The Tragically Unhip

a blog with three fingers on the pulse of uncoolness.

Showcase Showdown in Online Dating: Craigslist vs. OkCupid March 21, 2009

Filed under: City Living,Dating,Musings — Kimberly Senf @ 11:06 am

For the record, I am more than willing to state the fact that I am a very curious person who is almost always willing to try something once, even if nearly everyone I know thinks I’m ridiculous for doing so. So I’m trying out a little experiment.

 

It started about a year ago with my very own Craigslist ad. The kind where I say that I have adorable curly brown hair and a no-nonsense attitude when it comes to grammar, but nothing like the ads that George Blott told us about here. The replies came in waves. There were the usual penis shots and overused poetic clichés mixed in with the bad spellers, all of whom got the same amount of respect in my books, i.e. not much. Then there were the surprisingly semi-decent replies that I couldn’t be sure about because they really could have been from anyone (e.g. a murderer, one of my exes). That’s the problem with e-dating: no matter what you think you can tell from someone’s emails, no matter how many go back and forth, it’s always the in-person meet-and-greet that seals the deal.

 

Sadly, I usually only need a few minutes to figure out whether or not I’m wasting everyone’s time. I even once almost walked right by a potential date and just gone straight home because I could tell before even crossing the street that he wasn’t my type. But I went through with it, and had one of the worst quasi-dates of my life. Through Craigslist, I met ex-convicts and really boring boys who still live with their parents in St. Leonard. Since nothing was getting more exciting than that, I thought I should change it up a little bit.

 

So now I’ve taken things to a whole new level: I’ve joined OkCupid, an online dating site. And as much as I claim that it’s purely for socio-anthropological research purposes, it’s also to satisfy my curiosity about whether or not real people can actually meet other like-minded, intelligent, non-creepy people through online dating sites.

 

I know that people with lower standards than myself can have a field day on such sites, but I wonder if we semi-hipsters can make a date of it as well. Because really, when you cut out the poor spellers, creepers, 56-year-old non-sugar daddies versus the 19-year-old D&D fans, you’re not left with very much. So far I’ve managed to “run into” four people I already know on the site, while only finding a handful of eligible bachelors who I’d actually consider to be worth my time and effort.

 

So for the moment the verdict’s out. One of the perks of OkCupid is that you can see who’s looked at your profile and then size them up however you like. And I learned how to block the overly-enthusiastic people who can’t take my lack of a reply as a hint. There will have to be some real-life meetings in order for me to rate this dating site against the wonders of Craiglist personal ads, but don’t worry dear readers, I’ll keep you posted.

 

Baby, It’s Cold Outside January 27, 2009

Filed under: Body,Health,Musings — Kimberly Senf @ 11:12 pm

Montreal is a very chilly city—where the temperature hits thermometer bottom for about a third of the year and every January I wonder why I put up with the slushy streets and freezing rain that turns puddles into ice sheets, and leaving the house becomes an altogether uninviting option.

 

Don’t even get me started on the lack of sunshine, ’cause I could go on for many grey days. With the lack of Vitamin D and outdoor extra-curriculars (only truly insane people go cross-country skiing in -20°C weather) I sometimes find myself staring off into the white nothingness, dreaming of sunny beaches and hot sand. Or I sit at home and try to send myself into oblivion by the insane amount of random televisions shows I can consume in a four-hour period. (And yes, I still wonder why I get nothing done.)

 

Winter is supposed to be about hibernation and time spent by roaring fireplaces and drinking hot toddies with loved ones. But what if I can’t even be bothered to get out of bed to find the wine that I should be mulling? The sun is done for the day by 3 p.m. and all too many people I know cannot be bothered to leave their house when the mercury tells them what they don’t want to learn. Add a little SAD to the equation, and it’s just a regular winter in Canada. Sad but true, Seasonal Affective Disorder is the fancy-schmancy term for the winter blues that take root in my bones until April heats up the streets and everyone comes out to play again. Woe is me and my unfulfilled wishes of warm country days.

 

Due to the lack of sunshine in my life (I am born on the darkest day of the year, thank you parents), I have actually sought therapy for said winter blues. I’ve downed bottles of Vitamin D in a quick-fix phase, but soon realized that if I wanted lasting results, I would have to pull out the big guns, otherwise known as the SAD lamp. They’re nifty and oh-so-bright, but the catch is that they’re also easily $200. And then I wonder, do I have to sit in front of it for a half hour a day to get the maximum benefit, or can I just read Jane Eyre while the lamp shines on? In the end, I decided that my clumsy nature would likely result in my SAD lamp becoming a sad mess of broken parts, and I would be out $200 and even more depressed. So instead I opted for the tried and very well-tested method of coping through chocolate. That was pre-detox, though. This winter, I’ll have to wing it with some white tea and almond butter, fingers crossed that I’ll have the willpower to keep the chocolate hidden in my freezer until the spring thaw.

