I would be, I should be; "I do not know what".

"I could have been a whistle, could have been a float. A real life giver, could have been boat. Simple as a kettle, steady as a rock."

This song is in my head, the nameless song from the Garden State soundtrack. My brain is empty today, really-- I know absolutely NOTHING today except for the fact that I am leaving in two weeks for bigger and better things. I have no idea what to expect and have no idea what might happen. I am certain that Europe was the right decision, albeit an impulse one, but the right one all the same. Lo and I were chatting the other day and while her quick witted banter had me in stitches, it also got me to thinking about life as we know it. In my brain, the French seem to pull out all the stops in their cliche-heavy worlds more often than not in terms of carelessness and emotional upheaval. With a simple sigh and a cigarette-clad wave of the hand, a muttered "Je ne sais quoi" is often the scapegoat for any and all of life's pressing issues at hand. Whether this ideology is true or not is up for interpretation by the reader. I on the other hand, have fully decided to adopt this Francophone mentality pre, post and during my travels abroad and hope to God it serves me well.

Here is a collection of photos. I love these photos and I love these people. These people I call my friends. There are an important handful of faces missing because they too are off in foreign lands in pursuit of their own happiness. Everything looks perfect from far away. I read something last night and it caught my eye and left a mark:

There were the earth and there were the planets.  The earth was not a planet.
The planets were the grabbers.  They were called this because they could sieze
hold of the earth and bend its destiny to thier will.  The earth was never of
thier kind.  The earth was the subject.  The earth was the grabbee.
....Until he found out about the shadow planets, Noman Sher Noman had never
understood how to think about love, how to give names to its effects of moral
illumination and tidal fluctuation and gravitaitonal pull.  The moment he heard
many things became clear.  Love and hate were planets too, noncorproreal but out
there, pulling at his heart and soul.

I don't know who wrote this other than the fact that Mave sent it to me many moons ago via email in the dimming divide of winter. I found it last night written on a scrap piece of paper and I slept fitfully because of it. Norman Sher Norman, je ne sais quoi.


Look on friendly soldiers.
Frances/Megan (same person).

This is forever; oh bah nay.

This post is a collection of shots over the span of the last two weeks. A date with Kitty to the Underground Cafe; a visit to my hometown and the building that ALMOST claimed my dear dad's life (close, but no cigar PTL); a mum, a dad; a skate competition at the Plaza featuring Wren, Sea Bass (Cara), Yosh, Tris, Paul, Bram, Sam, Amy, James and Chris; and one very scandalous wedding with the Zachs. Enjoy. (Photos are 'acomin'). Patience is a virtue.



























(More to commmmmmme [comme si, comme ca]).
Madge.

For Whom the (Wedding) Bell Tolls.

Many of you have been threatening to lend a hand when it comes to me meeting my maker earlier than planned. (Yes, I understand that one cannot pen in death, NATURAL death that is; but enough with the death threats fueled by your impatience). Here are the long awaited photos (lest we forget I shoot with FILM) from Gunner and Cheryl's wedding nuptial bliss on August tenth, 2007. Once again, congratulations gems.

Tit for tat; clang clang of glassware and a tip of the bowler hat.

The year of the Great Migration. To be frank, I never listened in school when we were taught about the Great Migration. I was too busy reading 'Little House on the Prairie' splayed open under the desk between my legs. With a brow knit in misinterpreted concentration, teachers never suspected a thing. To think: seven, eight, nine, ten years following the wake of those history lessons I am just starting to understand the concept of deracination or upheaval with fresh eyes only now. This year, dubbed silently by a close-knit circle of chums as the 'Year of the Great Migration' began with a thunderous and impulsive "YES" over wine and paella with a doe-eyed friend. Our clanging glasses rising and falling like music from toast after toast in the controlled chaos of the restaurant. The list was long and the food got cold. Yes to trips abroad, yes to change and singledom, yes to celebratory-worthy decisions made by close others, yes to new hobbies and a newfound self-awareness, yes to resolutions upheld, yes to marathons run and babies born, yes to engagements proposed and wedding bell follow-through, yes to bidding adieu to soft sisters and waving hello to foreigners. Many changes, many tears, many fits of laughter, many hours worked, many slept off, many dance nights, many bike rallies, many bouts of seasonal depression, many new friends and one broken heart, many dinner dates and many, many bottles of wine at the river (of tears in recent weeks) behind our man L. Riel. A good year so far, but the point of the matter is-- X marks the spot: the halfway mark. I have learnt plenty this year, and while the weight of knowledge (whether chosen or not) often threatens to swallow one's spirit whole, I choose to continue to say "yes" to change (whatever it may be) and welcome the subsequent shitstorm with my zebra umbrella-- open-armed and wild-eyed.

This photo was sent to me last week from Mave. She said I could fall in love with him if I wanted. Maybe not.



Sleep has escaped me once again despite of the fact that I work in a few mere hours. Eight hours of toil and treason at Fresh Cafe. By toil I mean unavoidable grueling heat and overtly sweaty bangs, and by treason I mean the unwarranted consumption of 17+ smoothies throughout the course of the day. I love my job, I do. Regardless, in the words of my earthly Father, "it is all part of the learning curve... travel is simply initiative to work and earn". How enlightening. Thanks, dad; you are a gem doll.

Adieu. Europe here I come; twenty-one forever young.
Madge.

I bid you adieu, Lady Birds.

This one is for you Loco Ono; my one and only friend who watches this site with eagle eyes. Enjoy each and every black and white shot and know that you are loved more than anything else. I miss you and will be sure to pass on your wise (and apologetic) words to Cousin J-Fridge. My fingers are crossed across my chest that the Land 'O Plenty has worn holes through your jeans and melted your heart to dust. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Blessings to all of my migrating/ed Lady Birds (Erin, Lo and now Mave) be well and find your hearts taped to the underside of cafe chairs, buried in a stack of pagmena's or street pad thai, bound in a stack of dusty French vinyl or floating behind light eyelids in Venice. Be well, be well. You are loved plenty.

Across the dump, with love. Your Madgesty.