Friday, December 23, 2011

Why Nail Polish Should Never Smell Like Cherries

Dear Beautiful Readers,

Sometimes it'd be easier just become a nudist.

It's not that people should be running around with their crooks and crannies showing (an expression loving stolen from my grandmother by the way), but perhaps we'd all shut up and get over our bodily insecurities. Bodies are machines, they are meant to be useful. Hair is really an organic form of a coat, so why is it acceptable to make fun of old men with hair backs at the pool? Indeed it is a bit disturbing to see a chubakka double towel off at the beach, but two thousand years ago he probably would have been commended for his natural ability to survive! He would have been respected like the silver backed gorilla, literally. Our ancestral Grandmothers would be fawning over his furriness. Perhaps a strange extended metaphor, but please bear with me.

We are created to survive. This whole lack of self confidence is really a modern habit. Do you see elephants caring if their hips are too wide? Are there goats complaining about the length of their beards? No, because animals know exactly what's going on. There are so many possibilities for things to go wrong inside the human body, from errors in cellular respiration to minor malfunctions in the reproduction of DNA. So why spend time dwelling on superficial imperfections when the interior ones are the faults that matter? It's crucial to have a mouth, it's more than less so to have an aesthetically pleasing one. We really are worrying about the little things as a species. How terrible it is to imagine that our eventual downfall will be due to a lack of self confidence.

The point I'm trying to make is one that hits home with a lot of high school students, myself included: we are made to work properly, not to look pretty. Lately I've been talking to the gang and we've all come to dislike our appearances for the most insignificant reasons. It's heartbreaking to think that a perfectly formed person can hardly look herself in the mirror. I love my friends dearly, and the struggle to make peace with body type is not going to disappear for us anytime soon. We are young and restless, making us more susceptible to over-think our reflections. I'm trying to change my attitude from a resentful perfectionist to a practical thinker who oozes confidence.... emphasis on the trying.

There's really no logic holding a grudge against your own body. So let's tear off the expectations of modern culture and feel good. Besides, beauty procedures and products are a bit terrifying. For example, right now my nails smell like Cherry Jolly Ranchers...that's probably not healthy.

"I have a perfect body, but sometimes I forget. I have a perfect body, because my eyelashes catch my sweat." -Regina Spektor

Make Peace this Season,

Arctic Hipster

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

A Revolutionary Christmas Carol

Dear Christmas Shoppers,

The big day is looming over our guilty heads. 

That's right, only four days to clear our conscience by running around like chickens with their heads cut off to finally finish Christmas shopping. How terrible to reduce a time of peace and kinship to sales and gift wrapping plastered with logos. It's sick really, but it is a social expectation that is upheld. Kids want gifts, Parents want to make their children happy. It's easy to criticize, but to be honest I'd be devastated if there were no presents underneath the tree Christmas Morning. It's the idea that material things represent affection that truly drives us to overflow the living room with gifts. Think about it. When a friendship is new, there is always that awkward moment when you exchange gifts. If one friend goes over the top, and the other tries to reciprocate with a modest gift, there are hard feelings. 

So this year, Boyfriend Hipster and I decided to give the gift of time. We aren't going to try to buy each other using packages wrapped up with strings, but rather honor each other with a promise to spend time together. Because he's reading this, I won't reveal my plans. However, know that it may have to do with baking. 

Happy Holidays,

Arctic Hipster

P.S. The following video will change your life. It's called the "Christmas Can Can" by Straight No Chaser. Enjoy.

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

The Real Canadian Pizza

Dear Gourmands,

Today was wrought with great discoveries. 

I discovered that Boyfriend Hipster is wonderful to Christmas shop with, found the perfect gift for the Parentals, and explored the contents of our fridge to create the perfect pizza. Because it is the season of giving, it's about time to share this fabulous recipe with you. All the ingredients are of Canadian origin, except for the olives. I whipped this up in half an hour.