 

(Or, alternately, I could sit at home and listen to “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” on vinyl and use my nifty camcorder to record the record spinning round and round. But I think I’ll take my chances with the white tea and try to forget exactly how cold it is outside.)

 

 

Reader, I Digest January 20, 2009

Filed under: Body,Food,Health — Kimberly Senf @ 12:15 am

With the New Year come the resolutions that are quickly tossed to the side amidst the vices of life (chocolate and anything else involving the wonders of white sugar, to name my favourites). As I’m normally one of those who needs no excuse to dig into my second slice of lemon cake, I thought I’d take a different angle this year. Rather than simply depriving myself of all edible delights for mere days before I my willpower dissolves due to lack of resolve, I decided to start 2009 off with a firm and healthy handshake – otherwise known as a detox.

 

To be specific, it’s Joshi’s Holistic Detox that leaves me without: red meat, dairy, fruit (except the trusty banana), wheat, gluten & yeast, alcohol (oh, how I long for my Moskovskaya), sugar, sugar, sugar, coffee and artificial anything. I read the book cover to cover and couldn’t wait to get started with deprivation. But like any sane person, I waited until the 1st of January to get my detox on.

 

To be frank, I’m a bacon, chicken and fish almost-vegetarian for the most part anyways, so kicking Babe off my diet was not hard in the least. I also haven’t had a glass of icy cold cow’s milk in years and since I’m addicted to the wonders of soy and rice milk, I was able to tick this box off easier than it probably should have been (Joshi does let me have my plain bio yogurt though – oh the joy!).

 

Bananas are allowed because of their slow-releasing sugars, which is pretty much the only sugar I’m getting anyways – unless you count the minute amount of cane juice in my soy milk—which frankly, I don’t count for anything besides keeping me just a little bit saner throughout the detox. Just imagine a life without sugar (wait, don’t cry yet), and now imagine it without sugar and bread. Now you can shed a tear.

 

Overnight, I’ve turned into a spelt bread type of girl who checks ingredient lists for the unwanted gluten, wheat, and forbidden crystals of sugar that crop up just about everywhere. Once you start to pay attention to what you eat, it’s all too easy for it to become an obsession. The people that serve me at restaurants have been rather lackluster and unimpressed with my newfound attitude towards everything I ingest. They take issue with the fact that I need to know exactly what’s in the vinaigrette and that I ask for carrot juice with a little beet thrown in. A girl’s got to get her vegetable sweetness somewhere!

 

Now you might say that sugar, alcohol and coffee are what make the world go round and get about 45% of the world out of bed in the morning. I would have to agree with you there because I used to be a tried and true member of the java club. But somehow I’ve found the will to insert a green tea bag where there was once a beautiful shot of espresso. At least I’m still allowed to smell the coffee beans, which makes up for about 2% of the pain.

 

So far it’s been 19 days and I’ve only got three more to go (one make-up day for the numerous vodka sodas I’ve consumed while pining away for the chocolate that’s in my freezer). I think I’ve lost a few pounds—but that might only be from all the dishes I’ve been doing and all the calories I’ve been burning up in the kitchen as I hand-blend my chick peas into a state of hummus and make more soup than your grandmother can shake a spoon at.

 

The best part of putting myself through the nutritional ringer is that I actually feel pretty decent. Better than I have in months: no cold, no flu, and no problems besides figuring out exactly how many Tupperware containers I can fit into my purse without looking like I’m trying to sell them door-to-door. These days I drink my hot water with lemon and face the day head-on without the blur of a caffeine fix fogging up the glass. The view’s pretty much the same, but maybe it’s just that my vantage point is a little bit to the left of where I started from, somewhere between the kale and the rice milk.

 

Funny Signs: Vancouver Flea Market Edition December 29, 2008

Filed under: Signage — Kimberly Senf @ 10:07 am
Buy Art Not Cocaine

All photos by Kimberly Senf

 

The allure of the Vancouver Flea Market only hit me after I’d spent two days locked indoors hoping that the rain would subside. It didn’t. And the flea market is only a good idea if you want to see how the other half lives and take pictures while walking down aisles upon aisles of endless junk that hopefully no one will ever purchase. It gives a whole new meaning to Buy Nothing Day.

 

This is one of the many gems I encountered at the market. And no, I didn’t purchase anything, but I must admit that the temptation was overwhelming.

 

I almost bought this, but then I couldn't figure out where to hang it. Darn. (Photos by Kimberlily)

I almost bought this, but then I couldn't figure out where to hang it. Darn.

 

Is Romance Dead? December 5, 2008

Filed under: Culture & Society,Dating,Musings — Kimberly Senf @ 11:49 am

Or does it just make you dead? Imagine that you’re going to propose to your sweetheart. You think how romantic it would be to go to a quiet, secluded spot on the beach to let her know that she’s the one you want to spend all your days with. And just as you’re about to ask her to marry you, she literally gets swept out to sea.

