Social media this.

So, I've had this aversion to social media as of late. I find myself completely uninterested in Facebook or Twitter or Pinterest. I mean, I still post stuff, but on a very irregular basis. It's like my brain is protesting. I can't take in all this information all the time. I'm becoming one of those delinquent users who logs on once every six months.

It's the dark night of my social media soul. The new existential crisis. To tweet or not to tweet, that is the question. Or it could be that I lead a completely uninteresting life and have nothing to say. But I highly doubt that because I am an incredibly interesting person whose life should be broadcast for all to see.

Maybe it's sheer laziness. It takes a modicum of mental focus to look at stuff on social media. It does not to play Fruit Ninja. I'm becoming apathetic due to overexposure to useless information. Sure, I might miss some pertinent tidbits here and there but then again, there was a time when we had no social media and we survived.

I could make this into a whole essay about the advantages and disadvantages of social media but I think that's been done. Also, that would require effort and critical thinking. Gross.

I mean, I did find my 15-minute ab workout on Pinterest, without even looking. It just kind of randomly showed up in the humour section. Go figure. There was a photo of a chick with a six pack at the end of the workout and I thought to myself: "Hmm. A six pack would be cool." Of course, the two hot dog / poutine combo and McDonald's burger I scarfed down this past weekend may delay results. Ok, I'm starting to see how telling me I could have six pack abs is funny. 

It dawned on me that we live in a new age when, after finishing said hot dog and poutine combo, I said to the boyfriend: " I totally should have taken a photo of that before eating it. I could have Instagrammed it." And regret washed over me. The sad part is I'll make sure we go back to our little roadside restaurant so I can do just that.

I guess I don't mind Instagram so much because it's just pictures, no words. Wow. That sounds really cavewoman-ish. Want picture, no word. I mean, I still read books and stuff. I'm currently learning how to re-parent my inner child.

I think I like Instagram because it makes me feel like some cool photographer chick. I take photos, make them pretty in Instagram, then post them. It's like hyper-reality. Of course, if no one "likes" them, my whole sense of self-worth is destroyed, but whatever. 

So, I kinda got shanked on the way home...

I seem to have this staggering ability, in my mind, to go from a perfectly normal, free association of harmless, random thoughts to dark, disturbing images and unimaginable grief. You see, I was riding my bike home yesterday, and at one point, some kinda weird-looking guy who wasn't really paying attention to where he was going walked out onto the path I was on. He didn't even really see me.

But then I thought that might be the type of guy to randomly attack me in broad daylight on my bike.  So then this whole scenario starts playing out in my mind. This guy comes out of nowhere and starts stabbing me and of course I fall onto the ground and he keeps attacking me and I'm screaming but by the time someone hears my cries for help it's too late because my wounds are fatal and I'm bleeding out on the bike path.

Then, I imagined horrified bystanders taking pictures and posting them on Twitter: "Random violent attack in public park! Holy shit! Someone call 911!". Then, I imagined my boyfriend and stepdaughter at home, wondering when I'll get back from work, thinking: "Hm, it's getting kinda late. Where is she?" Then my stepdaughter sees something on Twitter. "It couldn't be" she thinks to herself. More time passes and still I don't arrive home. Sirens are heard in the distance.

Eventually, two police officers show up at my house. They found my ID in my blood soaked backpack. Inexplicable grief and shock grab hold as the reality of this random attack sinks in. Brave citizens chase my attacker into a neighboring subdivision and apprehend him. The late-night newscast reveals that I am the victim, next-of-kin having been notified of my untimely demise. There is a candlelight vigil that night on the very spot where I was attacked. People are now determined to "take back the park".

The following day, the story is everywhere. A city is in shock. "DEADLY ATTACK" is strewn across the front page of the newspaper. My work colleagues are huddled in small groups, crying and consoling each other. A few days later, hundreds of people attend my funeral, so touched were they by this horrible crime.

