Pizza Box

I made this home-job pizza prop for two karaoke videos I made in 2007. Still kickin' it around my apartment! The jerks at the buck slice even charged me two bones for the box (which is, ironically, pricier than the edible cardboard they serve).

Fermat Award

Oh hey look, it's the only medal I've ever won in my life. It wasn't from soccer, or highland dancing or whatever other activities my friends participated in that consequently allowed them to cover their shelves with trophies; nope, this baby was from a grade 11 highschool math competition.

That's right, I beat the fuck out of all the other honours math students to win this coveted Fermat award, so fuck you. I was also excited because I wasn't given the medal until the end of the school year during the school award ceremony, and just to prove to the general parental population that a non-stereotypical female could be intelligent, I dyed my hair blue for the occasion.

<-- Oh wow, I just looked at the photo from that night and painfully apparent is my love for Gwen Stefani bindhi dots and also my inablity to have hit puberty by the age of 16. Yeeeikes.

Mustards

Riddle me this, oh gods of condiment: why the fuck do I have three (3) different kinds of mustard in my refrigerator if I don't even like mustard.

Rainbow Brite Lamp

I have had this lamp for at least seven years when I happened to pick it up during a particularly childhood-nostalgia-fueled trip to the local thrift. It had a yellow light bulb, but no shade. I never plugged it in due to this lack of shade, and after never having bought a shade, I generally have no fucking clue as to why I still have it. ebay, I guess? It's probably the reason for a lot of "Maybe someday I'll make money off this...?" internalized hanging questions.

Four-Leaf Clovers

I started collecting these at the grand age of 14 when my dad's friend gave my mom a four-leaf clover that he had plucked from our property; apparently, the guy found them all the time. If it was so easy that an alcoholic Hungarian could do it while seeing double, I decided that I, too, must be able to accomplish the same feat. After a few days of laying in the grass I had trained my eyes to find the fours among the threes, and I am happy to say that my luck has been better ever since: fifty-one clovers worth, to be exact.

To be precise, I actually have only 48 four-leaf clovers, but also three five-leaf ones. PLUS, I have given away three in my lifetime to deserving friends, bringing the total found by my keen eyes to 54. I also own one on a little pocket calendar that my friend brought me from Germany... so technically I have 52 lucky clovers in my possession (assuming a five-leaf clover is also lucky), 51 of which I have found. Plus, they hail from all over the world! Sort of. I found most of them in BC and one in Germany this September... and some are from Ontario, wahooey.


So, one day I found this book entitled "Garden Magic" at a local Russian church bazaar. I bought it because I enjoyed the detailed illustrations inside, but after flipping through and finding a FOUR-LEAF CLOVER INSIDE (!) under Hedges (and I LOVE hedges!), I saw it as a sign to keep my collection tightly locked between its loose pages. I guess that means I have 53 clovers in total now. Sheesh.

I'm also quite surprised that I haven't fucked up all this math, as I just discovered I can drink whiskey again without getting sick, just in time for the loneliest holidays of my pathetically boring life. Damn I'm a lucky bastard! Oh wait, I'm not; I merely bought the 375ml bottle, fuck.

Dog Handkerchiefs

I got these three embroidered handkerchiefs at a garage sale off Commercial drive around the summer of 2005 for $4. They came folded, brand new, in this paper box with a plastic dust cover for display purposes to protect the delicate stitching. A golden sticker on the back says "Fine Lawn; Loom Master; Made in Switzerland".

Close ups! Aww, look at the puppies! I am ashamed to say that I have never used these handkerchiefs and all three just sit in my room in the box. I sometimes think about using them, but then I can't figure out how I would do it. Hanging out of the back pocket of my jeans? Then what if it got dirty? Fell out?! I could never forgive myself!

The box itself might even be the most beautiful part. It's striped in teal and debossed with a gold diamond pattern... gorgeous! And I'm still never going to use these damn things... and I'm never going to give them away. If only the dogs were embroidered in the opposite direction and then I could throw them in a lapel pocket and not just hoarde them in the shady confines of my gloomy room... God, I'm a real asshole. (But at least I'm an asshole with fucking awesome hankerchiefs.)

Canadian Tire Money

Last fall, my car was dying everyday and I needed a new battery. My dad gives me this wad of money and says, Here, buy yourself one. Clearly I never bought the battery because HOW THE HELL COULD I EVER GET RID OF THIS AMAZINGLY INSANE COLLECTION OF BILLS?!?


