Beauty in the Darkness

I found two of my Australian friends on Facebook yesterday. I haven't talked to either of them for a couple of years (going on six actually). It really made me happy to get back in touch. Simple pleasures are the best things in life.

Life is a funny thing isn't it? So many ups and downs. I was telling Scott the other day that I would prefer if my life had gone a bit more smoothly thus far. He was quick to point out that everything that has happened has shaped who I am now. He's quite right, as usual. I'm not saying I crave an idyllic life... but there are some things I could definitely have missed out on, without losing sleep over it. In fact I would have had countless better nights' sleep had they not occurred at all.

People always tell me the things they love about me, such as my creativity, easy going-ness, and caring nature. These are definitely positive attributes for anyone, but they also affect me negatively. Not because of the implicit nature of these characteristics, but because of the social nature of my surroundings. I often wonder if I wasn't meant for this world.

Creativity has always been one of my strong suits, whether it be music, photography, painting, drawing, fashion, etc. But I often feel like a phoney walking around with an artist's outer shell; I have a REALLY hard time coming up with my own original ideas most of the time. This began when I started taking medication for depression and anxiety. Eleven years later, still taking these pills, I can't help but feel like there's a cloud in my brain blocking out my artistic receptors. However I place higher value on mental stability than the potential side effect of creative ideas which may or may not be sharpened by eliminating the medication.

My easy going nature has made social situations much more bearable for the people in my life, I'm sure, but it doesn't do much for me when others are uptight. I've been criticized more than once for "not giving a rat's ass" or being unresponsive to 'hostility' in the name of passion. If there's one thing I've learned from years of therapy, it's how to let things go. There are certain major things from my past which I still hang on to, but anything new that pops up is much more easily forgiven. In short, I've learned to pick and choose my battles (PMS is sometimes an exception). There are certain things which are just not worth getting upset about. That is something I carry with me a LOT when Mike and I argue/fight. I think a good 75% of our fights are unnecessary. Most of the time when I get upset during an argument, it's because he's reacting poorly (in my opinion) to a situation, or he's been drinking. He accuses me of not understanding his side of things. The problem is that I do understand; I just don't see the point in prolonging and exacerbating the issue. I have a very typically male mindset with fights: let's find a reasonable solution as quickly as possible to end hostilities. I don't think that's a bad thing.

My caring nature is my biggest weakness of all. The really sad part is that it shouldn't be considered a weakness... those two words shouldn't be together in the same sentence. This is a vicious circle with no beginning or end, and it makes me sad everyday. I care a great deal for the people in my life. My family is top priority, and my friends are my second family. I've made a good deal of friends over the years, and I keep in touch with most of them (some more regularly than others). But my caring doesn't stop there. I truly care about all living things on earth, and I will defend that to the death. I honestly get nauseous when I hear about animal cruelty. I watched a film on the Rwandan genocide a few weeks ago and it made me bawl my eyes out. Whenever I hear stories of child hunger, mass poverty, government corruption, war, torture and exploitation... I just want to crawl in a hole and forget that I belong to the human race. I care too much, and it has made me overly sensitive to the evils of this world. I believe this sensitivity is partially responsible for my ongoing anxiety... as Scott always tells me, I think too much. I guess anthropology was a bad discipline to choose. But because I genuinely care about people, and the world, and the future of the human race, it has left me mentally and emotionally drained a lot of the time. I often need to sleep after sitting through an anthropology class. It's too much suffering to handle for one small person.

In the grand tradition of irony (definition: an outcome of events contrary to what was, or might have been, expected), I am home sick on the first week back from the WUFA strike. I've been extra tired in the last few days; I had [falsely] assumed it was the changing of the seasons that had me run down. Alas, it turns out I was fighting off this sickness. It's not as brutal as those I have had in the past, but it's enough to knock me on my ass. I've got my fingers crossed that this is a 24 hour thing and will soon depart my system.

I got to see TIME play at the pub on friday. It was an amazing show, as always. I was more than a little surprised that the crowd thinned out after Stereo Goes Stellar... they are an awesome band, but TIME was headlining, and they are WAY more killer than SGS. Maybe I'm just biased; I am friends with TIME and am also their unofficial photographer. Even before that, when I knew the guys but wouldn't really call them 'friends' per se, they still totally blew my mind. I remember my first time seeing them play...

