Intrepid Traveler

I had a splendid weekend here in Montreal, and I am beginning to love it more and more each day.

  Let me begin with Friday, when two friends and I decided to go venturing into the forest of Mont Royal. I simply thought it would be an hour long trip or so, but we soon found ourselves escalading the side of the  mountain, heading for the top.

 

 

After twenty minutes or so of tumultuous hiking, we eventually reached the summit and were filled with breathtaking views of the city and the Saint Lawrence river.

Once we reached the top, we found a giant cross in the woods and decided to sit next to it and chilll for a bit. 

The cross was a good place to relax and enjoy some thoughtful conversation. When we decided that our time by the cross had expired, we walked around, looking for a path to get back down the mountain.

 

 

 

 

We were successful in finding a path. We followed it through the dank forest, using “downhill” as our only idea of where we should be going.

 

Eventually we ran into an ice cream vendor. This seemed perfect to all three of us at the time, because we were terribly hungry and had been travelling for quite some time.

 

While opening up my ice cream, I found myself surrounded by 5 raccoons, all of which were standing at my feet, on their hind legs, dancing and reaching up for my Drumstick. I was overwhelmed, excited, and confused at the same time. They followed me around but I did not give in to their pleading. 

 

 

We took our ice cream into the woods, and at this point had realized that we had no idea how to get home. From the outlook, we did not see the McGill campus buildings anywhere in sight- no green rooftops, no football stadium, no turrets anywhere.

 

 

We were quite far downhill, but we were on the opposite side of Mont Royal, in a part of town that we had never been to, and definitely not walking distance from our campus.

 

We walked all the way back up the mountain until we could once again point out where the McGill campus was. We hiked up and down, across and over, in circles for a few hours, confused and silly, until we eventually found ourselves back home, right back to Gardner hall.

It was a really unexpected adventure, and at times I thought I would be sleeping in the woods that night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

However, once I got home, I ended up going to a beautiful park with a friend, and sat by the fountain for a few hours, analyzing strangers’ body language and relationship to the people they were socializing with. You could tell who was into who, and who was ready to get the hell out of there.

 

 

 

 

On Saturday evening, I was standing in line for Inception when a little old man with a French accent started talking to me about journalism and his need for unbiased writing. He shared with me some watermelon and we headed into the theater together. The movie had French subtitles.

 

After the movie, we talked about how much our minds were blown. I wondered  what my subconscious looks like, if it is a forest or if it is in the clouds, and what kind of secret labyrinths my uncharted mind possesses. The little old man, Isaac, asked me and my friend if we have any family here. We said no, and the little man gave us his email address, and told us that if we ever were in trouble, he lives just down the street.

 

 

 

I was pleased with Saturday evening because I got to play Super Smash Bros. on 3 different occasions throughout the night.

 

 

 

 

On Sunday, I woke up and took le Metro (subway) to le Village des Valeurs, a fancy way to say thrift store. I’ve never been to one before, but I am enthralled by the treasures that used to be someone’s trash. I enjoy that concept.

I wonder what adventures my new purse has been through…

Has it been held in a rabbit’s teeth?

Has it been used as a weapon?

Has it been trodden on by the previous owner, in a fit of discontent?

Has it held flowers, jewelry, a croissant, a hot glue gun?

 

Upon returning and taking le Metro with marathon runners with medallions slung around their necks, I went to Tam Tam’s, a citywide drum circle gathering on the base of Mont Royal that happens every Sunday.

I danced with the other freespirits in the middle of the circle for hours. Many tourists, city occupants, and students came to watch the festivities. It was a beautiful compilation of humans, in their natural state, making drum beats with each other and grooving on each other’s vibes. No matter how hard I tried, I could not stop dancing and smiling.

One woman was dressed head to toe in purple, and played a strange whistle with her eyes closed, allowing everyone to see the youthful glitter on her aged eyes.

One man, with a feather in his hat and a rhinestone studded belt, gave me a CD.

One man did not talk, but simply came over to me and with a smile and put his finger to his lips.

   

To take a break from the dancing, I found a man playing the balophone, which is like a wooden version of the xylophone. Seeing as I’ve always wanted a xylophone, I sat next to the man and listened to him play. Eventually, he allowed me to play the balophone, and I was in heaven.

After, I went around the small hippie vendors and bought some feather earrings. I wish I could’ve bought  much more.

The best part about TamTam’s was that there was a giant rainbow the entire time.

 

And that I can do it all again next weekend.

