New Rain Coat
                                                                          Exploding Madness.
                                          Imploding Euphoria.
                                  Rushed, it conquers
                                                 The dream to which it's given birth
                                                                    twisted into nightmarish meanings
                                    for those who have transformed it.
                                    It roars with crazed fury,
                                    uprooting all manufactured nature,
                                                                                       Isolating Necessity
                                    Crushing false attachments and safety
                                                                  To awake the sleeping
                                                                  To breathe life back into the bored
                                                                  To kill unbelieving
                                                                  and reinvent the human soul.
           It's tearing down buildings
    Idols of the indestructible
                      Expired, Retired.
         Waters down possessions
                                 until the glass spills over.
                                                                    The storm rages
                                                                                           As Ending,
                                                                                                           To Begin Again.

Don't forget your umbrella,

Arctic Hipster

Monday, June 21, 2010

The Epic Gum Wars of '10

Dear bloggsters,
There has been conspirators afoot... and they live inside our disco Aztec.
Firstly, I must explain that our family has a strange taste in transportation. There is "The Gold Digger", our 2003 gold Aztec with a curvaceous behind and an expensive taste in car parts it needs to function. We use this one most often for show, as it is easily recognizable as "The Van with the Big Butt". Our second vehicle is a run down Chevrolet from the dinosaur age  (A.K.A. The eighties) that roars when it stars and especially when it dies. We've aptly named it "The Beast". 
Both our modes of transport are fairly emotional, but as if to ease the trip, my parents stock the little cubbies in the front with gum. There in lies the problem. 
When our family boards our vehicle in the morning, my younger brother takes one piece of gum, my father takes one, and on rare occasion I'll have some too. My mother is in the other car so she takes some from the gum package in there. Seems pretty innocent doesn't it? No sign of conflict... yet.
By the time my baby hipster brother is dropped off at middle school, the gum has magically disappeared! A strange occurrence since the gum we have comes in packs of twelve and there were only three of us sitting in The Beast. I choose to ignore it however and go off to school because I have exams soon and have more important things to think about. 
 The next morning when we get back into The Beast, the mystery of the missing chewing gum becomes top priority. Not that my relatives are gum addicts or anything like that, we just have a strong sense of fairness and equality. Therefore there is a battle when taking off with the only gum in the truck. I demand justice to be delivered with an iron fist in these circumstances. My brother however, employs his awkward preteen voice that my father identifies with and perhaps feels a bit of pity for because I'm usually denied the right to a fair trial. I usually insist upon the lack of empathy for his one and only daughter, who is simply trying to restore peace to The Beast. My father, being the wise crack that he is, likes to say "Makenzie, I am your father." in his best Darth Vader voice.
Unlike the male parental, I don't see the humour in this issue. The young hipster takes this cue as though he's off the hook, and a certain empty gum package miraculously appears from inside of a size twelve skinny jean pocket. Brothers, are the equivalent of mosquitoes. They make lots of buzz and commotion, provoke you, irritate you and then fly away too quickly for you to catch them and squish them. My brother did all of these things as he skipped off to Justin-Beiber-a-go-go school.
Therefore my mother and I have taken a liking to hiding gum, or sabotaging the mini conspirator by buying "Adult" gum. He doesn't like mint, but the rest of us do. Lately though, he's been finding our hiding spots and my mother keeps forgetting which gum she doesn't like, so we end up with mass amounts of Frutie To The Max This and Minty Extreme Explosion That.
Anyways, it adds a bit of flavour to our northern mornings. 