  • 1 Pre-made Flat Bread (I used PC)
  • 1 Tb Spoon Butter
  • 1/2 Onion, thickly sliced
  • 3 Cloves of Garlic, thinly sliced
  • 1 Tb spoon Maple Syrup 
  • 3 Tb spoons Soft Goat's Cheese (Chev)
  • 1 Fillet of Smoked Salmon
  • 1/4 of a Red Pepper, thinly sliced
  • 5-8 Olives, pitted and split in half
  • 2 Tb Spoons of Feta
  • 1 Splash of Balsamic Vinegar
1. Pre-heat oven to 450 Degrees (or according to the instructions on the package).

2. Using a medium sized skillet, melt Butter on medium high. When butter is bubbling, add Onions and Garlic. Stir often. When onions and garlic begin to brown, pour in Maple Syrup. Turn down heat, cooking mixture until the onions are supple. 

3. Using the back of a spoon, evenly spread Goat's Cheese on the Flat Bread. Pull pieces off the Smoked Salmon Fillet (I just used my hands), and layer on pizza. Layer all other ingredients, crumbling the Feta last. Bake until cheese is melted, about 11 minutes.

4. Finish with a splash of Balsamic Vinegar

Tis the season for a fashionably bigger belly,
Arctic Hipster

Thursday, December 15, 2011

... And Now For Something Different

Dear Northerners, Southerners and all you In-Betweeners,

It's about time something about the north was written, that wasn't about snow. It's such an obvious stereotype, so absolutely conventional it's almost sickening. Honestly it's not as though we live in igloos, we're far more advanced than snow.

Yet, I want to write about it. 

So here is something different. This is a poem about snow, but not. Enjoy. 

"Ice Candles"

Shivering hearts.
Hands laced gently
Trembling slightly
Grateful for the warmth.
Thoughts once so numb,
are waking up
being reborn
blossoming from the remnants
 of dead dreams,
filling our world with light.
Your smile sends me spinning
across the ice,
the heat of conversation
melting my resolve
until the cold disappears.  

May you light an ice candle,
Arctic Hipster

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

When Peanut Butter Attacks!

Dear Aspiring Bakers,

Sometimes I really don't think. But mostly, I think I'm thinking, but I'm really not thinking at all about the eventual outcomes of my actions.

Why this sudden realization? Peanut Butter Death Squares. I was commissioned to bake for our grad Christmas celebration, and obviously being very conscious of what I was doing, signed up to make a dessert. Now that may not seem like a bad idea, especially because it's a fairly easy task. However, I managed to mess up a recipe with only five ingredients, then practically kill one of my friends with a severe nut allergy.  The squares which were suppose to be consistency of a cheesecake bar, softened so much after I'd taken them out of the freezer that they became a mass of peanut butter an icing sugar. I had left my serving platter out (and far away from the rest of the food, as well as my severely allergic friend), hoping that by some miracle the temperamental squares would magically be eaten before they melted completely.

As per the usual, things didn't work out the way I'd hoped. At the end of the night I came back to the buffet table to find the majority of my squares massacred with a pair of tongs. The chocolate on top had been broken up by an attempt to cut the stacked portions apart, there was peanut butter mash smeared over the table, and I was certain someone had given up on trying to be delicate and just dug in with a spoon. In other words, my dessert was a fail of epic proportions.

Tragic? Perhaps, depending on your perspective. I like to imagine that I succeeded in not killing my friend with the nut allergy, instead of thinking about her obvious shunning of me the entire night. Either way, I won't be using peanut butter any time soon.

Rest You Merry,

Arctic Hipster

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Short and Sweet

Dear fellow writers,

You know when you get to that point in an essay where you've just elaborated so much on a point that you can't stop? Or maybe when you are writing in your journal you describe your day in such great detail you only make it to lunch before your exhausted? More obvious than that perhaps, when you are telling a story to your friends and they really don't care about the context, but you can't help explaining it anyways?