Womp Canada

 

I’ve entered a parallel universe called Canada.

 

The natives here have a liberal way of dressing, and I feel comfortable wearing tall socks with sneakers now.

 

They have an odd vernacular, which follows every sentence with “eh”, pronounces hockey like “hawkey”, and sorry like “sawry”.

 

They use loonie and toonie coins for currency. It’s just some change I’ll have to get used to.

They don’t know what an Arnold Palmer is.

 

They call Native Americans “First Nations”.

 

There are many maple syrup and fur shops, which I have seen none of in America.

 

You can ask the people on the street for directions, but chances are you won’t be able to understand their French pronunciations of street names. In French, one does not pronounce the last 2 or 3 letters of a word. And we thought English was messed up.

 

In the province of Quebec, the drinking age is 18. Enough said.

 

 

In Canada, they think I’m a bit of an oddball…

 

 

 

That, at least, has not changed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Women in Art by Philip Scott Johnson from Bruce Livingstone on Vimeo.

Chu

 

 

Andrea Burns

  


Montreal Artists

 

 

 

Brenda Kennedy

 

 

Ray Staszko

(photographs of ice)

 

 

 

 

 

Rick Robert

 

 

 

Ruth Gelinas

(stained glass impression done with oil paints)

 

 

 

Shirley Elias

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Philo = Love of

Sophia = Wisdom

 

 

Ever since I got to Montreal, I can’t find many people who enjoy dubstep. They don’t know anything about it--

 

Me: “Do you like dubstep?”
Careless stranger: ”Who are they?”

 

For all of those who are out of the loop, (that’s okay), it’s a new genre of music that’s similar to techno, but is consistently slowed down to 140 BPM. Womping is a key feature of dubstep. If WOMP is an unfamiliar term to you, I suggest listening to the song I linked to, and the great noises you hear at approximately 0:45 are what the hype is about.

 

The worst is when I get-

 

Me: “Do you like dubstep?”
Liar: ”Oh yeah, I’ve heard of them!”

 

No matter the case, I’ve been doing my best to get my womp on, for example starting a rave in the common room last week, which is best done with black light or strobe (ideally both).

 

When in doubt,

 womp it out

 

Squirrel fishing directions:

1. Tie a long rope to a bucket.

2. Fill the bucket with squirrel treats, for example bird food, peanut butter, and acorns.

3. Throw the attached bucket over a branch. The branch must be low enough for you to be able to throw a bucket over.

4. Hold onto other end of rope. This could also be included in part three.

5. Keep the bucket one or two feet off the ground. Wait for squirrel to come.

6. Watch squirrel climb in bucket. Pull bucket towards tree branch.

7. Hilarious right!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Before I got to Canada, a friend gave me a magic wand as a parting gift. The wand is supposedly from the Wicca magical tribe, and is used for curing and healing. That’s all I know about it at this point, other than that it makes a fantastic decoration and conversational piece in my dorm room.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The other day I had a sub-forest reading of my second children’s story, The Canvas.  The tale is about two children, Riley and Emerson, who find themselves immersed in a painted adventure that they created themselves. It was the third time I’ve done a read aloud, and roughly 15 or so kids from my residence hall attended. Many commented that it sounded like the “Out of the Box Club” that I described from New Trier. Since, I’ve been asked to do another reading for those who missed.

Well, you’ve gotta start somewhere.

 

 

 

 

 

 

This one is a must watch, it will absolutely blow your mind. I fervidly recommend hooking it up to your own music, it will make it all that much better!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…did you notice the synchronicity between your music and the video?

Same.

Thetaville

Wanna fly?

I suggest getting into kiteboarding.












Recently I've been working on printmaking, a unique style of art that is produced by using a copper or zinc plate, engraving it with a pointed tool, covering it in ink, then rolling it through a printing press. The print above is of my home away from home, the sailing beach. I'm watercoloring them and selling them for roughly $20 a pop.





My grandpa (above) is my inspiration and teacher for this particular art form. He does his work at the Chicago Printmakers Collaborative (CPC). To see some of his prints, and a recent article in the Pioneer Press, check out his blog.









Take it from me,
you can't lose your thoughts
you can hide them
rethink them
mold them
you can't lose your thoughts
but they can fool you
you fool.





These mirrored treehouses are now being built near the artic circle in Sweden. They are nearly invisible in the forest, but "Lindvall says that a special film that is visible to birds will be applied to the glass" so as to protect the native population.