At this point, I realize I've made myself cry with all these mind machinations and am thankful the house is empty when I get home because, umm, crazy much? Otherwise, it might have gone something like this: "Why are you crying, honey?" "Oh, I was just imagining this whole scenario where I get murdered in broad daylight on the way home."

This is why I don't watch the news.

Melancholic cavities and Maple lattés

I had to get a cavity filled last week. I wonder if it's because of all the Cadbury Cream Eggs I ate. I wasn't expecting them to freeze me but they did. You see, last time I had a filling replaced, it was in a tooth that was dead following a root canal so it wasn't necessary since I wouldn't feel anything anyway.

So there I was, thinking this would be all quick and simple. Then I find out they're gonna freeze me and I'm all like: "What? Why?" I ain't down with that shit. Then, once I was all good and numb and drooling some drill thingy came out and I was like: "Oh, ok, I get it now."

Afterwards, I wished I had had a heartier lunch. "You'll be able to eat in about 3 hours", the dentist says, as I'm daydreaming of cheese curds. Not gonna lie, when your face is partially frozen, it feels f*cking weird, like you've been punched in the mouth and your lips are twice the size they normally are, except they're not. It's all a drug-induced illusion. Your face actually looks perfectly normal until you try to eat, drink or talk.

I'm pretty much off wheat and try to avoid sugar. However, a few days ago, while running errands, the boyfriend and I stopped into a local coffee shop. He gets a sandwich and tells me: "Take a bite. It's so good. You have to try it." "But, there's wheat, in the bread", I say. "It's too good, you have to try it." So I did. It was delicious. When you don't eat wheat, the experience of consuming moist, fluffy, gluten-filled bread is akin to a shot of heroin.

I then saw a sign advertising their "Maple latté" and thought that might be tasty. So we get one and the boyfriend surprises me with a wheat and sugar-laden chocolate chunk cookie. Who am I to say no to a gift? The cookie/maple latté combo was, quite frankly, indescribable. I felt like a pregnant Catholic school girl - it's so wrong, but at the time, it felt so right. I guess it was describable.

I tried to make wheat-free chocolate chip cookies once. I almost burned our house down and they tasted like cardboard.

The other night, we were perusing our On Demand service looking for a movie to watch. I see Melancholia. "Ooh, that's supposed to be a good movie." I say. We check the description. "The relationship between two sisters is strained as a planet approaches set to collide with Earth." "You want to watch that?" says the boyfriend. "It's a Lars Von Trier film." I say. "I see", says the boyfriend, in a faux grave tone.

I'd like to know who writes the descriptions of these films because, frankly, it sounded like some cheezy, low-budget science fiction flick. Had I not known it was a Von Trier film, I would have been like: "No." Now, it's a Friday night, we're both tired but the boyfriend says "Ok, let's give it a try." Within the first 10 seconds, I know I'll be watching this film alone. It's all slow motion art house images and after a couple minutes, I hear "No. I can't watch this. Too tired. Need something fluffy."

So I watched it the following morning. It was definitely not a Friday night, we're tired and we need fluff kind of film. This movie demands your full attention as everything is happening just under the surface, except for the advancing planet set to collide with Earth but even that element was subtly enfolded into the story, and took on more and more importance as the film progressed but not in an in your face "We will stop this from happening! We are human and we are unbeatable!" kind of way.

It was much more powerful because the film took the opposite approach. This planet is heading towards us and there's not a damn thing we can do about it. What does that mean? I cried at the end, as apparently, I do with all Von Trier films I've seen. I loved it because it took a fresh approach to a tired storyline and was very much about the characters, and not the strange circumstance in which they found themselves. It's a very quiet, philosophical film.

The description should have read: "It's Lars Von Trier, bitches. Watch this f*cking movie."

Eat responsibly. It could save a life.

A new grocery store opened down the street from us a few days ago, a new location of one of our favorite chains. I nearly wet myself when we went for our inaugural shop in the new digs. Feeling that much excitement over a grocery store concerned me for two reasons: 1) this is a sure sign that I'm getting old and 2) this will only encourage my sloth due to its proximity to our house.