It was about a year ago, and the pub. My camera was being stupid, so I borrowed Steff's awesome digicam to take some pictures. I stood in front of the stage, leaning against that one pillar which is blocky and uncomfortable, and is a visual major hindrance for anyone sitting behind it. I asked Tyrone if it would bother them to have a camera flashing right at them. He introduced me to Pat, the bassist, and they both assured me it was fine. Once they started playing, I was awestruck. Each guitar lick entranced me, the lyrics hypnotized me... their movements were so fluid I couldn't take my eyes off them. Not only were they excellent performers, but the quality of their music blew my mind. I bought one of their t-shirts that night.

Now it's been a year. I have made it to a good 75% of their shows (except for out of town dealies and nights when I was either sick or had Pi Lam events). I've taken hundreds of photos of them. Some of my favourites are the really abstract ones, with motion blur and unique colours from the spotlights. I've also enjoyed some localized popularity; I've had about half a dozen random people approach me and tell me they love my work. Not to mention being published three times (twice in The Lance and once in a downtown social newspaper). Of course it's mutually beneficial. The TIME boys get press coverage, and I get to cling to their bandwagon, figuratively speaking. That's okay with me. When they are rich and famous, maybe they'll cut me a check. :)

I've been extending my artistic abilities to other fields. I've been a painter for a few years now (albeit I'm not as good at painting as I am with a camera), and I just finished a labour intensive wood working project for my Pi Lam boys. I believe I've mentioned this project before, so I will not go into redundant details (REDUNDANT!). Suffice to say, it was completed at about 60 hours of work (which is roughly one hour per pound it weighs) and is now carefully padlocked in place on the fireplace mantle in their house.

I can look at the project and see each and every flaw in it. There are places where I should have sanded more carefully, and other spots where I painted over hairs. The mirror could have been polished better. But the guys didn't see any of those flaws when it was unveiled; they whooped and hollered wildly. Upon reflection, I believe the flaws I see are simply part of a greater infliction of self-doubt, which nearly every person goes through at some point or other. Why is it that humans are naturally so self-conscious? I must ponder this question carefully.

Body Parts, Medicine, Politics & Art Projects

Steff and I were watching Mike Duffy Live the other day, which happen to be Day 2 of the Canadian election campaign, and heard a progressing story that had her yelling in frustration. I personally found it funny.

They had just finished interviewing Elizabeth May, the leader of the Green Party.

She is causing quite a stir because she has been left out of the official debates. Boo hoo. But it is a big deal, and a very serious issue concerning the streamlining of Canadian politics away from the commoners.

After this hot topic had been concluded, another began. That's right folks, apparently Stephane Dion has difficulty speaking english because he has a hearing problem. This is an even BIGGER issue concerning the Canadian populace for this election. Can this be true? Let's consult medical experts. How does the public feel about this? Is it any different from Chretien's partial deafness? Does this make Dion a less worthy politician? (My opinion: no it doesn't, but his policy on Afghanistan does) Bottom line: the Canadian media is more interested in whether or not Dion can hear than whether he is good. Interesting, no?

Speaking of random body parts, my thumb and toe have still not healed properly. I went to the university health centre today to get the thumb checked out (it has proven problematic to be taking extensive notes in class without pain). The doctor prescribed me topical ibuprofen which is normally used for arthritis, and I have been ordered to get X-rays at one of the local hospitals. This is the same hospital where I was incarcerated for having a kidney stone. This was also the same doctor who misdiagnosed my kidney stone AND gave me the wrong dose of antibiotic.

Speaking of my kidneys, I may have discovered what has caused my two episodes of stonage. This is a very important mental note, so it shall be bolded:

DO NOT TAKE CALCIUM BASED ANTACIDS FOR LONG PERIODS OF TIME. THEY MAKE YOUR KIDNEYS WONKY. THAT'S W-O-N-K-Y, NOT W-O-N-K-A. THERE IS NO LAND OF MAGIC AND CHOCOLATE WHEN YOU HAVE KIDNEY STONES.

