tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19963531573027593262024-03-13T19:10:47.933-06:00Today, ParisLift your glasses and your skirts to the shameless following of dreams.Melanie Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07118611159046148134noreply@blogger.comBlogger351125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996353157302759326.post-30973561516941685402009-04-20T22:12:00.002-06:002009-04-20T22:21:14.861-06:00Oh My Site, It Is A-Changin'Dear Friends,<br />I've decided to quit blogging. On this site. I'm switching from Blogger to WordPress, so please update your RSS feeds and favourites with the new URL:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://blog.melaniejones.ca">blog.melaniejones.ca</a><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br />Hope to see you there!<br /><br />Love,<br />Me<br /></div></div>Melanie Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07118611159046148134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996353157302759326.post-36751821789359704342009-04-20T11:27:00.001-06:002009-04-20T11:29:26.671-06:00Courage, FriendsThanks KB for sharing this. I can't think of anything better for today. Go get 'em, tigers. XO<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/cldEvQP_igA&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/cldEvQP_igA&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /></div>Melanie Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07118611159046148134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996353157302759326.post-64960388824362360262009-04-20T00:51:00.004-06:002009-04-20T01:35:25.968-06:00Day 235: Back In The Stirrups AgainThe video's kinda quiet because I recorded it at 12:30 am and me blabbing on the Interweb about my CERVIX is not how people want to be roused from slumber. Trust me.<br /><br />There's also a spot in the middle where it skips. That's the part where I tell you how the columnist misquoted me to the point where everyone in Southern Alberta thought I was dying of cervical cancer. I'm not dying of cervical cancer. And unless something went horribly wrong between now and three months ago, I don't HAVE cervical cancer. I have the thing that comes before it.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/BcuP-PeLNbU&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/BcuP-PeLNbU&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /></div><br />For those of you who are interested, here is the highlight reel:<br />The <a href="http://mizjones.blogspot.com/2008/06/effing-cervical-cancer.html">post</a> that started it all.<br />The <a href="http://www2.canada.com/calgaryherald/columnists/story.html?id=9a01e4f5-dd4c-4fcf-9cf2-780a4553a814">newspaper story</a> – read it and tell me you don't think I'm dying tomorrow and unable to bear children. Gaa!<br />My <a href="http://mizjones.blogspot.com/2008/07/surgerized.html">surgery</a> a.k.a. date rape by BBQ utensil.<br />And for the truly brave, the entire <a href="http://mizjones.blogspot.com/search/label/Celebrity%20Cervix">emotional rollercoaster</a> in which I get really woo-woo and weird and eventually turn into a raw foodist for several months. Ech.<br /><br />My test is at 3:30 pm MST if you wanna go ahead and send some good vibes my way. If I had an iPhone, I would go <a href="http://twitpic.com/2fewc">Lance Armstrong</a> on all of you and Tweet while I'm in there, feet in the stirrups and staring at the ceiling. Got the visual on that one? Ha! Happy Monday.Melanie Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07118611159046148134noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996353157302759326.post-32968263032236509872009-04-17T07:01:00.006-06:002009-04-17T07:35:05.390-06:00Day 232: Hey, It's All Right.I'm heading off to the second and final day of shooting for the Depression Project. There's a ton left to do, but I'm also feeling really sappy and take-stock-y. Because this shoot has been three months of hard-ass work in the making. And in many ways fifteen or so YEARS of in the making.<br /><br />I wouldn't be standing there in front of the camera for those kids if I hadn't been depressed. And I wouldn't have gotten depressed if I'd stood in front of the camera more in the first place...if I'd let my Big Dreams turn into my Big Life earlier.<br /><br />So it's poignant for me that not only am I living my dream by performing, but my dream has come to include the darkest points of my life. And the capacity to help other people.<br /><br />I think that's one of the coolest things about this Just One Year idea. Is that not only did it come at a low point in my life, but a low point in history. Who takes a year off just as we're heading into the worst economy of our lifetime?<br /><br />I do!<br /><br />But that's the beauty of it. The challenge. The impossible odds. The worst case scenario. Adversity gives it drama. It gives it power.<br /><br />People are getting laid off left and right. Half of them are scrambling to find new jobs to fill in the blank their old jobs left. Half of them are relieved to be let go. They've embraced the sense of freedom and possibility and are happy to leave the life they SHOULD have liked but didn't. They're using the opportunity to create the life they LOVE.<br /><br />"I'm EI-ing it and loving it...am I allowed to say that?" one of my friends wrote me.<br /><br />There's no good time to break up with your shitty life and go find a great one. No perfect moment when you've got everything together and you've saved a bunch of money and have everything under control. That perfect moment will never come. Except for the fact that it could be right now.<br /><br />I don't know why it all worked out the way it did for me. Why I got depressed and depressed again. Why I chose to take this risk when I did. How I ended up helping kids who are going through what I went through.<br /><br />But I do know I don't need to be afraid. Being unemployed during the worst economic crisis of recent memory means you'll never be afraid of NOT having a job. This is the worst case scenario and, hey, it's all right. The worst time of my life is now being used to help other people. That's all right, too.<br /><br />I guess what I'm saying is, yes, everything happens for a reason. But oftentimes we don't get to see the reason for a long, long time, so the best thing to do is always remember that there IS ONE. Whatever is happening right now has a purpose. Your job is not to reject it or try to "fix" it. It's to embrace it and dive right into it. Use it. Benefit from it.<br /><br />My tenant is leaving my condo. She's quitting her PhD and moving back home to Vancouver. And I'm going to have to either find another tenant to pay my exorbitant mortgage or sell at the WORST point of the housing market. Worst case scenario, right?<br /><br />Hey, it's all right.Melanie Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07118611159046148134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996353157302759326.post-1427257978633135832009-04-16T09:17:00.004-06:002009-04-16T17:23:18.612-06:00Day 231: Coming Soon To A Sound-Stage Near YouHey, remember that <a href="http://mizjones.blogspot.com/2009/04/day-222-because-we-can.html">jumping-out-of-my-skin</a> day I had last week? The one where the idea to start a theatre company emerged out of nowhere? And how we were supposed to meet about that theatre company TODAY but both the other girls canceled? And remember how I got discouraged about that and wondered how I'm ever going to get my ass on a stage again as though one canceled meeting can determine the entire fate of my life?<br /><br />Have no fear, friends.<br /><br />Because two performance opportunities landed in my lap within days of each other. Mmm hmm. For real.<br /><br />The first is a reading at a new recording studio this weekend. I'm performing along with a bunch of other spoken word people and musician types to celebrate their grand opening. Only I don't know the name of the business or if I'll be abducted and forced to join a polygamy cult because the girl who invited me only writes one-line emails. All I know is the <a href="http://maps.google.ca/maps?hl=en&client=firefox-a&q=644+Radcliffe+Road+SE,+calgary&ie=UTF8&split=0&gl=ca&ei=GrLnSbPADZDGswO218HsAQ&ll=51.047775,-113.986566&spn=0.006799,0.012789&z=16&iwloc=A">address</a> and that it starts at 6 pm on Saturday.