 

Fate=1, Romance=0.

 

This actually happened. Foremost it is a sad and unfortunate story—but it also leaves a permanent mark on the reputation of romantic gestures. Romance has already been stretched to its limits, with many people thinking that love notes, flowers and boomboxes outside of windows can easily be exchanged for Facebook gifts and Podcasts. I miss the good old days of someone passing me a note that asked me to check off whether or not I liked them, or actually receiving a mix CD that I could listen to over and over, trying to find hidden meanings in all of the well-selected songs.

 

Notions of romance and what constitutes a romantic gesture have changed so much over the past decade; I’m sure teenagers think they’re better than Byron when they text each other their sweet nothings. Except Byron would be rolling over in his grave if he knew that love poetry has largely been replaced by text messages that take the English language to places I never thought it could go.

 

M is for Meh December 4, 2008

Filed under: Language,Musings,Television — Kimberly Senf @ 1:23 am

Upon learning that the truly expressive term “meh” has made it into the dictionary, I felt the urge to take a gander at what else we’re deeming part of the official modern lexicon. It looks as though from The Simpsons (apparently they should be credited with the rise in the use of “meh”) to The Sopranos, pop culture is taking a stab at creating new language for the generations that remain glued to the tube.

 

Here’s a selection of the more exciting (and useable) new words sandwiched between the tried and true ones in your OEDs:

bada-bing: the infamous phrase popularized by the Sopranos, “suggesting something happening suddenly, emphatically, or easily and predictably”

bahookie: (Scot.) a term that refers to your backside

big whoop: big deal. (How has this only made the cut now?)

celebutante: a celebrity who is well known in fashionable society

drama queen: a person given to often excessively emotional performances or reactions

himbo: an attractive but vacuous man – “male bimbo”

radge: (Scot.) a wild, crazy, or violent person

soul patch: a small growth of beard under a man’s lip

telenovelas: Latin-American soap operas

wonk: (Brit.) informal, a stupid or foolish person.

Yogalates: a fitness routine that combines Pilates exercises with the postures and breathing techniques of yoga.

 

I’m surprised that so many of the words that I take for granted and use on a daily basis aren’t actually in my trusty dictionary for me to refer to. At least now when I need to define plumber’s crack and hard-ass, I’ll know where to find them, since they’ve recently made the cut.

 

Since the Internet can make almost anything viral, it seems only fitting that our modern vocabulary is going have to expand to include the new terms that are popping up all over. It can take just one YouTube post and some blogging by a drama queen or himbo, and bada-bing, we have a new dictionary entry. It may be a big whoop for me to see new words added, but I might be outvoted by the celebutantes—that is, if they could tear themselves away from the Yogalates. And yes, that sentence felt just about as good to write as it did to read—so get used to it.

 

Obsessive, Compulsive, Neurotic November 22, 2008

Filed under: Health,Musings — Kimberly Senf @ 1:18 am

Some things make me absolutely crazy, and because of my tendency to over-examine these problematic areas, I’ve self-diagnosed myself with OCD. It’s a term that’s been tossed around a lot over the past decade and has become part of our everyday vernacular, but for some people (yours truly included), it’s an altogether irritating aspect of everyday life that makes it impossible to do something as simple as start a task until the entire desktop has been cleared and everything is in its proper place.

 

Turns out I’m picky about the things that I’ll obsess over—primarily doors being locked and stoves being turned off. I’ll psychoanalyze myself here and reason that the door-lockage and the need to ensure that the stove elements are turned off stems from too many Rescue 911 and Unsolved Mysteries episodes in my childhood that traumatized me about home invasion and houses consumed by fire.

 

Friends that have seen me go through the ordeal of locking my door no longer sigh impatiently as I go back for the third or fourth time—they’ve learned that this will just make me have to return to count it out all over again. I’m sure that if I knew any doctors who could come over to watch me lock my door, they’d be signing over a prescription in no time.

 

Now my obsessive tendencies have been chronicled on the website below for all other neurotics to see. So far it seems that I’m not alone, which helps me feel just a little bit saner—only a little, but that little bit helps.

 

picture-14

 

Friday Night Police Lights November 15, 2008

Filed under: City Living,Home,Neighbourhood,Nightlife — Kimberly Senf @ 4:43 am

There isn’t much that tops calling the police at 3:30am—except maybe a good night’s sleep. Yet sleep was not in the cards for me tonight, because when I got home I was greeted by the sounds of a scuffle going on above my head. From screams to shouts to plate breakage, it was all going down on the second floor of my humble abode. That’s when I pulled out the mobile and called 911 for the first time—and got put on hold.

 

A couple of minutes later I was able to tell the operator the issue at hand: that my neighbours were having some sort of disturbance that seemed to be out of their control. They assured me that they would send a car to check things out, so I hung up, sat in my living room in my pyjamas and impatiently waited.

