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Saturday, April 30, 2011

Analogue New York

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The month of April has been a jumbled mixture of insanity. One of this month's highlights was definitely our trip to New York.131 (2)
The weather was severely unpleasant when we arrived, but fortunately, the clouds gave way during the second half of our trip. The sun and the sky eventually cooperated and gave us ample sunshine to enjoy Central Park!
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We spent the afternoon dipping things into hummus and drinking iced tea (even though the weather was still chilly and incredibly windy)!

Friday, April 29, 2011

Love Thing


Yep, I woke up at 5:30 a.m., dressed up and watched a wedding between two people I don't (personally) know. I expect a thank you card from William and Kate. (P.S. Kate aced the dress and THIS was unfortunately what came to mind when I saw the Queen in yellow - "Canary yellow! With the loafers! You crazy, grrrl." Oh, Drake.)

Also, this wedding definitely makes me realize that I DON'T want to get married. Honestly, I don't look that good in white anyway.




Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Easter Cats



I don't celebrate Easter but I do enjoy holidays that provide post-holiday chocolate sales (Valentine's Day, I guess you're not so bad). Unfortunately, I spent the weekend coughing my lungs out because I got sick last week so alas, Mini Eggs were replaced with packs of Halls. On the bright side, I was enlisted to cat sit for my friends and nothing cures a chocolate-less spirit like a couple of kittens. Oh, and sunshine! Mother Nature, I appreciate the spring weather. Good job.


































Monday, April 25, 2011

Vintage Wild Cat


Meet the felis catus, also known as the wild cat.

After seeing Born Ruffians play the Opera House a couple of weekends ago, I had an encounter with two felis catus. (Not really. They were two domesticated cats that decided to take a lovely late-night stroll around the neighbourhood.) One was a shy, full-grown calico and the other a very affectionate little tabby!

Photos from the Mid-Manhattan  Picture Collection,

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Hard to Explain


"...our souls are left in the city of our departure."

That was part of the first sentence I read in an article on Lykke Li in the latest issue of FILTER on the Sunday we left New York City. The moment I saw those words, I looked out the window and I knew, somewhere in that city, was a part of my soul.

My fantasy of moving to NYC didn't come to fruition till recently, as I began to wonder where I would go after I graduate university, but as soon as New York entered my mind I knew I had to move there. I became obsessed. A lot of people thought/still think that I'm crazy for choosing such a massive city and that it would eat me alive the moment I stepped foot in it but who am I kidding, I thrive on craziness.
Soaking in the crazy.
Since I probably won't be making the big move for another year or so I thought I had to at least get acquainted with my future home and decided to take a little trip with Carmel last month. Oh, and we also went to see the Strokes. Yeah, that. (cue 15-year-old Melody fangirling)

Having lived in Toronto my whole life, I tend to always compare cities I visit to my hometown, as I'm sure everyone does. But New York and Toronto definitely related, like step-brothers. There was a weird sense of deja-vu everywhere - from Grand Central to Central Park, every corner reminded me of a similar spot in Toronto. And maybe it was because of that that made me feel so at home.

I had anticipated to be shaking in my boots (or in this case, my glitter oxfords) just a little but nothing. Carmel and I even mastered the subway system! That must mean something (other than the fact that we know how to navigate around really well)!
Needless to say, we explored, we walked and yes, we shopped. New York had me at hello and one day, we will become the best of friends. Till then, we'll just have to settle for a long distance relationship.
Photographer in action (I'm not a photographer)

the result

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Vintage Cat

Soldier's goodbye & Bobbie the cat, ca. 1939-ca. 1945 / by Sam Hood
I've been a fan of the above photograph ever since I first laid eyes on it through the State Library of New South Wales flickr account.

Imagine my delight when I found the rest of the photographer's collection through the library's digital archives!


Looks like we got ourselves a cat treasure trove!


Photos by Sam Hood, via The State Library of NSW, ca. 1925-1945

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

My dad owns Pitchfork, I own my red hair

In my last year of high school, I decided to dye my hair purple. Call it rebellious, call it “cool”, call it stupid – I did it. It took hours of bleaching (damn black hair) and then applying purple hair dye but at the end of the day, I was a purplehead. That spiraled into a years worth of changing hair colours that marked memorable milestones such as attending my prom and graduation with bright pink hair and taking my grad photos in the most alarmingly unattractive green hair (tip: blue hair dye fades to dead-grass green). My head was a walking mood-ring of shades. Pink for the cheerful days. Blue for the more low-key occasions. Green for the lazy I’ll-dye-my-hair-later days. And well, I don’t even know what purple was.
Dyeing my hair came along with an equal amount of kick-ass confidence and self-consciousness. Walking down the halls of my high school, I knew people were staring and depending on the day I’d either embrace those stares and walk with a bit more strut in my step or I’d feel the immediate urge to run and hide in the nearest bathroom till everyone left. Needless to say, I graduated a tad scarred but ultimately sporting thicker skin. Skin that would later get inked multiple times and draw just as many stares.
It’s three years later and for some reason I decided it was time to summon the bottle of bleach again, the goal this time – red. Now contrary to Jezebel blog posts or all those Hipster Ariel memes, I wasn’t dying my hair to join the latest hip club of cool because, trust me, walking around high school with green hair excluded me more than include me into any clubs of any sort. The idea of becoming a redhead had been floating around for quite some time now but alas, leave it to my recent marathon of the UK teen-drama series Skins to give me the green light to go red. In the third and fourth series of the show, one of the main characters, Emily – a lesbian twin a la the Quin sisters but minus the guitars and well, the other twin is straight – sports a fiery hairdo, one that I became obsessed with. And so, after a weekend of not leaving my bed I decided to peel myself away from the computer and head to the nearest Shoppers Drug Mart. I remain straight though. The show didn’t influence me that much.
So thanks to Carmel and my friend Kayley, I was reborn a redhead. And again, I was greeted by the looks.
Sitting on the subway, on my way to a movie date with a friend, I suddenly felt like I was in a high school hallway all over again. I felt the eyes of strangers darting in my direction and a bead of sweat started to form on my forehead, making those handful of stops seem that much longer. Let’s face it, when we leave in the morning, we fear the judgement of others whether it’s your clothes, your shade of lipstick or in this case, the colour of your hair.
By taking my hair out of its natural element of black, I’ve stuck a giant flag on my head and although we all crave that bit of attention every now and then, that self-consciousness returned, full-force. The days that followed became a see-saw of emotions ranging from “I love it!” to “Oh God, what have I done!” as it occurs every time I decide to cut or dye my hair.
But at the end of the day, it’s red and I chose to do this. And with all things in life, there’s no point in regretting so, a week into this experiment, I’ve decided, to hell with self-consciousness! I’m going to own this red head like Hipster Ariel’s dad owns Pitchfork.
And with that immediate shift, I felt empowered by my hair and those stares became good stares. In fact, in the past week as a redhead, I’ve gotten more positive, reassuring comments than I did in all twenty years as a brunette. Whether those are pity reassuring comments or not, from people who felt my oncoming breakdown, I don’t care, I’ll take it. You like it? Why thank you!
Positive attitude that you put out is what you will undoubtedly get back, in one way or another. I sound like The Secret but hey, with red hair comes wisdom. Okay, not really but with experiences like this, you learn a thing or two. Sometimes you need a traumatizing high school experience, sometimes you need a few bottles of hair dye. Sometimes you don’t need anything at all. High school Melody, I’m sorry you had to learn the hard way.
But now excuse me as I must whip my (red) hair back and forth like the confident woman I am.
Cue Willow Smith.