Keira-anne.com

Allow me to be completely honest with you for a moment. I love meat. I love steaks, I love ribs, sometimes I love chicken and I have a new found love for fish and chips. Proscuitto is fantastic and salami often makes a sandwich. I also love cooking meat. With countless recipes designed to create and tantalize, it’s hard for me to stay out of the kitchen.

Photo: Another Pint Please… on Flickr

Here’s my problem: how do I go cruelty-free? The truth of the matter is that I am not able, nor do I want, to go completely vegetarian. I, personally, take no issue with the consumption of meat as a food source. I do, however, take huge issue with the ways in which animals are treated before being prepared as food. As an animal lover, I am becoming more and more aware of the absolute importance of humane treatment. I also don’t want to become one of those pretentious, selective eaters.

It’s becoming a gray area for me. One can go so far as to say: “well what about leather handbags and shoes?” That’s an extremely valid point. What about them? How is the source of that leather traceable?

I refuse to rely on PETA’s website because I would presume that everything there would have to be read with a fantastically large grain of salt. I’d find it hard to believe their facts and information wouldn’t be largely biased. This is where you, my readers, come in.

I’ll not lie to you though…giving up McDonald’s and Chinese food will be no easy feat for this chica.

Over to you…

“What would the world be like
If, for every rose given
Another would be received?”

[source]

For close to three years, I have worked in the same office tower in downtown Vancouver. It’s about 22 levels of law firms, investment offices and other well oiled money-making machines. On the bottom floor there are two cafes, a travel agent, a florist and, among other things, a convenience store. This convenience store, however, is unlike any other I’ve ever been in for the simple fact that it’s owned and run by two of the truly most astounding people I’ve come to know in this city.

Photo: Humpalumpa on Flickr

Nikki and her husband Raul (who I’ve affectionately come to call ‘Uncle Raul’) are often the respite in the long days I haul at the office. Usually once a day I’ll slip downstairs to buy a scratch ticket, a mini candy bar or a Diet Pepsi. My real reason for the visits, however, is simply to engage in warm conversation - even if only for a minute or two. Today was much like every other day, except in that by the time I was done having my chat with ‘Uncle Raul,’ I realized I’d been absent from my desk for 40 minutes.

As I’ve said before, a father is an irreplaceable person in a young girl’s life, but there are many men in a lifetime that wear the shoes in an instance or two. ‘Uncle Raul’ has always told me that I can come to him and Nikki to talk, share, seek advice and listen. And believe me, to say that ‘Uncle Raul’ loves to talk would be grossly understating the truth. It’s a good thing, too, because the man has a lot of wise and well-learned truths to share.

Today we spoke of loving others and sharing humanity. How the subject even came up in the first place, I’m not entirely sure.

Photo: ~Aphrodite on Flickr

Sometimes, and even often times, we will encounter people in our daily lives that impact us in a decidedly negative way. They drain us of our energies and our inside light, and sometimes through no intended way. Something as simple as a misconstrued e-mail or disconcerting glance can have a crushing effect. Sometimes it’s people we know; sometimes it’s a complete stranger.

It is because of this very reason that it is absolutely both essential and crucial that we as human beings put forth an extra ounce of ourselves to show compassion; to show a spirit of humanity. And before we can gain the ability to show love and kindness to those we know and don’t know, we as individuals need to show love and kindness to our own selves.

What is important in the big picture is holding on to the truths that we know, rather than the often irrational thoughts and ideas that ping around in our heads like marbles. While those marbles are likely to roll away once they’ve been exhausted, what we ultimately know is what’s left behind. Through this, we can instead create and hold on to an awareness of who we truly are on the inside. By this, I don’t simply mean our personalities, but the fact that there is constantly a battle brewing between our sensible, logical selves and our egocentric selves.

