Fashion Patrol

Today I saw a twenty-something, otherwise fashionable young woman walking down Barrington Street in a pair of jeans that were loose enough to conceal the shape of her legs. She seemed remarkably bold in her modesty. I've been noticing wider pant legs on Project Runway: Under the Gunn too. Can the American Apparel backlash finally be upon us?

Universal Language

The fascinating principle underlying Zen stories with all their seemingly irrelevant remarks is quite simple. It is all explained in the Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch, when Hui-neng says, "If somebody asks you a question about matters sacred, always answer in terms of matters profane. If they ask you about ultimate reality, answer in terms of everyday life. If they ask you about everyday life, answer in terms of ultimate reality.

—Alan Watts, What Is Zen?

I haven't written for awhile because there have been so many things going on in my poor little brain that I didn't even know where to begin. I guess I've been going through a bit of a psychospiritual crisis. Meditation has not been working for me lately as well as it used to. I'm having a hard time being in the world in a non-anxious, accepting way. Disassociating with my ego is not helping me tame it, and navigating its demands is not bringing me the spiritual freedom I crave.

I read a book recently by Thomas Moore called A Religion of One's Own that made a distinction between the spirit (transcendent, mysterious universal forces expressing themselves through and being perceived by an individual being) and the soul (contingent, idiosyncratic personality with earthly desires and fears), and argued that the point of a personal religion is to help one integrate these sometimes conflicting aspects of oneself. I decided that it would be good for me to become part of some spiritual community. Not that I want to join a group of people who believe all the same things as me, but that I could use some regular conversation about my spiritual practices, experiences, and conceptualizations thereof.

So I went to the Unitarian Universalist church last Sunday. Thought it might be a good idea, since I'd gone there as a kid. My grandparents on my mother's side were both Unitarians, and I generally have a certain respect for the UU premise that all religions have kernels of truth it behooves us to explore with open minds.

But alas, there was nothing spiritual going on in that place. It was all soul stuff: personal stories about recent joys and sorrows, reminders about upcoming lectures and debates, and a plea from a woman representing Dying with Dignity for Unitarians to come to the aid of her cause. OK, there was some singing too, which can be a spiritual exercise, but it was half-hearted and frankly pretty awful.

And no mention of God or anything mystical whatsoever. Just a bunch of really old people reminding themselves that they are nice and thoughtful when it comes to moral decisions. I thought there might be some deeper discussion to be had over coffee and cake after the service. But the couple I ended up talking to just kept telling me about their worry that the church's minister might be a "closet Christian."

I guess he showed up at some recent public panel discussion wearing a minister's collar. The others on the panel were apparently all clergymen of one sort or another, so that made sense to me. I reminded Brian and Theresa, the concerned couple, that Unitarianism is technically a Christian religion and that the minister is definitely entitled to wear the uniform of his profession. "I know," said Brian, "but the thing is, I'm not convinced it was a joke."

I'm not sure what I expected. Maybe that the unconventional parish would have discovered a new way to pray that doesn't bring problematic concepts of God into it. Or that they would have figured out a way to discuss the undiscussability of the mystical communion and revealed truths that all religions represent a yearning for.

Instead, I just found a little club where ancient atheists can pat each other on the back once a week and assert that they don't need God to be good. I suppose that's nice for them and probably has some value.

But later that night, I went to the basement of another church to hear Stravinsky's Firebird Suite (1919 version). It was being played by a small amateur orchestra in which Alison's roommate, Claire, plays oboe. I didn't have high expectations, and there were definitely inexpert moments. But there were also times when the group seemed to find some magical power beyond what their collective inexperience should be capable of, and the transcendent finale moved my heart, mind, and spirit in a way that no religious service ever has. I left feeling like I had been part of a holy congregation after all that Sunday.

Come On

You know what's not really a very funny thing to say to a stranger on an elevator when you've both just come out of the cold wind and are waiting for your respective floors to arrive? "Where's that global warming we're supposed to be getting?"

I'm sorry, random government lady on the fifth floor, if this makes me a humourless sourpuss, but global warming is not a curious little bit of local weather you and I can make funny small talk about until it has come and gone. It's a worldwide catastrophe that's going to wipe out our entire species if we don't fix it very soon.

Where is it? It's everywhere! Hence, the "global" part. And we're not "supposed to be getting" it; it has already started. We're in the middle of it. The reason it's such a problem is that people in positions of authority aren't taking it seriously enough to do something about it.

Where's that mass extinction we're supposed to be getting? Because this lady is bothering me. How's that for a conversation starter?