 

Ten minutes later the first police car came to a stop outside my house. Now, I live in a pretty residential neighbourhood; this isn’t Hochelaga-Maisonneve or even the Plateau, where the partying can sometimes get a little out of hand. We’re talking Cote-des-Negies, where people’s grandmothers grow old and eat bagels. This isn’t where the police spend their Friday nights giving away noise complaint tickets, so I think they were as surprised to be here as my neighbours were to see them.

 

While the first set of cops went upstairs, I was pleased to see that my call had been taken seriously and that two more police cars were waiting outside my house. The culprits from upstairs spilled onto the sidewalk and began a drunken embrace that seemed to last for decades while the officers looked on in semi-amused silence.

 

By 4am the last cop car had left the scene and those who’d broken the peace had not so quietly vacated the premises. The only problem now is that it’s the middle of the night and I’m wide-awake and rather annoyed. I thought I no longer lived in the part of the city that merited phone calls to the police at all hours of the night? When I lived in Genevieve D. Markle’s sketchy building I never had to call the police on my many crazy neighbours, yet somehow they’ve managed to find me in Cote-des-Neiges. Next time around, I’m moving into an attic.

 

How To Cure The Common Cold November 10, 2008

Filed under: Food,Health,How-To — Kimberly Senf @ 11:14 pm

Now I’m not even sure if I have the common cold, but I do know that I have something scratching away at the back of my throat—and I would like to evict my uninvited guest. I trust that I’m not alone in my miserable state, so I thought I’d share my bacteria-fighting beverage with everyone.

 

As trusty as Canadian-made NeoCitran is, nothing beats a runny nose and itchy throat like some good old-fashioned kitchen remedies. My personal favourite is a concoction that consists of: half a grapefruit, a clove of garlic, a pinch of cayenne pepper and a teaspoon of olive oil. Give it all a whirl with your trusty hand-blender and chug away. Please don’t sip it daintily like I tried to, or you might not be able to stomach more than a few sips. Not only will the garlic pave the way to better health, but it will also allow you some alone time to get some rest!

 

(Repeat twice daily and don’t be cheap on the garlic for maximized results.)

 

Roman Holiday November 1, 2008

Filed under: Fashion,How-To,Video — Kimberly Senf @ 9:59 pm

I made the decision to be a toga-clad Roman for Hallowe’en, thinking that it would be the simplest costume to pull off. Little did I know that the weight of the material of your toga, as well as your ability to grow a third arm for tying purposes, are both very important factors to consider when choosing to drape yourself in this costume of the ancients.

 

In order to figure out exactly how much white cloth I’d be needing, I did what I always do when faced with such a pickle: I Googled it. I found what I thought to be a very informative (if not dated and mildly annoying) video of a British woman telling me how exactly I should be affixing the toga to my person. Little did I know that she was instructing me to buy 3 yards of fabric too many, thus doubling the price of my costume. I don’t know who she thinks needs 6 yards of fabric, but it ain’t me. Oh yes, and she topped off her how-to with the instructions for all of us toga-clad ladies to go party like it’s 1999. But please don’t take my word for it; watch for yourself.

 

 

After watching a few more instructional videos on YouTube and trying to make sense of all the extra fabric I’d purchased, I finally decided to do things the old-fashioned way. Out came the safety pins and scissors. A couple of snips and my supply of fabric was down to half of its original size and much more manageable. Then my roommate—whom I’d already flashed while running around the house half-naked and who had seen (and heard) me struggling for a half hour—poked her head in. Between the two of us, my toga was on and tied in minutes.

 

A couple of points to remember are to make sure that you save the eye-catching underwear for every other day of the year and that you wrap the material around your body at least once before you start in with the toga tying, securing the material with a safety pin in order to hold everything in place. Don’t let anyone tell you that this a one person job, because unless you have superhuman toga-tying abilities, it takes two to tie the toga.

 

Cheap Thrills – The Price of Milk October 20, 2008

Filed under: Etiquette,Food,Money — Kimberly Senf @ 2:19 am

Maybe I’ve spent too many of my hard-earned pennies feeding my shopping habit lately, but the encounter I had at Nocochi yesterday left me wanting—some of my money back, that is.

 

I ordered my standard fare of an allongé with warm milk on the side, not seeing an extra price indicated on the menu for the milk, nor did my server mention anything when she took my order. When my steaming Illy espresso was placed on the table in front of me, I was too enthralled by the lush crema to notice that the little steamer of hot milk that came along with my coffee was less than a third full. I didn’t mind, seeing as this obviously meant that the milk was complimentary and not going to be added to my bill, which made this poor girl pretty content.

