Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Courtesy of: postsecret.blogspot.com

Story of My Life...

Now maybe I'm showing my adoration of pop music, but does anyone else remember that Amanda Marshall song "Everybody's Got a Story"? In all songs I pick a favourite line, or lyric. From her's, its "dig deeper, deeper than the image that you see".

It got me thinking about all the facades we put up in public, perhaps based on the situation, the people involved or the mood we're in. Now, I could go off into some cliche rant about public perception and some sappy bullshit about "being the true you"- but I'll save you the melodramatics. More than often, I believe it's up to the person on the receiving end to interpret and "dig" past the front that the other individual is using as a shield. Because of this philosophy, I'm known as a chronic over-analyzer. Shock of all shock! I nit-pick, I theorize, I dramatize and segment every little moment, action and word uttered by someone. It gets me in trouble, it sometimes gets my hopes up, but oftentimes it's fun to fantasize about what could be.

My mother always told me I had a vivid imagination. I could sit down and create an entire storyline around a single character or a song lyric. Oddly enough my posts are usually inspired by a song playing in the background of my life. (By this I mean that I always have music playing: whether it be at work, in the car, at home, or that damn tune that you can't get out of your head) This also means I am a closet "shower singer", although evidently this metaphorical closet I speak of is not very sound-proof. My imagination leads me to often weave the moments of my life together into a dramatic narrative. I was recently joking around with my friend that I was going to write the great American novel based on my first year of university. And sure enough, I went home and started typing. I soon realized that while the events seemed dramatic and awe-inspiring, strung together they seemed quite insignificant in the whole scheme of things. Nonetheless, I love the story of my life. There are moment of triumph, heart break and pure stupidity. Sometimes there is a narrative that can be compared to the majority of tweeny hits, other times I would be bored to tears reading how I sat and painted my nails while watching endless episodes of Kitchen Nightmares.

So what would your story be like? An epic adventure, a romance or a comic strip?
And better yet, would you change the plot like if you were the author, armed with a giant eraser and pencil?

Wednesday, May 12, 2010


Today's "secret" isn't exactly the most well-kept one. Instead, I wear it like a badge of honour, despite the taunts and jeers I receive from my ill-tasted co-workers... I love Glee!

So there I was indulging in my weekly dose of the High School Musical hybrid on crack (yum?), when one of my favourite characters, Sue Sylvester, made a snarky comment about going off into a diatribe. I burst out laughing, as my shift manager came running to see what was "sooo hilarious". (Did I forget to mention that having a television at work is the best way to get your employees to be productive? My breaks, or moreover "breaks", are now timed to the schedule of my shows) In trying to explain the line, I got a puzzled look, which made me contemplate whether or not I had grown a third eye, or sprouted another head. It was then that I realized that he had no idea what a diatribe was.

This got me thinking. " A rose by any other name would smell as sweet". Except that a diatribe by any other name just doesn't have the same effect. Yes, the colloquial word "rant" is definitely preferred by the masses, the intellectual prestige reflected by the use of the word diatribe just adds that extra zinger. I hate the word rant. I envision that when saying it, I wear the face of someone that just smelt doggy poop. Hell, the word itself consequently ruins every other word it is a part of. Scranton for example.... (Office fans unite!) It should be mandatory to pronounce that town's name with a slow, pronounced drawl. Which in itself makes the name a tad more trashy. Disclaimer: I do not mean to say anything about those that live in Scranton, but to rather comment on the name of the town.

Back in grade 12, I was enrolled in a "Writer's Craft" course. This program allowed me to explore multiple avenues of writing, and here I learned how much I enjoyed writing diatribes. The rules are "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything" were out the window. In fact, the more cutting, the better. I watched as others around me crumbled under the pressure to produce a rant worthy of submission, yet few had the ability to really get their point across in a sophisticated, non-whiny fashion. Look out for one of my fashion rants in future posts, and perhaps you even think I'm ranting here. Either way, I hope you can stand my bursts of insanity. Today's was brought to you by the letter Q, and working for 12 hours under the strain of crazy, demanding customers...


Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Secrets Don't Make Friends... Since When?!

Wow, what happened with posting?!
Life is what happened I guess you could say in the most cliche way possible.
Though that statement in itself would be a lie. I think in the quiet-ish moments of life, I realize how much time I spend doing mundane meaningless tasks that ultimately add up to the biggest waste. Perhaps this can be considered cynical. Maybe its realistic. While I appreciate the journey, sometimes I also like to see the end result. Recently, it feels like I've had tunnel vision- I can see this light, but I have no idea what it is, nor how I will get there. There is only a long-winding path in front of me.

Random update: Lately, I have become interested in secrets. I've always been a nosy person. Sue me. But it happens to be a great trait for a media student. I can always be on the pulse of what's current because I have an eye- and an ear- out for everything that's happening around me. It started when my professor lectured on social networking sites, like Twitter (my personal nemesis). After reading into the topic, I best liked the description of these activities as a "publicized whisper". Its an oxymoron when you break it all down, but the idea of making public, private intrigued me. This idea can be applied to what is my current addiction- PostSecret. Every Sunday this fellow blogger posts new "secrets", each written on a postcard that further illustrates and brings to life the ideas presented. Each weekend I look forward to reading what people are revealing to the public. Though there are no names posted with the secrets, I believe that the experience of seeing your own secret online must be both freeing and terrifying.

Maybe this is because I've always been somewhat of a private person. (This idea in itself must seem questionable considering I engage in the blogging process) But in all honesty, many people have pointed out the elusive "wall" that I can build up. Yes, I am friendly, but to a point. Its something about the human race that begs not to be trusted. I myself am an oxymoron- I'm a romantic, yet a cynic. A neat freak, but a procrastinator. A friend, and at the same time guarded.

Being inspired by PostSecrets, and the many other individuals who are revealing their secrets virally, I am going to let you in on some of my little "secrets". I can't promise they will be juicy, or scandalous, but they are little pieces of myself that I am slowly able to reveal to people just like me.

Secret One: Even though I have my own laptop, I use of iPod Touch to Google things I wouldn't want my parents to find out about. (neurotic much?!)