And today, a liquor store is opening right next door to the new grocery store. This is my chance to finally get on that liquid diet I've always wanted to try. We're going to buy a bottle of wine there tonight to help support local businesses, 'cause that's how we roll.

I'm eating grapes right now just to stay awake. The Walking Dead isn't the kind of show that should be watched just before bed. It can f*ck you up. I had a fitful, waking dream kind of sleep. What's funny is that I asked myself, just a few moments ago, why I felt so tired today. I thought: "Wow, weird." Then I realized: "Not weird. I didn't f*cking sleep last night". So I can justify being a bitch today. Mothafuckahs.

We recently purchased all four seasons of The O.C. I had mixed feelings about this and wasn't sure what to expect. I mean, I love Peter Gallagher as an actor but then there's Mischa Barton, and there's just no excuse for her. What I didn't expect was this show to be so funny. Not because Mischa's so blatantly awful but because Adam Brody has emerged as a prodigious scene stealer. Mischa's character tried to kill herself a couple episodes ago. The writers should have let her succeed.

Know what happens when you eat a lot of Cadbury Cream Eggs, besides a diabetic coma? There comes a time when you've just had enough. No, it's not because you've passed out after too much wine. I mean, what? There seems to be a point where the body is satiate and no longer requires a massive sugar overload and the feelings of euphoria that follow.

So, if you're craving something sweet or fried, gorge yourself on the stuff. Don't bother with some weak transgression like: "Oh, just this once, maybe I'll cheat a little." No. Go to Costco, get the bulk box of Cream Eggs, or whatever it is you're craving, and stuff your face. Guaranteed, you won't want any more for months. However, eat responsibly. It could save a life.

Tick Tock, it's one hour ahead o'clock

Why can't we just gain another hour for Daylight Savings Time. You know, Fall Back, Spring Back. Then we'd be continually gaining time. Or how about we don't change the time at all. It was probably useful when we didn't have electricity or caffeine but it's kind of a moot point in modern times, you know?

More importantly, it f*cks me up. I couldn't get my ass out of bed this morning and I've been dragging it around ever since. My head's all foggy and I feel tired. Why? Because I was robbed of an entire hour. So there could be more daylight.

You know what, though? The days were already getting longer without any help from us. Why f*ck with Mother Nature? 'Cause I tell 'ya, the way I'm feelin' right now, she's having the last laugh. "Look at those fools, trying to manipulate daylight to extend their already over-strenuous activities. I'm gonna f*ck 'em up good."

I don't blame Mother Nature. If we'd just leave shit the f*ck alone, this wouldn't happen. Like last night, it was 7 o'clock but it really felt like 6. It was late but felt early so you don't want to go to bed when you should because it's practically still light out but then you end up going to bed later than usual, you're tired the next day, and left wondering why you feel like you're on tranquilizers.

I disagree with this whole time change business. Even in the fall, when we gain an hour, it's depressing because it's pitch black at 4 pm. I don't want to know what that feels like unless I'm in some arctic location where it can't be helped. We do it on purpose. Why? To get a little extra light in the morning? It's like we can't accept that days are getting shorter at that time of year so we f*ck with things under the misguided assumption that we're maximizing whatever daylight is available.

Except we're not. We're screwing with our internal clocks, creating a form of landborne jet lag.

I could also be suffering from sugar withdrawal after having gorged on Cadbury Creme Eggs for the past couple weeks. But I prefer to not blame myself for my lack of energy.

Leggo my Argo

I know the Oscars were on Sunday and it's now Thursday. (Insert pithy insult here relating to my tardiness.) Anyhoo, something has been nagging at me ever since we actually watched most of the telecast because there wasn't anything better on TV.

Being Canadian, this whole Argo phenomenon has really gotten under my skin. Why? Because the involvement of Canadians who basically saved and masterminded the escape of six Americans is played down while an American CIA agent who swoops in over the course of a few days to carry out said escape gets center stage.