 

Yet when I made my way over to the cash to pay I noticed that I was charged for what I thought was the price of a double espresso. I only had a single espresso, so I immediately corrected the cashier. This is when she informed me that it was in fact that right price, because the warm milk added an extra dollar to the price of my coffee. A full dollar for an inch of warm milk? I do not think so. Like my father always says, it’s highway robbery—and for once I can say that I actually agree with him.

 

For The Love of Garbage October 5, 2008

Filed under: City Living,Etiquette,Manifesto — Kimberly Senf @ 1:45 am
Very feng shui (Photo by Kimberlily)

Very feng shui. (Photo by Kimberlily)

 

On my way to the metro this afternoon I happened upon a sight I’ve seen one too many times and done nothing about: garbage sitting on the curb when there ain’t no truck coming. Well, I won’t be silent about my discontent anymore. Who can possibly think that it’s acceptable to leave any sort of trash (and today it was a toilet) sitting in their front yard to wait days for the garbage men to haul it away? There’s no reason why toilets, soiled carpets and mattresses need to be put on display for the whole neighbourhood to see.

 

I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve left my fair share of discarded possessions outside my apartment come moving day, but they have always been in decent condition and they’ve never lasted more than a couple of hours on the street. From tea sets to school books, people have taken everything I’ve left up for grabs. But no one has any interest in the toilet from 1987 that’s seen better days—unless it’s to take a picture of it in order to complain about how your neighbours treat your street like a rubbish bin, which is exactly what I decided to do. This girl likes her streets sunny, green, and without a toilet on display, thank you very much.

 

Hot Chip Will Break Your Legs (With Dancing, We Mean) October 3, 2008

Filed under: Dance,Fashion,Music,Nightlife — Kimberly Senf @ 2:11 am

Hot Chip at Metropolis. (Photo by Genevieve D. Markle)

I had certain expectations about the experience of a Hot Chip concert: I knew that I wouldn’t be the only one wearing a scarf for fashion rather than warmth, and I knew that I would dance—or at least bop—the night away. Turns out I was right on both accounts. I didn’t expect, however, to be assaulted both physically and sensorily by a group of raver kids who danced with complete disregard for the people around them—not only by constantly knocking into my companion and me, but also by allowing one member of their party to repeatedly pass gas on the dancefloor. But moving on, the positive highlights of the night!

 

The evening started off on a good note as my trusty sidekick Gen and I happened upon our favourite Pop Montreal ticket connoisseur. Not only has our friend Tony recently climbed Kilimanjaro, but he also had in his possession two free tickets which he bestowed upon us for nothing more than generosity’s sake. Fate was smiling upon us.

 

Blue Man Group. (Photo by Kimberlily)

Blue Man Group. (Photo by Kimberlily)

The opening act was an experience to be endured rather than enjoyed, and I think many more than myself breathed a sigh of relief when Growing made their exit. The Metropolis wasn’t as packed to the brim as I’ve seen it in the past, so in exchange there was room to meander between those interested with the periphery and those who came to get their dance on. The less-than-packed house also meant that it was easier to spot all the people who came dressed to impress in their geek chic. It was candy for the eyes that made it very apparent who took an eclectic bent with their look and who bought it ready-made.

 

We were able to wrangle a wee little dance spot for ourselves and as soon as Hot Chip hit the stage it was practically impossible not to tap along to the beat. They deserve hearty kudos for their enthusiasm throughout the night, which is something that can make or break a live show. I want to know that the musicians on stage are responding to the music they’re performing before a live audience, and Hot Chip left nothing about this up in the air; it was pretty clear that they are all about doing what they do so well.

 

Maracas! (Photo by Genevieve D. Markle)

After the show, we caught guitarist and frontman Al Doyle attempting to make a getaway for the band’s bus. But we couldn’t just let him pass us by without a few comments for the Tragically Unhip, so we stood our ground (quite literally, actually, as we had to wait for him to come back out of the bus—which, thankfully, he did). Upon being asked for a comment for our unhip website, he let us know that it’s no secret that Hot Chip has been labeled as nerds and geeks, even though people “aren’t quite yelling it [at them] on the street.” He seems to think that Hot Chip is still “on the periphery of pop culture in the U.K.,” but that it might just be because they have to compete with Amy Winehouse’s latest debauchery or whether or not Prince William is getting married. And no sooner were the words out of his mouth than a small crowd of semi-drunk fans stumbled out of the darkness, which was the perfect opportunity for these Unhipsters to perform their vanishing act.

 

- Kimberlily, Genevieve D. Markle

 

Things We Have Love/Hate Relationships With October 1, 2008

Filed under: Television,Things We Have Love/Hate Relationships With — Kimberly Senf @ 9:45 am

I have a problem and its name is Surf the Channel. After moving out of my parents’ house, I spent years becoming unaccustomed to the noise of the television. I stopped watching television entirely, instead only sitting through repeated viewing sessions of Erin Brockovich, Center Stage and Good Will Hunting on VHS. I managed to live a relatively television-free life and I had extra time to spend pursuing more social activities, such as reading and going for long walks.

