Big Sky Country

So I live along the foothills of the Rocky Mountains and I often find myself deeply in awe and inspired by the sky here. Some of the most beautiful skies are when there is trouble heading your way. You can see it a mile away but it is what it is and there's nothing you can do about it. It needs to come and it needs to happen. This entry is my feeble attempt at poetry and at capturing some of the inspiration from those skies. If it's crap (which, I grant, it totally might be for you keen poetry buffs), sorry. But I do hope it makes you feel something which is basically the point of poetry in my mind.

Big Sky Country

Big. Wide. Gorgeous. Blue.
Full of crystalline possibilities.

Anvils building, grey folding upon grey.
Deeper, darker, more menacing.
The electric energy shoots through the air.
The promise of a complete deluge hangs everywhere.
The smell of rain tingles in my nose.

I do not fear the blackness.
The threat thrills me,
And energizes my soul.

A clear thought strikes me in the gathering storm,
All trials have their purpose.
Fire. Wind. Rain. Pain.
All offer up an exquisite and deep cleansing,
A way to renew the world.
I embrace the grief, the sorrow, the pain.
I collect each tear, and absorb each fear riddled thought:
"you can't possibly do this"
"what if this is as good as it gets?"
Just as the parched soil greedily absorbs the rain.
I feel it. I accept it. I examine it all.
Letting it cleanse, change, and reinvigorate me.
Life begins again.

Em for Movies - The Revenant

Inspired by true events.



Prepare to be mauled!

When I see that tag line on a movie poster, I prepare myself for strife. Why? Well I’ve learned that for every heartwarming Rudy or Cool Runnings, there are a dozen emotionally ravaging films like The Finest Hours, Everest, The 33, and Spotlight. So when a movie takes its inspiration from the real survival story of a trapper who was mauled by a bear and left for dead, you expect to see a certain degree of human suffering. Well, if that’s the goal, The Revenant had it in spades. I felt exhausted just watching it.

With all the awards buzz that The Revenant is getting, and talk of Leonardo DiCaprio finally winning an Oscar after decades of empty nominations, I had to see it for myself. What I saw was a mixed bag of triumphantly beautiful cinematography, some solid acting and an awful lot of blood and toil.

DiCaprio plays Hugh Glass, a scout who comes across as taciturn and capable, softened only a little by the love he has for his son, conveyed almost entirely without words. Essentially a love-song to macho frontiersmen without any personality. I suspect the Oscar buzz was mostly generated by the physical demands of the role, which included a lot of crawling, muffled manly screaming, heavy breathing, eating gross things and looking desperate.

Totally worthy of his own Oscar nomination, Tom Hardy was fantastically repugnant as the villainous survivalist John Fitzgerald. For those who may have struggled to connect with DiCaprio’s wounded, silenced protagonist, Hardy gave us another reason to stay invested through the two-and-a-half hour uphill slog: by rooting against the rat bastard bad guy. Crude, but effective. With probably the most dialogue and backstory of any character on screen, Hardy carried the weight of the conflict with confidence.
 

Beware of forthcoming opinions and non-essential plot points. And bears. Always beware of bears.
 

The great American wilderness (á la Canada and Argentina) depicted in The Revenant is surprisingly densely populated by wandering Pawnee, self-righteously vicious Arikara, French fur traders, and besieged trappers. It seems you can’t shoot an arrow without hitting someone. In an artery. Not to worry though, the odds of hitting a redeemable character are slim, because there’s maybe only one out there. It doesn’t take long to confirm the film’s inherent message that “On est tous des sauvages” (We are all savages).

And yet for all of the myriad dangers of spending much time alone in the wintery wild with all of those evil men running amok trying, for various reasons, to kill one another, unless you’re the frontier version of the Star Trek Redshirt, it’s practically impossible to die. Brutal bear attack? You’ll be fine. You can have your leg reset, cauterize your gaping neck wounds with gunpowder, avoid sepsis by wearing the same filthy scraps of fabric you were attacked in. Totally sound. Hypothermia? Not a big deal, you can take a tumble down a roaring icy river with open wounds and just curl up in your sodden bear fur on an icy riverbank. Your extremities will still be there when you wake up. Oh, and that’s just the first hour. There’s another, even unlikelier hour-and-a-half to survive after that. But you can handle it. Man up, grunt a little and you’ll be fine.

