Fridge Poetry Vol. 1

by nadine on August 1, 2010

12th June 1968:  Two year old Lisa Chapman escapes the summer heat by sitting inside the fridge.  (Photo by Central Press/Getty Images)


Poets hang out in my kitchen. Apparently. Poetry by way of magnets:

trap ghosts not puppets

…..

the skeleton’s torso elaborated

…..

finite sister has evening of transgression

…..

i pronounce you him and her

…..

i am compelled by a devil to dance like an angel

…..

understand and bomb it

…..

work bruise and blossom

…..

this page is bleeding

……

consume liquid soap

…..

don’t fight your obsessed lover

Note: the first four examples of brilliant poetry are attributed to my brother Joel. I have no idea what he was implying by “finite sister has evening of transgression.” Nor do Beth and I know what inspired a visiting boy to write about an obsessed lover. Some things are better left unexplained.

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Two Gentle(wo)men of Stratford

by nadine on July 31, 2010

peter-pan-mccamu_703483artwIn the summer of 2003, I took a three-week course in Stratford. Okay, technically I took TWO three-week courses. Every morning, I’d wake up in my non-air-conditioned room at the Stratford General Hospital’s nurses’ residence and walk across town to a small studio space behind the Avon Theatre. There, three of Stratford’s top acting coaches taught me the rhythm of the iambic pentameter, the realignment of the Alexander Technique and the art of embracing Shakespearean performance. I was in heaven.

Every afternoon, I’d hike to a not-that-nearby high school where a Shakespeare scholar challenged us to dive into the texts and critique that season’s productions.

My evenings were spent watching plays and stalking actors. It was life as it ought to be lived. (And I still believe that that particular season was a stand-out, with unforgettable productions of Taming of the Shrew, Pericles and Love’s Labour’s Lost. Troilus and Cressida I could have done without. Ugh. I also accidentally left the actor who played Troilus with my bar tab. Oops.)

I made a friend that summer. Someone who “got it” the way I did and who fully embraced a Stratford addiction. We went this week, our eighth year in a row. I joke that our seventh anniversary marked the longest relationship I’ve ever had.

How to Do Stratford Like Nadine and Jen

We have traditions. Hot spots. Non-negotiables. Here’s how to hit up the town like a couple of almost-old ladies.

Cheap Lodgings

There are only two options for gals like us: The Albert St. Inn (last year) and the Stratford General Hospital residence (this year). Both offer double rooms in the $70-$100 range. Neither have air-conditioning. The Inn has a private washroom attached to your room. The residence has free breakfast (in the hospital cafeteria) and free parking.

Cheap Tickets

It you’re under 30, you can get A-level seats for $20 on select performances. Or, if you magically get signed up to a mysterious mailing list as I did, you might receive special offers. We saw Peter Pan for $13.50 each.

Pazzo

Red wine and fancy pizza (this time: arugula, artichokes, roasted red pepper) in Pazzo’s downstairs pizzeria. I eat there once a year.

Down the Street

This is my favorite bar. In the entire world. When I was 19, I’d order Shirley Temples and garlic fries. Now I order red wine and garlic fries. Or coffee and garlic fries. Or Diet Coke and garlic fries. Essentially, I can’t function in Stratford without garlic fries. Also on the must-eat list: bruschetta. I know it’s no longer on the menu. That doesn’t matter. I still order it and they still give it to me. It’s with goat’s cheese and fresh salsa and is blessed by the culinary gods. Irresistible. (The flourless chocolate cake with pistachio ice cream is also a super-safe and super-indulgent option.)

P.S. If you sit near the back, you can watch people walk in. Famous people. Or not-very-famous-but-still-very-talented people.

Rheo Thompson

Best. Chocolates. Ever. I can’t even talk about it.

If You Have Time….

Scoopers for ice cream. Balzac’s for coffee. Bookstore-browsing. House-daydreaming. (Go for a walk and pick your dream house. I want them all.) Move-to-Stratford-plotting. Features for breakfast. Tango for lunch. Toy-shopping. Walks along the river. Swan-cursing.

YOU (Interrupting me): Uh, Nadine, what about the shows?
ME: Oh, yeah.

53b4fe094b9b988cb458554ce79aPeter Pan

So kid-friendly that I seriously considered kidnapping a kindergartener and then seeing it again. It’s lively and magical and uncomfortably bittersweet. One little theatre-goer wore fairy wings to the show. I envied her.

The closing image is of Peter Pan at Wendy’s window. The rest of the set breaks away, and there he stays, floating in a midnight sky behind the window’s bars. J.M. Barrie stands in the moonlight beneath him, haunted by his own story. The author’s personal tragedy of maternal abandonment could not be redeemed by fictional boyhood exploits.

The actress who played little Michael was a marvel. Oh, my. I wanted to hug her and squeeze her.

Two Gentlemen of Verona

Probably the best Shakespearean play I’ve seen at the festival in years. Slapstick touches in this Vaudevillian-influenced production had me howling with laughter. I knew nothing about this play going in, and now I’m itching to read it, curled up in a two-hour me-and-the-bard huddle. It’s considered Shakespeare’s first play. Probably. Fewest words, fewest cast members. The plot moves along at record pace. Um, and there’s a dog. He has an understudy. There are song-and-dance numbers. A silent film reel. Happiness.

In conclusion, GO TO STRATFORD.