 

Over the years I became more and more interested in the goings-on in the entertainment world and tuned in for CTV shows that I could stomach. Not subscribing to cable leaves me with a very limited array of television shows at my disposal, especially since I’m in no way a fan of Corner Gas. Then one day I heard about Surf the Channel, where I could watch everything from Dexter to Firefly on my very own computer. And thus, Surf the Channel has been my refuge on many a cold and rainy night. The L Word. Dexter. The West Wing. Grey’s Anatomy. Private Practice. I’ve watched them all, and then some. My latest addiction is Gossip Girl, but it’s just so disgustingly good that I don’t even care that I should know better.

 

So while Surf the Channel provides much-needed distraction on (too) many occasions, the real problem is self-control. Do I really need to watch the new season of Beverly Hills 90210 and see what the teenagers are doing in the zip code that I was obsessed with when I was a pre-teen myself? The answer is a definite no, but sometimes my fingers take a walk of their own and click in the wrong direction.

 

Hair Crimes: West Coast Edition October 1, 2008

Filed under: Hair & Fashion Crimes,Transit — Kimberly Senf @ 2:02 am
Mullet at twelve o'clock (Photo by Kimberlily)

Mullet at twelve o'clock. (Photo by Kimberly Senf)

I discreetly took this shot while riding the Vancouver Skytrain, marveling at the length of the mousy brown curls that cascaded down his back. I hope he didn’t get any hair caught in his bike chain on the way back to Surrey.

 

What’s in the Water? September 20, 2008

Filed under: Musings — Kimberly Senf @ 1:23 pm

Maybe I’m just normally too cynical to notice, but everyone seems to be excessively nice these days. Earlier this week, a woman warned me to get home before it started to rain, gesturing frantically towards the cloud-laden sky. Being aware of the pending storm, I quickly thanked her and went on my way. Then I flew across the country and was greeted with more smiles than I cared to spend time counting. It’s infectious, though, because I didn’t care that there was a three-year-old child having a grand old time banging away at the back of my seat or that I was stuck watching Bell ExpressVu television 30,000 feet in the air. I was also given coffee every hour, so that might have had something to do with my mug-half-full attitude.

 

Hair Crimes September 7, 2008

Filed under: Hair & Fashion Crimes,Neighbourhood — Kimberly Senf @ 6:47 pm
Double the fun? More like double the hair-raising disapproval.

Double the fun? More like double the hair-raising disapproval. (Photo by Kimberly Senf)

 

I was enjoying an espresso in the window of Cagibi, witnessing the many sights that Mile End has on display, when I caught a glimpse of this young fellow. Not only is the back of his head party to a rat tail double feature, but he is also stealing the wireless internet from just beyond the doorway, where a minimum purchase is not required.

 

Never mind not understanding the motivation behind a single rat tail, I wouldn’t even be able to conceive of two tails if I hadn’t snapped the picture myself. Rat tails have never been properly in vogue except with people who don’t own mirrors or never (ever) want to get laid. According to MulletJunky, a rat tail that trails past puberty could even be an indicator of much larger issues.

 

Oh Rat Tail Man, what were you thinking?

 

Oh My Opus September 4, 2008

Filed under: City Living,Musings,Transit — Kimberly Senf @ 12:24 am
The card for everyone (except me and you).

The card for everyone (except me and you).

I’ve seen the new installations and all the fancy signs that blind me as I make my way out of the metro, but for all the transit-glamour associated with the new Opus card, I can’t seem to get my hands on one. Now, I’ve heard of establishments that have soft openings, but this uber-slow approach to getting the card out to Montreal commuters makes me a little wary of this new system. Why is it that two STM “Information” employees are watching as I slide my old trusty bus pass through the reader at numerous metro stations instead of palming me a new Opus card and directing me to the unfortunately-coloured terminals? I can’t figure out what exactly they do all day because I’ve never actually seen them interact with another human besides the STM worker behind the glass. Maybe they run marathons between stations to see who can get from Place-des-Arts to Atwater and back the quickest. And just maybe they should run to Berri station and grab an Opus card for this commuter, because I’m ready for a change—and this wrist of mine needs a break.

 

Things We Would Do If We Were Cool August 30, 2008

Filed under: Home,Things We Would Do If We Were Cool — Kimberly Senf @ 2:10 am

I would definitely not let the assembly of Ikea furniture take up an entire afternoon and require the help of an assistant. Seriously, they should really start using the written word in their instruction manuals instead of bubble figures that can’t explain why the flimsy pegs just aren’t fitting into their required positions. (And I’m sure they can afford the thirty-odd translations of each one.) I’ll even buy an extra cinnamon bun to help fund my cause.

