Little lady, are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna jump?

There are many reasons I don’t feel the need to skydive. Most of them are related to some measure of fear: what if the ‘chute doesn’t open; extreme heights; that rickety old plane.

But now, I’m about to face a fear worse than the prospect of skydiving: change.

And not just any old change. Extreme change. Moving-to-a-different-continent change. Thankfully, it’s temporary. I’m coming back, but probably only in a year or so. It’s exciting, because I lived in Germany as a young girl, and going back to Europe is something I’ve always wanted to do. But with this event came the realisation that by “going back to Europe,” what I really meant was, “so long as I get to return to Montreal.”

The thing is, I’ve built a whole life here. Even if I’m never exactly sure what my career path is supposed to be, I love living in Montreal. It’s precisely how I’ve always wanted to live, and how I’ve been living for about 12 years.

This Europe thing was mostly theoretical until the husband unit booked our tickets a couple of days ago. That’s when it all became real. Very real. And that’s when the “little things” caught up to me.

The “little things” are the things I’ll miss. Don’t get me wrong: I’m completely looking forward to visiting Europe. I honestly can’t wait. But Montreal has become my own little couch groove. I’m not already getting nostalgic. It’s more like I’m doubly appreciating what I have here before I go off and get over-stimulated by European travel.

In the past couple of days, I’ve been revisiting these little things, without really knowing that this is what they were beforehand. One of them was eating a delicious vegan meal alone at the bar at Aux Vivres. I used to do it a lot when I found myself freelancing back in 2002. I spent most of that winter going to their old location on St-Dominique, sitting myself at the bar, and ordering their “surprise” soup of the day with some goopy cashew-buttered chapati. Complete with some reading material, it made my midday.

There are a bunch of other little things, like the Farfelu window display, the crunchy dried leaves bunched up on sidewalk edges (autumn rocks in Montreal!), and couples getting extra cozy at the first sign of a winter breeze.

Some people leave a place in a right huff. They’re ready to call it quits and storm off. That’s exactly what I did with Moncton some 12 years ago. But this is different. I’m looking forward to leaving and to coming back. Equally, at that. I’m glad the husband unit and I get to do something like this before “real life” kicks in. It’s a slight change to our regularly scheduled programming, but I just know it’ll be well worth the leap.

Grumly: The Don’t-Care Bear

Though I absolutely fell in love with the Niagara region, it has the unfortunate plight of being attached to Niagara Falls, which is, from every angle, a one-trick pony. It’s not a bad thing. I think the town knows it and does its best to help you see what you came to see from every angle, and at a very reasonable price.

In a way, it makes me wish certain companies were more comfortable with the fact that one of their given products doesn’t do it all, and won’t satisfy every need or every demographic.

Take Grumly, the teddy bear that only has one distinguishing quality: squeeze its tummy and it lets out a slightly sustained grumbling sound. Otherwise, it doesn’t look like much. But you have to love how the ads zero in all the things Grumly is not. It kinda makes you feel for the guy. My French friends will have to tell me whether or not Grumly became as popular as these ads should have made him.

Sorry, it’s only funny in French.

Nupped up

For those of you who know a little bit about me, I can hardly believe it either. I’ve never been the kind of woman that needed to get married to prove anything to anyone. But here I am. Married. And it’s nice for many reasons.

For one, it’s just sunk in that I’m officially not alone. I’ll admit that this is the weirdest part for me. I got used to my solitary rhythm. I had it down to a science. Now, every decision requires a vote, and that can be challenging for the modern bachelorette. The upshot is that I’m no longer flying solo through turbulent times, and that’s something I can definitely get used to.

Before the husband unit and I decided to take the plunge, we were told by a wise advocate to make it as special as possible, because we only get one shot at the big day. That’s when I started doing what most brides-to-be probably do: I bought a wad of bridal mags and started sifting through reams of ideas. The fact is, I haven’t spent most of my girlhood dreaming of the perfect wedding. I wasn’t a pessimist so much as an opportunist: I figured I’d think about it if the situation ever presented itself. So here I was, flipping through these magazines, trying to pull something together, and fast.

It’s not easy. Every detail comes with its own lexicon of details. Nobody gives you a discount. Everybody has an opinion on what you should do (based on what they would do on their own big day; not what you want to do on yours). And none of this changes even if you agree on a small wedding.

