The Dog In The Wig

Dear Suckers for Sob Stories,


This afternoon you're in luck.


It's about time for some motivation posting, considering the last couple—although illuminating important issues, providing emotional release etc.— have been incredible downers. I don't try to be a party pooper, really, just sometimes I have random bouts of profound reflexion and thus feel an unconditional need to share them with the general public. 


Anyways back to why you're lucky!  When you imagine "Sob Stories" you probably have a mental picture of that scene from the Notebook where that really sweet, sensitive, completely misunderstood guy kisses What's-Her-Face and they are drenched in rain which is a metaphor for their drowning in emotions, but really a storm of emotions, and you are crying because it's so beautiful and for some reason her hair is perfect and you kinda want to kick What's-Her-Face in the face because of that, especially because your face is blotchy but also because she's kinda stupid for taking him for granted, then again it might be  because you sort of are in love with the soaking What's-His-Name.... you get where I'm going with this?

When I think Sob Story though, I imagine crying from laughter. You know that gut busting, red faced, wheezing from lack of air laughter? Yeah, that's what's about to go down so mentally prepare yourself to die from laughter. 

Look at this Panda! He is having a bad day. Next time you're having a bad day visualize this incredibly sad Mr. Panda, simply attempting to slide, then BAM! Sad day for him, laughter for us. 

 See this person helplessly floundering in the deep snow? Notice that her leg is still resting on the fence, while her arms are flailing. However, what truly marks this picture is the fact that the photographer is leaning over the fence to capture the moment, not to assist thevictim.  

AHAHAHAHA! You know who this dog looks like? A George Harrison from the Beatles. Or perhaps a news reporter, or a pilot from the 70s... oh the possibilities are endless. However, this picture will forever be hilarious, no matter the era. Oh Dog In The Wig, you have brought me endless happiness.
"Poor hopeless sucker struggling in the snow, say cheese!"   

We can only imagine what must have taken place once she was liberated from the frozen sand trap. Heh he.                                                                                                

"Happiness hit her like train on a track....
        Oh the Dog Days are over...."


Love arctic hipster
       

Because Shit is Empowering

Warning: This post contains profanities (used with creative license of course), for effect and are not intended to offend. 

Dear Exhausted, Fed-Up, Tired, Internet Junkie,


Do you ever get to that point when you're so utterly overwhelmed by emotions, whether it's anger or compassion or grief, that you no longer feel the ability to voice them?


I'm taking part in this year's V-Day North production of the Vagina Monologues and seem to be experiencing a hell of a lot of those types of moments. The subject matter right off the bat hits heart: The production is aimed at breaking the silence surrounding rape, battery and violence against women. Every monologue illuminates an injustice and a struggle, great or small, that affects a multitude of people, not just women. One in particular that comes to mind involves a brother trying to protect his sister from dishonoring her family (ie: sleeping with her lover before marriage), providing a social commentary on the honor killings that frequently take place in Eastern countries such as India. The murders are an attempt to eliminate the "shame" that an unchaste daughter would bring upon her family name, but most cases involve rape victims. In Canada, we've seen cases such as the Shafia family come to justice, but this is not the case in the rest of the world.


It is difficult to process one monologue by itself—the pain, the triumph, the social implications—but listening to 18 others can break your heart. However, the heaviness of the context is contrasted by the liveliness of the cast. To be honest I was completely caught off guard when the cast began talking about how vaginas are actually shaped like Penne and vulvas were shaped like shell pasta (while eating shell pasta). Not that I come from a conservative home, but conversations about gentitels don't generally happen on a regular basis. And then the SWEARING. It's funny though,  I felt so ashamed and uncomfortable, as though I had done something wrong even though I was not the one who was yelling "fuck" or "Clitoris". 


Then I let go. I stopped associating the words with negative feelings, with negative meanings. Why not be proud? Why let words reduce me, belittle me, own me? I'm a writer after all and should know the power associated with words. 


This afternoon I came home, feeling deeply saddened after rehearsal.


So I swore and I swore and I swore and I swore.

arctic hipster

Sunshine Spray

Dear Procrastinators and "Night-Before-Essay-Artists",

Monday just happens to be the perfect day to avoid all forms of work.