 

Hop on the Bus, Gus – We Need to Discuss Much August 16, 2008

Filed under: City Living,Etiquette,Transit — Kimberly Senf @ 2:00 am

Montreal has a solid and more or less reliable public transit system that helps everyone get from Point A to Point B. From the wonderful sounds of the metro, to the “advance to the back of the bus” yells that are heard daily (albeit in French and totally incomprehensible on a good day), this city has a transit system like no other. But the question I have is this: When exactly did bus etiquette fly out the window and onto Parc Avenue in one ungraceful swoop? Because I feel like I’m riding around with STM virgins that have somehow forgotten how to coexist in harmony with their fellow travelers—and is it ever getting my knickers in a knot.

 

Firstly, let’s talk line-ups. The whole point of queuing is to accurately display the order in which people arrived at a designated area in order to await public transit. If everything is running along smoothly, each would-be commuter will just get in line behind the last person waiting at the bus stop. But as everyone knows, things get rocky when it comes down to those limited seats on the bus. All of a sudden, the back of the line seems rather undesirable and the front all-too-interesting. You’ve got the ones who are pretending to look at the bus schedule, hoping that they can stall their way onto the bus before everyone else (i.e, me). Then there are the little old ladies who play the sympathy card. While I’m no heartless scrooge, I do like to judge each golden girl on her own merits and decide which ones deserve to inch ahead without the ten minute wait attached. I let most of them get on before me, but if I’m not convinced that they’re even paying the reduced-rate seniors fare, my pity ends at the black and yellow line by the driver’s seat.

 

Ridin' the bus in style (Note the window seat) (Photo by Kimberlily)

Ridin' the bus in style. (Note the window seat.) (Photo by Kimberlily)

Once I’ve made it past the driver and sauntered my way down the centre aisle, the many faults of the system present themselves. Sticky summer buses are their own special version of hell, and all the more so if I’m stuck next to Johnny Noshower. And then there’s the twelve-year-old kid with the backpack that weighs more than he does who stands in the middle of the aisle and refuses to budge, no matter how many dirty looks (or elbows) I send in his direction. My personal favourites are the people who hold ridiculously loud conversations on their cell phones about everything from dog food to genital warts. I don’t think they got the memo that not only can their caller hear them, but miraculously, so can everyone else in their immediate vicinity, and we don’t necessarily want to listen to them postulate on the many differences between their current boyfriend and the one they had three weeks ago.

 

At this point, a seat has likely been found beside one of the aforementioned undesirable characters and my journey is in full swing. I’m usually happy to settle down with a book, but sometimes I’ll take a look around to see what type of odd behaviour is on the loose. The people who talk to themselves can actually provide some much needed entertainment, but most of the time the eavesdropping is rather lackluster because the pitch gets so high that it’s almost as if they want everyone to hear what they’re saying. Oh yeah, that’s right—they do. For others, the bus is an intimate environment that must make them feel like they’re amongst kin, because the number of times I’ve seen my seatmate pull out a nail clipper and just go at it is high enough for me to realize I should have switched to the train a long time ago.

 

As for the send-off, I often find myself being catapulted out of the bus by my own sheer force, while my bags remain entangled amongst the folks who like to hug the poles near the exit door like they’re the only things rooting them to this Earth. As I squeeze my way out, I never forget to send poignant looks in the direction of these pole-huggers. I hope that one day they will figure out that standing right next to the door and blocking my way out is not only rude, but also that they’re touching the most germ-infested poles on the bus, since every person who goes by holds those poles as they wait for the bus to come to a complete stop. Once outside, I breathe a sigh of relief, inhaling the sweet, noxious fumes of exhaust that trail before me as I make my way to the metro. And then I start the whole process again.

 

Things We Have Love/Hate Relationships With August 14, 2008

Filed under: Neighbourhood,Things We Have Love/Hate Relationships With — Kimberly Senf @ 1:28 am
no dirt, no crime. That's Monkland for you. (Photo by Kimberlily)

Pretty street corner. Look: no dirt, no crime.

I have an interesting relationship with enigmatic Notre Dame de Grâce and Monkland Village. NDG is so sketchy in some areas that my neck hurts just from looking over my shoulder, while the Monkland Village puts on a veneer of eerily-quiet quaintness that simply doesn’t fool me. Then there are the ever-so-pretty tree-lined streets, where people walking their dogs actually say hello to each other and those sitting on their front steps send a welcoming nod in my direction. Yet sometimes, as I break away from Sherbrooke or leave the polished sidewalks on Monkland, I feel as if I’ve landed in small-town Canada. And I find myself wondering if I’ll get cell phone reception or if anyone will notice when I jaywalk my way across the street.

