lifeaquatic:

Nobody tells you when you move to Canada that you have to reenact all the pain of Neil Young’s life before they give you permanent residency.

4:52 am  •  21 December 2012  •  18 notes

astefano:

July
Oil on canvas
8x8

1:59 pm  •  27 July 2011  •  6 notes

12:10 pm  •  17 July 2010  •  2 notes

Or ‘How life should always be about getting high with senior citizens’.

Upon arriving home early from a Halloween party, I could hear what was clearly a banging party at the back yard neighbours’ house. I’ve heard these parties before, and it’s mostly when I’m re-watching a favourite movie for comfort, and have been invited to zero parties, and am lonely, and each time wish I was brave enough to walk over and invite myself.

Upon arriving home early from the Halloween party I suddenly found myself brave, bored, and full of enough booze. ‘These kids aren’t having another party without me,’ I thought. And so I walked around the block, confident and still wearing my Halloween costume. What a gas this will be! Parents out of town, red plastic cups everywhere, with me being a riot and entertaining the teens with stories of Dunbar back in the 80s! I’ll probably tell them about me and Julie burying a dead bird in the neighbour’s yard because we thought she was a witch, and how she reported us to our parents, and maybe I’ll exaggerate and say our punishment was to clean her house, and that we found voodoo dolls in her drawer!

I arrived at the house, and walked confidently through the gate, barely noticing the people sitting on the porch, but greeting them enthusiastically as I went through the front door. A shock awaited me - for it was not kids having a party while their parents were away, but people in their 60s and 70s! By the dozen! With appetizers and rented wine glasses and bright lighting! And a 95-year-old grandma dancing alone! I was clearly out of place, and wearing a nurse costume. However there was no turning back, I was in, and had no choice but to ignore any strange looks and leap boldly into conversation. I couldn’t afford to leave room for questioning, that much was certain. And so I made friends, and discovered it was Cousin Peter’s 60th birthday, and that Peter’s house was too small to hold the party, and so they decided to hold it here.

A couple of things occurred to me as a result of being at the party. The first was the way in which I was welcomed with open (if somewhat confused) arms. This was probably mostly due to the amount of booze consumed by the average old person present. But the fact is, people were genuinely interested in talking to me and there were no false pretences. Having never attended an event containing exclusively seniors that wasn’t family-related, it dawned on me that the insecurities of youth are not permanent, and that the best decision I made that night was to leave a party full of pvc-clad devils and a half-naked interpretation of Rainbow Brite, where people were too cool or too wasted or too pretty.

As I listened to one guy reveal to his older cousin that she was always the cool, exotic one that they all looked up to and wanted to be like when they were young, I suddenly for the first time wasn’t petrified of getting old. Not that I sit around being petrified of old age. But having older parents has made it something of a secretly upsetting subject, and the sight of an old person crossing the road with a walker makes me cry. Despite that it’s obviously patronising. So now I’ll be able to picture them heading for a party in their best green clip on earrings and dancing until 3 with their walker, and maybe I won’t cry. And then maybe I’ll picture them out on the balcony, playing Neil Young on guitars and passing me a joint, and then I’ll remember the best parts of life. I’ll remember that I won’t be young forever, but that it will be okay, and that we won’t be alone, that I am lucky enough to have people in my life who love me, and that I love them back. And that at 75 the lyrics to Old Man will still apply.

- fb, 4 Nov 2007

6:36 pm  •  13 July 2010  •  2 notes

elainecorden:

“Love letters from somebody who no longer speaks  to me”

Elaine should have snooped more. I love nothing more than a snoop. I particularly like having conventionally private things in conspicuous places to assist people in their snoopathons. Snoop away, my pretty pretties. -Eliz

6:22 pm  •  13 July 2010  •  3 notes

This is me. As you can maybe tell, I hardly ever do a closed-mouth smile. Here I am very restrained.

8:29 pm  •  6 July 2010  •  1 note