Nevertheless, it all came together quite beautifully. I believe I have a solid group of friends to thank for that. Seriously: I really lucked out here. Of the 48 or so guests, about 50% of them were somehow involved in the wedding. With their help, we didn’t have to worry about music, transportation, photography, graphic design, delivering and placing chairs for the ceremony, hair, makeup, the family dinner, and fashion. My father, who’s a jeweler, also made our rings, which was the cherry on top.

Was it a perfect day? Absolutely. Did everything go as planned? Absolutely not. But it’s funny how it just doesn’t matter in the end.

Think Lizzie

The following is something I submitted to Bitchin’ Kitchen for consideration. It didn’t quite make it, but I still think it’s a good read. Enjoy!

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Guilty Crush of the Week: Elizabeth Berkley

If we’re measuring guilt by the number of times “just awful” has been used to describe my crush’s acting, then I’m doomed to haul brimstone with the adulterers and coveters.

Here’s the thing. Despite the efforts of a respected indie film director, Elizabeth Berkley’s acting is really that bad. There are no two ways about it. Sure, we can blame it on the writing (like when she sings “I’m so excited” and starts wailing “I’m so scared” on that don’t-do-drugs episode of Save by the Bell, where her character, you know, does drugs). But at the end of the day, it’s about the choices she makes as an actress (come on, Showgirls, do people really throw fries in a huff when their rescuer just wants to help?). When she was paired with David Caruso on CSI:Miami, playing his character’s ex-lover, you had to wonder if the producers were secretly betting on who’d win the subtlety war.

So why is Elizabeth crush-worthy? ‘Cause girl got gumption! Despite one epic fail after the next, Lizzie keeps marching on. You have to admire that in a person, especially if there’s a chance that delusion is the mystery ingredient holding the recipe together. Plus, she has a sense of humour about herself, even when interviewed about the things she’s (in)famous for.

And this is where it starts to smell of Suzanne Somers. The next time her attempt at serious drama makes you chuckle, remember that Smirky Berkley is laughing all the way to the bank! Her turn on CSI is nothing short of cringe-o-matic, but her episodes are among the highest rated (maybe it’s a train-wreck thing). Perhaps realizing the limitations of her acting chops, she turned to reality TV to take on the gruelling yet rewarding life of professional dancers, winning over a comfy niche. And last we heard, her Ask-Elizabeth self-help program was being parlayed into a show on MTV. They say no one will hire her, but somehow, she’s still on the payroll.

All I know is that if ever I’m on the cusp of obscurity because of a monumentally horrible performance, I only hope I can sashay some of Elizabeth Berkley’s sass all the way to the next gig.

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It is my earnest opinion that few things are funnier than a Bitchin’ Kitchen video. If you haven’t watched any yet, it’s about time you did.

Where Livvyjams been at

Okay, I admit it. I’ve been bad. Real bad.

I haven’t posted a blog in almost a month and  a half, and to be honest, I’ve missed it. I’m actually a little embarrassed that there are no archives for July. But here’s why: I’ve been real busy, like. Trust me, this isn’t a brush-off. You know I’m committed to this thing we have going on, you and me. It’s just that for the first time ever, I’m actually seeing one of my personal projects through, and that means there’s less time for blogging. I thought I could manage both, but it turns out that one needs to outperform the other, and it’s apparently best if the distraction doesn’t win this round.

Saying that, I hope I’m not jinxing it by talking about something that’s not finished yet. But we’re far enough along that it’s unlikely to be abandoned, so I think I’m allowed to be excited.

The project? It’s a series of webisodes. The scripts are written, which took forever. We’ve had auditions. We’re almost completely cast. And in September, if all goes well, shooting begins. Naturally, I have to use this blog to talk about this project as it progresses. It would be stupid not to. So stay tuned…

Otherwise, many other things have been keeping me busy. I’m a bit reluctant to share extremely private information here, but then, most of those who read me are friends (by the way: thanks), so I suppose it’s okay to talk about it.

I’m getting hitched. Very soon. In less than a month. And planning a wedding, even a small one, is something only crazy people would undertake willingly if they actually knew, in advance, what it entails. Maybe you’ve thought about it your whole life, which is fair enough. But I can guarantee you’re not prepared for the wedding vortex, which is made up of a plausible infinity of details you thought you were too cool to care about…until you realize you’re just as vain as everyone else. All I know is I thought I was the “hip” bride who just wanted things simple and clean, but once flowers were introduced to the equation, I suddenly became very concerned with how it would all come together. And before you know it, I’m going through 3 florists just to get it right.