So to help with my acid reflux problem, I've been prescribed Prevacid, 30mg daily, for 100 days to "clear up the problem." It won't help. I've tried this solution before (after an especially nasty bout of stomach flu which led to chest pains), and it was anything but helpful once the pills were done. Basically, my stubbornness about acid indigestion and subsequent refusal to see a doctor regarding it led to consumption of a product which caused my kidney stones. Ain't life grand?

Between my wonky brain chemistry, unpleasant kidneys, and damaged phalanges, you'd think I'd be on top of the world. I mean, what else could possibly happen to my body that I couldn't handle?

Ahhhhhhhh irony, you have been missing from my life.

I'm doing a major art project for my Pi Lam boys. Mike and I started this endeavour in early summer, and now it's nearing completion. It is the fraternity crest, with a twist. We got a large piece of wood (roughly 4 feet by 3.5 feet), carved the wood around the crest so that it's raised from the background, did some dremel detailing, painted the colours, and I'm now in the final artistic stage: filling the area around the crest, which had been leveled down, with mirror pieces to create a mosaic. It looks really cool. I'm using tile grout to hold the pieces of mirror onto the wood. Suffice to say it's a messy process. I worked on it tonight, getting grout all over my hands. I tried to scrape some of it off, but it had hardened to such an extent that a chunk of my index finger went with the grout I peeled off. Not a large chunk, mind you, but enough that I notice it when that finger touches the keyboard.

Now all I need is someone to walk into my house unannounced (which has already been done), wearing steel toed boots (also done), and kick me in the ass (date pending).

Lacking Penmanship...

I was going to write in my hand written journal this morning, but when I started walking down the stairs I tripped and fell (not the first time). I'm fine other than the baby toe on my right foot and my right thumb. The toe I can handle, the thumb feels like a manatee fell out of a blimp and landed square on my hand. I've never seen my thumb bend so far backwards and I hope I never do again. Do not worry, dear readers, I am resilient enough. Hopefully by tomorrow I will be able to use it again. Mental note: don't try to lift glass of water with right hand until its use has returned.

Yesterday I got in some trouble. I will spare the details, but suffice to say that spray painting boobs on the bathroom door of a frat house that has been sold to the bridge company is not welcomed by many (although - I was not the one who did the penises - and my limerick was surprisingly clever). This has added fuel to a greek fire that began burning when one of my sisters (on whom I unfortunately must bestow this label) physically assaulted a frat boy at this very same house. The catch? She lives with the Chapter Advisor, so when the motion to ban her from the new house came to the table, it sparked a lot of controversy. Now the fraternity alumni are ready to ban all of my sorority from the new frat house, and I was partial cause of that. It doesn't seem to matter that I have had very little to do with the sorority for the past couple of years. I washed my hands of most of them and can/will only stomach a select few. The fact that is that I am a Phi Sigma Sigma alumnae, like it or not, and people refuse to see beyond that.

Which leads me to my rant about closed minded people and their ignorant kin. In a modern world where globalization is a social reality, urbanism is hotter than ever, and the newest anthropological trend is to "go native", it surprises me that there are still a LOT of people who can't think outside the box. I'm not talking about nymphomaniacs here folks - I am referring to those who cannot place people and situations into some kind of social context. Is it really that difficult to step outside a situation and see the different points of view? (See Heidegger on Dasein)

It angers me that people can really be that ignorant. In my opinion, they are the chlorine in the gene pool of humanity. Unfortunately, there seems to be more chlorine than water, and my eyes are turning red... beyond the communist sense of the word. Perhaps they are actually a red herring, intending to lead us away from 'Capital T' Truth, wisdom and enlightenment. Fish can do that, you know. Especially the red ones. They distract us with pretty colours then they go in for the final blow. Like the piranha of communism. No matter what the situation is, these people make me ill. So I believe their red feesh is seeck. Maybe I just need to numb the mental agony with Malibu rum.

