26.4.10

quickly

This is what I wore today. I didn't expect it to cause such a ruckus. It's a skirt that fit kinda awkwardly, turned into a dress, over a t-shirt. Old ladies at Nata's liked it. They said I was young and pretty and could do clever (yes, clever) things like turning skirts into dresses. Girls my age liked it, at PLUSH. Wee little grade 8 girls liked it at my mom's school. And every man I met made it known how much he liked it. That's the part that threw me off. I've worn shorter skirts, and not gotten near the reaction. And these guys weren't saying "nice" because they appreciated the mixing of patterns, or the watercolour affect of the skirt. Oh no no. There was something about this outfit that drew serious attention... even in Peterborough. Hm.



Also, ignore the laziness of the photo; I had about 5 minutes to get a shot before I had to, wait, LEAVE FOR A RECORDING SESSION. Yeah. It was cool. But more about that later, I'm wicked tired, and wanted to post the photo before it was irrelevant.

Oh shoot, I need a song. Okay, Wasting Time (Stay) by the Dave Matthews Band. This might be the greatest song written in my lifetime. Try to find a live version with back up vocals and an organ accompanying the sweet sax lick. Ha, sweet sax lick.

B

20.4.10

Art Attack

Our tax guy arrived today, at dinner time, like he always does. Which is fine, I mean, it's just funny. The first think he said was to Ryder, our dog. He said, "I like you, because at most of my client's homes, the lower half of my right leg is mistaken for playmate of the month." Hilarious.

To say I've been busy for the past few days would be... a baldfaced lie. As opposed to the little fibs with facial hair. I guess I only consider myself busy when I'm doing things that conflict with each other... or that I don't really want to do. Well, I started working. Did I blog about this yet? Yepp, weekends, washing dishes at a small restaurant in a smaller town. Called the Crossroads. At least they don't play the country station. I feel slightly more entitled to the blues, however. In 60 years, I can get out my guitar and my harmonica and wail away about dishpan hands, and how (granny voice) kids these days don't know how to make a livin', see, when I was a young whippersnapper... Or in 20 years I can get out my dulcimer, and Joni Mitchell it all up. She probably washed dishes. Every earthy, legit starving artist must have, at some point. That's my only consolation.

I've also taken up art attacking. Read the rest of this post in an English...? Australian accent? It's been years since I've seen that show. But, I Art Attacked a backdrop for the photos I have to do at an impending dance... Neon theme. Awesome. Here is the aftermath.








Thankfully my mother has a bit of an eye. I get so frustrated sometimes, I have these visions of (sugarplums) photos in my head, and no one to enact what I mean... so I try to take photos of myself, but then I don't have myself behind the camera... I can't wait till I'm rich and famous and can hire whichever models I want. Agyness Deyn will be wrinkly and grey haired by then, but surely there will be a new... whippersnapper. 

Speaking of grey things... David Gray. Man, I'm in love. I want to be Stella the Artist. His voice is very distinctive... kind of a beige, chalky sort of colour. With tinges of, dare I say it, grey. Give 'er a listen. Him, and Jamie Cullum. Check out the video of him on youtube, covering Rihanna's Please Don't Stop The Music. 


The wild jazz solo kills me every time. He's so dang cute, just like his voice. And he's a big Sinatra fan, which I'm all about. 

Before I was distracted by my terrible habit of falling in love with the Singer Not The Song, (I love Mick Jagger too, whoops) I was talking about Art Attack. Inspired by the backdrop, and lacking a neon dress, I decided to get all artsy up in this... nevermind. I bought a cheapy cheapy black jersey dress at Old Navy, and violently yellow bandeau (because the cheapy cheapy dress is kinda flimsy) and a pile of neon fabric paint... And went to town, sister. It's sweet. Surely there'll be photos. 

I just watched that video a linked again, and fell in love with the guy, again. There are so many songs I want people to listen to... so, I just decided! I'm going to recommend one at the end of every post. A sort of reward, if you will, for those who actually persevered to the end. A token of my gratitude. I realize I've already mentioned a couple in this post... but, this is the official, Recommendation de Jour:

The Un-American, by Matt Morris. 

say hello to your doctor
love, 
Toby Celery


16.4.10

My name is Brittney, and it has been less than 12 hours since my last post. Oh boy.

I heard something on the news the other day, (actually, that sentence was a complete lie. I watched TWO somethings on the news, whilst getting my haircut, the other day) that I considered interesting.