 

The true story of Hugh Glass’s survival is an incredible tale. This film, however, is a harrowing, beautiful waste of time. I give it a prairie fire. It has merits, but I'm never going through it again.

Em

 

A Date of My Own

Intro: So this is a brief note about a different kind of dating story...I was feeling a little left out of Sack Murda's tales of the leather pants! :)

Tonight I went on a date with myself. Yup. Full blown, dress up, bought tickets in advance, hairspray and lipstick date. Apparently I'm doing a lot of weird things lately. I also recently went to party alone where I knew nearly no one; but that is a story for another time.

My date was fabulous!! I loved it and I was excited for it. I didn't feel scared or worried about what people might think. (Perhaps that's because I live in a city of more than a million people and I blend in well, but let's not poke holes here, okay?) I did not feel guilty about being out without my kids. I did not even feel ashamed when I noticed all the other females in the line either had a friend or a date with them. I was pumped, awakened, thrilled even! It is the most authentic I have felt in a long time. I wanted to do it, so I did it.

I dressed up because I wasn't ashamed. This wasn't a skulk to the movies in sweats and sit in the very last row. This was a dress in my sassy pants (and boy are they sassy!) and bright purple shirt, sit right smack in the middle of the theatre–alone. I loved it!!

I got chatted up at the snack bar. I'm telling you they really were sassy pants! Who cares that he might have been playing for the other team and that he spoke so fast I suspected he might have been on something, or in the kinder, gentler, less jaded part of my heart, just nervous. It was super cute! And it felt nice.

Now let's pause here for just for a second. I'm not mentioning this occurrence to be like “I'm all that!” or to say that he then offered to sit by me and save me from the horrible embarrassment of being all alone on a Saturday night, date night. There was no need for such chivalry in this story. It was just a lovely, kind, sweet expression of connection with another human being. Someone I had never met and will never see again, but it reminded me that I am okay and that there are people in the world that might like to get to know me, when I'm ready for that. So back to the date...

I was smiling and happy all evening. I found, hey I can go out and do something I enjoy without backup (even though I have some of the best backup ever). I don't need someone else guiding my preferences or making the choices for me. I can have an opinion of my own! And holy crap, I actually enjoy my own company! This was a mini revelation for me. I have never been out on my own like this. I had become so consumed by the multitude of roles that I play that I completely forgot who I am when all the labels, roles, demands and expectations are stripped away. I forgot what I like (and don't like), what I want (and don't want), and that even when I'm alone, I'm okay. No I'm not just okay... I'm amazeballs!

I would recommend an alone date to pretty much anyone, with the exception of those who are majorly depressed and isolating themselves or those that are already completely narcissistic (Kevin, I'm talking to you!). But it needs to be a real deal. Dress up. Put on makeup (guys or girls!). Do something you find exciting or interesting, and don't be afraid to try something new! Do it loud! Do it proud! Don't sit in the back row (unless that's your favourite seat). Sit wherever you darn well like!

Becoming and being yourself is a process; a continual process of discovery. Sometimes we need others to reflect to us what we need to know and learn but other times we need to make time to be with ourselves, to remind ourselves who we are alone. Never stop spending time alone with yourself, because it’s amazing and you really are a great date!

To read more about this topic I came across a very interesting blog on Brain Pickings. Check it out: https://www.brainpickings.org/2014/09/03/how-to-be-alone-school-of-life/

Top 5s - Workout Songs

We'll show you the way

Jillian Sykes

I think there are three properties that help create a good workout song:

1.       It’s shamelessly cheesy and ridiculous, making your headphones the only appropriate and safe place to listen to it. This is not (necessarily) the time to listen to good music. This is the time to GET SHIT DONE.

2.       There’s an outrageous amount of loud (sometimes annoying) synth-bass. It needs to make you feel like you’re doing the most epic thing ever by working out to the song. More bass = more badass.

3.       The slo-mo factor. The song should not be too fast, not too slow (just right). The result should give you the effect that you’re doing something cool in slow motion–even if it’s just another few steps on the elliptical.