The original amount totalled $38.80. After adding my own stray bills, I now have exactly $41.65 in cold, hard, car-part redeemable cash. 32 x 5¢, 33 x 10¢, 19 x 25¢, 20 x 50¢, 18 x $1 and 2 x $2. I feel like I should be the ambassador of traditional Canadian rewards programs. I also am amazed that my father has spent $3,880 there over the course of God knows how long. Probably a few years, at least. Well, hopefully the bills will make prop appearances in short films before I spend all of it at the bar in Victoria that accepts it at face value (which obviously will never happen because I could not bear to part with more than a buck).

Star Wars Rubik's Cubes

These HIGHLY collectable babies (no, guys, stop asking; I'm not selling) were dispersed in Canadian Kellogs cereal boxes during the summer of 2002 to capitalize on the release of Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones. I was working at a lodge in a remote town at the time, and these little brainteasers were a more-than-welcome distraction. Once I got one, however, I went on a rampage to collect all six; I was an addict, and sunk to the depths of stealing some from boxes in the cereal isle on grocery runs. It wasn't a time in my life that I was proud of, and I'm now sorry, Superstore, I'm sorry. In the end I only had four different ones, and perhaps that fact remains as my insufferable penance.


Anyhow, look how FUN and EXCITING these things are! Each one has four pieces that rotate and make up two faces on each head: from left to right, Count Dooku/Darth Sidious, Obi-Wan Kenobi (young/old), Jango Fett/Clone Trooper and Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader (I actually had doubles of this). The two I'm missing are of Princess Leia/Padme Amidala and R2-D2/C-3PO (which I REALLY wanted). I memorized how to solve them from the little cheat sheet they came with and when I was back in school I used to sit in the back of class, getting my friends to mess them up so I could fix them. I'm a fidgeter, so it was a perfect toy to have around.


Right now they're just sitting on my shelf collecting dust. A really fun thing to do with them though, is pretend they're making out. You can even switch their heads around so that one side of each head has two noses and mouths and do a double make out (Pietro, you're a genius!).

Fun fact: Rubik was Hungarian, and so am I!

Cacti

I bought these cacti from a rummage sale at the Russian People's Home in my neighbourhood in the summmer of 2005, primarily for their small but extravagant growing aesthetics. They were decoration for an art exhibition for about six weeks and then took up permanent residence in my home. They had a tiny cutout of a lady keeping them company for a while, too.

The cactus, often mistakenly believed to survive without water, is a strong succulent plant that requires a modicum of careful care. (Q: Can you even kill a cactus? A: Yes, I've done it before.) These two little guys started looking pretty dire and brown and deflated about six months ago; I got scared at the prospect of killing more unkillable plants and imposed a regimen involving watering them every six weeks (in reality, basically whenever I remember). Just today I had a look at them and was surprised at how strong and full of vitality they appeared! In fact, they may have even grown! So in conclusion, a year after this photo was taken for this blog, I was actually inspired to post it.

Oh God, I just remembered I dreamt that I had cancer last night.

Shoes

Underneath my coats is a big box of my shoes. This is in addition to the other shoes of mine that are in my room and still more that are in our hallway. Heels, flats, runners, rubber boots, sandals... I got it all. Unfortunately, many of these shoes never get worn because they are too small and thusly not worth my patience or pain standing. So I figured, why not finally weed through this bloody collection?


So I laid out all my shoes side by side and not only were there 44.5 pairs (one is missing it's mate and I love it too much to toss it) but they actually reached from my bedroom door all the way down the hall to the kitchen, and then some. Jesus! (This photo is showing about half the distance from the kitchen to my room.)


Not only did I have 44.5 pairs, but I also had two pairs of red heels, neither of which I could fit in. I have a lot of attachment to these things... some are just so beautiful that I have to keep them even though I never wear them (such is the case with a pair of t-strap black peep-toes that are straight outta the fifties). If I can't wear them then NO ONE ELSE WILL.

So then what happened? I whittled it down to about 28 pairs, consigned some and gave away the ugly ones, which left me with a lot more room in my conscience to go out and get more. I'm probably up to the mid-thirties again, but at least they're all nice and pretty and wearable. And I get all my shoes second-hand so it's not like I should feel guilty about spending money or anything. Shoes are important. And so is looking good. In your shoes. Yes.

Coats

I own far too much clothing. For instance, this is our coat closet which holds 18 of my jackets/coats/blazers, and there's even still a few that didn't make this photo. And that's also not including zip-up hoodies which can basically be considered jackets (theoretically bumping the total to 24). And six of these jackets are pink (seven if you include the salmon trenchcoat). And three of the pink ones are almost exactly the same. But I mean you can have a pink jacket and a pink windbreaker, and they may look very similar, but have completely different purposes. Ya know? Well it's true: only one will keep you content in a brisk Vancouver windstorm.