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For Girls Only: Boob Math 101

by nadine on July 28, 2010

Dear boy readers, you have permission to stop reading now. I’m about to write about Boob Math. And while I’m sure you would have signed up for Boob Math 101 in college, believe me, this is totally non-sexy.

are_you_there_god_it's_me_margaretRemember “Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret”? There’s a lovely chant in it:

“We must, we must, we must increase our bust.”

Yep.

I’d been complaining about the condition of my bra wardrobe since the day I moved into my new apartment. Fortunately, with this new apartment came a new roommate. One who knows a thing or two about where to buy a bra. So she took me to Change.

BETH: They measure you. You’re probably wearing the wrong size.
ME: There’s not much to measure.
BETH: You’d be surprised.

Um….

If I were to visit a plastic surgeon (I wouldn’t) and discuss implants with him (I wouldn’t), and if he were to suggest a D cup, I’d probably go Chuck Norris on him.

ME (hypothetical): What the Fred Penner?! Are you trying to make me look like a porn star?!

So you can imagine my shock/disbelief when the bra woman (Let’s call her WonderBra-Woman) did her fancy boob math yesterday and brought me a 30DD bra.

ME (for real): I wear a 34A.
WONDERBRA-WOMAN: You shouldn’t.

In the course of ten minutes, I went from an A to a DD. I don’t look like a porn star. My brain is starting to make sense of boob math. And I want to share it with you. Girls, listen up.

There’s no such thing as a D cup. Or a C cup. Not independent of band size, anyway. A 34D is pretty big. A 30D is not. D just means that your bust is four inches bigger than the circumference of your chest just under your armpits. So because I’m narrow, the sizing makes sense. Apparently. That’s boob math. (I was wearing a 34 instead of a 30. THAT was the real problem.)

There’s also what my lovely roommate likes to call “boob fat.” Everyone’s bust distributes itself differently. So some people have naturally wider or higher busts than others. And your perfectly fit bra needs to accommodate that.

I’ve never had so much fun bra-shopping. Everything fit. Ladies, take my word for it, you’re wearing the wrong size. Go get fitted. NOW.

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Tuesday’s Bonus Video: Pacey-Con

by nadine on July 27, 2010

Yes.

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“Free Fallin’” is the saddest song. Ever. If you’re a boy, you probably don’t believe me. Because you think it’s just an anthemic rock tune. You don’t know what it’s like to be on the other side. Try listening to it with the ears of a girl. A good girl. One who loves her mama and Jesus. Then you might understand. A little.

Also, DJ Earworm is awesome. That is all.

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Life is Rosy

by nadine on July 26, 2010

I believe the Hokus Pick lyricists worded it best:

My life is rosy
I’m feeling comfy-cozy

single bloom

I can be a pretty practical, down-to-earth gal. But a dozen roses can still melt me into a little puddle of happiness.

dozen roses

ME: Is this blog post too mushy?
BETH: Are you serious? How is the word “happiness” mushy?
ME: I don’t know. I’m better at blogging about relationships hypothetically.
BETH: Me too.
ME: It’s different when it’s real.

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YouTube Tuesday: Popcorn

by nadine on July 20, 2010

Every time I visit my family in Orillia, I get introduced to some random tidbit of hilarity. Like this.

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YouTube Tuesday: Brett Domino

by nadine on July 13, 2010

Today’s YouTube discovery is so much fun. Brilliantly so. Check out the 27-year-old nerdy bloke from Leeds. Apparently I find blank expression completely endearing.

What Would You Do (If a Shark Started Eating You)?

Sometimes music is educational. I now feel prepared for a shark attack. And monkey attack. And snake attack.

Justin Timberlake Medley

Better than the real thing.

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Once You Start, You Can’t Stop :)

by nadine on July 12, 2010

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Once upon a time, a boy sent me this message:

aw, no smilies? ;)

When we first began corresponding, I made the mistake of using too many smiley faces. I quickly realized that he was interpreting these emoticons as online flirting. So I backed off. Completely. And it confused him.

We’re not friends.

I still use smiley faces. Inconsistently. Every once in a while I get a little neurotic about my emoticon-overuse and type like they did back in the good ol’ days of telegrams and efficient-but-still-grammatically-appropriate correspondence. Full stop.

Image source: Googly Gooeys

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No Such Thing As An Unwritten Life

by nadine on July 11, 2010

Last week, Beth and I watched The Brothers Bloom. It’s a highly stylized super-quotable movie about two cons and the mark one of them can’t but help fall for. Sort of. It’s more about life-storytelling and what it looks like to live a story someone else writes for you. While I can’t type it with certainty, I’m pretty sure that Donald Miller would approve.

My favorite quote is probably inappropriate for my family-friendly blog. It’s about soul constipation. (It’s here. Warning: language.)

Quotes I would have highlighted had the film been a book:

PENELOPE: There is no such thing as an unwritten life, only a badly written one.

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PENELOPE: This was a story about a girl who could find infinite beauty in anything, any little thing, and even love the person she was trapped with. And I told myself this story until it became true. Now, did doing this help me escape a wasted life? Or did it blind me so I didn’t want to escape it? I don’t know, but either way I was the one telling my own story…. So, no. I don’t feel cheated at all.

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I’m not really a fan letter kind of girl. But I might write one to Rian Johnson. I’m kind of obsessed with his words. The phrasing. The rhythm of his dialogue. I now understand why people raved about his film Brick. It’s poetry.

Yes, I have a word crush.

Images: Movie of the Day

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