That basically sums up why I haven't been posting: there is this need, ridiculous as it is, to correctly fill you in. Yes, this is the Internet and obviously I'm not going to mention names, addresses or credit card numbers. Yet reader, I feel as though we have created this bond, and you deserve to understand the circumstances in which these posts are written. 

It must be the Holiday Season that's making me so sappy. Ugh. 

Even now, I'm catching myself erasing and re-writing to make each sentence more precise. Is there an end to this?
 No. I probably will always write twelve page essays. I will most likely never be able to keep an accurate account of my life in a journal (however that sounds a bit narcissistic anyways). 

But maybe that's okay.

Books are long aren't they? They take years to write, you can always edit and re-edit. Isn't a novelist a failed short story writer anyways?

Maybe there's hope for me then, and for all you excessive describers out there as well. We just have to write the next Harry Potter book. 

Ha ha, hope.

Keeping life Short and Simple,

Arctic Hipster

Sunday, October 23, 2011

The Official Sunday Slum is Removed

Dear Weekenders,

It feels like one of those days that really should be spent sleeping and eating, which might just be my adolescent body rebelling against late-night rehearsals and stressful amounts of school work. However, in order to satisfy this need of food and rest, I've created the following list of relaxing activities and accompanying snacks:

  • An hour of Yoga, followed by ginger tea with honey and a giant trail mix cookie
  • Being woken up from an afternoon nap by the smell of peanut butter and jam toast, made by someone I love
  • Cuddling with family while watching a movie,and munching on kettle corn
  • Eating M&Ms while having a bubble bath
  • Reading a book and snacking on apple and cheese 
  • Chowing down on pizza while catching up with friends
  • Baking cookies, then eating cookies :)
 For now, I'm about to snuggle with my mom and eat a brownie. 

May your Sunday be filled with warmth and food,

Arctic Hipster.

Saturday, October 15, 2011

Back Flips are really just Metaphors for Life.

Dear Artists,

As you've probably discovered, in order to do the things you love as an artist there must be sacrifices. Part-time jobs as a director means a full time job as a waiter, or vice-versa. Selling paintings and making money may be an ultimate dream, but in the mean time portraits or made to order prints are the reality. Theater Career? Oh, you mean all those things you go to when we're all out doing fun things that you NEVER go to? 
Yes, the skepticism apparent in the voices of those who don't understand can be patronizing. So it is also a sacrifice to simply be an artist, because of the lack of stability that parents and friends love to shove in your face. However, if you are a truly in love with what you're doing those things don't matter. You're willing to sacrifice for the thing you love. 

As the show nears, we are really amping up production in the drama room. There's a fight scene where the entire cast is on stage, but to start it off is a back flip. To be more specific, an assisted backfield off a five foot set piece into the hands of cast mates. Guess who's doing that back flip? Oh yes, we all make sacrifices for our art, even if we've been dropped on a concrete floor more than once this production. 
More than anything though, the back flip sequence in the show is cooperative, a real trust exercise. The only things stopping me from hitting the concrete, are the outstretched hands of my cast mates. I remember the first time we ever tried the flip. I was shaking so much I wasn't even sure if I could do it. But I shut my eyes and leaped anyway.
And maybe that's all you need to do: to trust that your love of art will be strong enough to guide you through the unknown. 
After all, the best thing I've ever learned about art is that you can do anything. Just fake it 'till you make it.

Take the leap, not the plunge,

Arctic Hipster

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

"Sign Me Up Sir!"