Photo: hidden side on Flickr

What do I mean by this? There is an insatiable, irresistible and voracious trait in each of us that wants our circumstances to change, to move the hands on the clock to 5:00 p.m. when we’ve just started work, to part the traffic so we won’t be sitting in a highway jam for an hour, for that phone to ring, for payday to come, for our holidays to start…

None of that matters. Right now, I am sitting in my pajamas in a wooden chair, clicking my fingertips on a keyboard and sharing with you the lesson I’ve learned today. That is the only thing that matters right now - this instant.

Right now, you are sitting at your computer and reading what I just wrote. Beyond that, take stock of the very moment you’re in. Realize it for what it is, have patience with yourself, accept the current circumstance of this very minute and be okay with it.

Love yourself wholly, and the ability to love others will come that much easier.

Last week I found myself at a walk-in clinic. While I was partly too lazy to trek across the Cambie Street Bridge to my actual doctor’s office, I find the medical staff at the Stein Medical Clinic [website] to be thoroughly professional and less of a headache to deal with.

I had a minor health glitch, one that had me diagnosed and out the door, prescription clutched in hand, in under 10 minutes. At one point during my time at the clinic, I do remember flashing my BC Care Card, but my debit and credit cards stayed firmly tucked in my wallet. From there, I walked to Urban Fare’s pharmacy, handed over my prescription and paid for it only five minutes later with, quite literally, pocket change.

To most Canadians, this is completely normal; to most Americans, this is a luxury.

To many of them, it’s a choice between visiting the doctor or paying this month’s rent. Canada, it seems, isn’t that far behind.

Photo: Brittany G on Flickr

Garnering both flack and praise, Michael Moore’s 2007 documentary “Sicko” turned the spotlight on the some 50 million Americans who are uninsured or are covered with such measly insurance that they’re victims of the system all the same. The problem at large in the United States is that health care is completely privatized, and in his film, Moore targeted his suspicions of the conglomerate insurance companies that were denying treatment to policy holders in order to pinch pennies…billions and billions of pennies.

Here in Canada, various levels of our Government foot the bills for approximately 70% of healthcare costs and the system is “designed to ensure that all residents have reasonable access to medically necessary hospital and physician services.” [source] A huge number of our citizens also receive further and more comprehensive coverage through their respective employers.

In a time where the almighty dollar is king (and making more of it is the name of the game), I have to stop and wonder how much longer we have until Canada goes the way of our southern sister. If and when that day comes, I’m packing my bags and moving to France. Who’s with me?

(Click here to view the trailer for “Sicko.”)

I like Eva Longoria, quite a bit, and so the point of this post isn’t a slam on her. Rather, it’s a perfect demonstration that she is a normal girl just like the rest of us. No girl is comfortable in her skin 100% of the time, and it’s completely understandable. Mainstream media bombards us with images that we ultimately know are largely fabricated, but the proof is often hard to find.

I’ve always said you can open any Victoria’s Secret catalogue and clearly see the airbrush marks and spots on inner thighs where excess inches have literally been cut away in photo programs. Sometimes, though, the best example is a side-by-side.

The photo on the left was shot for Bebe Sport’s recent campaign; the photo on the left was snapped just yesterday off the coast of Portofino, Italy.

Left Photo: Bebe Sport; Right Photo: Bauer-Griffin for People

She’s a real girl, ladies - with a healthy figure just like the rest of us.

Near the end of last summer, I wrote a post asking for readers’ response regarding tattoos. Being that it’s close to a year later and I still want the same tattoo in the same spot I wanted it last August, I figure that it’s not a dead issue. Allow me to preface this by saying that what I have in mind is not random (ie. not chosen off the parlour wall), has profound meaning to me and is mostly certainly not the typical LBT that many girls seem to get. Not that I have anything against LBTs, but being that I’ve never been much of one for tattoos generally, I figure that were I to get one, it’s going to have to be rather unique to me personally in several ways.