In all this, I’m still freelancing when wedding plans and webisodes aren’t conquering my schedule. I wouldn’t call the state I’m in auto-pilot. It’s more like “constant-pilot,” and I fuel up at some gas station in the sky.

Despite the serious time shortage, I’ve been able to take in a few noteworthy things. And they’re as follows.

1. The ceremony is not sacred.
2. The marriage is.
3. Marrying someone is like inheriting a new family, and that’s exciting. The married couple also becomes a new family onto themselves, and it’s great to share that little bubble with someone. I won’t lie.
4. You don’t need to be get married to experience “the bubble.” In fact, people should recognize it out of wedlock more often.
5. There are a good many things that go into a wedding, and almost none of them really mean that your partner loves you. Not the ring, not the venue, not the limo, not the boutonnière, and definitely not the cake. The only real thing is what you know you and your partner share. The rest is just a party.

In completely unrelated news, I’ve posted a second blog on the new Lomography site, and it prompted me to experiment with my new Diana camera. It doesn’t give the same sort of results as my beloved Holga, but it’s interesting just the same. The above picture is from my first roll. It may not be the best photo I’ve ever taken, but I can’t wait to keep experimenting. I have more fun trying than perfecting. Is that wrong?

Lomographied!

In an earlier blog post, I talked about Lomography’s awesome business model. I shared it with some Lomo folks, who then asked me to contribute to their magazine. Naturally, I was honoured and ecstatic. The fact is, anyone can contribute to the Lomo Magazine, but I can’t say for sure how they go about selecting what gets published or not. Which means I bypassed the big  filters and went straight to the editor-in-chief: a rare privilege, as any journalist will tell you.

Granted, because they’re all about promoting their community, it wouldn’t surprise me that the Lomo peeps don’t censor themselves or their contributors too much. They encourage people to share their thoughts and experiences at almost every turn, which is something many companies should get in the habit of doing.

So fast-forward to a few weeks later and I finally submitted my first blog post. It took a few days to process because there’s a lot of hullabaloo over the LC-A’s 25th anniversary, but today, I was published. I won’t copy and paste the article here because I’m not sure what the rights are on the thing, so I encourage you to go to the site and read it.

If you don’t have the time now or want to read it later, here’s the Reader’s Digest version: because the viewfinders on Lomo cameras are virtually pointless, it’s difficult to know exactly how any of your pictures will turn out. Still, I’ve managed to get some pretty amazing results, even if they are mistakes.

Enjoy!

Fuzzy wuzzy boo

Over the last few weeks, I’ve lost several IQ points to this video:

To be fair, I think there’s a lot to learn from the fuzzybum we know as Ninja Cat. I’ve even narrowed it down to 5 crucial lessons.

1. Not moving = invisibility.
2. Surprise is the best defense.
3. Wiggling your bum can improve the overall execution of your anticipated attack (think about it, ladies).
4. Cats maintain their cuteness well into adulthood (think about it, boys).
5. Cats are always up for a game of “hide and surprise”…also well into adulthood.

Speaking of martial arts, the fake (or is it?) script for Ninja Jesus is still kicking around. If you haven’t read it yet, it’s about time you did. It’s been around since 1.0, for Kung Fu’s sake.

The miracle of growth

Growing up, my mother was an avid gardener. Though we didn’t have land of our own in Germany, she rented out a lot in the community garden and grew vegetables in the summer. We also had plenty of potted plants in the apartment and on our balcony. When we moved to a townhouse in Riverview, New Brunswick, we had a wee patch of lawn in the front, and a bigger yard in the back. Mum asked the landlord if she could plant a garden on both sides, and he agreed. She planted some perennials in the front, and vegetables in the back. The townhouses weren’t much to look at, but Mum’s garden made a difference, and though some of our neighbours followed suit and planted gardens of their own, theirs never seemed to match Mum’s in terms of balance and beauty. When we moved to a house Shediac, the neighbours fought over my mother’s bulbs and perennials. And of course, in Shediac, Mum planted an even bigger perennial garden in the front yard, and an enormous vegetable garden in the back.

And I didn’t lift a finger to help.