Good afternoon lovely readers,

Today is one of those days. They say happiness is a conscious choice, and so I'm fighting tooth and nail against fate trying to choose to be happy right now.
As the day progresses, it seems as though I'm digging myself deeper into a hole. Not only is it that disgusting half-rain-half-snow despicable type of weather out, Mother Nature has decided to make us extra miserable today by creating wind! But no, I awoke with a skip in my step this morning, unknowingly rushing out the open. Of course I was stupidly smiling when the wind whipped my jacket's hood against my face. That wasn't discouraging though. Nope, because I was set on being happy.
And then I got to school.
Now you know how when you're on a team, certain people inevitably get lazy and there's always that one person who picks up the slack? I'm that person.
Lately though, it doesn't even get to the point where everyone is assigned equal jobs and then some team members lose motivation. There's other people's crap on my plate when we start projects now. It used to start with an innocent question, a simple plea; so and so can't do this, would you be able to? And because I'm sympathetic (ie: a major sucker), I would try to help everyone out. Now the conversations go like this:

Chief: "Alright so I'll take this on. So and so can do that, and you can do this."

Annoying Team Member 1: "Oh. But I have this that night. Let's trade!"

Chief: "Okay. So She'll take mine and I'll take yours."

Me: "But that means I have two? I thought...."

Chief: "Yes but you can handle that much. Besides it needs to get done."

Me: "But I feel as though there's a bit of imbalance here. Can we ..."

Annoying Team Member: "Oh thanks so much! You'll do such a great job. I love how you always pull it together at the end."

That, my friends, is my life. Let me let you in on a secret though..... I AM SICK AND TIRED OF PICKING UP THEIR SLACK! I am not a maid. I am not any one's mother. For the most part, I'm a kind person. That does not mean I look forward to doing other people's stuff. I'll do it for the team, because I am a team player. The worst part of all of this though, is the fact that I was chided for helping someone out. Someone insulted me because they didn't do their job, and I had to fill in for them. Is that fair? No, it's not.
So this is me giving up on fair play. If you want something done, do it yourself!

Be an M.V.P.,

Arctic Hipster

Saturday, September 24, 2011

The Weight of Grief

Dear Concerned Readers,

As you've probably already read on the front page of The Edmonton Journal, of The Yellowknifer or of News North, this past month has been one full of tragedy for Northerners. Thursday September 22, a Twin Otter crashed in front of The Dancing Moose Cafe in Old Town, killing two and leaving two in critical condition. 
Now, for those that live in bigger cities or are unfamiliar with the north, when there is an emergency, the entire community is affected. Yellowknife may be classified as a "City", but it is certainly no exception: the plane skimmed the roof of my cast mate's house, hit a power line and left my friend's without power for a night, and it was my mother's co-worker's fiancee who pulled the pilot out of the cockpit. 
There was an announcement at our High School a couple hours after the incident, calling all Old Town residents out of their classes. Now, if there's something else that is inevitable when there is a crises in the north, it's the quick spread of news. Every student who passed through the hallways knew what had happened, but no one could give out sure details. I was sitting in by the library window, half reading, half people watching, as they filed out of the classrooms. It's interesting to consider people from a solely objective view, to numb the part of yourself that allows for sympathy, and simply observe peoples reactions. Every face wore the same expression of apprehension, mouthes pursed with worry. There were the more emotionally driven teenagers that already showed signs of tears, so perhaps they already suspected the fate of the flight's passengers, and felt obligated to keep possible names to themselves. Either way, it was an image of unease.
I suppose the administrators would have tried to breech the subject gently, but it couldn't have made much of a difference. When people have an outcome set in their minds, it's impossible to make them believe or react otherwise. The plane crash quickly became the only topic of interest that afternoon, and the more it was talked about, the more people became paranoid that someone they knew was involved. 
I must admit I fell prey to this. One of my good friend's dad is a pilot who is hired out by both of the bush plane companies in the city, and as soon as I found out what was going on, I called her. 
It's funny the way things work, because of course she didn't pick up, which only made me panic more. After about forty five minutes I finally got a hold of her, and was able to calm down enough to ask her if her dad was alright. He wasn't involved, but boy was the moment where she had paused after I'd asked her where her father was tense. 
That's the nature of crises up here though. No matter how many people you know, you know someone involved, and share the loss. It's been a little over a month since the plane crash in Resolute Bay, and now this one has refreshed the pain. In a way, these tragedies have helped to showcase the humility and the generosity of Northerners; residents organized themselves to assist in the rescue of the survivors as well as the honouring of the brave souls who didn't make it. Tonight there is to be a public gathering at seven to remember the victims of the plane crash and to support their families in their grief. 
In fact, it's beginning to feel as though grief is a blanket that stretches across the North itself. Even though I still haven't come to terms with the loss of my grandfather, I can't help but feel my hands rising to lift the blanket's weight from the shoulders of these families.