Chew responsibly,
Arctic Hipster

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

A serious case of charlie horse in the finger region

Five hours in a plastic desk, in a freezing cold gym, in pants that I should have consulted someone else before wearing. 
Who ever decided that it would be a good idea to put the Socials and English exams back to back is a villainous, evil, evil person. This morning the entire English attendees assembled in  the school foyer, only to be confined to small unforgiving desk units and confronted with essays and analysts. Now essays are fine. Writing is good, thinking about what you're writing is good too. But picking apart a picture of a bald man using shearing scissors in his garden outside of a construction site? REALLY?! What emotion is that suppose to invoke? I swear, I tried. I tried really, really hard to study the image and pull meaning from the old man wearing his ratty white tank top. I observed the contrast and followed the lines, tried to imagine what it would be like to wear his chocolate brown shoes and to hear the cranes outside of his yard. I looked his expression, what was this man trying to communicate? Why was he making such a pained face while cutting back his shrubbery?
Still, I felt nothing.
 I was looking a grumpy old folk, doing an everyday thing, in an ordinary picture. So I did what every English teacher will tell you to avoid unless completely necessary. Under the circumstances, I believed it to be crucial for my grade. 
I lied through my teeth and wrote exactly what she wanted me to. 
Sometimes it sucks trying to get that good mark, especially when you are forced to create false meanings and themes to write paragraphs without any soul. Nevertheless, English is drama on paper and sometimes the plot lines have to suck before they make it up on stage. 
So I wrote my soulless analyst and finished just in time to dash out for lunch and make it to the socials exam. With all the essay writing I have a blister on my finger (I write like a  three year old, and press too hard) as well as cramps in various places in my hand.
 Worth the pain? Very much so.
Summer is upon us. 

Happy school year!
Arctic Hipster

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Happy Fairy Day

Today, I lost my skirt.
How is that even possible in a public place you ask? How could I possibly be selfish enough de-robe in a high school beneath the glaring eyes of countless innocent bystanders? In what way is has such scandalously and controversial statement related to winged beings?
The Relay For Life made me do it! As you're probably aware, the Funky Fairies Relay for life team has been door to dooring, baking, coloring, creating, planning, volunteering, bargaining and harassing the general public in order to fund raise for the Canadian Cancer society's all night walk-a-thon this Friday. Our team is all girls under the age of seventeen, who have been affected directly or indirectly by cancer and want to make a change. Directed by our fearless leader Jeanne Yurris, The Funky Fairies have been working our wands off from the beginning of April to the second weekend of June for the last three years. Without a doubt, I can say it's easily one of the most rewarding experiences I've ever had. Working with motivated and positive people is enough to make anyone smile, but these girls are more than that. We support one another's endeavors and ideas, doing the best we can to help each other achieve them. These girls are kind and caring, I've never had a bad day where is was not made better by a Fairy Gram or an encouraging hug by a teammate. There is such passion in our group, a drive to seek out and aid. There is never an absence of help, from our team or for our team.
I'm pretty sure there is another law of attraction, that those who search to succeed are met with those who search to help succeed. There are some very amazing friends, students, family members, staff members and community members out there who have given us Fairies a greatly appreciated hand. We've had boys like Braden Redshaw and Kevin Durkee be so kind as to donate cookies to our bake sales and a wonderful student body to buy all of our creations. Teachers have allowed us to miss classes to set up and take down various fundraisers, without many questions asked. They have even gone as far as to donate to the cause.
Our families have the patients of saints. They have taken up the roles of chauffers to and from events. They have worn the chef hat and worn down the Bank Of Mom and Dad. But ultimately they've been our biggest cheerleaders.
It's no wonder that today we've raised over seven thousand dollars.
So when I misplaced my skirt today trying to change into a bright blue sparkly prom dress for a team picture with the Yellowknifer, I was glad. The Fairies and community have worked so hard for this, and I believe it's time to show pride in our accomplishments. So I wore my big poofy blue cupcake of a prom dress to third and fourth period. Today is fairy day for me, but anyday could be fairy day. Just don your crown and get out there to make a difference.

Let the sparkles and wings make you brave.

