POSER

Posing for pictures can be awkward even at the best of times. Now, imagine you were told to take it all off and pose. Not even pose. To take it all off and just be. Be normal? Be shy? Be playful? Be aloof? Be yourself? And what exactly does that mean, to be yourself, when you're standing before a lens? In a way that's not sickeningly philosophical, Caitlin Cronenberg, daughter of David, effectively considers these questions by placing regular people in that very position, stripping them of their clothing, and seeing what shines through.

In her new book, entitled Poser, Cronenberg offers her subjects no direction, leaving them to posture themselves however they feel most comfortable, or uncomfortable. Each photograph was framed the same, and lit the same, and the only variation from image to image is the subject, and their expression. Somehow, though, each photograph seems drastically discrete. Although the book (which took a surprising amount of time to be completed and published) seems at first a symphony of tits and ass, it's something much, much more sexy.

And you should have a flip.

R.I.P.

Is it bad that when I heard the news, my first instinct was to text back: THERE WON'T BE ANY MORE CURB?!

George Steinbrenner 1930-2010

kitsch + kitchen + klothes

Two years ago, doing my second annual run (or should I say teetering hobble) down the runway at Fashion Alternative Toronto, or [FAT], that I thought to myself: Whose actually going to buy these shorts?

Not because the shorts weren't nice. They were gorgeous, highly high wasted and hand-made by the lovely Diepo duo. And not because the shorts weren't shorts. They were more like glorified panties. But because these shorts were barely-there, and far from forgiving. So much camel toe you'd think you were on Birthright. In short, wearing them made my legs look like cased sausage. And who wants that?

In any event, shorts and sausage are two things that don't often go together - naturally or successfully - until now. NYC boy's brand Outlier has found a way to marry the two, in a marketing marvel that could have easily crossed the border to tacky-town, but didn't. It's a meaty alliance between Wurst Editions and Emily's Pork Store, and they're calling it The Wurst Outlier Sausage Pack. Yes, the gentleman's togs will temporarily be sold in a landmark butcher shop in Brooklyn. Designers Abe Burmeister and Tyler Clemens boast that the very limited edition shorts (only 45 pairs are presently available) have "an elegant folded cuff, front watch pocket, and sausage toned rear pocket button."

I don't really know what that last part means, all I know is that some people love a sausage near the rear pocket, and guys (mine especially) like Outlier, and I love this idea all together. And that's that.

will write for food

The word rolls less lovingly off the lips today. Internship. If you were born after 1985 and pursued any sort of post-secondary trade degree, odds are you've done one. You've likely made coffee, and licked envelopes until your tongue turned white and raw. Or, if you're one of the lucky ones, or unlucky ones maybe, you've actually gotten your feet wet, for some soaked, and have done it all for the recompense of a reference. Experience builds character. Experience builds resumes. But it doesn’t buy dinner, or pay rent, or erase student loans. Graduates of this year, and already a few years past, have had the misfortune of throwing their four-cornered caps into oblivion, shouting "we did it!" only to later ask, "what did we do?" That dreaded ten-letter "R" word hangs above our heads where our roofs should be, but for most of us, it's where our parent's roofs are. Unable to find work, and sick of working for free, a generation of qualified 20-somethings loose entry level positions to disgruntled 40-somethings who were previously replaced by other 20-somethings that were willing to work for less… two years ago. So we accept another internship, add another bullet to our resumes, and continue to wonder what the hell happened to the Simcoe Act.

on cool

"This one girl who I had been watching most of the night stood squashed in the middle of the front row, and when she caught me looking at her, I gave her a smile. She made a gagging look and turned back to the band, swaying her head to the beat. And I got really disgusted and started thinking, what was this girl's problem? Why couldn't she have been nice and smiled back? Was she worried about imminent war? Was she feeling real terror? Or inspiration? Or passion? That girl, like all the others, I had come to believe, was terminally numb. The Talking Heads record was scratched maybe, or perhaps Dad hadn't sent the check yet. That was all this girl was worried about. Her boyfriend was standing behind her, a total yuppie with Brylcreamed hair and a very thin tie on. Now what was this guy's problem? Lost I.D.? Too many anchovies on his pizza? Broken cigarette machine? And I keep looking back at the girl - had she forgotten to tape her soap this afternoon? Did she have a urinary tract infection? Why did she have to act so fucking cool? And that's what it all came down to: cool. I wasn't be cynical about that bitch and her asshole boyfriend. I really believed that the extent of their pitiful problems exceed to far from what I thought. They didn't have to worry about keeping warm, or being fed, or bombs, or lazers, or gunfire. Maybe their lover left them, maybe that copy of "Speaking in Tongues" was really scratched. But I came to understand, standing there, the floor vibrating beneath me, the band blaring in my head, that these problems and the pain they felt were genuine. I mean, this girl probably had a lot of money, and so did her dumb-looking boyfriend. Other people might not sympathize with this couple's problems and maybe they didn't really matter in the larger realm of things - but they still mattered to Jeff and Susie; these problems hurt them, these things stung... and that's what struck me as really pathetic. But, I forgot about her and those other geeks, and did the last of the coke Lars was offering me."