Firstly, residents of Halifax unknowingly paid over $600 000 towards the "Please Paul McCartney, come play in our city!" fund. I bet there are a lot of people who are unimpressed by that... but I don't think it's a big of deal as they're making it. For one, $600 000 divided amongst an entire city isn't too substantial... And come on, Paul McCartney was playing in your city, and you didn't GO?! But, this issue here isn't McCartney... I mean, I don't even like him that much... I like his music, and love the Beatles, but ol' Paulie is my least favourite. He's a freakin genius, and he knows it.

It's kinda like the Olympics. It cost us a crap load of money, (and the huge sparkly bear had me doubting for approximately 23 seconds), but wasn't it fun? The Olympics, I mean. When else have you ever felt so damn Canadian. It might take our country years to recover (look at Greece) but for the time being... I regret nothing. Nor do I resent one speck of those two weeks. Except for the sparkly bear. And, we all knew that it'd be expensive... but did we really have a say? At all? Maybe we did, this just occurred to me, and I don't know the answer. Is there a 'where will the Olympics be next' committee, with average, tax-paying representatives? But back to Halifax; what they're ticked about it that they just found out that they paid half a million buckaroos to a knight. Okay, fair enough.

The other thing was, U of T sent acceptance letters to over 160 applicants... accidentally. Followed up with a "we're sorry" email. I was accepted at U of T, and even though I'm not that excited about it, having that acceptance being recanted would be seriously depressing. This whole school thing is not fun, let me tell you. I got my little "We're sorry, but you have not been accepted at the Ontario College of Art and Design at this time, however, we will be watching enrolment closely, and if a spot becomes available you will be notified." letter the other day. But who gets accepted to OCAD and doesn't go? Dang. I wasn't really expecting to get in... but it would've been nice.

I'm posting now because I won't have any more time today... I'm sitting in a little café called The Human Bean in Cobourg, currently. I had a latte, which was most un good, (read, bad) and a butternut praline muffin that was good, good indeed. But, now I must return home and change, go to vocal jazz rehearsal, drive straight to work, try and get off work early, pick up Adam and Jane and Sean and go to my 23rd favourite city, Peterborough. To The Spill to see Quadratic FunkShun, a groovin funk band (surprise surprise) and Candlecave Ensemble, a sweet indie (in every sense of the word... indie as in back when that just mean unsigned, and indie as in the genre) band with a trombone and a violin, amongst the conventional rock instruments. Lotsa lotsa fun.

Happy Birthday Miranda!

say hello to your doctor
love,
Toby Celery

15.4.10

I've haven't posted for a few days, because... well, 'I was blogging' isn't really an excuse to miss... anything. But, I've been thinking about it. I got home last night, and wrote down everything I had thought to write about so I wouldn't forget. That's dedication, sister. Except, now I have so many things to write about, this is gunna be the hugest post ever, and I reckon nary a reader will persevere to the end.


I returned home, which leads one to believe I was on a wild and crazy adventure... Tru dat. I went to Toronto and stayed with the lovely Newcombe's, and Beccah did my grad photos. Cool stuff, hopefully I'll have some soon. We did the classic long-sleeved black t-shirt in the distillery kind of stuff... and then I put on my crazy Betsey Johnson dress, and two crinolines, and we went to the beach. And a gay model told me he thought my dress was hot. I don't understand.


Hopefully I'll be moving in with them (the Newcombes, not the gay model) in the fall, that'd be ideal. Life there would consist of photography, coffee, good food, and good music. And city lovin. I partook in the greatest Thai food known to man, in my travels; Suko Thai, I think? Red chicken curry is my staple, and this was delightful. Creamier, more flavourful and just yummier than EVER baby. But then I went exploring, just north of the distillery... I was scared, man. I was lucky to have made it out alive. Evidently, white girls in skirts don't just wander aimlessly around there... We'll leave it at that, but there were some close calls.


Prior to the big smoke, I went to the movies, alone. And I was entirely okay with that. I saw Date Night, (ironic?) to write a review for the paper... I don't know how I lucked out, and scored a co op that supplies free movie tickets. And it was actually kind of funny, and Tina Fey is damn sexy. But, back to going to the movies alone.


There seems to be a sort of stigma associated with this sort of thing... and I was conscious of that. But, I sat in the middle (i.e. didn't go hide at the back so no one could judge me) and laughed out loud. I didn't even take a notebook to make it apparent I was writing a review. Even though afterwards I wished I had, for convenience sake. I really do wonder if people were going "oh look at that poor girl, she was stood up" or wondering who in their right mind goes to the movies alone... but, if I think about it this way, I probably wouldn't have noticed someone walking in by themselves, and sitting in front of me. And by the way, the only people I like enough to ask to go with me are in a relationship, or would get the wrong idea. I'm in a really strange social scene right now.