With that in mind, here are my top 5 best workout songs:

1.       Your Man – Down With Webster

2.       Dangerous – Big Data

3.       Delta – C2C

4.       Fancy – Iggy Azalea

5.       In Person – Pussycat Dolls

$ack Murda

1.       Work Bitch – Britney Spears

I mean, obvs. She basically tells you to stop bitching about your life, get off your fat ass, and become a boss.

2.       Fergalicious – Fergie

This song makes you want to be a girl that “makes them boys go crazy”, have “my body stay so vicious, I be up in the gym just working on my fitness”. Also about becoming a boss.

3.       Bodywork – MSTRKRFT

This has been on my workout playlist since 2006, feels like my own personal cheerleader telling me to work it.

4.       I Don’t Fuck With You – Big Sean

This summer, when I was ghosted on, the guy who left posted on Instagram “Breakups make Bodybuilders”. I’m not a bodybuilder, but this song reminds me of him and I work harder knowing he’ll regret it.

5.       All I Do Is Win – DJ Khaled

For obvious reasons this song is a big motivator for me in athletic endeavors and in the rest of my life when I need a pump up.

Footnote: I read somewhere recently that listening to Eminem while doing any athletic endeavor will increase your performance. That being said, I don’t have any Eminem on my list. In the article, it cited “Lose Yourself” as being a good one.

Drew Sicola

1.       Holding Out for a Hero – Bonnie Tyler

            She puts so much passion into this song, it makes me want to mirror it in my workout.

2.       Prison Song – System of a Down

Best song to run to–the driving beat is great and the lyrics are better. The whole Toxicity album is awesome J

3.       Take on Me – A-Ha

This is just too fun, and brings a joyous and goofy side to the workout.

4.       Bad Religion – Godsmack

Fricken love the preacher talk at the start and end, and how heavy it is in the middle.

5.       Monster Hospital (Mstrkrft remix) – Metric

This has been a staple for years. Damn do I love her voice.

 

Lizzy Tonell

I have not worked out once yet this 2016, but I’m sure I will at some point…maybe? If it do, or if you do, here is a list of my top favourite workout songs. There is more than one Britney Spears song included in the list and for that I just ask, please don’t judge my character…

1.       Work Bitch – Britney Spears

My friend was the bride and I was the maid of honour. It was three weeks till her wedding in Cuba and we would meet every other day to get beach/wedding dress ready. We would start our (rather pathetic looking) workouts to this song, often turning to each other throughout and yelling, “You want a hot body? You better work, bitch!”

2.       Pump Up the Jam – Technotronic

It was high school basketball season, I was the only junior on the senior team, trying to prove that I earned my spot on the bench. We would start each game and tournament with this song which forever reminds me of a few select basketball girls who scared me, but in the end motivated me.

3.       Toxic – Britney Spears

This song is more of a ‘pump me up to do anything’ song, rather than pump me up specifically for working out. I was a teen on Saltspring island (three years in a row) with a car full of girls. We would pull up to the big rollercoaster hill, blast this song and drive as fast as possible up and down the steep and curvy island roads. So fun and so dangerous and so energizing.

4.       I Don’t Fuck With You – Big Sean

It was like four months ago, I’d be with some of the best girls on the planet either playing volleyball, driving in the car, listening to it at a house, or singing it with no background music. No matter what the purpose, this song makes me think of a particular, amazing group of girl friends and it makes me feel full; full of energy, feistiness, motivation and in an “I got your back” kind of way, love.

5.       Thunderstruck – ACDC

Yet another classic warm-up song. Elementary-me would listen to this in the car on the way to swim meets or basketball games and sing with my sisters the classic, “Na na na na na na na, Thunder!” My entire lanky and scrawny self would be vibrating with excitement after hearing this one

There are so many more I could list, but for now, enjoy! And if you do work out, kudos to you!!

Emily Statler

1.       Stronger (What Doesn’t Kill You) – Kelly Clarkson

Own it, baby! It’s empowering and gives me a beat I can work with.

2.       Here It Goes Again – Ok Go

My relationship with treadmills is tenuous at best, but when I hear this song, I’m willing to give them another try.

3.       Physical – Olivia Newton John

Somebody had to say it. So much fun to sweat to!