<br /><br />Maybe you should come...just in case.<br /><br />You should also help me pick what to read. Currently, the options are:<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span><a href="http://mizjones.blogspot.com/2008/06/crotch-management.html">Crotch Management</a>, always a crowd-pleaser.<br />Celebrity Cervix, based on <a href="http://mizjones.blogspot.com/2008/07/surgerized.html">this post</a>.<br /><a href="http://mizjones.blogspot.com/2008/12/day-104day-12-better-known-as-bacon.html">Better Known as Bacon Strip</a>, a morality tale about stained underwear.<br />Or <a href="http://mizjones.blogspot.com/2009/02/day-176-whos-your-hammama.html">Who's Your Hammama?</a> from my Parisian adventures with topless women.<br /><br />Based on this list, it appears all I write about is boobs and boxes. I'm comfortable with that.<br /><br />The second performance opp is with <a href="http://mizjones.blogspot.com/2009/01/day-129-welcome-to-freak-show.html">Mr. Laid Back & Under 30</a>, Mark Hopkins – remember the <a href="http://mizjones.blogspot.com/2009/01/day-130-things-you-shouldnt-say-to.html">Freak Show</a>? He's baaaaack! That show will be sometime the week of April 28th. It's called <a href="http://www.swallowabicycle.com/shhhh.html">Shhhh!</a> I'm sure there will be many hilarious tales of unwritten scripts, beer-soaked rehearsals and last-minute panic attacks to come.<br /><br />P.S. I would have written about yesterday's shoot for the Depression Project, but it went so smoothly, there's nothing to say! (Besides eavesdropping on the slumlord screaming match out back in the parking lot.) Hopefully something horribly humiliating will go down tomorrow. Fingers crossed...Melanie Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07118611159046148134noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996353157302759326.post-69976817254625623582009-04-14T20:43:00.008-06:002009-04-14T21:54:55.494-06:00Day 229: The Three Day RuleThe really irritating thing about being a spiritual person is you can't get Just Mad anymore. You're always looking for The Lesson or The Message From The Universe and you can't just throw dishes and be done with it. Everything has to have "deeper meaning" or lead to "personal growth."<br /><br />It's frickin' annoying.<br /><br />So it really IRKED me when – after getting blindsided by the Depression People AGAIN at the ELEVENTH BLOODY HOUR – I descended into a blind rage the likes of which I've never experienced.<br /><br />It was the kind of rage I can only describe as ALCOHOLIC – the rip-the-sink-off-the-wall, eat-a-plate-of-cocaine, drive-a-truck-off-a-bridge kind of fury reserved for addicts and outlaws. An out of control cocktail of self-destruction and homicidal mania.<br /><br />This? Is not like me at all.<br /><br />It scared the hell out of me. And I wondered how I'd let things get this far. I'd ignored the Three Day Rule for far too long.<br /><br />I've learned the hard way that I've got three days without creative Me-Time before the time bomb starts to tick ominously. Before the jungle drums start beating and the air raid sirens start to howl. Before I start yelling for Boyfriend to TAKE COVER because goddamnit SHE'S GONNA BLOW!<br /><br />It's strange, but it's true.<br /><br />Creativity is as much a part of my self-care as getting eight hours of sleep at night. If I skip it, there are consequences. If I keep skipping it, things get ugly for those within a 30-foot radius. If I neglect it altogether, the rage goes inward I get suicidally depressed. This is how it works.<br /><br />Three days to crazy.<br /><br />But every once and awhile I, very mistakenly, try to get away with it and push my self-care to the bottom of the list.<br /><br />I don't know how thought I could gut out a couple more weeks of balls-to-the-wall writing for the Depression Project, survive a four-day full-frontal-family weekend (where the only Me-Time I got involved a toilet and a wad of Charmin double-ply) and have enough gas in the tank for two days of shooting a hundred pages of script.<br /><br />I was very, very wrong.<br /><br />And I emerged from a molten white rage last night around midnight to find myself tearing a journal almost in two like some kind of steroid-addled Monster Trucker. Smashing all the car windshields on my street with a baseball bat also seemed like a very good idea. It was fucked.<br /><br />But, since I knew from whence the white rage came, I chose against baseball bats and turned to Julia Cameron instead. I opened up <span style="font-style: italic;">Vein of Gold</span> to a section entitled 'Voluntary Victims,' which goes a little something like: "Sooooo. You didn't give yourself the creative time or space you needed and said Yes to everything everybody asked you and now you're A CERTIFIABLE MENTAL CASE and what exactly did you THINK was going to happen? Hmm?"<br /><br />I did one of her genius little exercises (in my ravaged journal) and felt better. But I wasn't done yet, so even though it was a quarter past late o'clock, I opened up a story I've been working on (pssst...one of the PARIS stories!).<br /><br />I felt the train wreck of rage in my head clear away and the knot of barbed wire in my chest loosen. I was WRITING! For the first time since Paris and it was glorious.<br /><br />I wrote until I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore and then slipped into bed beside Boyfriend. Who was still wearing his riot gear and clutching his pepper spray under his chin. Adorable.Melanie Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07118611159046148134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996353157302759326.post-4316842797850445552009-04-14T08:04:00.002-06:002009-04-14T09:55:11.938-06:00Day 228: Insert Bloodcurdling Scream HereDear Depression Project Team:<br /><br />I have read over your changes to the Module 8 script. While I appreciate the new theme of Celebration, I have some serious concerns.<br /><br />The first half isn't about celebration at all – it simply sums up the previous seven modules intercut with overly cheerful and content-lite wahoo music videos. The exercises, which we created for the original theme of Module 8, are now no longer relevant or related. What does a visualization about the road less traveled have to do with celebrating? I notice you've left the second half of the content as-is even though it was written for an entirely different theme and no longer makes any sense whatsoever. And the story for the story section was, I suspect, written by someone from the research team.<br /><br />You sent me this new content at 6 pm on Monday night. Today is Tuesday, the day before the shoot where I, as an actor, need to deliver over 50 pages of script authentically and honestly. It will be a long day and an exhausting one – and I want to do my best for the production team. It is Day One of two days like this. In between the two shoot days, I need to prepare the <span style="font-style: italic;">next</span> 50 some-odd pages of script I need to bring to life.<br /><br />What you are asking me to do is completely rewrite and refocus the script of Module 8. This will take a full day of writing. A day we don't have in the current schedule.<br /><br />So when you say you'd like to find a way to approach this without putting pressure on me, I'd say it's a little late for that. Once again, I feel the timely delivery of the product resting a little too firmly on my shoulders. <br /><br />I am a human being. I have given a lot to this project and am just about to enter the most vulnerable phase of it. Baring my soul and history on paper is one thing, baring it in front of the camera is another. Asking me to shoehorn an entire day of reworking a desperately under-realized module into this week is not acceptable and it's not going to happen.