In addition, the treehouses are completely green, as "the units are constructed from sustainably harvested wood and have electric radiant floor heating and 'a state-of-the-art, eco-friendly, incineration toilet.'" They will used as a part of a resort.

http://green.yahoo.com/blog/guest_bloggers/56/almost-invisible-mirrored-tree-house-built-in-sweden.html













Inexplicably, I can taste these mandalas:

http://www.subtlebody-images.com/moving/mandalas.html

"I don't do drugs, I am drugs" - Salvador Dali

I went to Lollapalooza this past weekend. Among some amazing Perry's stage performances by Caspa, Rusko, 2manydjs, Digitalism, and others, I was mostly elated with the environment of the festival. I could freely freak wherever I wanted.




Erratic moshing delight!
that side you only see
through the cracks
of conservative parents,
and the frozen law
but here in the light show
here among the freaks,
that side is here
NOW
and will always be inside
that mosh,
that groove,
that dance,
that crowd.








Thetaville (noun) : The ambiguous state between dreaming and waking.










I enjoy writing because it makes my thoughts and memories immortal, as though they would disintegrate if not taken care of. I like to take old thoughts and toss them around inside my head, and see where that then leaves me. As long as I can access my past in ideas, revelations, and stories, every experience will be appreciated, and I will grow upon them.
We're all flowers anyway.

Blissful Counterstroke

Some people that we meet are out of this world. They have ideas that are unprecedented and could never be defined by any sort of stereotype. This type of person grooves on their own ego- his or her persona is much less important than the substance behind it. They're the ones in the non-conventional outfits, the ones who are outspoken, the ones who are hard to talk to at all. Each generation has many of these types, the outer circle of conformity if you will, that harnesses a variation in lifestyle and cultivates innovative ideas. You can probably think of one or two from your high school.These are the people you would call nut jobs, odd balls, spacey, nerdy, out-of-the-box, crazy, loony, mad...

No, I'm not talking about hipsters.

While the entire world may never take them seriously, or disregard them as nuisances to society, we must realize that lunatics indeed are what propel our society forward. Evolutionarily speaking, we need variation to become better as a whole. This does not just apply to biology, but to the human psych as well. If we did not have out-of-the-box thinkers such as Einstein, and that dude that thought the Earth was the center of the universe (Copernicus, that nut!), we might as well be stuck living in the renaissance.

Without that first person to say, "Hey I've got this crazy idea!" and then belch it out to everyone they know, starting primarily with the aunts and uncles who raise their eyebrows at each other ("Did our sister really raise this child?"), the idea can never develop into a possibility. Someone must first believe that time travel is possible in order for society to catch on and study and search for a way to achieve it. A discovery begins with the lunatics and ends with the geniuses.

At first it will be an insane thought, like dark matter or negative energy. It will grow into a speculation, and then a great question. The question will make people think, and those people will try their best to answer it. As society gets more advanced, the question becomes easier and easier to decode. The question is within the grasp of reality. Finally, when the answers start pouring in, that's when everything changes...

once again. We've been through it before, and each time it changes the way we live. Every technological advancement started from one person who thought of something no one else has before, and that's always bound to bring criticism. However, instead of criticizing, I believe we should nurture these people's ideas, feed their heads and help them bring far-out ideas to life. We should support the impossible.
















Lunatics unite! I'll listen to your ideas if you listen to mine...
































Guess what!

The sun is 8 minutes old by the time we see it. So technically, every single moment of our lives we are looking at the past.

The American What?

The 4th of July celebrates the freedom of America. It reiterates that with hard work and sacrifice, we can all achieve our goals and ultimately reach "the American Dream"-- living in the suburbs, having congenial neighbors, and showing off your new-age-sleek kitchen appliances. We dedicate this holiday to the people who have made our democracy possible, who allow us the freedom to move up in our capitalistic society and skyrocket from rags to riches, much like those on America's Got Talent.

However.

While every nut on the planet thinks that moving to America will give them equal opportunity to that beacon of light--the American Dream--they are disregarding the fact that every other nut here wants the same exact thing. If there were a race, metaphorically speaking, and there were a couple of people in it, one's odds of winning are pretty high- and even if one does not win, he or she is at least guaranteed a top 20 finish.

On the other hand, in the American race, we are caught up in a stampede of bare white legs, some fat and some thin, some slightly darker or harrier than others, and there is hardly any room to run, or even breath, when there are also those shirtless foreigners in the race with short-shorts and sweatbands, and everyone is pushing everyone else...one in the race must wonder how anyone will ever win when everyone is so damn close to each other!
 