In Dreams

Lately I've been having a lot of dreams. I can tell I've been having them, even though it seems I remember about 10% of them. The details I do remember are so vivid, complex, and horrible that I realize they are only the loose ends of a great tangle of yarn now washed away irrevocably by the tide of consciousness.

There was a town full of strange people, for instance, all of whom had secrets from each other and themselves, and it was hard to keep track of who knew what, because they were all related in complicated ways. One woman, who had fond memories of riding her horse as a child, suddenly remembered that the horse had in fact been killed by her father, and that he had made her tie up its dead body with rope and stuff it into his station wagon so he could drive it to the dump. But it hadn't fit, so she had been forced to break its legs and neck by slamming the car's gate on them repeatedly.

Another night, I started screaming in my sleep until I woke myself up with the noise. Then I continued screaming as loud as I could, not even knowing why anymore. I only stopped when my roommate, Dave, screamed back at me from his own bedroom. In the morning, I couldn't remember anything of the dream that had been making me scream in the first place. I apologized to Dave about the crazy behaviour, and he told me nothing of the sort had happened. I'm still not sure whether the screaming was itself the dream.

I was talking with Amber about dreams and the unconscious yesterday after watching Rosemary's Baby. We were wondering what purpose dreams serve in our lives and going over some of the answers science has hypothesized over the history of psychology: bringing unconscious feelings to light, problem-solving, solidifying neural pathways, sorting memories and emotions for later retrieval, relating the events of our lives to archetypal stories for easier understanding…

Then it occurred to me that the reason no one has ever come up with a solid, satisfying answer is that the question is misguided. Dreams are just our unconscious minds doing what they always do — trying out various story lines that needn't be rational or really have any recognizable cause except that they bubble up from who knows what murky depths. Those stories become hidden when we're awake, because the job of our conscious minds is to order that raw material into a nice sensible plot and cover the alien world of unconscious thought with it.

It's only when the conscious mind is turned off for a rest that we experience the uncensored creativity that has been going on underneath the whole time. Dreams are to consciousness as skeletons to bodies — horrible monsters that we mostly manage to forget are there, underneath everything, moving us around like puppets. To ask their purpose when we sleep is to ask why the stars come out at night.

Fo Yo Info

There's a certain style of abbreviated slang that has recently become very trendy, especially in the related worlds of marketing and celebrity name-dropping. I'm sure you've seen these catchy abbreviations slowly multiply in gossip magazines, talk show monologues, and teenagers' tweets. First Hollywood brought us JLo, then along came LiLo and ScarJo. Meanwhile, department stores started having BOGO sales, and then FroYo shops suddenly popped up from SoHo to Togo. It's enough to make one a little loco.

So, yo, as a public service, here's a helpful guide to the most prevalent, useful, or "with it" examples of this new vernacular. Now you too can be a pro in the know.

JoGo: Actor Joseph Gordon Levitt.
Coco: Comedian Conan O'Brien.
HoJo: a Howard Johnson's restaurant or pop icon Howard Jones, depending on whether it is 1986.
CoHo: Halifax lesbian bar the Company House.
GoFo: Halifax hipster dive the Good Food Emporium.
gofoyo: either "good for you" or "go perform a technically impossible sex act," depending on context.
dobro: a kind of steel guitar invented by the Dopyera brothers.
doughbro: the Pillsbury Doughboy.
Pono: a new recording format invented by ex-member of Buffalo Springfield Neil Young.
Poco: a country rock band comprising ex-members of Buffalo Springfield who are not Neil Young. Also, a mime on Canadian children's show Mr. Dressup.
PoMo: (arch.) post-modern (a mostly meaningless adjective used to sound hip in 1986).
YoRo: Halifax graphic design team Yo Rodeo.
SloBlo: a brand of electrical fuse.
BroRo: men's rowing team.
YOLO: "you only live once" (popular excuse for reckless behaviour).
YODO: "you only die once" (less popular rebuttal).
spocoHoCo: sports commentator Howard Cosell.
dojo: a martial arts training centre.
DoJo: tan 1986 celebrity Don Johnson.
JoTo: Trailer Park Boy Jonathan Torrens.
mofo: a nasty person.
mofo (as adapted by Miles Davis): a person.
fauxmo: a man who pretends to be gay to lend credibility to his questionable style.
boho: bohemian.
hobo: bohemian to a fault.
NoHo: area of Manhattan north of Houston Street.
no ho: a reputable woman.
zoso: a nonsense word unpopular male high school students carve into their desks in lieu of sexual relations.
Wojo: Detective Stan Wojciehowicz of TV sitcom Barney Miller.

Happy Birthdays, Kids

Well, it's that time of year when my sister's three kids all have birthdays within two days of each other. I know, it's crazy. But they are all awesome kids and I love them so much. So I've made them each a music mix of songs that came out in the year they were born.