Lift your hands up in support,

Arctic Hipster

Sunday, September 4, 2011

The Art of Weekends and Being Full

Dear Weekend Warriors,

This, is the Weekend of all Weekends.

That's right, we are allotted three days to stuff our families into mini vans and haul ourselves to various tourist attractions, to see distant-cheek-pinching-relatives or to improve our character by taking on some sort of outdoor adventure (RVing comes to mind). We may find ourselves taking in the last rays of sun before work or school begins, relaxing on a beach (if we're lucky) and returning to the grind on Tuesday with a proud sunburn. Why proud? Because we savoured that last bit of lingering summer even if it made us a humiliating shade of Lobster Red! For those who can't get away from the house, maybe we've decided to finally fix that squeaky door, or start on a new home improvement project. After all, nothing screams accomplishment more than a mahogany candle holder! For the less ambitious however, a three day weekend means twelve hours of well deserved sleep every night. If you happen to fall into this category and are a teenager, this number may become fourteen hours of sleep, four hours of eating, and six hours of online entertainment.


Yes, jam packing your weekend with family obligations may be necessary, you really might need to fix the door, and escaping into the wild may be a well needed break. However, a long weekend is also an opportunity to be creative and break the cycle of most weekend warriors. Just because we have an extra day, does not mean that it needs to be booked up with engagements. Too often we see an empty space, be it physical or abstract, and feel an uncontrollable urge to fill it. There's a plain wall in the living room? We buy a painting to make it look less plain. We find out our work meeting is cancelled? Time to get home and start cleaning! At dinner there's extra garlic bread? Fill 'er up, Mom!
We are always wanting fullness, because in modern day language we associate it with "happiness". Especially on long weekends or festive occasions, it seems as though we should be incredibly happy the entire time, as well as feel accomplished by the end of the whole affair. This is not necessarily wrong, but with almost irresponsibly high expectations, we are setting ourselves up to be disappointed. Not only are we preparing ourselves to feel "less than up to par" with the rest of society, we are also setting the stage for stressful encounters and unattainable deadlines. There are only twenty four hours in a day, and those extra hours are not going to allow us to accomplish inhuman amounts of housework or homework. We are in fact living beings who get tired and irritable, and sometimes just really need to take a step back.
In the end, how much extra stress is finishing the deck in three days worth? In a month, will it matter that we were able to get sixteen loads of laundry (including all the bedding and couch covers) done on that one extra day?
Depending on your personality, the answer is usually no. Long weekends are not slots of time for absolutely anything (and everything) that needs to get done from now until Christmas. There are certain chores or errands that do require some extra time, and perhaps Friday night untill Monday is really quite practical to accomplish those types of things. Once again though, we are human, we need sleep, and a lot of the time we tend to overbook ourselves by filling our lives up with unnecessary "Stuff".

Hence, the value of simply being content with life becomes all the more important.

Yesterday the only productive thing I did was make cookies and soup with my best friend. But you know what? We had awesome conversations, laughed a lot, and went about the day feeling quite "alright". That's when you find the most about yourself, and the people you love : when you're taking time to sit and see them for who they are, to reflect upon who you are as a person. Maybe that's true human accomplishment, knowing the limits and boundaries of who we are as creatures, rather than pumping our lives full of fancy pieces of paper and nice looking houses.

Whatever you do this weekend, I wish you time with your family and friends, especially with yourself.