The air is frigid, my head is heavy with sleep and thoughts of endless to-do lists. It's February, a month supposedly filled with romance and mutual warmth, but which is more so marked by report cards and diploma results. Truly, I should be working on my sentence structure and balancing chemistry equations. The two subjects seem to be combining though, as asyndeton sounds like a molecular structure ("the omission of conjunctions that ordinarily join coordinate words and phrases" source: Terms for Advanced Placement English Exams), and the rules regarding the combination of pure elements resembles those surrounding syntax.

If you've managed to read those last sentences without yawning, your energy should be bottled and distributed among the general public. What an idea! We could call it "Sunshine Spray", a product that increases serotonin levels in the brain therefore better mood. It could be used like hair spray, absorbing into the hair follicles straight to the scalp and into the cranium. Because it would be a hormone, it'd have to go to the medulla before being distributed throughout the body.

Can you tell I'm tired?


Hope you find your own "Sunshine" today,

arctic hipster

Stealing the Fame: Lady Gaga in a Parka

Dear International Readers,

I may possibly be famous in your country.

Every year for the past five years the Funky Fairies have been helping to win the fight against cancer. We host bake sales, go door to door and look for other creative ways to raise money for the Relay for Life. Our total was $13,000 last year, with a grand total of $34,000 since 2008. Every member of our team has been affected by cancer in some way, but last year we took the cause even closer to our hearts. One of our friends and team member, a fifteen year old, had been diagnosed with throat cancer.

Not only was she forced to move in order to receive treatment, she would not be able to attend the Relay for Life. It is incredibly difficult to imagine the hardships she had to endure, especially so far away from the support of her friends. But she triumphed,recovered and celebrated: In a year she was cancer free.

Our entire team was disappointed to not have our friend with us, but felt in our hearts the importance of the Relay. She motivated us to double our fundraising goal.

The afternoon before the Relay our team was interviewed. We were asked why we participated, and half way through a teary eyed answer about our recovering friend she walked out from behind the news van.

The result? Sobbing, screaming teenage girls appearing on an episode of "Ice Pilots". The volunteers from the Relay helped bring up our friend and the producers of the hit show flew up her parents. Needless to say we were eternally grateful.

Therefore, the Funky Fairies are famous in foreign countries.

Basically, I'm like Lady Gaga but in a Parka.

Born This Way,

arctic hipster

P.s. Very much appreciating all the page views from Russia!

"Why Don't You be the Writer, and Decide the Words I say..."

Dear Serious Sonneteers,

Do you ever reach a point where there's no more "up" from here?

It's almost like you've been climbing a mountain. You've prepared yourself for months, conditioning your body to handle the challenging elements so you can face any obstacle head on. You are proud of each step even if it may be misplaced, because you are still moving towards a goal. You push forward despite the looming possibility of failure. You fight against doubt. Simply imagining the top is enough to boost your morale.

And then you reach it, the idolized precipice. It surpasses your expectations, satisfies a dream tucked profoundly within the folds of your heart. Not only have you made it, you've proved to yourself that you are capable of something great.

Yet, another thought soon consumes you. Without a goal, without anymore rock to climb, there is only one direction to go. What a horrible realization that no matter how much you've labored to climb, you will at some point have to stumble back down. From that point on, the feat doesn't seem as significant. You are a person who has climbed a mountain, but who's world is slowly falling to pieces.

I am a person who has climbed a mountain and is waiting to tumble back to earth. Ellie Golding seems to understand my predicament, or at least listening to her song "The Writer" is causing me to have delusions of sympathetic singers. Anyways, it's been a rough week and I'm starting to doubt the significance of success. Hopefully you're in a better mind set.

Please post some sunshine soon,

arctic hipster

P.s. Kudos to any of you who noticed the new font.

Breakfast Dance Party

Dear Dancing Manics,

This morning Student Council helped wake up a bunch of stressed out teenagers.