But, moving on to the next item on the agenda: CBC Radio 2. I have one true love. And that is The Drive Home with Rich Terfry. I love this guy. And I haven't checked to see if he choses what to play, which is unlikely, BUT, he makes it sound like he does. Even if he doesn't, he knows about what he's playing, loves what he's playing, and makes you love it too. And, he's a cheeseball. And, there are no commercials. One more reason I love CBC? This is how the news started the other afternoon: "Well, the Canadian dollar is really on a tear this week!", followed by the professional economist's input, "Ah yes, that is attributed to, amongst other things, Canada selling a lot of stuff overseas". Layman's terms at their finest.


During my Toronto radio station surfing (there's a time and a place for classical music, but I'm not always up for CBC's Mozart at Midday,) I heard some husky voiced president of The Bay announcing the release of the new Balenciaga fragrance, the first from the designer in fifty years. I was intrigued by the pure sophistication of it all... and so I stopped by The Bay at Yorkdale, and gave it a good ol whiff. Well, it smelled like every other perfume I've ever smelled... and so I just unwittingly tossed the little card into my purse. Which now smells a. m. a. zing.




And, I love this ad. You can see how every piece of inspiration is carried over into the creation of the fragrance. The violet scent IS  revamped and modernized, like the husky voice lady said. And the stopper draws from the marble, and the stone on the left... I enjoyed it immensely. And the beautiful singer-songwriter-actress Charlotte Gainsborough looks so demure and whimsical... I love her hair in this. Oh, to be someone's muse... 

On the note of fragrance, there are very few that I have even considered purchasing. Or, asking for for Christmas. And they are as follows:




Vera Wang Princess. Before it was cheapened and all Rock Princess and whatever, it was really classy, but young. And Camilla Belle is a babe. Very warm, vanilla-y... I still wear it on occasion, but not so much now that that lame-oh schmame-oh new versions have come out. 




Ralph Lauren Rocks. It really does. Citrus and vanilla. Love it. I didn't know anything about the campaign when I stumbled upon this one, it just smells so dang good. It she is lookin pretty fiercely bohemian, which I'm all about. 



Burberry The Beat. I was first interested because I love Agyness Deyn, (naturally) and have always had a thing for Burberry and smokin hot English male models. Then, the whole inspiration behind the fragrance, and the name... I'm a huge Jack Kerouac fan, and the last four digits of my cell number spell BEAT. Anyway, I eagerly awaited the arrival of this scent in Canada, and was pleasantly... not surprised. It smelled how I expected it to, it was strange. Very silvery, edgy, modern... Not soft, but still warm. I wear it often, but it's not very strong, and is usually gone by midday... 




And, last, but certainly not least, Betsey Johnson. The lack of good campaign shots has inspired me to do my own... I never actually bought this one, although I probably would've very soon, had it not been given to me. Due to some shipping mix up, I ended up with two of the same dress I ordered... and when I took one back to Betsey Johnson in Yorkville, cutesy little gay Greg was so happy that I returned it, he gave me a bunch of free stuff. Including a huge bottle of this delightful perfume. It's very strong as can be expected from Betsey. It has a hint of... liquorice, maybe? But I hate liquorice. Hm. It's a very pink smell, very intense... (I'm sorry, non synthesists.) I wear it all of the time. Unfortunately, so does my mother. Oh, and once, in a fit of insanity, I bought that Hilary Duff perfume. I was like, 13, and it DOES smell good. It's very warm, and velvety, without smelling like "vanilla body spray". But, we won't speak of this again. 

Well, there are a million more things I've written to blog about, but I fear this has exceeded tolerable length. To be continued... 

say hello to your doctor
love, 
Toby Celery

10.4.10

I'm really starting to enjoy this whole thing. Everything I do, I imagine how I could a) turn it into a mylifeisaverage story, or b) blog about it. Well, what have I done lately?


I have taken Polaroid-y photos of my friends' band, at my opening party at the Spill. 



I have admired Luke's Elvis curl. 



I have taken less Polaroid-y photos of my friends' band, at my opening party at the Spill. 



I have managed to not get any good photos of the bassist and the drummer, but multiple decent photos of the singer and the guitarist. Sorry guys. 



I have cleaned my car. It really needed to be done. Here is a partial inventory, of just the trunk. 