4.       Push It – Salt-n-Pepa

How good? Real good.

5.       Get Down On It – Kool & the Gang

While it leaves a little to be desired intellectually, that’s not what I use it for. 
 

Subconscious association of working out with the 1980s? Maybe. They did do it best with the sweatbands, leotards and neon galore. Just try not to feel the groove, I dare you.

Head Over Flats - Saarik

I fell in love with Saarik on a Tuesday. I wasn’t alone in this. If there was anyone within earshot of him who was not-even momentarily-smitten, they have no soul.

We were in the midst of the sultry part of summer where even the shade doesn’t offer much relief. Still, that is where I was, hoping to avoid the evil death-glare of my arch nemesis the sun. Saarik was oblivious as he unpacked a guitar case from the back of his battered old suburban. I had been riding around with him in that junker for the better part of a week, and had never noticed an instrument case in the back among his tools, coolers and camping supplies.

He spoke to the blonde Gibson guitar as he lifted her out of her case. I could tell it was a “her” from his tone, which was somewhere in the rumbly region just below a murmur. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, and I suddenly felt like I was intruding or spying, unable to move or speak in my little slice of shade by the cluster of tents. He spoke to her like a lover, and his hands caressed her curves in a way that would have made me blush if that wasn’t already a near-permanent fixture of my cheeks.

It didn’t take Saarik long to tune her. He didn’t look up or around, but there was something self-conscious in the way he started to play. The notes were timid and he didn’t sing. He was finger-picking gently, almost aimlessly.

When he closed his eyes and started to sing, I ceased to exist. Like the world to an infant with no concept of object permanence, I slipped away. I had to, there was something so raw and so beautiful in his voice that told me to.

I sensed movement without really seeing it. Our friend Alice had approached and stood unmoving by the firepit with a load of wood in her arms. She was smiling and eyeing Saarik with a fascination that was probably mirrored on my face. She could see it, hear it, feel it too.

Every girl will tell you that a man who plays a musical instrument is sexy. A man who plays and sings, coaxing the melody of your soul out of metal strings on a frail wooden frame and sets it loose into a clear summer day, his earthen eyes closed and fringed by long dark lashes, well that is something beyond sexy. That man is magical and vulnerable and intensely love-able.

"Music acts like a magic key, to which the most tightly closed heart opens." (Maria Augusta von Trapp)

From Silence to Voice Again

“Oh my God! That's such a brilliant idea!” I practically shouted at brunch with my awesome friend.

A blog where there's a group of writers. They have monthly brunches ('cause who doesn't like pancakes, bacon and other brunchy things). They offer encouragement to each other and, best of all there's some light editing. Wonderful!!! Blogging is just too much pressure, having to write every week... or more if you're really popular. This way we can share the writing. Umm... but I have to write something? Well crap!!

I have been avoiding it like the clap ('cause the plague is such a passé reference)! God no! If I write and post then people will actually read my writing! (Forget that I'm writing under a pseudonym on a pretty obscure blog that mostly only my friends will see.) But they will be reading and judging and getting annoyed with my damn run-on sentences that can go on for a paragraph at a time! Inhale and sigh!

Not only that but what do I write about? I'm not a writer! Oh no, now everyone will know I'm a fake. Was it my idea to let everyone write about anything? What the fuck was I thinking? I can handle essays, topics, top 5s–but a blank canvas? Seriously? Now not only do I have to write but I have to find a theme, my topic, the thing that will set me apart and make me worth a read in the vast junkyard of ideas and ruminations that is the interweb. I have to find my voice.

For some finding their voice is easy. They've been using it for so long it's near natural to just write it out and share it with the world. For others they've been practicing using their voice in private, secret musings. They just need the anonymity and a gentle shove of encouragement to share their creations with the world. But here I have sat choked with the prospect for at least two months. Like there is a horrible creature inhabiting my throat that squeezes every time I go to write something, choking off the flow between my heart, my head, and the page.

Then it hit me. That's what I'll write about. My search for my voice. That way I can write on any topic, in any form, with any viewpoint. I can try things out. See if they suck or if they strike a chord with my friends, er ah, readers. (So much for narrowing down my options!) But the common theme will be the search for my voice as a writer. I am practiced at giving other people a voice but what's my unique offering to the world?

