Letters from my SELF.

New Years Eve was rushing up at me again. But I could feel a creeping despondency all week threatening to derail me. To defy it, I decided to go ahead and host my usual Impromptu Black-Tie Potluck New Years Eve Party. Make-up, high-heels, dress and perfume on, I pushed that vulnerable darkness down and threw open my arms to greet my guests.

I have an old friend named Pascale Girardin; Pascale and I grew up together, meaning we went from wild young women in university to responsible mid-lifers. The foundation of our friendship was laid in our twenties, most of which time we spent being insane rollerskating punklets, dating guys, partying and doing art.

I hadn't seen Pascale in a few months - she's pretty busy running her high-end ceramics company, traveling around the world and creating fantastically beautiful installations in hotels, restaurants and fashion houses. As I type this, she's designing what will be the world's tallest *something top secret*. Is that not the cool? She is a true and original talent.

So anyways, when she showed up at my party I was super happy to see her. We settled on the chaise longue to catch up; this turned into reminiscing....

Pascale was reminding me about that time in 1983 when I talked her into going to some tacky downtown bar to ply free drinks from unsuspecting tourist dudes; being poor artistes we had to be inventive about partying.

To escape their eventual expectations we climbed out the bar's toilet window and went to Les Foufounes Électriques to hang out with our friends. That's back when Les Foufounes was new, decrepit and sooooo coooool.

We used to be so crazy.

I suddenly felt my happy-mask dissolve. The tears welled up...

I frayed and fell apart at my own party.

I had been feeling lost lately. As I mentioned before, the creeping darkness can be tamed but it always comes back. When you grow up, get married, have a family and spend years and years perfecting your craft, dedicating yourself to earning money and raising the kids...even if you find happiness in that, you do somehow forget who you were when you were newly formed. You look around and you can't remember how you got where you are now.

All of this came out in the safety of Pascale's embrace, on New Year's Eve.

She let me cry and made some comforting noises. The party went on.

*     *     *     *     *

Later that week, Pascale came by to visit. She opened her bag and pulled out a bunch of old letters.

"I was leaving my place and I just thought I'd grab these. They're the letters you wrote to me when I was travelling..."

"Look at these things! This is who you are, JC."

I blinked.

Pascale went on, "I don't know how, but the mail courier always managed to get these crazy letters to me in Georgia, San Francisco and even Australia! Look, this one's written completely diagonally..."

I opened one. And in my handmade pencil and ink marks on paper, partly written and partly drawn, I saw "me".

In a case of seemingly random serendipity, Pascale had reached deep into our past and brought me back my self. 

The self I thought I had lost.

She has always been a great friend.

The HUZ went up into the loft and brought down all my old shoe boxes full of handwritten letters from Pascale and many other friends from before I was married; before the days of faxes and emails! Pascale and I spent the rest of the evening poring through them, making new memories from the old.

Here's some exerpts from my letters to her.

I was obviously obsessed with sex. No change there.

I was confident.

Vapidity reigned! This is a rather terrible drawing.

Too funny not to share.

It's been brilliant for me to reread my old letters from my self. I think I will return some of my shoebox letters to their senders so they can have a peek at their own pasts.

Have any of you ever done this? Those of you who have never written or received a hand-written letter, should try it. Email, texting, and Facebooking doesn't even come close.

Thank-you Pascale.

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My home.

Politics? Not usually something I engage in publically. But since Pauline Marois’ historic victory in the 2012 Québec Provincial Elections, this image has persisted in my mind's eye:

The election campaign, the results, and the fatal shooting at the Parti Québécois celebration rally left me with some lingering thoughts and feelings.

1. I’m reasonably bilingual and I like it. 
2. Language issues remain divisive for some folks. But those who speak with violence ne parlent pas pour moi. 
3. Although I don’t consider myself a separatist, I love living in Québec. I especially love Montreal, peu importe ma langue maternelle.  
4. Honestly... I’m no longer certain what it means to me to be Canadian since Harper was elected as Prime Minister. The Canada I loved feels like it's disintegrating.
5. Some Canadians outside of Québec seem to have a peculiar idea about what it’s like to live here.
6. The first people that lived in this land spoke neither French nor English. 

The Fleur-de-lys in the drawing is an emblem from the Québec flag. Did you know that “quebec” is originally a Mi’kmaq word? It means “strait”. I live here; it's my home.

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My #BlueTICK.

So I'm looking for interesting people to follow on Twitter, and occasionally I'll see someone with a little blue tick next to their name. Sometimes the person is a celeb, and sometimes it's someone I never heard of. More often the latter as my own ignorance continues to fascinate and astonish....

And I'm like, ooh, what is that blue tick all about...? Of course its Twitter's 'verified account' proving that that person is the real bonafide actual person. And it's really necessary cuz there's a lot of imposters out there who could take advantage of unsuspecting (and possibly also ignorant) folks like me. So the blue tick is a GOOD thing!

But to me....it's more than that. It's a sign of awesomeness. A sign that you're worth following on Twitter. I don't know why, cuz I almost never follow people with little blue ticks (mostly cuz I'm terrified) and there's a TON of tweeps worth following who have no little blue tick. If Twitter gave me a little blue tick I'd be all like "mommy lookit me and my little blue tick!" hopping up and down. There's no way I'll ever get one anyways, cuz no one would ever imposterize* me.....except for me. Ha.
*made-up word

So I've made my own little blue tick. It's sole purpose is to make me feel special. It doesn't have any identity-verification powers whatsoever!

I even made you a badge of the #BlueTICK. If you should suddenly needing reminding that you're special and worthy of following, feel free to grab it and verify yourself!

And I made a TWIBBON too - If you wish, you may stick it on your profile pic on twitter to be #BlueTICK SELF-VERIFIED!
It's FREE.

If Charlie were to verify-himself as awesome and worth following with this #BlueTICK Twibbon, it might look something like this.

UPDATE: There are now over 250 #BlueTICK Twibbon supporters on Twitter and Facebook which is kinda interesting.  Although silly on the surface, it seems to have resonated somehow.

I tried to keep track of everyone by creating a #BlueTICK List on Twitter, so if you're look for self-verified awesome, just follow the list. If your name is missing, just give me a mention and I'll add you.

PS. I drew this post riding on a very fun convo I had with some lovely people on twitter today. You know who you are.
PPS.  I do love my self.

#BlueTICK gear is now available in my Zazzle Shop.


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