Happy Labour Day Weekend,

Arctic Hipster

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

From Darkling to Star Gazer

Dear Soul Searchers,

If you're trying to pick a fight, you've chosen the right day. Right now this teenage soul is filled with mess and lore, so much so that I'm afraid the disorder might consume any sane feeling left in me. Everyone has their own way to deal with grief; the problem is, I haven't really found mine.

I've been very fortunate to never have attended a funeral, or seen someone I love grow cold. Maybe I'm spoiled then, to have had the opportunity to know and love my family, without the social interruption of death. If so, so be it. Let it be the fault of my own ignorance, perhaps better classified as innocence, that I can't seem to wrap my head around the idea that my Grandfather has passed away. Really, at this point in my maturity, I should be able to distinguish past from present. It gets more complicated when his present, becomes our family's past I suppose. It's still not an excuse to behave so childlike though. I can't even bring myself to attend the funeral, because I refuse to accept this reality. It's a selfish need to keep things constant, to refuse negative change that's motivating my decision to stay home. That, and a fierce cold.

More than anything though, I wish I had the courage to support my family in their grief, in their pain. Once again however, my own selfishness is preventing me from achieving that. It's incredibly upsetting to see such a profound hurt on the faces of those you love most, and it makes the situation become all the more real. Being surrounded by grieving family, by sadness, for some can be comforting. Maybe that's what families are suppose to do, cry together. I can't seem to allow myself to do that though, because I refuse to accept this pain. I'm trying to learn to grieve with a smile, a token of gratitude for the luck that my Grandfather had in living his life surrounded by love, marked by accomplishments and it's length. I smile at the fact that he is no longer in pain, and that he need not struggle any longer. I smile at the memories we have together, that will continue to make me smile for years to come. And I know that it's strange, but I feel as though I can't accept his death, so much as celebrate his life.

My Dad used to say that after his mom died when he was a child, he used to try and find her in the stars. Turns out that the light we see may be from stars that have fallen decades, even centuries ago. So in a way, the stars are like people: even after they are gone, they still have the ability to light up your sky for awhile. I know that although I struggle in this darkness now, in this uncertainty, my grandfather's memory will always provide the light I need to get through the night.

As the stars align,

Arctic Hipster

Monday, August 15, 2011

When "Going With The Flow" is Sign of Insanity

Dear Worst-Case-Scenario Minded Readers,

Have you ever felt that although everything seems to be going completely wrong, you can help but think it’s hilarious?

Perhaps it’s because a morbid sense of humor has been bred into me, and a lack of sleep has made me slightly mentally unstable, but I could not help but burst into random bouts of laughter today. I basically spent my weekend waitressing and entertaining friends until late at night, so I didn’t have very precise motor or social skills this morning. I arrived at work early, to a dark office complex and a locked door. On top of that, my mood was just as grey as the rain clouds hanging overhead. I did have my keys, that’s not the punch line of the series of unfortunate events that were my morning. Oh no, it was a much more subtle fumble that caused a serious case of the giggles. I had the ability to open the door...just not the mental capacity. That’s right, I was outwitted by an inanimate object. I stood outside in the pouring rain as my frozen fingers and dulled memory attempted to work together to undo the lock. I couldn’t recall which key opened the outside door, and the overcast sky made all three keys look slightly bronze (or was it gold?). I already have door issues (I can’t get into my house on a good day, I can’t get out of the bathroom on a bad day), so it took a good twenty minutes to get into the building.
I shook myself off and readjusted my bag and tried to regain a better sense of things. It was then that I realized my boss was not in our office, and the sliding glass door separating our offices from the other company in the complex was inevitably locked.
And I began to giggle. Despite my sopping wet hair, disregarding the chill that had set beneath my skin, I gave into the haplessness of the situation and laughed. My heart was light, and the rain had given me a strange feeling of being irrevocably aware of my youth. The rain dripped from my soaking hair and fell across my forehead, and still, I was chuckling to myself. D came in just as I had fiddled with the lock long enough to convince it to relinquish it’s grasp of the key and door. She smiled her big “Good Morning Smile” as her eyes read “Monday-Blues”. For some reason, she began to laugh too, and so the day started.
As I went about the business of logging onto our system, organizing my workspace, I must have bumped into a dozen different things. I knocked over a stapler, scattered some documents, tripped over my own computer chair all while trying to stifle giggles. Nothing compared to the photocopier incident though. As I went to finish scanning a project I had started on Friday, I managed to dead-leg myself on the side of the office beast. I doubled over in pain and remained crumpled on the floor, crippled by the pain but mostly from the unsupportable belly busting laughter that had consumed me. I had been able to control the hysterics for most of the morning, but it was as though this accident had released an inner laughing lunatic. I shook and shook as if in epileptic shock. There was no way to fight to remain sane, once again I submitted and was taken by a serious case of the giggles.
Now, you most certainly believe me to be crazy, but you must understand that the point of this account is to simply enlighten the load that Monday may bring. There is a choice bloggsters, that we must all make. To try to fight fate and become frustrated by things we cannot control, or to accept the situation and make the best of it as only we can.