From "The Rules of Attraction" by Bret Easton Ellis

this jacket

and she said it was too warm for a jacket, but I wore one anyway. A light jacket. We had picked it up at the army store, only ten dollars. I hoped no one died in it. Then I see the white maple leaf, patch sewn, small, left shoulder. I feel better. The night was warm, but not "too warm" to my dismay. We walked through the dizzy streets, adding familiars to our marching pack. Now, six people strong. Now seven. A long walk, but it feels good on my feet. We arrive late, and not the kind associated with fashion. Fashion had come and gone, and we've missed most of it. Just three mini women in maxi-dresses stomping their sandals to the oldies upstairs, we don't know them but we watch; in the basement, a heavy base line, it rattles the bathroom mirror(s). The two sounds don't mix. He can only get three of us in, everyone else needs to pay. At a quarter-to too late for a Thursday, I slip off, slipping off my jacket and climbing into the sticky backseat of a stuffy cab. I text a goodbye, but it doesn't go through. Not right away, at least. Despite it, I am happy. Can you roll the windows, down? It's too warm for me back here.

summer makes us want to do the craziest things

the oldies

It's recently come to my mother's attention that the yellowing desktop PC in the basement still contains all of our old files; our Microsoft paint creations, our old class projects and papers, and our high scores on Lemmings and Simms. All saved, accurately titled and meticulously archived (that was her doing, of course) and now available for her morbid, late-night amusement.

Last night, while excavating the deep, dark tomb that is the hard drive, she uncovered a real gem. It's my music request list, typed and numbered, and addressed to the DJ who was hired to play my Bat Mitzvah party.

It was to be a joint party had with my childhood bestie, Marli. It would be a coming-of-age extravaganza, not soon to be forgotten by the rest of my pubescent peers. I was going to Israel to become a woman in the eyes of hashem, and everyone else on the LITAL tour bus. But before I left, I would throw the ultimate sock-hop at the all-ages night club in Transcona.

Together, Marli and I composed and printed this letter to the music man:

----------

To the DJ,

This is Marli and Carli's song list for our party. These are just some of the songs we want to hear at our party. Try to cut down all Backstreet Boys, absolutely no S-Club 7, and hardly any slow songs and try to play all of these songs at least once.

1. CARTOON HEROS – BY “AQUA”
2. CAN I GET A… (EDITED VERSION) – BY “J-Z”
3. BAMBALAYO (IS THAT HOW YOU SPELL IT?) – BY “GYPSY KINGS”
4. MARIA MARIA – BY “SANTANA”
5. BAD TOUCH – BY "BLOODHOUND GANG"
6. MO MONEY MO PROBLEMS – BY “MASE”
7. BABY GOT BACK – BY “SIR-MIXALOT”
8. OOPS I DID IT AGAIN – BY “BRITNEY SPEARS”
9. AMERICAN PIE – BY “MADONNA”
10. WAITING FOR TONIGHT (REMIX) – BY "JENNIFER LOPEZ"
11. WHAT A GIRL WANTS (RADIO REMIX) – BY "CHRISTINA AGUILERA"
12. IF YOUR GETTING DOWN – BY “5IVE”
13. CONGA – BY “GLORIA ESTEPHAN”
14. BYE BYE BYE – BY “N*SYNC”
15. I’M 2 SEXY – BY "RIGHT SAID FRED"
16. THONG SONG – BY “SISQO”
17. THIS IS HOW WE DO IT – BY “MONTEL JORDAN”
18. BILLY JEAN – BY “MICHAEL JACKSON”
19. ABC – BY “JACKSON 5” 20. IN THE NAVY – BY “VILLAGE PEOPLE” (WE HAVE BOUGHT SAILOR HATS AND TOYS TO HAND OUT AT THIS TIME)
21. ARIBA – BY “JOEE”
22. MARIA – BY “RICKI MARTIN”
23. CREEP – BY “TLC”
24. LARGER THAN LIFE – BY “BACKSTREET BOY”
25. YOU’LL BE IN MY HEART – BY “PHIL COLLINS”
26. CRAZY (REMIX) – BY “BRITNEY SPEARS"

** PRIZES – HATS, NO INFLATABLE STUFF, GLOW NECKLACES, SHINY WIGS, MAYBE T-SHIRTS, RUB-ON TATTOOS, RING POP CANDY.

Thank you,

Marli & Carli, Bat Mitzvah Girls

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We didn't know much about run-on sentences or quotation marks, but we did know our music. As you can imagine, the party was a huge success. All of those shiny wigs we bought really won favour with the popular kids, and the Phil Collins song allowed for that girl from public school (you know, the one from your softball team that your mom made you invite to "diversify the guest list" and ensure your continued placement in post-game carpool...) to have her very first kiss.

Personally, I feel that this playlist is a good one. Perhaps I will resurrect it for the summer.
And, of course, the same rule will stand: Absolutely no S-Club 7

time flies:

- when you're having fun
- "when you're old"
- when you're not waiting
- when you're not ready
- at 50 cents a minute
- when you finally let it

and before you know it, they're actually gone.

RE: RE: Safe

"...After we realized its going to cost $2000 to come home early, money that we won't get back, we decided to [get out of Thailand] and fly to Malaysia, not tomorrow but the next day. We're going to chill at the mall there, try on the Miu Miu clogs. Ironically, this is the cheaper option. And, I mean, when faced with the decision to see waterfalls and temples or Topshop and Starbucks, is there really a question as to what we would choose?"

You can take the girl out of North America, but you can't take the girl out of the girl.