<br /><br />Melanie<br /><br />P.S. You owe me money.Melanie Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07118611159046148134noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996353157302759326.post-40817330354128016282009-04-09T11:58:00.004-06:002009-04-09T12:29:43.205-06:00Day 223: Hittin' the RoadWe are driving to BC for some Easter fun with my parents and a chunk of Boyfriend's MAMMOTH-sized family.<br /><br />But before leaving, there's the ORDEAL of Boyfriend's Getting Ready To Leave process. This entails washing every single piece of clothing he owns – even though we're going for only four days. It requires purging the fridge – even though there have been Tupperware containers with Biochemistry PhD projects brewing in there for MONTHS.<br /><br />It also means cleaning the truck, kitchen, living room and bedroom from top to bottom just in case we die in a car crash and our loved ones judge us posthumously.<br /><br />I am a big-picture cleaner. I feel that if I've put in the effort with a couple half-assed swipes to the dash with some ArmourAll or a quick smear of a cloth on a counter, that oughta do it. This makes it all kinds of No Fun to share cleaning duty with someone who is...um...what's a nicer word than COMPLETELYEFFINGANAL?<br /><br />Anyhoo. Cleaning ANYTHING with Boyfriend usually means I do a shamelessly shoddy job, he chases after me re-cleaning and I get huffy and indignant.<br /><br />WHAT BETTER WAY TO PREPARE FOR EIGHT HOURS IN A CAR TOGETHER?Melanie Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07118611159046148134noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996353157302759326.post-25068273899503720042009-04-08T06:58:00.007-06:002009-04-08T10:52:09.239-06:00Day 222: Because We CanI spent most of yesterday jumping out of my skin. I was working on the last module of the Depression Project and, being creatively tapped out, every sentence was like giving birth. I drank three giant cups of tea. I danced it the f*ck out. I made strange grunting noises in some misguided use of sound therapy.<br /><br />But it wasn't the project making me antsy. It's my need to perform.<br /><br />While in Paris, I had this idea to turn my stories into a performance of some kind: one woman show, storytelling, spoken word, something. And then I had the idea to turn it into a fundraising event: perform it, invite all of you, charge you money, feed you booze.<br /><br />And then I freaked out.<br /><br />Meanwhile, my need to perform has been sitting like a shaken-up pop can in my belly, waiting not-so-patiently for my attention.<br /><br />And then yesterday, I visited a friend who has recently come out of the closet as a performer, too. And she says she's ALSO been waiting not-so-patiently for me to be finished this effing Depression Project.<br /><br />"We're starting a theatre company," she says. "Just so you know." I stared at her. And laughed.<br /><br />Because, come on. Like. You can't just START a THEATRE COMPANY.<br /><br />*Snort*<br /><br />Can you?<br /><br />And then I visited with another friend and we went for a walk – my anti-skin-jumping solution. While we're walking she tells me she's finally admitted SHE'S a performer.<br /><br />WTF.<br /><br />And suddenly, these words come FLYING out of my mouth: "We're starting a theatre company."<br /><br />I screamed a little and stopped walking.<br /><br />And the words just hung there in the air. We both looked at them. The words didn't explode or catch fire or turn into murderous lightning bolts of nuclear energy. They just sat there. Staring back at us. Blinking placidly.<br /><br />Because...the thing is...we COULD.<br /><br />And really. None of these 'outings' are surprising. Friend #1 worked in theatre in New Freaking YORK before bailing on the whole idea when she came back to Canada. And Friend #2 is so good at writing dialogue it freaks me out. She has this genius play gathering dust in a drawer. And then there's me.<br /><br />We kept walking and the words tagged along behind us like little balloons on little strings.<br /><br />We talked about all those thoughts that air-pop popcorned into our heads seconds after we realized we are performers:<br /><br />"I can't be a performer. They don't make any money."<br /><br />"Actors are so over-dramatic and annoying."<br /><br />"I'm a morning person...I can't work nights."<br /><br />"Performing's all about the ego anyway."<br /><br />All those weird beliefs that keep us from being who we are. As if we have any choice about it. As if working NIGHTS even matters. As if we're going suddenly going to become ANNOYING over night. We laughed our heads off and kept walking.<br /><br />And those words? They're still with us. Little balloons on little strings. Our first meeting is next week.Melanie Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07118611159046148134noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996353157302759326.post-15807817996482856372009-04-06T11:16:00.003-06:002009-04-06T15:21:20.375-06:00Uncertainty...UnpluggedOkay, so here's my first-ever attempt at a video for this blog. It's too long and I ramble and almost start crying at a couple points. Also note the wide-eyed look of shock and awe.<br /><br />God. Sounds like a Monday.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/rtsJVU4oJAQ&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/rtsJVU4oJAQ&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div>Melanie Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07118611159046148134noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996353157302759326.post-15078087324128666832009-04-06T09:17:00.006-06:002009-04-06T10:17:02.209-06:00Day 220: The Occupational Hazard Series<span style="font-weight: bold;">Hazard #1208: Crushing Creative Drought</span><br />Hey, I know it's not sexy to blog about why you haven't been blogging, but I think enough creative-types read this that it's relevant:<br /><br />I'VE GOT FRICKIN' NOTHING.<br /><br />Banging out these effing Depression scripts for three weeks straight has completely tapped me out. And this is what happens when you exist in that middle space where you're working a job that you thought was Close Enough to your dream but you're still dying to do your own creative work. The effing job steals all your juice!<br /><br />So instead of your crafty little Writer Brain perking up when your 95-year-old grandfather refers to Skype as 'Psych,' you just stare dully into space and pick at your hangnails. It's a travesty.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Hazard #491: Carpal Tunnel WTF Is Going On With My WRISTS</span><br />Or there's the times when you have an idea – like how wine menu descriptions could easily be human personality profiles – but your wrists have been on fire for four days and the idea of typing that story/blog post/whatever fills you with dread.<br /><br />Last week there was some kind of horrific convergence of me typing for 10 hours a day and getting back into Ashtanga (50 Push-Ups A Class) yoga and my wrists are brutally sore. Because writing is my vocation and I have an incredibly active imagination, I let my crazy spin out into a world where I could no longer write for a living and lost all use of my hands and went slowly insane and ended up dying homeless and alone with coyotes gnawing on my face.<br /><br />This is what happens in my head.<br /><br />It's scary in there.<br /><br />And then (after a few gins) Ross says: "Wash a couple Advil down with a large glass of Suck It Up and you'll be fine." Thanks, pal.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Hazard #902,035: Clutching, Sleep-Preventing Financial Panic Attacks</span><br />Hey remember that Artist For One Year thing I'm doing? Remember how SELLING MY CAR was a key factor in making in happen? Remember how that hasn't happened yet and how I took on a pro bono project where I'll have no way of generating income all freaking summer?<br /><br />And then – omigod this is hilarious – remember that PERFECTLY timed cherry on top of the $500 water damage bill, $375 special assessment and a condo fee increase? And the fact I haven't done my taxes...for three years?