May your Monday be filled with laughter,

Arctic Hipster

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Why Swivel Chairs are the Epitome of Happiness

Dear Blogmasters,

I've come to the conclusion that with an active imagination, an office can quickly become a source of great amusement. Keep in mind that many offices are occupied by employees who have been in a similar or even same position for years, and therefore enjoy a bit of spicing up the place ever so often. Doing repeated tasks and interacting with no one but a computer and strangers through phone, a person can go slightly insane : Which is precisely why I love my job.

Disregarding the fact that I have a wrap around desk, my own office and a great view, the component that makes our work place so unique is the people. There are only three of us, I'm a recent addition so you can imagine the proximity in which my coworkers have been for the last couple years. We're casual, professional, ridiculous, comical, hysterical and of course, surprisingly efficient. Most of our conversations take place from our own desks, and although it can be loud when we start playing music, it's nothing compared to the stopping from our neighbours upstairs. So there is hardly a moment when we are confronted with a dead silence that creates the ever-dulling-quiet-and-calculated atmosphere.

Both my coworkers are upbeat, but it doesn't take away from the fact that they are knowledgeable and professional. In the couple weeks I've been here I don't think I've ever learned so much, or laughed so hard. To be honest I've been the butt of many a joke, especially when it comes to poise or tact, however that doesn't impede my ability to rally with an "over-the-hill" comment or two. I read somewhere that in order to succeed in a work place, it's better to adapt the customs and mannerisms of your coworkers. In this case, it's a mix of dark humour and smart negotiations, which fits the bill for what I look for in a job.

And then, There's the swivel Chair.

Oh it's every child's dream to sit on a spinning chair for hour upon hours. Considering I'm still technically a child, it satisfies an array of childhood dreams.... all while I'm getting paid.

It's a wonderful thing to be educated,

Arctic Hipster

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

My "AH HA!" Moment of the Day

Dear Blog Addicts,

Assuming you attach a great importance to words considering you're taking time out of your day to read this, you probably feel the need to understand song lyrics. There's something infinitely satisfying about being able to explain the underlying meaning in an alternative rock song, or to catch the imagery in a love ballad. It's as though you're taking part of the songwriter's struggle, and with the appropriate music to add mood, a song can be a compressed novel... as long as it's well written.

Thus bringing me to my next point: who ever decided that quality music should incorporate auto-tune, the term "G6" or large besomed girls in the music video, should definitely get a different day job. I'm sorry, that is not an artist's work. That, is the result of a large bank account and a growing population who will stand for such laziness. Honestly, how is it possible that we are listening to this garbage on the radio when we have infinite access to thousands upon thousands of good artists? "I so sorry shorty" is not only terrible grammar, but is also a terrible way to apologize to a person you care about!