Arctic Hipster

Monday, June 7, 2010

What wonderous things discovered again by unexpected means

I have found great  inner peace dear readers.... 
Well, not completely but that is simply because of the teenage mindset and lack of experience. Nevertheless, I am ready to make some changes in my way of being as well as begin some new projects. I am attempting to release all of the stress that has accumulated inside of me during these last few months through physical activity. Yoga stretches out every bit of muscle that I  never even realized I had, and releases it in a calming way. Leaving me feeling as though I'm able to bench press a house. Realistically that's humanly impossible. It's a pretty great feeling though.
That said, there are also some pretty fantastic vibes entering my window at this time. The sun is back darlings! Sky rocketing Ice cream sales and surprising Yellowknifers
with tell tale signs of our origins. Almost the entirety of the city's population had turned an angry red after our first day of plus twenty temperatures.  The weather had been nothing but blue skies with the casual dark rain cloud. We northerners don't fret that much about precipitation anyways. You get used to it after nine months of snow.
Speaking of cold, have I talked about how wonderful my boyfriend is? He honestly is the coolest person since Frosty melted. Sir Alex is the force that refuses to let me tumble into self loathing or teenage angst behavior. Instead he makes me laugh until the tears roll down my face and my sides are in pain, which makes us laugh even harder. Thus furthering my belief that all you need is love.
Is it possible to exist in such a state of undeserved bliss?
Alas, despite a couple barf-ons
 by the unstoppable force of life this is turning out to be quite the fantasmical* year. Two plays (Charlie and the Chocolate factory: Micheal Jackson tribute  and The Werewolf's Curse),  countless social engagements, hundreds of cookies, volunteering until my heart is sore, staying up doing homework until I'm sure my hands will fall off, fundraising like the mad for Relay For Life, and writing. Lots of writing
Now, in some ways I wish I didn't do so much or could say no to participating and helping out some times. I might get in my eight hours of sleep that way. In another though, if I weren't so busy I'd be bored. My parents believe it's hereditary, and as much as we all curse each other out for our over booked, under-planned schedual
, our household wouldn't be the same without an event mangeled calender. In fact, I doubt any of us would get six hours of sleep like that. We'd all be up pacing looking for things to do. Instead of giving up being immersed in society, I'm prioritizing. My mother informs me that that's very mature and I'm growing up. What she doesn't realise is that I'm merely "reorganising". I'm slowly trying to reduce my Facebook addiction, and instead, replace it with a blogging obsession. This makes more sense anyways, considering I suffer from "Graphomania
"a compulsive urge to write either driven thereto by an exaggerated idea of the importance of what he or she writes or by an insane impulse"**.
I'm voting for the insane impulse. Math homework, the back of gum wrappers, the underside or even the upside of tables, chairs and other furniture, a ridiculous amount of notes and letters and journals. Strangely enough, the idea that I might one day create a job out of this seemed improbable. Writing= Freedom. Job = Work. I didn't think that I could actually do this as a career, one that would make money and possibly fulfil my unsatisfiable need for the written word. Unlikely, but goodness would it be awesome.
Then, as if fate had another idea for my Psychologist future, the English world fought it away with books and authors. That's right, guess who was able to attend the North Words conference?! Not only was my class able to listen to publish authors  Jamie Bastedo
, author of On thin Ice, Silas Revenge and Tracking Triple Seven, and Cathleen With author of Skids and her new novel Having Faith in Polar Girls Prison, I was able to talk to them. Some kids grow up wanting to meet so-and-so of this movie or that, but I've always wanted to meet a writer. Boy could you tell too. I was tripping over my sentences and basically blurting out my entire life story in the span of a couple seconds. Yet, being the amazing breed that they are, Mr. Bastedo
 and Mrs. With tolerated my explosive adoration and awe. Mrs. With even gave me great direction on where to take my life. She studied at the University of Victoria with amazing professors, retired great authors who were attracted by the weather but couldn't give up the trade. She took theater and had an education degree, and is helping kids adjust to school. She talked with me as if I hadn't just spilled my story all over her shoes, but rather as if I were a writer too. That's when it hit me.
I wanted to be a writer too. I could be a writer.
So i went home and looked at my life as though each piece was an article of clothing or childhood treasure tumbling out of a disorganised closet. Right at the bottom, created when I fist heard a story, was my need to write. So I put it out in the open, and stacked everything from least important to most, placing it out in the open. This is my project lovely readers, this is my future.

May your closet be messy enough to be lived, but clean enough
 to see.

Arctic Hipster