Of course. An American couldn't possibly make a film where Canadians come out as the heroes of the day. No, it's always USA to the rescue. The US won that war. Blah, blah, blah. What's funny is that the very beginning of Argo, in an attempt to give us some historical context, explains that the US basically created the dire situation in which its citizens could be taken hostage by helping to depose a democratically elected Iranian leader and replacing him with an autocratic one years earlier.

WTF US of A? Why do you meddle in other people's backyards when you have no business being there? You did the same thing to Chile with Pinochet. Chileans also commemorate a bloody September 11, a coup d'état, backed by the US, which overthrew an elected socialist government and replaced it with a ruthless tyrant. But no one really talks about that.

It's fascinating how Americans will glorify the people who have to go in and clean up the mess they made in the first place. Why doesn't anyone make a film about years of highly questionable American foreign policy, usually based on corporate interests, not humanitarian ones.

I must give kudos to filmmaker Oliver Stone who has put together the series Untold History of the United States detailing "true" American history, starting with the Second World War. America loves to claim it won that war once it joined the Allies, but in reality, as this documentary series tells us, it was the Russians who were instrumental in ensuring the downfall of Hitler's Third Reich by pushing back Nazi troops trying to invade Russia.

The US is like an incredibly annoying, insecure braggart, needing to fudge the facts and inflate the truth to feed its sense of self-importance. I don't deny the US has had many great accomplishments. But it's ok for the rest of us to have some too. Give credit where credit is due, Ben.

Let your freak flag fly!

So there we were the other night, watching a new episode of Girls, which mainly featured Lena Dunham, naked, having sex with a very attractive man. Now, Lena is not what is commonly referred to as "skinny". She's shapely, voluptuous. She's got some meat on her bones.

The first reaction of those with whom I was watching this (they shall remain nameless) was: "That would never happen" and "she shouldn't be naked so much" and "what she's wearing is terribly unflattering" (when she had clothes on). Now, I dearly love those with whom I watched this but I found myself immediately feeling defensive of Lena. It's true, I totally poo-pooed the first few episodes of this season of Girls but those were arguments based on artistic quality, not personal attacks.

I guess this train of thought also coincides with the fact that I'm currently reading Naomi Wolf's The Beauty Myth. What I felt for Lena watching that episode was nothing short of sheer admiration for this woman who is completely fearless, taking every stereotype and shoving it back in our faces. You don't need to be skinny to be sexual. What is attractive to the male species differs from one individual man to another.

As Naomi Wolf states (and I'm paraphrasing here because I'm lazy) "beauty" is generic, bland, frozen, and the very idea of "beauty" is completely manufactured by corporations who want us to feel deeply insecure in our bodies so we'll be good little consumers and buy their useless crap. And it works.

From a disturbingly young age, women are taught to see themselves and other women through the lens of judgement, constantly comparing themselves to other women and seeing them as an adversary instead of an ally. "She's pretty, she must have a great life." "She's fat, she must be a loser."

Why wouldn't an attractive man want to make love to Lena Dunham? Men don't want "perfect", which is nothing more than a commercial construct. They want women who love to f*ck as much as they do, and that requires a certain level of self-confidence and comfort in one's own body. I've often heard that what men find most attractive in women is confidence. It's not great hair, or big boobs, a perfect ass, or flat stomach. Confidence. The ability to laugh at oneself, and fart in public. Ok, I added that last bit but I suspect it's true.

Why do we stand in such harsh judgement of each other and ourselves? Why do we think skinny women are better? And who defines what "skinny" is? According to Wolf, if most women tried to achieve a model's weight, which is, according to those savvy marketers, the "ideal" for women, they would have to be in a constant state of semi-starvation.

What Lena represents is a woman unafraid to be herself. She lets her freak flag fly and doesn't give a rat's ass what anyone else thinks. If only there were more of us with such courage.