<br /><br />BAAAAHAHAHA!<br /><br />*Sob*Melanie Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07118611159046148134noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996353157302759326.post-36603049113536920172009-04-05T14:22:00.005-06:002009-04-05T14:41:00.162-06:00Day 219: Read This Immediately If Not SoonerThursday night we went to a Spoken Word Festival event at The Auburn. <a href="http://evalynparry.com/">Evalyn Parry </a>performed and when she read the poem below, I bawled my face off. A lot because I, too, feel passionately about outsiders and our great potential to make serious and awesome change in the world. And a lot because it was the first time I understood that Boyfriend (geek) and I (artist) are in the same category. More on that later.<br /><br />I asked Evalyn if I could publish this and share it with you. She said yes. Love her. Now...read it and weep. And then please continue kicking ass and living like you effing mean it. This one is for you.<br /><h2 style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://evalynparry.com/2008/10/this-one-is-for/" rel="bookmark" title="Permanent link to This one is for">This one is for</a></h2><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><p style="text-align: center;">the non-conformers and the system buckers<br />it’s for the girly men and the lady truckers<br />the organic farmers, the local food growers<br />the old-school, mechanical, push lawn mowers<br />the two wheel riders, the trouble makers<br />the public-transportation-takers</p><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><p style="text-align: center;">it’s for the girls who cut their hair, and the ladies who refuse to shave<br />it’s for everyone who has ever been brave<br />it’s for the time you didn’t behave</p><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><p style="text-align: center;">it’s for those who remain hopeful when hope seems lost<br />it’s for my first year women studies prof<br />hell, all my patient first year professors, my true hearts,<br />my midnight confessors, for all the dressers<br />I’ve ever found at the curbside<br />and all the things that have saved my backside</p><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><p style="text-align: center;">it’s for the Michigan Womyn’s Festival founding foremothers<br />my tranny sisters and brothers<br />the straight-but-not-narrow<br />all my ex-lovers<br />the crunchy granola hippies who dance<br />aviators, horse back riders, gals who wore pants<br />before pants were something a proper lady should wear<br />it’s for the bleeding hearts, and the ones who care<br />and the ones that march and the ones that fight<br />the people who bother to write<br />a letter to the editor, who stand up to their managers<br />the union organizers, the city counsellors<br />it’s for everyone that dares and everyone that speaks<br />for those who listen, for those who can’t sleep<br />and those who can’t rest<br />for those who are trying their best<br />for the freaks and the punks, the misfits and the nerds<br />for everyone who ever contributed words<br />and meanings<br />to the Oxford English Dictionary<br />for those who know they will never marry<br />for the rebels and the genderqueers and polyamorous<br />for my grade 11 boyfriend who drove a VW bus<br />for the outlaws, and the in-laws who got over their misgivings<br />and attended their first same sex wedding<br />for everything with wings</p><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><p style="text-align: center;">it’s for the radical thinkers and the babies in incubators<br />for second-chancers, and the morris dancers<br />for those whom, given the choice, always chose “other”<br />it’s for Stephen Lewis and all the grandmothers<br />for the fearful who took to the streets anyway<br />for the artists who keep going even though it might never pay<br />for those who light the way<br />for those who made it through another day without a drink<br />for all those who think<br />for anyone who chooses to get things done<br />for the catholic priests who are handing out condoms<br />for the improvisers, and the bathhouse raid committee organizers<br />and the war tax resisters and the brave fighters<br />for those who go to serve in anyway they can<br />for the ones who were shot down and for those ran<br />for those who defied their orders, for the doctors without borders<br />the single mothers, the sperm donors and the Henry Morgentalers<br />the crisis phone line callers<br />for those who refuse to give up and refuse to give in<br />who won’t shut up<br />who know it’s not about whether you win<br />or you lose<br />but about the scope of your dream and your right to chose<br />an opinion and your right to change your mind<br />for those who are kind<br />it’s for those who hold fast<br />and for those who are outcast<br />or downcast, for those who can’t move very fast<br />for the flags at half mast<br />for the tired organizers and the ones who outlast<br />and all those who have already past<br />this one is for you</p><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><p style="text-align: center;">this one is for you</p><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><p style="text-align: center;">this one is for you</p><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><p style="text-align: center;">to</p><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><p style="text-align: center;">wield.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://evalynparry.com/">Read more Evalyn goodness here.</a><br /></p>Melanie Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07118611159046148134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996353157302759326.post-27429922590294036302009-04-03T14:00:00.002-06:002009-04-03T14:00:03.791-06:00Speaking of Genius...Watch this:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><object width="480" height="295"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/86x-u-tz0MA&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/86x-u-tz0MA&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="295"></embed></object><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br />(Don't know who <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elizabeth_Gilbert">Elizabeth Gilbert</a> is? She's the author of <span style="font-style: italic;">Eat, Pray, Love</span> – a beautiful, hilarious, bestselling memoir that Oprah fell in love with. Which catapulted her to ridiculous, freakish, unwieldy success.)<br /></div></div>Melanie Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07118611159046148134noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996353157302759326.post-27254700427353160062009-04-03T10:35:00.003-06:002009-04-03T10:47:08.400-06:00Day 217: I Heart Steve's MomMy friend Steve is on a <a href="http://urbanbuddha.wordpress.com/">journey of self-transformation</a>, but his mom is knocking on Enlightenment's door as far as I'm concerned. I need to meet the lady who wrote <a href="http://urbanbuddha.wordpress.com/2009/03/30/moms-know-best-day-5590/#comments">this list</a>. (I'd also love a play-by-play of Steve's childhood.)<br /><br />Some highlights:<br /><p>2. Sit in silence for at least 10 minutes each day.</p> <p>3. When you wake up in the morning complete the following statement, “My purpose is to __________today.”</p><p>9. Don’t compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.</p><p>14. No one is in charge of your happiness except you.</p><p>16. Get rid of anything that isn’t useful, beautiful or joyful.</p><p>18. Spend time with people over 70 and under 6.</p><p>20. Don’t forget to call your Mother, you will never get that unconditional love from anywhere else.</p>Melanie Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07118611159046148134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996353157302759326.post-57502770679998256092009-04-02T14:07:00.006-06:002009-04-02T15:14:11.742-06:00Day 216: When The Magic Got LostMy wrists are sore from writing. My brain is sluggish. My body fatigued. My creative well depleted and dry. My deadline...tomorrow.