Rug of Bear

My dad shot this bear when he was younger whilst trying to prove his manhood (I believe there's a touch of remorse in his voice when he speaks of it these days). When I was little I used to slide down the back of his neck, but it was in our basement for the latter years of my adolesence (along with a taxidermied beaver pelt which one of my cats ended up eating his way through). When I left home I realised the full potential of this lonely beast and used him in a student film, and now, with the help of a past-roommate who Christened him "Theo," he is a permanent fixture of any residence I am living in.


Theo's nose has gotten quite banged up through the years, and unfortunately he has a disgusting amount of dirt buried in his fur these days due to the fact that I don't have a vaccuum. And am too lazy to borrow one. On the up side, he's quite the addition to any living room and looks especially adorable with any number of animals laying on him. I know, it is a bit creepy, but I believe the whole live-animal-atop-dead-animal thing is a touching paradigm which transcends all human prejudices.


See?? Like how fucking cute is that?!?

Fans

Our first fan was put in the corner after we had finished using it to air out our suite following a hefty cleaning. The second fan came when our third roommate moved in, and is now propped up against the wall. It is propped up against the wall because its stand legs, instead of being attached, are laying beside it on the floor. The third little orange fan is mine and I figured instead of taking up space in my room it might as well take up the less-valuable space in the corner. Which is now almost commodity space, if you're a fan residing in our house. It's seriously the place to be if you've got four blades inside a wire head and you can't really articulate your limbs.

They're ugly but I believe they are fortunate enough to sit in a spot that we don't care enough about to actually clean up. The first fan doesn't even belong to us, it's our friend's and he's probably never going to come over walk it home cause carrying stuff is a very unattractive prospect. I guess I have to drive it over if I really want to get rid of it. But I've almost become fond of our little fan graveyard. I'm glad they have each other whilst they wait for their day, a day which my roommate reminds me will come when the summer once again permeates our neighbourhood and our poor ventilation and lack of windows will become painfully apparent. I suppose until then there's always the attic. Or waiting until a different roommate gets fed up enough to do something. I'll have to start reminding her about how much she isn't a fan of the fans on a daily basis.

The Queen(s)

I first salvaged The Queen from my dad's tool shed during one of my first move outs. There she was, sitting on a greasy pile of rags and work lamps, beckoning me with her noble gaze as I heaved boxes of my crud through to the car. How could I leave her, O majestic one?



The Queen waved at my roommate and I for many months in the West End. She developed a cantankerous speech bubble which proclaimed, "Hello, I'm the Queen" to whomever could read the felled piece of paper upside-down. She endured a multitude of rounds of neighbours playing Steal Your Friend's Art, and, even when I had moved out yet left my beloved lady, survived an ex-roomate's dismissal and was claimed five months later from our former appartment's storage room: apparently, even a building manager seems it a crime to throw away The Queen. She exists today behind the same uncleanable glass frame that I found her in, smiling ever so gloriously in faded process inks atop mildew and a flimsy card backing.



The other Queen was given to me at my birthday last year by my dear friend Julia, primarily as a companion to the first. She is smaller, yellowed, wears a strapless gown, and was lovingly taped to card after being cut of a newspaper by an unknown. Both the photos were taken when Her Majesty was quite a young queen.

I wonder what propels individuals to own and display photos of royalty, especially when those people do not live in the United Kingdom? It's a bit of a strange phenomenon. I just like to be reassured that not all Brits have horrible teeth.

Introduction

This morning I woke up too early and I decided to take a long bath. As I was taking this bath I had two thoughts:
I own a lot of stuff.
I need to do something with this stuff.
And all while in the middle of a Douglas Coupland book! Yes, he inspires me to do great, trendy things.

And therefore I decided I was going to start a blog. This blog is an excuse to digitally vignette objects I own in an effort to:

a) pretend that I might own interesting things
b) share banal information about these possibly interesting things
c) feel that in doing so I can get rid of these things that I do not need but continue to hold on to because I have now heralded them above all other possessions of mine, and introduced them to the computer-literate world, and now they exist in a realm that is only as ephemeral as the technology which produces it, and the hearts and memories that embrace it

So it's about decluttering. I suppose it's also just an excuse to pollute the internet with yet another blatherer blathering about bother, but perhaps it may become something more. Unless I get bored. Anyways... we'll see. You are special, my objects. Shine!