For the last couple years the council has been serving cereal, fruit and yogurt during exam week to "feed young brains". The program is pretty successful considering the majority of high school aged students have a tendency to sleep in, rushing to school without having eaten breakfast. Not only does skipping a meal slow brain function, it also can drastically affect mood. High School students' bodies are already running rampant with hormones that cause them to lose concentration on normal lessons, not to mention we have the attention spans of nats. However, we still become engulfed by various education experiences, although not academic. For example "How To Text While Having Eyes Remain on the Board", "The Effects of Red Bull and Monday Mornings" and my personal favorite, "How to conjure the Correct Answer When a Teacher Singles You Out for Clearly Being Stuck in La la Land". From a teacher stand point, the odds are already stacked against students when it comes to school and a lack of food only worsens the situation. 

Lack of food + Stressed out Teenager = Incredibly Difficult Exam. 

To relieve some of the tension in the school this morning, my friend and I suited up in complete 80's aerobics wear and blasted some dance music. Not only did the crazy costumes attract students to the food table, but they also caused some giggling. Between the two of us we had sparkly safety orange head bands, two pairs of bright purple tights, teal body suits and some rad rasta fire sneakers. The atmosphere was incredibly lightened compared to  a typical exam morning. My friend and I were dancing while dishing up cheerios and milk, kids were shyly grooving as they moved towards the gym, and teachers were bopping as they passed our table. A real breakfast dance party to sneak in a bit of fun before taking a desk in the gym. 

Well... we had fun at least. Perhaps not everyone was as pumped as we were, but you have to admit it'd probably would make the exam seem a lot less scary when there are two eccentric girls wearing fluorescent outfits offering you cereal bars. Besides, spandex in the morning is great way to start your day!

Dance, even if you're by yourself,

Arctic Hipster

"I Want You to Read This Essay Between Now and When You Die"

Dear Sunset Watchers and Final Moment Gawkers,


Today was a day of lasts. 


It's the final day of the semester, evoking some contradicting emotions. This morning our entire Senior Drama class arrived fifteen minutes early, knowing full well our director would be late. We may have pretended to expect the Black Box door to swing open at any moment, but all any of us really wanted was to was to be together for one last time. Slouched against the entrance to the drama room chatting about things that didnt' really matter, leaning against one another and smiling despite being completely exhausted, holding hands as couples, but also just as friends. We were the image of familiarity. 


The past couple months have knotted our heart strings together by a single thread, a profound love of drama. Had it not been for drama I wouldn't have known some of my best friends. We would probably have seen each other in the halls but never cared, never took the time to become friends. I can honestly say that I love my cast unconditionally and would drop everything to help any one of them who needed it. I also know that they would do the same for me. We have been together through thick and thin. The day of the plane crash in Old Towne, the nights we got standing ovations. 


But today was our final class as a cast, and not without some tears. Our Director revealed to us that he enjoyed our cast the most in his last ten years of teaching, which is saying a lot considering he taught Dustin Milligan. Sharpies in hand we signed each other's cast t-shirts and joked that if anyone got famous we'd all get rich. However, I can't imagine ever selling mine because of the sentiment attached to it. Family relics come to mind, and I'm sure my grand children will laughingly appreciate "That Strange T-Shirt of Gramma's".

The other last today included the last cupcakes raffled off in French and an interesting last text in English. Our teacher left us with an essay by Mordecai Richler titled "1944: The Year I Learned to Love a German". The author is Jewish firstly, and in context 1944 would be a year many Jewish children learned to hate Germans for what they had done to their people. Our teacher explained that he had given it to us because he wanted us to understand the impact of literature, finishing his lecture with "I want you to read this essay between now and when you die". The impact of the statement startled me not only because of the directness in which he had said it, but also the implications. He wanted us to read the essay because it would make us better people, because reading is important. 

There are a lot of reasons to do things that are not required. From spending a couple extra minutes outside a drama room door, to reading an essay about a Jewish man falling in love with a book of German Origins, we may do things because in some way we feel the need to finish them. Drama is over, but I don't think any of us would have accepted it without our non-verbal good byes this morning. 


And well, I probably could not live the rest of my life with an unread essay on my desk.


May you finish what you start, no matter how hard it is.


Arctic Hipster