thenadia

Archive for May, 2010|Monthly archive page

Listed

In Uncategorized on May 31, 2010 at 11:20 am

It’s raining. It’s pouring.
It’s Monday. It’s morning.
Life is boring only if you are.

Immerse yourself:

Film: Mao’s Last Dancer (Australian foreign film)
Fiction
: Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
Nonfiction
: Freakonomics by Steven Levitt and Stephen Dubner
Acoustic
: Paperweight by Joshua Radin and Schuyler Fisk
Musical
: The Lion King
Concert
: Simon Garfunkel
Art Exhibit
: The Modern Woman
Television
: Modern Family
NPO Initiative
: imagine1day

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Coasting Oregon

In Uncategorized on May 26, 2010 at 12:13 am

Windows Down

In Uncategorized on May 20, 2010 at 4:14 pm

The sound of anticipation.

Exited Through the Gift Shop

In Uncategorized on May 19, 2010 at 1:17 pm

By now you’ve probably seen Exit Through the Gift Shop, and if you haven’t, I  strongly encourage you to go. Since there are enough repetitive reviews of this documentary out there to make Warhol proud, I’ll leave it to experts to do their jobs. Having said that though, I do  suggest approaching the film, or perhaps re-evaluating the film in a new angle as articulated by “Alex”  (a random commenter off a review I read). His perspective aligned with mine and I think it is worth passing on as it may offer a new context in which to position the film:

Try looking at Guetta as a Bansky’s piece of its own – a human canvas. Yes MBW’s art is derivative and hollow. Thats the point. People still buy it despite the fact that it lacks any real meaning – unlike the works of Fairey and Bansky. Banksy crafted Guetta to embody the shallowness of the establishment, and in doing so exposed the “Art World” for what it really is – shallow and gullible. A grand hoax. And perhaps Banksy’s finest work.

Whether you choose to agree with this assessment is up to you, but before you decide, be sure you sample some Banksy to get into his head space. Provocative, controversial, creative!

Dudeee

In Uncategorized on May 18, 2010 at 1:11 pm

Heading over to Oregon Coast with my dad’s pick up truck to go camping and surfing in a few days for a few nights. So stoked to drive away from the city that’s been feeling too much like a closed up box lately. Desperately needing to cross borders to stretch the senses. Haven’t started packing yet but I won’t forget my oversize sweats, oversize hoodie; oversize everything. The only thing small I am taking with me is a window of hope that the weather pulls through with some shiny rays of heat. I absolutely refuse to let pouring rain dampen the rejuvenating spirit of this trip though. Void from this trip will be thinking; just being. Disconnecting with illusions of how things are and connecting with what is really going on. Do not disturb as I park myself beside the fire, watching can soup boil over and flecks of ash landing on my toes.

And it ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe
If you don’t know by now

The Best Berger in Town!

In Uncategorized on May 16, 2010 at 8:08 pm

I might not be here tomorrow

It’s impossible to say when, but it might be tomorrow. If I had it my way, I would never leave you but sometimes things happen. Then I won’t ever get to call you out on your shit anymore. And I won’t be able to have laugh attacks with you on aisle 6 where the cookies are and then again on aisle 13 beside the shampoo. I won’t be able to chase the moon with you, singing songs from ’98. And I won’t be able to gross you out with my lochness monster and cobra snake impressions.  I won’t ever be able to do any of the things I use to do for you but trust me, it’s you I can’t lose. I know what I’ve got, so I am telling you this now in case …

You are not here tomorrow

School Girl Crush

In Uncategorized on May 14, 2010 at 2:28 pm

In a creepy way,  I imagine myself having the most fluid conversations with John Mayer. I see us sitting in one of those 24/7 diners -him picking at eggs while I’m picking his brain- and before either of us realize, the sun has gone up and down again. But obviously I am not thatttt big of a stalker considering I just learned about his blog today, then spent a good hour digesting it. He is so my guy, as if the music thing wasn’t hubba bubba enough, he is as curious as he is vivacious.