<br /><br />For more than two weeks straight, the pace of the Depression Project has quickened and the intensity increased. We were like horses: hitting our stride and running full-tilt across the prairie, then fatiguing, straining, sweating and bleeding, gutting it out until we saw home.<br /><br />I got to that point where I was done with the journey, but the journey wasn't done with me. And so I kept going. And past that point – that limit – I found something.<br /><br />This project is amazing.<br /><br />What we've made here is so incredibly powerful, the fact that only depressed teenagers get to see it is a crime. It's that good.<br /><br />I wish I'd taken it when I was young – at that point where I started to second-guess myself and look outside for answers. The point where I started to let my childhood dreams die. Where there was no more Santa Claus and the magic started to fade.<br /><br />This course we're making is a lesson in dreams and possibility and purpose and connection. It's like an arsenal of weapons against the tidal wave of bullshit a person has to wade through on the inelegant passage to adulthood. Those soul-sucking expectations that weigh down your wings and tarnish your shine. The choices that took you off your true path and onto the superhighway of Someone Else's Life.<br /><br />How do you expect to make a living at <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span>? Get a real job. Make money. Lose weight. Get married, have babies. Look out for Number 1. Find a hobby. Buy more, save more.<br /><br />School Rules. The Cult Of Cool. How We've Always Done It.<br /><br />Normal. Better. More.<br /><br />The damage we spend our twenties undoing. The person we spend our thirties finding.<br /><br />No wonder we got depressed. It's shocking more of us aren't. No wonder we're angry, confused and feel ripped off. No wonder.<br /><br />I wish all of you could see this course. I wish all of you HAD seen it...when you were twelve or thirteen. Whenever the magic got lost for you. When you stopped believing in fairies and dragons. And resigned yourself to something more ordinary.<br /><br />I miss it. The magic. Don't you?Melanie Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07118611159046148134noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996353157302759326.post-4990242434051538592009-04-01T09:10:00.004-06:002009-04-01T09:45:44.288-06:00Day 215: Go See This Movie...With MeDudes. Seriously. Go see '<a href="http://www.lettersfromlitein.com/Letters_From_Litein/LFL_MAIN.html">Letters from Litein</a>' at The Globe on the weekend of April 24th. It's produced and directed by the film guys I'm working with on the Depression Project and YOU MUST SEE IT.<br /><br />Not because it's a documentary made right here in YYC.<br /><br />Not because it's about Africa and y'all better get used to hearing A LOT about Africa.<br /><br />Not because it's about school children from Calgary traveling to Kenya to help orphans.<br /><br />Not because Canadian independent filmmakers rilly, RILLY need bums in seats ON OPENING WEEKEND.<br /><br />But because you're gonna watch this and fall madly and hopelessly in love:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><object width="480" height="295"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/LYN8KhGUbjM&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/LYN8KhGUbjM&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="295"></embed></object><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br />Chills, no? Mistiness in the eyes? An intense desire to bring ten friends to opening weekend?<br /><br />It opens on April 24th at <a href="http://www.landmarkcinemas.com/index.asp?pageID=18&thid=GLOBE">The Globe Cinema</a> in Calgary for two weeks. Go to the <a href="http://www.lettersfromlitein.com/Letters_From_Litein/LFL_MAIN.html">film's web site</a> for more info. Or if you want to get in touch with Matt Palmer (producer/director) directly, email him at mattrix at telusplanet dot net.<br /><br />ALSO! I'm totally going on April 24th. I want to rally a massive crew to show my support. If you want to be part of a bad-ass posse of cool kids, email the words PINK BANANA and your contact info to: blog at melaniejones dot ca.<br /></div></div>Melanie Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07118611159046148134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996353157302759326.post-59576435924129938942009-03-30T09:25:00.004-06:002009-04-02T15:17:13.686-06:00Day 213: I Think I'm So SmrtWhy does the Universe INSIST on reminding me who's boss? Seriously. I'm flowing, things are awesome, I'm going to frickin' Africa and then BOOM: I burn out, my computer crashes and I have to spend my Sunday afternoon chipping a 6-inch tall speed bump of ice so my tenant can get her car out of the parking lot of #426 Slum Street USA.<br /><br />WTF.<br /><br />I have this weird innate Doom Reflex that kicks in when things start going too good. When I got the <a href="http://mizjones.blogspot.com/search/label/water%20project">Africa-India Water Project</a>, every time I talked about it out loud, I kept expecting a bolt of lightning to streak down and fry my brains. Since I got home from <a href="http://mizjones.blogspot.com/search/label/paris%20part%20deux">Paris</a>, I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop.<br /><br />Me = SUCKER.<br /><br />Because feeding all that energy into the doom-y feeling is like sending a very nice party invitation to Doom itself. Not that losing two files and chipping ice necessarily counts as Doom. It doesn't hold a candle to hurricanes and economic nuclear winter. But still.<br /><br />That incredible flow I'd had in Paris – the one that turned into an out-of-control Raging Rapids theme park ride when I got home – has caused me to rethink my approach. This week is all about slowing down and tuning in. Turning the Crazyhorse River into a nice, manageable babbling brook.<br /><br />I need to get this Depression Project finished. Need to. And in order to do that, I need to NOT do 4 million other things. Full stop. So despite the fact that I just signed up for Twitter and am tempted to tweet every passing random and slightly dirty thought that enters my mind...I'll just say, 'See you tomorrow Internet.'Melanie Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07118611159046148134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996353157302759326.post-55066609222986683162009-03-28T08:03:00.007-06:002009-04-02T15:16:50.397-06:00Day 211: What Too Busy Looks Likeit looks like losing<br />things you can't afford to lose at the moment you can't afford to waste<br />you should learn<br />you should learn<br />you should learn which you would if you weren't<br />so bizzy,<br />frizzy,<br />overwhelmed,<br />too hanging-on to see<br /><br />anything<br />but that day off-off-off dangling, sun-warmed<br />off-off-off...if<br />you hadn't lost those files with those notes from that client<br />those phone-talk hours distilled<br />into capital letters<br />misspelled<br />and hasty<br /><br />and now<br />too tired to remember<br />two documents to finish<br />that job<br />that leaves you drained dry and empty on the friday<br />when you forget to save<br /><br />that snapping circle<br />and you think you're faster<br />faster more cunning<br />running<br />the next thing the next thing the next thing<br />runs the battery down<br /><br />in so many ways<br /><br />things switch off suddenly<br />and everything is gone<br />except consequencesMelanie Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07118611159046148134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996353157302759326.post-9703662794446180562009-03-26T17:16:00.010-06:002009-03-26T18:31:44.361-06:00Day 209: Water Project World Tour UPDATEToday I took a break from the grind of the Depression Project and spent the whole day on the <a href="http://mizjones.blogspot.com/2009/03/day-201-major-concert-announcement.html">Water Project.