I just didn’t see the point. It seemed like a lot of hard work, and boring at that. Then, a few years ago, my friend Sandrine had one of those decisive fights with her then-boyfriend and moved out of their apartment. She was perfectly willing to stay in a hotel for her remaining 2 months in Montreal, but I told her to stop being silly and move into my extra room. She brought with her a tiny, sickly Ming Aralia that was unfortunately sharing a pot with an overbearing Pothos. She didn’t know that’s what they were, incidentally. I had to find out on my own. When she left shortly after, I inherited the plants. The first ones I’ve ever really had.

Truth is, I found them quite pretty. As a little tree, the Ming Aralia looked a bit like a bonsai. But knowing the Pothos’s vine-like behaviour was probably choking the Ming, I separated them, put them in different pots, tried to find out what they needed from me, and gave it to them. For 8 years, they’ve survived a modest life in my living room. I’ll be the first to admit that I found they embellished it. The Ming is now about 2 feet tall and mighty bushy, while the Pothos is practically a weed. I had to get poles so it could wrap around something. It just won’t stop.

With that experience, I learned to appreciate taking care of plants, but I was happy to leave it at just those two. Then, last summer, I decided I wanted to grow a herb garden. It’s a culinary thing. Like anyone else, I enjoy the flavour of fresh herbs in the food I prepare. I figured it shouldn’t be too difficult to grow one, since so many people do it. And I wanted lots of herbs! So I picked up some seeds for coriander, rosemary, parsley, chives, thyme,  tarragon, oregano, dill, and basil. While I was at it, I picked up some lettuce seeds. I also bought young herbs: lemon thyme, a curry plant, and some purple basil.

I’m one of the few people in the Plateau with the good fortune of having a backyard. True, there’s no lawn or anything on it, and it’s more or less unpaved with a bunch of weeds here and there; but at least it’s mine, and the landlord is pretty open to letting me use it how I please. There are cinder blocks in my backyard, just hanging out by the garage. So I used them as a sort of surface for my herb pots. I planted the seeds, stuck labels in the soil, and waited. People warned me that seeds might be tough, especially as I don’t get huge amounts of sun in the backyard. But within a week, I started to see some growth. It started with the oregano and tarragon, then the thyme, and then everything else seemed to follow.

Not only was I not expecting the seeds to grow so quickly, I also didn’t anticipate the awesome, gratifying feeling of watching your garden literally spring to life. I called up my mother and said, “I get it now!” Naturally, she was all, “it’s about time.”

But I didn’t stop there. On a recent trip to the Atwater Market, I picked up some pots and plants for the backyard. Because I’m looking at a shade garden, my colour palette is somewhat limited (no oranges, yellows or reds, I’m afraid). Still, a shade garden can have that gorgeous zen look that spas everywhere are paying good money to copy. Right now, I have a pot on each step leading to the backyard, and two pots on the back patio. In the process, I was awed by a couple of things. Firstly, how fun it is to create floral arrangements. Secondly, how a couple of flower pots can really pretty up a place. My yard went from tool shed to back garden with a couple of Impatiens, Begonias and Vincas. That’s all it took!

I called up Mum and told her how beautiful the backyard looks now. Naturally, she was all, “how much money did you spend on this?”

Which brings me to a final point. Gardening costs money at first, but your soul will appreciate the investment.

I’m a Lomographer, for realz!

Thanks to a recent blog entry about their rockin’ business model, some folks at Lomography got in touch with me and asked if I’d like to contribute to their magazine. Naturally, I’m totally flattered. Only now, I’m trying to think of what topic to broach first.

I’d love to turn it into more of a column, so I can leave the pro-Lomography stuff to the other writers. Question is, what’s my column going to be about? What’ll make it different?

Truth be told, I’m relishing the opportunity to start something new, and to talk about something I’m so passionate about. What a great way to mix business and pleasure! When my first article is published, I’ll be sure to post it here.

Stay tuned…

Mustang muscle

Scott Monty, Ford Motor Company’s head of social networking, took the time to read my rather lengthy blog entry on new marketing, and responded…twice!

I don’t know how Scott Monty came across my rinky-dink blog, or why he read it, but he did, and was kind enough to leave some constructive thoughts to boot. As I said before, I like a Mom ‘n’ Pop shop. Perhaps proving his point rather than mine, I felt I should at least give the Monty a richly deserved nod.

I’ve never really thought about buying a Ford, or any car (living  in Montreal will do that), but if I did, I’d definitely want this one.

Do they come in a hybrid?

p.s. I have no idea how Scott Monty does it, but he’s everywhere! He’s the new Santa Claus.