Communism and Toilets

I went downtown with some friends tonight, mainly to celebrate one of them visiting home from his job in South Korea. It was a lovely time, even though I'm not a drinker. I even saw someone get arrested at the bar we finished the night at. Here's a question for the universe: WHY would someone mouth off to a group of six cops standing next to an empty paddy wagon? That's just a recipe for disaster. Two cups idiocy, one pound of stupidity, two tablespoons of testosterone and a pinch of pride. And his pride certainly got pinched when they cuffed him in front of a huge crowd.

I heard "American Pie" by Don McLean twice today; once when I was getting ready for tonight's adventure, and once from Windsor's official Singing Idiot at the bar. This, coupled with the fact that I was in the presence of Yuri (my dear friend from Belarus, with whom I made a Guitar Hero band called The Commies) inspired me to come up with my own lyrics to the song. Incidentally, I'd recently re-read my old research notes about Arthur Miller and was thinking about that shameful incident with HUAC in the 1950s. Let's see if I can remember...

Bye bye un-American guy.
He was famous now he's shamed us
As a communist spy.
He sold his soul for Marxist-Leninist lies,
Singing 'Capitalism must die!'

And now for something completely different.

In Windsor, it is known far and wide by bar-going women alike that the bathrooms at Big Dick's are by far the most disgusting. Here is what the stairs to the basement (where the facilities are located) looks like:


Should I mention that this photo is an original, copyright Lindsay Sheppard 2008? The caption is compliments of Photoshop CS3. Back to the point.

We ended up at the Treehouse by the end of the night (which is where we saw Captain Moron get arrested and hauled away). I'd never been there before. By then I'd been drinking glass after glass of water while everyone else was plastered. Miss Stephanie and I decided to go to the bathroom.

We opened the door and squished three girls up against the sink which was just opposite the door with only a foot or two of clearance space. On the left, there were three toilet stalls. Toilet #1: full to the brim of grey toilet paper. EW. Toilet #2: Tank running, toilet paper clogging it, and water all over the floor. Toilet #3: Exact replica of toilet one. Needless to say, none of them were usable. So we walked out, made a sharp right, and walked into the men's room. I think the one guy with his package in his hand at the urinal was a little surprised. I had to hold my nose because the smell of acidic urine made my stomach churn, and I was sober! The guy in the ONLY stall stuck his head around the corner (conveniently there was no door on the stall) and offered to flush the toilet so we could use it. That seems logical. But Stephanie couldn't wait, so she dropped trow right there and squatted over the urinal while three awestruck, drunken men stared at her vag. I tried my best to hide her, but without luck. Then she was kind enough to stand in the doorway of the stall while I attempted to hover over the toilet. I realized my hovering technique needs practice when I felt wetness on my bottom... I had accidentally touched the toilet seat. WHY can't men aim properly?! It can't be THAT difficult. Seriously. After I was finished, we walked out of the men's room while being stared at by half a dozen impressed men, right into a bouncer. He didn't say a word to us. It's a good thing he didn't, because I was in just the mood for telling someone off about the illegal-ness of not having working toilets in an establishment that serves ingestibles.

Bottom line, aside from a ring of urine ON my bottom, is that I'm going to have to exfoliate my ass for the next month.

Freshly Fig Newton

Amazing though it is, I'm starting a blog. I guess I got tired of mentally bitching about things to myself, or to my poor room mate who has her own series of issues to contend with.
Everyday I see things that move me, either for good or bad. There is so much beauty out there. Conversely there is a lot of ugliness. My goal is to observe both ends of the spectrum. Perhaps I will learn some things about myself while I'm at it.

Wishes, dreams, desires... what good are they without a broader context? Perhaps this is my anthropological training coming out, but I believe a fully self-involved blog, journal, stone tablet, or napkin is an egotistical enterprise without taking the world into account.

My best friend sometimes chides me for taking too much on my plate. He's interested in a simple life with a limited scope. That's one thing that makes us work well as friends. I inspire him to think outside the box, and he brings me back down to reality. I love having friends that compliment my character in a productive way. It makes life more interesting and fulfilling.

So here it goes, my attempt at a blog that is chock full of philosophical anthropological musings. After all, those are my areas of mental expertise.