</a> It began with a meeting with the woman from the NGO, where my questions included: Did I just agree to work for free for two years...and will I get shot while I'm doing it?<br /><br />Yes, I'm working for free – they didn't budget for a writer when they got their massive grant from CIDA – but they are paying for flight/travel, accommodation, food, visas, vaccinations and insurance, including being airlifted by commandos on the off-chance I <span style="font-style: italic;">do</span> get shot. Which I won't because that's not how I'm gonna go down.<br /><br />Unless it involves a blaze of glory. In which case, I might consider it.<br /><br />Anyhoo. Working for free. Or...getting to travel the world for free. Which is how I like to think of it. It's all good. I'm already plotting magazine articles and columns to pitch, book proposals, generating massive blog traffic (tell all your friends) and a Top Secret Fundraising Extravaganza you're all invited to if I can pull my wicked idea off. Stay tuned.<br /><br />I also got some insight as to why NGO Lady decided to send an outside writer and not go <span style="font-style: italic;">herself</span> as originally sort-of planned: she's PREGGO. The Universe works in mysterious ways...and with impeccable timing.<br /><br />After that meeting, I jumped in my car and headed home for a Skype meeting with the photographer, where we started zeroing in on travel plans and creative concepts. So, the scoop as of today is something like:<br /><br />Leave Calgary around July 10th and take a couple days to travel to Ndola, Zambia – just in time to celebrate my 33rd birthday. Meet our contact there, whose name is Blessed. For real. Stay in the guest house of the partner agency in Ndola and take satellite trips from there, connecting with families in several townships in the Copperbelt province. Possibly visit an internally displaced persons/refugee camp. Visit the chimp orphanage (I KNOW!) near Ndola.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" src="http://maps.google.ca/maps?ie=UTF8&ll=-14.136576,28.388672&spn=12.759571,13.183594&z=5&output=embed" frameborder="0" height="300" scrolling="no" width="300"></iframe><br /><small><a href="http://maps.google.ca/maps?ie=UTF8&ll=-14.136576,28.388672&spn=12.759571,13.183594&z=5&source=embed" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 255); text-align: left;">View Larger Map</a></small><br /></div><br />Then at the end of July, we take off for the Tamil Nadu province of southern India, where we'll spend most of August and where the plans are still vague because we haven't gotten that far yet.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" src="http://maps.google.ca/maps?ie=UTF8&ll=11.523088,79.046631&spn=6.455659,6.591797&z=6&output=embed" frameborder="0" height="300" scrolling="no" width="300"></iframe><br /><small><a href="http://maps.google.ca/maps?ie=UTF8&ll=11.523088,79.046631&spn=6.455659,6.591797&z=6&source=embed" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 255); text-align: left;">View Larger Map</a></small><br /></div><br />The creative concept is still forming and will be HUGELY shaped by what we see and who we meet when we're there, but we're both drawn to the women and children.<br /><br />The big statistic for all water-focused development efforts is that of the 4,900 people dying every day from waterborne illnesses, 90% of them are children under 5. When you see a statistic like that, it doesn't tell you the story of how those losses impact the mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers. And what being healthy now means to these families.<br /><br />I want to have some fun with the kids if I can – bring some sketchbooks and crayons, record them singing some songs or telling me stories. I'm hoping, perhaps naively, that being healthy means they actually get to be kids.Melanie Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07118611159046148134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996353157302759326.post-17825326016921385802009-03-25T12:53:00.004-06:002009-04-02T15:14:00.062-06:00Day 208: And Now...More Depression!I've had a request for an update on <a href="http://mizjones.blogspot.com/2009/01/day-146-awkward-professional-moment-of.html">The Depression Project</a>. After the <a href="http://mizjones.blogspot.com/2009/03/day-187-zounds-they-found-my-secret.html">Parisian Panic Attack</a> followed by the <a href="http://mizjones.blogspot.com/2009/03/as-co-dependent-world-turns.html">Great Boundary Setting of 2009</a>, I haven't said boo. Inquiring minds want to know. So. Here's the scoop:<br /><br />Two days before I returned from Paris, a meeting was scheduled for five minutes after my plane touched down at home. POUNCE. I, Grade-A Sucker, agreed to it largely because I want this godforsaken project out of my life as quickly as possible and if that means hauling my haggard, jet-lagged ass into a meeting the day after I get home, so freaking be it.<br /><br />On my way home, I turned my cell phone on for a period of fourteen seconds in the Toronto airport. Just long enough to inform Boyfriend that my plane didn't go Oceanic Flight 815* over the Atlantic. During that microscopic window of time, who should call but...The Depression People.<br /><br />EEEEEK!<br /><br />It was good news though: "We've worked ahead on the scripts. All you have to do is tweak them." This means less work and gutwrenching hell for me. This makes me happy.<br /><br />We get into the meeting and talk timelines and moving forward.<br /><br />Then, Dr. Guru shows up. The man whose work in spirituality and depression forms the bedrock of this project. The man who cuts right to the effing chase: "Last week in Halifax, nine teenagers were rushed into the emergency room because of a suicide pact. One was dead by the time they arrived. Four are in ICU. The rest were treated and released. This is why we're here."<br /><br />Oh.<br /><br />Right.<br /><br />For the next hour, Dr. Guru spins a mesmerizing web of personal stories, no-BS project management and super-clear communication about what HE needs to get his part of the project done. He, like me, is sick and tired of the zig-zagging, where's-my-mommy progression of this thing and he wants it the eff DONE.<br /><br />"Tell me what you <span style="font-style: italic;">want</span>," he says to the two ladies in charge of executing this thing.<br /><br />My thoughts. His mouth.<br /><br />Dr. Guru turns to me and asks how I'm feeling. I give a bullshit answer like, "Fine thanks, how are you?" But perhaps he sensed from the emanating waves of murderous rage that simply wasn't true.<br /><br />And so, I started talking (God help us all):<br /><br />"For two months, I've been shooting in the dark because all I hear is: 'We don't know what we want.' Well, you sure know what you don't want: EVERYTHING I GIVE YOU.<br /><br />You want my voice and style, but not when it actually comes out in the writing. You want my sense of humour – which was what hauled me OUT of depression in the first place – but not around people who are depressed(?!). You want authentic, personal stories (VERY, VERY PERSONAL STORIES), but then rewrite them as though I am a MAN.<br /><br />I am frustrated, isolated and defensive. The closer we get to being done, the farther I feel from the truth. If I'm not true and real, the kids are going to see right through me and I AM GOING TO LOSE THEM. In every sense of the word."<br /><br />There was some silence in the room.<br /><br />"But...we think you're the right person for the project," Lady #2 said, patting my arm.<br /><br />As though I needed validation of my existence and not a CLEAR SOLUTION TO THIS PROBLEM. Teenagers are killing themselves...but you're a <span style="font-style: italic;">good person,</span> Melanie. Thanks.<br /><br />Other Film Guy, in charge of schedules, offered: "I think we had to go through all THAT to get where we are NOW."<br /><br />YOU didn't go through anything, Mister. I did. Next?<br /><br />Matt, the Original Film Guy, says it's a Test From The Universe. Personal growth in the form of the writing contract from hell.<br /><br />Bizarrely, this made me feel better.