1 melodica
1 Adventure Blanket
1 blanket stolen from an airplane on the way back from France
1 capo
1 tie-dyed kite
5 Milkbones
2 umbrellas
10 (at least) sheets of music
1 pair of figure skates
1 road map
1 pair of Kristen's mittens
1 of Adam's dress belts
3 Jazz Greats albums
and so on, and so on...


I have enjoyed coffee from this delightful mug, on this delightfully coloured ledge, in this delightfully coloured room. It's more green/blue in person, and depending on the time of day. 

I have also watched Ace Ventura: Pet Detective and laughed a lot... and found out that the same person that did wardrobe design for Alice did so for Nine. Excellent. That was the only good part of that movie, aside from Penelope Cruz. 

Also, I SOLD PHOTOS TO A STRANGER. I mean, Nico's dad, and Adam's dad also bought some... but so did SALLY. I don't know Sally. I feel legit. Too legit to quit, one might say. Go to the Spill. Buy my photos. Make me feel more legit. 

say hello to your doctor
love, 
Toby Celery

9.4.10

curiouser and curiouser...

I saw Alice in Wonderland. Plot was lacking... But if you were ever losing interest, you just had to take a quick glimpse at Johnny Depp's amazing silk bow/shirt/blouse... And you'd last another 5 minutes. It was actually a visual feast, one might say. I want every single one of Alice's dresses, minus the lame-oh schmame-oh White Queen... thing. That was a "oh goodness Colleen Atwood, what were you thinking... I'll just take this time to observe Johnny Depp's bowtie" moment. But seriously, check these out.


This dress appeared just in time to avert a potentially awkward, "uh, isn't this supposed to be PG?"moment. Alice shrunk. Therefore, she was naked. Luckily, due to magic beyond our control, she scrambled out of the less cool, kinda bland, big blue thing, conveniently clothed in this. Which stretched into a lingerie looking little corset thing when she grew. Also, convenient. 

And this delightful bit, made from the curtains of the Red Queen's castle made me want to jump up and down and scream BETSEY JOHNSON, WHERE WERE YOU ON THAT ONE?! Very Betsey. J'aime ca, bien sur. 


Very Prada a few years ago. I'm not trying to sound pretentious, but I do remember a collection, pre-lace, that featured this sort of pattern... And the colours were much better onscreen, the shirt popped, rather than being desaturated, in this photo... Who's idea was that, anyway. I would go to a movie based on my initial reaction to the movie poster, which, in turn, would be based on my initial reaction to 
THAT BOW. 

For some reason, finding photos of all the dresses on line is unusually difficult... The only really bad one was this kinda shiny, white overcoat, over some nastily ill-fitting, camel-toe-ish blue pants... Shudder. Actually. I was so disappointed. But, then there was Johnny's shirt. 

So, prior to Alice this evening, with my family, I watched Changeling... Angelina Jolie... I wasn't that impressed, to tell you the truth. I mean, it was based on a true story, so you can't really complain about the plot... Acting was sub-par... All Angie seemed to do was gasp, and cover her brilliant, amazingly fierce red lips, and cry a lot. But her hats. Swoon. 




And, I want to have her bony figure that turns blousey, shapeless, twenties dresses into dreamy, floaty bits of amazing. Her wardrobe in this was great too. Deborah Hopper, says my friend Google. Note the amazing gloves. Gloves and clutches were prominent, and great. 




Haha, I was looking for an intense lip shot, but instead found the "gasp, you're circumcised! cue cover intense lips" one...

 

There's some lip action for ya. I love the colour. The makeup counter ladies at Sears in Peterborough hate my living guts, for all the times I've ran in there, liberally applied brilliant red lipstick straight from the swine flu tester tube, and ran out again. Without letting them spray me with perfume. Also, note the fantastic brooch. And, what an ugly word that is. Brooch. 



Oh if people still dressed like this...

Well, it's 11:23, I've been out of bed for just over twelve hours... should probably head back that way. 



say hello to your doctor
love, 
Toby Celery



3.4.10

Hm. That last post was kinda strange. Just read Emma, and you'll know what I mean. How I wish this society was. (Awkward sentence.) But doesn't every girl wish her life we a Jane Austen novel? In this case though, Emma is just being silly. Her father is a difficult, though well-meaning old man... just marry Frank, for frick sakes.