I don't mind rap, in fact I quite like the feeling when running off lyrics and blasting bass while driving. However, it's this new idea of acceptable pop that's so irritating. Music is a way to convey ideas to an audience, to share an opinion, to create an impression. An artist has the opportunity to shape the minds of a nation by using their creativity and intelligence. Who in the world thought that such a possibility for change should be left up to green pocketed selfish economists?! Just because it's catchy, doesn't make it good. Especially when you're eight year old cousin is singing a Ke$ha song about blow jobs: now that's underlying meaning.

Now I'm not saying that our society isn't listening to good music, one listen to Adele and you'll be convinced that we've bred a generation of geniuses. I am saying though, that the fact that itunes and record companies are getting more money than the artists who labour over albums is alarming. On top of that, they are teaching them that creativity should be limited to what sells, and what is popular.

So I say that we rebel against this, and look for local talent. Up here in the North we have songbirds like Leila Guilday, Rap Stars like Godson and even Youth Up-and-Coming stars like Jessie Trembley. So why sit there and listen to a computer generated formula when you can hear an artist actually sing their heart out?

If you wanna sing low, sing low.

Arctic Hipster

Monday, August 8, 2011

A Midnight's Dream

Dear Summer Enthusiasts,

My favorite part of living North of sixty has to be the midnight sun.

Yesterday my friends and I launched a nineteen sixty style boat, flew five feet after being flung off a three person tube and had a dinner party out on the deck : all underneath a blue sky. I got home around eleven and was greeted by a pink and salmon sky outside my bedroom window, but no sign of the sun setting anytime soon. The sun hung in the air, as though every summer student's wish for the weekend to last forever convinced him to extend the day by a couple more minutes. The reality is that we're slowly losing sunlight again, by approximately six minutes every day. So not only is school glaring at us on calender, the shortening days are a reminder that our freedom is slowly slipping away. The Nerd Herd (Note: this is a self-made title) is getting close to another freedom though, the ever anticipated graduation! With that in mind however, we might end up being even more desperate to hold onto the weekends that we can escape from parentals and bosses long enough to go camping and enjoy the magic of the midnight sun, before it's snatched by academic commitments.

There's just something about waking up to a room filled with light that makes a person hopeful.

Stay Bright!

Arctic Hipster

Saturday, July 30, 2011

Why, your face is so familiar but I've forgotten your name!

Dear Blog,

I'm afraid I've been seeing other networking devices.

I know this is hard to take in, but you had to have expected it. All this modern technology, these new time-waster apps, the ever handy Twitter and of course, the sick and twisted suductress known as Facebook, they've been keeping me away from you. So, I'm here to explain myself, and offer amendments for the neglect you've felt this past while.

This year has been difficult for the both of us.  School is number one priority (you've always claimed to understand that), and I must be honest, Math 30 is the course from Hell. I almost lost all hope of ever succeeding in mathmatics last year, then they decided to throw in a diploma exam this year. A small room packed with nervous teenagers desperatly writing down all that they can remember from the class they couldn't concentrate in: definitely not my idea of a good way to boost averages. On top of that, the ridiculous test was worth fifty percent of my final mark. So as you can see, my brain has been under constant academic fire. Therefore, I've been resorting to mindless entertainment to soothe the blows. For this, I apologize. No game of "Angry Birds" will ever replace the emotional and creative support you've given me.

Then again, how was I to know that you would change after I had left you?

All of these new gadgets, I can hardly keep up with you! I mean, now I can see you when I'm on-the-go, take you and spend time with you when I'm supposedly studying, it's all very overwhelming. But I have faith that we can move past these roadblocks and reestablish our solid relationship of creative outlet and aspiring writer. I promise you that I will make time for you at least once a week. Blog, you are becoming increasingly important now that university application due dates are looming closer. I trust that you are up for the challenge of becoming a portfolio, as I am for becoming a student.

Yours truly,

Arctic Hipster