<br /><br />Somehow, there's a POINT to this gong show cluster f*ck and somehow I will benefit from it...eventually. I drove home, nursed a massive, full-body tension headache and went to bed early. Then, when I woke up the next morning? BOOM. Clarity.<br /><br />I wrote an email:<br /><blockquote>Laughter was my way out of depression, but it's also a defense mechanism for me. It's coming out in my writing because I'm shooting in the dark. I'm GUESSING what you wanted the kids to get out of every section and it's making me (and my writing) tentative and nervous. Now I'm frustrated...so the stabs I take will likely get more wild and off the mark.<br /><br />It's time to get grounded in the point of all this. On a segment by segment basis.<br /><br />If I know what you want, I have the confidence to explore a range of emotional voices in order to communicate with the kids. But if I'm on my heels all you'll get is defensive jokes and people-pleasing B.S. Not authentic content written for the people we are trying to help.</blockquote>It's not often I use the words "people-pleasing B.S." with my clients. There's a first time for everything.<br /><br />Since then, I've been talking on the phone with The Ladies for an hour every day, going through each segment with a fine tooth comb and rewriting everything for the THIRD (and in the case of Module 1...SEVENTH) time.<br /><br />(Can you say Contract Renegotiation?)<br /><br />It's a grind and it's hellacious, but it's happening and we're moving. There's a point to every sentence and every story. And for the first time since the beginning, I feel like I'm not only speaking to depressed kids but actually helping them, too. Yesssss.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />*A reference to the TV show <span style="font-style: italic;">Lost</span> for those who don't watch it. Short form for 'Catastrophic Plane Crash Involving Lots Of Blood And Death And A Magic Island With Mysterious Hatches And The Occasional Touch Of Time Travel.'Melanie Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07118611159046148134noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996353157302759326.post-423119729602826812009-03-24T14:21:00.013-06:002009-03-24T18:45:31.760-06:00Day 207: So I Think I Can DanceI got a 10-pass to a rec centre in hopes of finding the Calgary version of that glorious dance centre in Paris. There was a Monday evening class called Latin on the schedule and it sounded hot: aerobics with salsa moves and sweaty, sexy Latin beats. I could seriously get into that.<br /><br />So I was more than a little confused when I walked into a roomful of 60-year-old Chinese ladies wearing panty hose and dancing shoes.<br /><br />And when the chubby white guy teacher strode in, well, let's say Sexy was officially off the menu. "Sorry I'm late everyone," the teacher breathed. "We just got back from Vegas."<br /><br />Of course we did.<br /><br />"Let's warm up with rumba," he said, clapping his hands and starting the music. "And 5, 6, 7, 8." I followed along with a basic rumba box step, trying not to laugh at White Guy's flamboyantly swishing hips.<br /><br />But I wasn't laughing four counts later when he yelled, "And turn. And turn. And switch. And back," while I flailed along in the back row. Apparently "warm up" means "perform this complicated seven-minute choreography."<br /><br />Oh.<br /><br />"So," he said, stopping the music to stare at those of us who sucked at rumba. "We have new people." He sighed and rubbed his forehead. And then he listed off all the medals he's won in Latin dance competitions all over the world. I wasn't clear on what I was to do with this information, except for maybe clap.<br /><br />"Let's move on to the Paso," he called out before turning back to me and the other newbies. "Who has seen Paso Doble danced before?" A few of us put up our hands. "Oh," he said in a withering tone. "On TV, right? Dancing With The Stars?" He sighed and faced the mirror. Clearly, we were a waste of his time.<br /><br />And so I learned the Paso Doble. There was a lot of stamping and stepping and flinging of nonexistent capes. "Let's try it with music," the teacher said and suddenly the speakers unleashed the most hilariously cheesy bullfighting song of all time. It was like a Disney cartoon bullfighting soundtrack.<br /><br />"A 5, 6, 7, 8!" the teacher screamed and off we went, stamping and swinging scarves and hankies and sweatshirts over our heads.<br /><br />Then he stopped the music and pointed at me. Oh God.<br /><br />"You. What's your name? Melody. Nice cape work. Verrrry nice cape work. Everyone – watch Melody's caping this time." And then the roomful of little old Chinese ladies turned to stare at me...with unconcealed hatred.<br /><br />We did the same passage over and over again. Then we stared at the teacher who was clearly losing his shit. He crumpled a piece of paper and muttered to himself.<br /><br />"We can't move on until next week," he said, sighing and rubbing again. "I need to figure things out. I mean, this is Paso – it has to be on the music. IT JUST HAS TO. Or everything falls apart." He paced up and down mumbling while we all looked at our feet.<br /><br />"I know we'll move into a Sneak Attack followed by a Grand Circle," he said searching the paper for some kind of existential validation or military strategy. "But there's a cymbal crash coming and I NEED TO KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH IT."<br /><br />Clearly, Paso Doble is a huge responsibility. One I couldn't possibly understand.Melanie Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07118611159046148134noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996353157302759326.post-4909567487833063662009-03-23T16:25:00.005-06:002009-03-28T18:19:08.867-06:00Day 206: First World ProblemsAs the honeymoon of 'OMG I'M GOING TO AFRICA!' wears off and the reality of 'OMG How Am I Going To Pay My Mortgage While Working For Free?' kicks in, my concerns strike me as a little tacky in light of people who DON'T HAVE HOMES in the first place.<br /><br />Maybe I could take on some freelance work while I'm over there. Nothing says irony like writing about condo developments while living in a dirt hut in Zambia.<br /><br />Also? I'm now obsessed with water. I am conscious of how much I use when I brush my teeth. Of taking showers and (God forbid) taking a bath. I look at SNOW differently, for God's sake.<br /><br />I was flipping through a health magazine the other day and noticed the headline "Drinking Enough?" I snorted with laughter that here we WRITE ARTICLES about getting our 8-10 glasses per day and in the places I'll be traveling, people WALK ALL DAY to find enough to drink.<br /><br />These are the things you start to think about when you take on a project like this.<br /><br />I find myself swerving drunkenly between profound gratitude that I was born where I was, weird white-girl guilt for having SO much when others have so little and fear that I'll turn into one of those strident Save-The-World types screaming at passersby, "Yeah?! At least you have LEGS, you selfish bastard!"<br /><br />Stressing about your summer plans really isn't as fun when people really are dying in Africa...you know?Melanie Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07118611159046148134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996353157302759326.post-62051874934188156492009-03-22T09:58:00.010-06:002009-03-26T18:29:33.260-06:00Day 205: Until the Aircraft Comes to a Full, Abrupt StopTo no one's surprise, my plan to hit the ground running here in Calgary led quickly to hitting the WALL running.<br /><br />The idea was to maintain a sort of momentum upon my return from Paris in hopes of avoiding Suburban Wasteland Culture Shock And Psychic Paralysis. A good idea...in theory.<br /><br />Of course, I didn't anticipate racking up a spectacular sleep deficit and having to manage the convergence of an emceeing gig/all-day conference, two work deadlines and the sudden beginning of a massive, 2 to 3 year, possibly pro bono project involving leaving for Africa in FIVE MINUTES.