I'm going to blog about the weather. Yes, I am. It's been completely beautiful for the last two days... Why is it, how is it that we get so excited about the weather, every year. I was just in Punta Cana, (where it was only two degrees hotter than here, I'll have you know) a couple weeks ago, and it was nice... I mean, I'm not complaining, but when it's that warm here, YEAH BABY! I've sat outside in my bathing suit for two days solid. Nearly finished Emma, and slept a lot. I get this excited about it every year. And every winter, I get just as excited about snow. It's not like I can't expect it... The human psyche, incomprehensible.

I watch way too many movies, than can be healthy. Or expected, of a wholesome, tall, blonde-ish, all-American kinda Canadian... Going to the theatre, especially by myself, is one of my absolute favourite things to go. Not really a guilty pleasure, I s'pose, because I don't feel bad about it at all. Last night I watched Catch Me If You Can. Based on a true story. I love Leonardo DiCaprio. Funny, clever, incredible... Recommend. Tonight, Nothing But The Truth. I don't love Kate Beckinsale as much as Leo, but a) I'm a girl, and b) I haven't seen her in anything else... but it was kinda cool. I called the end part way through though, because there were only so many characters, and so many possibilities... It kinda dissuaded any sort of inclination I had towards becoming a journalist though. But, a recommend, though less so than Catch Me. Maybe this'll just turn into a movie blog...

Well, I just set up photos for my second show... have I talked about this already? Je ne sais pas. Yepp, The Spill, George St. in Peterborough. It was stressful, getting everything going, but it's cool now. As long as the opening party goes off without a hitch... By the way, check out this band, www.myspace.com/jokerswild5. Four awesome guys, good friends of mine... therefore I'm a little prejudiced,  (Proud and prejudiced, perhaps?) but they're pretty good... They're all incredible musicians, especially for their age. There isn't a weak link. They're playing for me at the opening. I'm not a big emoticon person, but :-D.

But, back to stressful. Okay, why, I ask, WHY would automatic camera functions take photos with 2:3 dimensions, if that is "an unusual size", says Michael's framing lady. 4x6" is, in my opinion the most aesthetically pleasing size for a photo. So petite, classy, fits nicely in your hand... not to big, not too small... And, doesn't require cropping. You can print the photo you see. I mean at Black's, not custom stuff. So naturally, 8x12" would be, you'd think, also very popular, for many of the same reasons. Pleasing dimensions, no cropping... But alas, that is not so. After spending over $120 on the photos, I went to Michael's... one $50 8x12" frame. Uh... And you can't even by mattes for 8x12". And to have them custom matted would $25 each. So, I bought a bunch of cheap 11x14", cited starving artist's license and makeshift matted 25 photos in a few hours... and they turned out nice. Narrow black frames, on a brick wall... I like it. Check them out. 414 George St North, Peterborough.

Hm. That's about it, I'd say. I need a theme, I do I do. But, for now, goodnight.

say hello to your doctor
love,
Toby Celery

1.4.10

I've been thinking more about this muse thing. It seems like such a whimsical, mysterious thing to be someone's muse... Andy Warhol's Edie Sedgwick, Bob Dylan's Sara Lowndes, heck, even Chris Martin's Gwyneth Paltrow... But to have a muse seems to be necessary to be an artist. And sorry, straight as I am, guys just aren't that inspiring. Or maybe I just haven't met the right one. But women have a far more artistic, creative sort of sense around them... Maybe because I can relate to them directly. I can see someone (a girl) wearing something fabulous, and think, yeah, I can do that. I have guy friends that are brilliant musicians. Unbelievable for their age... and I appreciate that, but it is the female musicians that inspire me to better myself. Oh, I got it. Competition. So that eliminates everything I thought was 'muse' like about this whole thing; creativity shouldn't stem from competition...

Okay, different angle. I was reading Emma the other day, by Jane Austen. Emma develops this infatuation with Harriet, a young, naive and beautiful girl who moves to her area. She describes her beauty and her charm, and it doesn't come across as sexual, even though the exact same words from a man's perspective would. In Austen's time, that wouldn't have even been considered. But if I wrote something like that now, people would immediately speculate about a fling. This whole free lovin thing is so mainstream... It's kinda too bad I s'pose, that people are so forcedly open-minded, that the reaction would be "oh yeah, they probably had a thing for each other... to each their own..."In the novel, Emma is entirely open about how she feels about Harriet... although her confidence is astounding... and no one thinks anything of it. If I were to go around telling people about this person, and what a beautiful, uninhibited figure she was, without a speck of resent or jealousy, simply appreciation, people would write me off as a lesbian. It's a strange thing, this world.

Well, my brother's watching Dr. Horrible, and I want to join him.




I hold a Phd in Horribleness.
See you at the aftermath.
Peace. Not... actually...