There have been a great many changes in my personal and professional life which have led to a great deal of soul searching. I will draw on these experiences, as well as past experiences and writings, to present personal essays, fiction serials, poetry and whatever the fuck else I need to figure out how to express in words the things I feel moving in my heart. I hope these words on the screen will bring some joy to your life, make you think, reflect, and if not...meh!

 

PS though I appreciate the idea of an expensive bottle of scotch I have not yet acquired a taste for it. I'm shooting for really nice bottle of red wine. A Shiraz or Melbec maybe, just FYI.

Happy reading!!

Em for Movies - Sisters

I like to think that the most effective way to work your abs and dispel any post-Christmas blues is to laugh your ass off. So I saw Sisters last night with some friends that I was comfortable cackling next to (it’s got to be someone who has heard the snort-laugh and will not judge or be distracted by it). Done and done. 

This is the wholesome imagery you'd expect. You'd be wrong.

I have read a lot of crazily negative reviews of Sisters. As though several hundred avid bloggers and critics went into a movie expecting Schindler’s List and were presented with National Lampoon’s Animal House instead. Sisters is not meant to be an emotional or intellectual examination of the sibling bond and its development over time. So in an effort to save others from laboring under any misapprehension, a short note: this movie is funny as fuck, if you think fuck is funny. Good to go?

The plot is present, but not particularly relevant. Tina Fey and Amy Poehler play sisters whose parents are selling their childhood home; cue the reversion into teenaged idiocy and actual cringeworthy, mind-blowing tantrums. I’m going to go out on a limb here and admit that I didn’t really care about the plot. It’s just a stage whereupon the interactions of a host of tremendously funny people can take place. Just relax and stay patient through the 20 minute build up of a silly premise for the truly foul, absurd and delightful film to follow.

The cast was (not surprisingly) sprinkled with Saturday Night Live stars and alumni who took their bizarre stock characters and made them memorable. Maya Rudolf was straight up hilarious, and Bobby Moynihan’s over-the-top dad jokes were solid gold.

Overall, I give Sisters a double shot of good tequila. We’re talking Milagro Select Barrel Reserve, which means that for what it is, it’s delicious and perfect accompaniment for a ridiculous comedy about a pair of siblings who need to sort out their lives. The final word (not actually a word) might have to go to multiple Oscar-winner Dianne Wiest who was superb as Deana Ellis. You’ll know it when you hear it.

 

Cheers,

Em

 

Editor’s note: If you’re ever looking to be depressed, try inputting “middle aged women party” into Google Images. There are no words (other than “sad”).

Head Over Flats - Timothy

I fell in love with Timothy very early on a Sunday morning. He was sleeping at the time. I know that could be construed as creepy. It's not as though I was watching him through high-powered night vision binoculars from a nearby tree. (That would be creepy.) I was sitting up in bed beside him, unable to sleep, but unsure of whether I wanted to turn on a reading light and likely wake him.

I looked over at him. He was sprawled on his stomach. I felt restless and a little jealous, as though sleep was a party that everyone else had been invited to. I decided that a light wouldn't bother him, then I wondered how he was even breathing with his face buried in the pillow.

The room was dark (obviously too dark to read) but the curtains weren't drawn and I could trace the lines of his body. I looked closer. He was breathing; the gentle rise and fall of his breath pulled at me. I watched his chest fill and ebb. Moonlight illuminated the smooth skin of his back, his arms, bluish and pearlescent, he looked like Grecian marble in the darkness. A sinuous work of art carved from stone, liberated from the Uffizi Gallery or a fountain somewhere and somehow imbued with light and life and breath.

Ok, maybe it is a little creepy.

I didn't turn on the light. I curled up between the deep, tranquil inhalations of his breaths like the gentle rocking of a hammock on a summer day. Even in the lapping pool of calm cool beauty, I wanted to wake him, to tell him about it, to explain how peaceful and remote and simply gorgeous he looked in the moonlight. Wake up! I am falling in love with you! It feels amazing!

But will I still love you when you're awake?

"Art hid with art, so well perform'd the cheat,
It caught the carver with his own deceit" (Ovid)