<br /><br />Meanwhile, there's still the idea of theatre school (and its $30 grand price tag) and a boyfriend who keeps saying mean things like, "But...I thought we were going cycling in France this summer."<br /><br />It's all amazing and spectacular and TOTALLY OVERWHELMING. I feel like I got invited to the Oscars but forgot to wear any pants.<br /><br />And when I woke up yesterday morning to find the house in complete and utter disarray and a good-looking man (target) walking around in blissful ignorance of my exhausted, jet-lagged, which-effing-way-is-up panic, well...<br /><br />Any guesses what I chose to freak out about? The dishes, of course. At the very least you'd think I could get some new material.<br /><br />Luckily, my month of 24-7 creative solitude served me well. Because as soon as Super-Bitch reared her head, I stopped talking (nagging) and got out my paints. And today, when SB stopped in for breakfast, I shut her down by baking banana muffins and listening to Bach.<br /><br />I don't know much, but I know two things:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">FACT #1:</span><br />Creativity is the antidote for bitchiness, misery, panic and possibly depression. Let me repeat this: CREATIVITY IS THE KEY. Playing around with paints, cooking, dancing, taking photos, whatever. It's the magic bullet for getting present and into a state of flow. Period.<br /><br />(Feel free to forward this post to your PMSing wives and girlfriends.)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">FACT #2:<br /></span>Getting into a snit about having to take care of someone else is an excellent indication that I haven't been taking care of myself. This is a new realization for me. Brand new this morning. Late-breaking navel-gazing news. So now my biggest problem is Nap or Bubble Bath? Sigh. Life is hard.Melanie Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07118611159046148134noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996353157302759326.post-85186899128476869942009-03-20T07:07:00.005-06:002009-03-20T07:43:26.945-06:00Day 203: Emcee Emjay In The HouseLast night, as part of my Hit The Ground Running plan, I emceed an event for the Alberta Magazine Publisher's Association. Because performing in front of hundreds of people three days after I arrive is a GREAT way to combat the stress of transatlantic travel.<br /><br />I was encouraged to hear that last year's emcee sucked balls, so the bar wasn't high to begin with. Yessss. Nothing like shooting low.<br /><br />There was only one awkward moment. I returned to the mic after AMPA's vertically challenged executive director did her speech. This woman is short. Like REALLY short.<br /><br />And as I moved the mic up toward my mouth, I muttered a poorly timed, "Whoa. Midget."<br /><br />A statement which was then amplified and reverberated through the room.<br /><br />Despite that, after the big show, the Cool Editors invited me for a drink. There is one rather sexy, sought-after publication in this province and getting invited out with them is like getting asked to sit with the popular girls in the lunchroom. So I went. Obviously.<br /><br />We drive to a chic wine bar and sit down. We talk about this and that and somehow talk turns to People With Depression And How We Would Never Date Them EVER EVER EVER.<br /><br />Apparently one of the cool girls dated a guy who struggled with depression and now it's a total dealbreaker. Only she doesn't just stop at the person she's dating – no one in the FAMILY can have it either. So I guess depression is a form of the black plague and their advice if you see someone INFECTED is to run screaming as though your head was on fire.<br /><br />The conversation was interesting to me, not in the least because these editors KNOW about my struggles with depression based on the articles I've written FOR THEIR MAGAZINE. But clearly, they'd forgotten and having learned from my Anti-PC Microphone Moment Of The Week, I chose to keep my big mouth shut.<br /><br />Seconds later, one of the cool girls says, "So, my Person gave me a new trick for my anxiety."<br />"Your...Person?" I ask.<br />"Yeah," she says. "I see a Person about my problems with anxiety."<br /><br />Ah. Is that what they're calling them these days.<br /><br />She then went on to describe some kind of strange finger tapping exercise where you tap each finger on a table one by one, naming off the fingers as you go: thumb, index finger, middle finger, etc.<br /><br />"I just go through highland dancing moves in my head," piped up Cool Girl #2. "A leap is a form of elevation where you take off from the balls of two feet and land on the balls of one foot."<br /><br />After this baffling bit of dialogue, Cool Girl #1 turned to me and said in that slightly embarrassed manner of people who see People, "I highly recommend having a Person."<br /><br />I nodded and sipped my wine demurely.<br /><br />"Can I ask you a personal question?" Cool Girl #1 then said to me apropos of nothing. "How does your boyfriend feel about you <span style="font-style: italic;">abandoning</span> him and going to Paris?"<br /><br />Hmm, Cool Girl #1. How do YOU feel about it?Melanie Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07118611159046148134noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996353157302759326.post-33389543837095522892009-03-19T07:45:00.001-06:002009-03-19T07:52:00.320-06:00Day 202: The How of HappinessIn the Toronto airport, I passed a book shop and a book called '<a href="http://www.amazon.com/How-Happiness-Scientific-Approach-Getting/dp/159420148X/ref=si3_rdr_bb_product">The How of Happiness</a>' caught my eye. I'm deep into 'Lady Chatterley's Lover' (ahem) so I didn't buy it, but the Table of Contents gave away the farm anyhow, so maybe I don't have to.<br /><br />As I went through it, I thought it would be nice if I could offer you, my dear readers, something other than 'A Month In Paris' as a key to lasting happiness. Its basically a bullet list for a fabulous freaking life as far as I can tell:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Practicing Gratitude and Positive Thinking</span><br />No.1 Expressing Gratitude<br />No. 2 Cultivating Optimism<br />No. 3 Avoiding Overthinking and Social Comparison<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Investing in Social Connections</span><br />No. 4 Practicing Acts of Kindness<br />No. 5 Nurturing Social Relationships<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Managing Stress, Hardship and Trauma</span><br />No. 6 Developing Strategies for Coping<br />No. 7 Learning to Forgive<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Living in the Present</span><br />No. 8 Increasing Flow Experiences<br />No. 9 Savoring Life's Joys<br /><br />No. 10 (which warranted its own category) <span style="font-weight: bold;">Committing to Your Goals</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Taking Care of Body & Soul</span><br />No. 11 Practicing Religion and Spirituality<br />No. 12 Taking Care of Your Body (Meditation)<br />No. 13 Taking Care of Your Body (Exercise)<br />No. 14 Taking Care of Your Body (Acting like a happy person)<br /><br />There's one glaring omission in this list (in my humble, completely biased opinion): CREATIVITY. But if you look again, you could easily apply creativity to most of these activities. Which is what I did in Paris. I coped with stress THROUGH creativity – <a href="http://mizjones.blogspot.com/2009/03/day-197-dance-it-fck-out.html">dancing it the f*ck out</a> (which is also exercise), drawing pictures, writing in my journal. I achieved flow experiences through creative play. The goals I set were purely creative. You see what I mean.<br /><br />You could probably apply any kind of approach you wanted to this list. Mine's creativity in general, but maybe yours is Advanced Military Operations (random acts of bombing) or Erotic Scrapbooking (savoring your glue stick) or even Career Necking (developing strategies for groping).Melanie Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07118611159046148134noreply@blogger.com0