I've tried to include stuff that's relevant to the kind of pop they like to listen to now, as well as stuff I liked that I think they might like, based on the little I know about what they're listening to. Some years are easier to do this for than others. 2001, for instance, was a real rock wasteland beyond the oasis of Amnesiac. Sorry, Jack.

Anyway, click on each mix's artwork to download the songs.

Steal My Sunshine - Len

Genie in a Bottle - Christina Aguilera

Caught Out There - Kelis

Race for the Prize - The Flaming Lips

Believe - Cher

Windowlicker - Aphex Twin

Beau Mot Plage - Isolée

If You Had My Love - Jennifer Lopez

Bills Bills Bills - Destiny's Child

...Baby One More Time - Britney Spears

I Want It That Way - Backstreet Boys

The Book of Love - The Magnetic Fields

Cold Blooded Old Times - Smog

Via Chicago - Wilco

No Scrubs - TLC

Mambo No. 5 - Lou Bega

I Still Believe - Mariah-Carey

Echo's Answer - Broadcast

Angel - Sarah McLachlan

Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground - The White Stripes
The Modern Age - The Strokes
Stroke of Genius - Freelance Hellraiser
Clint Eastwood - Gorillaz
Squares - The Beta Band
Stan - Eminem
Ms. Jackson - Outkast
Can't Get You Out of My Head - Kylie Minogue
The Step - !!!
Digital Love - Daft Punk
Strangelight - Fugazi
Scarlette - Unwound
Chasing Heather Crazy - Guided by Voices
Biomusicology - Ted Leo & The Pharmacists
New Slang - The Shins
I'm Waking Up to Us - Belle & Sebastian
Joy - Circulatory System
Pyramid Song - Radiohead
Beautiful Day - U2

Are You Gonna Be My Girl - Jet
Take Me Out - Franz Ferdinand
Slow Hands - Interpol
Hey Ya! - Outkast
Yeah (Crass Version) - LCD Soundsystem
Galang - M.I.A.
Milk Shake - Kelis
Naughty Girl - Beyoncé
It's My Life - No Doubt
I Believe In You (Mylo Vocal Mix) - Kylie Minogue
Everything Is Everything - Phoenix
The Rat - The Walkmen
Float On - Modest Mouse
Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels) - Arcade Fire
Move Ya Body (Clean) - Nina Sky Ft. Jabba
You Don't Know My Name (Reggae Mix) - Alicia Keys
Heartbeat - Annie
Yeah! - Usher featuring Lil Jon & Ludacris
Dry Your Eyes - The Streets

Help!

Beck's new album, Morning Phase, is so beautiful I can't stop listening to it. Every time I put it on I have to stop everything to hear it in its entirety. And I always feel like putting it on.

I got it last Wednesday, the day after it came out, expecting greatness. It had been compared everywhere to Sea Change, my (previously) favourite album of Beck's. The New Yorker reviewer said he'd listened to it fifty times and couldn't find anything wrong with it. Beck hadn't released a solo record in about six years, but everything he'd touched as a producer in the interim had been gorgeous and mind-expanding.

However, having waited excitedly for months to hear this record, I guess I figured there'd also be some disappointment I should be prepared for. Well, there hasn't been. Instead, I just keep getting carried away (like in the lyrics to "Wave," the album's midpoint atmospheric shiver-inducer) by a reverie of lush emotion. It's sad. It's triumphant. It's ultimately very, very wise about being oneself in a complex world. Your rational mind will be knocked out by the simplicity of Beck's lyrics while the music overwhelms your heart, convincing it of their import. I can only compare the feeling to the first time I ever heard a Nick Drake record and realized music held possibilities more beautiful than I'd ever imagined.

I recommend listening to Morning Phase on headphones two or three times in a row for the full effect. Maybe not at work, though, as you won't be getting much done while the ecstatic trance lasts. On the other hand, once you've allowed yourself to be taken over by it, you might feel more aware that your work is something worth doing.

"We waste so much energy trying to cover up who we are when beneath every attitude is the want to be loved, and beneath every anger is a wound to be healed and beneath every sadness is the fear that there will not be enough time.

"When we hesitate in being direct, we unknowingly slip something on, some added layer of protection that keeps us from feeling the world, and often that thin covering is the beginning of a loneliness which, if not put down, diminishes our chances of joy.

"It's like wearing gloves every time we touch something, and then, forgetting we chose to put them on, we complain that nothing feels quite real. Our challenge each day is not to get dressed to face the world but to unglove ourselves so that the doorknob feels cold and the car handle feels wet and the kiss goodbye feels like the lips of another being, soft and unrepeatable."

—Mark Nepo