> than

In Uncategorized on May 11, 2010 at 11:27 pm

Blackhawks > Canucks
The City > The Hills
Oregon Coast > Tofino
Iron Man 1 > Iron Man 2
Eels – Bon Iver
11 am > 11 pm
3 am > 3 pm
Bangkok > Shanghai
Hong Kong > Bangkok
Singapore> Hong Kong
Tokyo > Singapore
Beijing – Tokyo
Paris > Tokyo
Seth Cohan > Dan Humpfrey
Mc Steamy > Mc Dreamy
Esquire > GQ
Marketing > Finance
Filet – Mc Chicken
Today > Tomorrow
Tomorrow > Yesterday
Granville Island – Gastown
Silence > Lies
OMG > FML
Surfing – Snowboarding
Commodore > Orpheum
Jay > Kanye
Writing > Dancing
Singing > Writing
Nadia < Betty White

A Little On My Mama

In Uncategorized on May 10, 2010 at 1:56 pm

Before mom got her driving license in the late eighties, we bused and sky trained everywhere. A few coins for fare and an umbrella for rain; we kept it easy, kept it light. Then one day, along the way, my brother joined us with his dimples and bowl cut, so our party of two became three and because of him, we became a lot cuter too.  No matter where we went, mom always sat in the middle, stood in the middle, because we wanted to spend all our time with her. Knowing this, she took us anywhere she fancied because we’d surely follow.  The city was our playground. We fed ducks at Central Park, ate lunch at Granville Island, borrowed books from Mc Gill, bought pants for dad at Woodwards. And no matter how far or close a place actually was, everywhere just seemed one thing:  far. When our little legs couldn’t keep up, mom would extend her hand backwards, blindly looking for ours, and we’d have to run to catch up until our hands were in hers again.

The three of us always went places during the day. Dad would join whenever he could, but I remember him to be more of an after work special. Mom made sure she took us out of the house though. While I would generally describe mom as soft spoken,  I remember her filling my childhood with vivid stories that colored my imagination and explanations that made sense of reality. She encouraged my brother and I to engage fully with the world, to not let it pass us by. Except while we were on transit, then she would let us glue our faces to the window, so we could observe the who, what, where ourselves. When we got tired, the three of us would take up a whole row of seats, mom in the middle of course, so that we each got a lap to pillow our face for a nap.

When mom got her own car and license, it marked the end of our transit adventures. Subsequently, it was the beginning of  when each of our world grew a lot bigger; suddenly we could go further, faster, more frequently. My brother and I traded time spent together for growing up free of mom holding our hand. It was time to stop seeing the world through a window, we had to get in there.

Yesterday, I hung out with mom on Mother’s Day, just the two of us. We adventured through Downtown, perused through floral racks, tried on Tod’s, shared street meat. When it was time to go home, we sky trained it. It has been more than two decades since we  last sat side by side while the city flashed by us and it made me flash back to how we started. Mom was there on day one, when my world had no rhyme or reason, when I had no boundaries or worries, when everything I knew was a story she told me. Now twenty odd years later, mom is here to listen to the adventures I had without her, and to tell me things are going to be okay after mistakes I’ve made. I love my mom for that, for her love being constant, when everything else has changed.

 

Port Antonio

In Uncategorized on May 8, 2010 at 10:34 am

It was Wednesday after school, stifling humid hot and grandma, mom  and her two boys were hanging in their stairwell pulled under a pool of shade. Their building sits in the middle of a busy block in the middle of busy Port Antonio by the edge of the calm Jamaican sea. And much like the sea, this family was serene and unfazed by all the shifting colors, hurried people and myriad noises happening all around them. The older of the two boys was chill on his chair,  in his yellow school uniform, and was very shy but proud when I asked to see his sketch book of tigers and robots. He loves to draw. Meanwhile the younger one, who was too young for school, was restlessly bouncing between his brother’s lap and grandma’s arms who was getting her hair braided by her daughter. I showed Grandma a photo I took of her tightly knotted braids that ran the nape of her neck, each capped off with a little pink bead. Her face lit up, radiant. Her daughter chuckled, amused by her mom’s curiosity over fancy technology. But I was onto Grandma, she was having a rare moment of vanity, delighted as a babe with braids.

I spent less than fifteen minutes with this family, I don’t even know their names. But  a year later, I still find myself thinking about them from time to time, wondering what new drawings the older boy is showing his younger brother, or what color beads Grandma has hanging off her braids. I imagine them hanging  out on their stairwell as their neighbors hustle for a few dollars, women selling spices and fruits,  and Rhastas lighting up and burning out. Every once in a while letting some random girl who doesn’t know better interrupt them with a few lines about the weather and a few snapshots of their day. I hope they realize that they gave me more than just a moment of their time but that they left a lasting impression of what I one day want for my own family. I want after school time with my children. I want to laugh with and at my mom. I want to spin with the rest of the crazy world… with them by my side… in the shade.