Pots of earth in front of The Real Green Grocer in NDG (Photo by Kimberlily)

Pots of earth in front of The Real Green Grocer in NDG. (Photos by Kimberlily)

 

Lendas and Tjusigs and Brädas, Oh My! August 11, 2008

Filed under: Home,Shopping — Kimberly Senf @ 7:09 pm

Billy is my strong, dark, and quasi-handsome bookcase that holds all of my most prized possessions on his less-than-mighty melamine shelves. Brattby lives at the end of my bed and stores anything I ask him to, from extra bed sheets to forgotten sewing machines, and he is truly a chest like no other. I sit here writing on trusty Curry (aka Vika Curry), my modest white table. And the newest addition to the pack is the ever-versatile Expedit, who can be used as a storage shelf or as a bench with cubbyholes to boot.



I have to admit that I’m quite content with my little Ikea furniture family and I don’t think I’m alone in refusing to call my pieces by any other name than the ones Ikea gave them. Billy is not simply a bookcase; he is a trusted friend that has endured more moves than his short lifespan should allow. I know my friends think I’m one flew over the cuckoo’s nest when I invite them to sit on Lillberg or to grab something from Brattby. They look around for people or labels, unaware that they are surrounded by pre-named furniture and that I’m referring to a loveseat, not an actual human.


Brattby and Curry doing their thing. Oh, and an appropriately placed Ikea catalogue that every Montrealer received in the mail. (Photo by Kimberly Senf)

Brattby and Curry doing their thing. Oh, and an appropriately placed Ikea catalogue that every Montrealer received in the mail. (Photo by Kimberlily)



The art of naming the furniture at Ikea is truly up there with ice cream flavours and paint colours: it’s one mighty fine occupation. Apparently it’s not left entirely up to the whim of whoever sets eyes upon the shiny new specimens first, as there is a system in place. A Malm is not just a bed at Ikea, but also a Norwegian town with strong ties to mining. The Gulliver collection of children’s furniture translates to “darling,” and many other articles are given the names of people, places, occupations and even nautical terms. It seems that naming furniture offers up a public relations nightmare as well, considering that what could easily be the term for a blue lake in Sweden means something else entirely to those shopping for the item half a world away.


Yet no matter how many times I hear about Ikea’s reputation for shoddy craftsmanship (aka assembly-line production), I actively refuse to listen and go back for more. Like a junkie who craves their next fix, sometimes I just really need that new organizational gadget whose name is right on the tip of my tongue. But my failsafe rule is this: If I can’t pronounce it, I can’t bring it home.

 

Things We Would Do If We Were Cool August 8, 2008

Filed under: Food,Things We Would Do If We Were Cool — Kimberly Senf @ 12:43 am

I would stop indulging in chocolate bars that are bigger in size than my head. Let’s just say that if someone were to whip this baby around like it was piñata time, you’d want to get out of the way. Now that this big old bar of chocolatey good times has been beaten into submission, all I have to show for it is a wrapper that is telling me one hell of a sad story. Where do I sign up for a twelve-step program?

 

Osheaga: The Iroquois Term For Hipster? August 4, 2008

Filed under: Hipster Culture,Music — Kimberly Senf @ 1:39 am

The streets are alive with the sounds of no hands clapping to the beat of the latest iPhone download. Chuck Taylors and freedom scarves have relocated to the tiny strip of land that calls Montreal its neighbour. Urban Outfitters won’t make their budget at this rate, not unless they decide to send someone into the trenches with a tray of fluorescent sunglasses. And apparently I missed the text message that explains why I’d want to spend so much money to see 38-minute sets that force me to multi-task and stand up all day. I’ll take assigned seating and an espresso over Osheaga any day.

 

Destination Procrastination August 3, 2008

Filed under: Musings — Kimberly Senf @ 1:58 pm

 

As I set my mind to do any one specific task, it tends to become the least appealing box that needs to be checked off my to-do list. A three thousand-word essay on The Merchant of Venice is right up there with getting my teeth cleaned by my verbose dentist who forgets that his hands are in my mouth and my replies are therefore limited. Boxes of unpacked personal effects gather dust while I step over them for months, until one day I find myself rummaging for my Burberry perfume, wondering how I’ve been reduced to living out of many the cardboard box.

 

I’ve made the firm decision that it’s not a matter of missing the ball that I should be on, but rather an issue of excessive adaptability. How can I be the same person who obsessively wipes a counter until it sparkles but overlooks reattaching my doorbell to the exterior of my humble abode? I assimilate the necessary information and then choose to do little or nothing with it for a period of time that ranges anywhere from a few hours to 462 days. Slightly problematic, especially where time limitations are concerned (don’t even get me started on deadlines).

 

Evidently, I have a problem. It’s the reason that I’m late for almost every social gathering I attend (when I don’t procrastinate leaving the house to such a degree that I effectively miss the party, that is) and it’s what’s come to be expected whenever my name enters the picture. And in my defense, if I’d ever been properly chastised, I might have mended my ways earlier on. But apparently, this girl works best under pressure. I think this may be my drug of choice: the wonderful and pulsating stress of it all.