Those who opt for the less popular race--the ones who strive for daily short term goals instead of chucking their entire lives into the belly of the American Dream Monster--those are the ones who actually succeed in this country. The ones who are more concerned with the journey and the ones who believe that getting there is all the fun, those people find happiness. The ones who don't give a shit whether or not they're prosperous, as long as their lives have meaning and substance and love and...love...they have accomplished something.

I believe we must be in a happiness slump, an America that is never satisfied because no one ever wins, an America that feels entitled to rags to riches and is always disappointed when it doesn't happen. An America that swims in excess. An America that consumes instead of trying to understand why they're unhappy.

An America trapped in the belly of the American Dream Monster,

and the only way to get out is to win America's Got Talent.

A Cosmic Laugh

Everyday I ride my bike down to the sailing beach. Oneday, as I was cruising across the park to south beach, a bird came swooping down out of nowhere and attacked my head with both of its little feet, leaving my hair in a mess and a sore spot on my head.

The next day, there was a sign posted at the sailing shack:

I guess I wasn't the only one. Nowadays, I hear about bird attacks all the time at the beach, but only to those riding bikes.

I suppose I'll never escape.

There is a contest to see who can come up with the best new BP logo, and the entries were equally sad as they were hilarious, for example:

http://www.logomyway.com/contestView.php?contestId=1746&utm_source=Triggermail&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=TTP+|+Still+Leaking%2C+Still+Pissed+%28BP%29









Lighter fluid + ligher + pavement = fun








Jung Pyo Hong


Vrno




Rex Ray







What if...

Everything we know is already in our heads. We experience life to discover these things, and each time we remember something, it seems as though we are learning it for the first time.

or,

Instead of our personalities being molded by the experiences we have and what we believe to be truth, it is actually molded on the experiences we DON'T have, and what we think is true but is actually falsehood. For example, those things people choose NOT to tell you, or that experience that is still a mystery to this day. If you knew those truths, you would be a different person, given that our brains are changed by each new moment.



Olaf Hajek






Jan Dunning






Mimile Ung

Vincent Tolinet










Oh btw
There are more chickens than people in the world.


























And I've never seen paper like this before!

































Below is a piece of writing that is a little extraordinary--a little out of this world--that I wrote a few days ago, for no reason in particular. Let's just say it's not usual, but it's perceptive.



"boy did things catch my eye tonight. like i'd be talking to someone like i normally would, but then something-----would catch my eye, and there would be energy beyond my focus, in the form of a moving branch or smallest bug or you know those spider webs that glint in the sunlight?? everything of course is in a spinning vortex of life all around us that we cannot see when we are so focused on our own lives... but the molecules, they're mooooving and grooooooving concurrently with our perceptions that are somehow trying to slowwwwwww shit down, make sense to us, trying to make sense out of these molecules so we have a least the littlest chance to predict what will happen to us...


and today, alone in the humming buzzing warm sugar coated evening, walking in diluted shadows

nothing was opaque

everything had light shining through it, and when i mean everything i mean even your thoughts, like if you had two thoughts and you put them next to each other there would be a ray of light glistening through the cracks, like no matter what the thought is there will be light, and infinite possibility, behind it-


and where did that glistening spider web go? and who will see it next? but just because there isn't someone to see the spider web does not mean it doesn't exist.

and where does sound go when time passes by? there should be a giant filing container of all the sounds that ever have happened, and you should be able to open it and hear an egg being cracked over someone's head, whenever you flyin' felt like it-

that filer would be awfully convenient for the person who does not appreciate sound when it's actually happening. so maybe i shall continue on my merry way, mooovin and groooovin through all this molecule shilt, and enjoy it as it's happening, so that i will never miss the luxury of a sound-filing-system"













A recent article discusses how technology literally gets into our heads-

“The person and the various parts of their brain and the mouse and the monitor are so tightly intertwined that they’re just one thing,” said Anthony Chemero, a cognitive scientist at Franklin & Marshall College. “The tool isn’t separate from you. It’s part of you.”

Chemero’s experiment, published March 9 in Public Library of Science, was designed to test one of Heidegger’s fundamental concepts: that people don’t notice familiar, functional tools, but instead “see through” them to a task at hand, for precisely the same reasons that one doesn’t think of one’s fingers while tying shoelaces. The tools are us.

Read More http://www.wired.com/wiredscience/2010/03/heidegger-tools/#ixzz0sCnrsrHP