Original Photo: eyeliam on Flickr

This is where you come in. A good and fair share of my readers must have tattoos (or at least an opinion on them), so I’m fielding all of you to answer my questions.

Finally, for the sake of entertainment, I found this tattoo while doing a Flickr search. Though it’s rather - um, shall we say unique? - it still made me a little queasy to look at. And yup, it’s safe for the office!

I promised, and so I deliver. Now that I’ve given myself a few days to absorb all that was Sex and the City (movie-style) – and all of you a fair chance to see it for yourselves – it’s time to talk.

Throughout the entire film, I felt excitement and elation and that sense of a fuzzy security blanket as I watched the ladies of Manhattan reunited. It had been more than three years since we left the ladies brunching at their usual spot upon Carrie’s return from Paris, and I couldn’t have been happier to play catch up. Miranda and Steve were well settled into married life with Brady in tow, Charlotte and Harry had their hands full with Lily (and finally a new baby on the way), and Samantha proved that some things don’t change – including her lust for Smith Jerrod.

Photo: New Line Cinema

Since hearing that Sex was being filmed for the silver screen, anytime the topic had come up, there was one thing I always stated: after six years, I simply cannot handle any further drama between Big and Carrie. But let’s be honest here – how can you not have a film that centres on Big and Carrie without the contents of Charlotte’s pants hitting the fan? I suppose it was inevitable.

After finding their dream penthouse on Fifth Avenue, Ms. Bradshaw’s insecurity over having no legal rights turns into a discussion about marriage, and so in a rather formal and contractual manner, Big and Carrie agree to get married. Like almost anything in life, the path to matrimony soon becomes a slippery slope, finding Carrie vying for Vivienne Westwood while inviting 200 guests to the New York Library. John James Preston, on the other hand, is vouching for a low-key civil ceremony (that man’s got the right idea).

Photo: New Line Cinema

‘A’ leads to ‘B’ and ‘B’ leads to ‘C,’ and before you know it, Miranda’s dispelling toxic love advice to Big on the eve of the wedding – a result of yet another fight between her and Steve spurned out of his heartbreaking infidelity. The day arrives, Carrie’s in couture and – to no one’s surprise – Big’s limo is headed in the opposite direction. In one of the most passionate and angry scenes between these two we’ve ever been witness to, Charlotte’s “no!” was the no heard ‘round the world.

The majority of the film, beyond that point, brings us to another level – something beautiful that showed the viewers that it wasn’t a movie about a love story gone wrong. Beyond all the cynicism and doubt the preceding events enforced in my own head and heart, I was open to the concept that it was about the two “F’s.” I’m not talking about another word for colouring (though there is plenty of that), but about forgiveness and friendship. Through the eyes of the girls, we’re actually shown how important it is to love others, to love yourself, to forgive others, to forgive yourself, to accept where one falls short and to celebrate triumph.

Photo: New Line Cinema

When all was said and done, Samantha decided that she had to be true to herself and leave Smith in Los Angeles while she returned to New York City, Miranda and Steve were able to let true and real love create forgiveness and move forward even stronger than before, while Charlotte, Harry and Lily welcomed Rose to the family. And as we watched as the now Carrie Preston and John James Preston left New York City Hall after a touching reuniting of the two, my feelings changed from glad to sad. Truth be told, I felt the marriage between the two was completely unnecessary.

In one particular scene, as ‘Auntie Carrie’ is reading Cinderella to young Lily, she wisely states “you know, things don’t always happen like this in real life. I just think you should know that now.” And you know what? She was right, and that’s the irony of it. In this film, Cinderella did get her prince and they did live happily ever after. While it didn’t bother me that John and Carrie found reconciliation, but the actual marriage was unnecessary. They seemed perfectly happy in a common law relationship, having found the right balance between them.

Photo: New Line Cinema

That being said, the fact that all four of the ladies got a perfect ending, while it created closure to the story, seemed like a bit of a slap in the face. What I’ve always appreciated about Sex (as Jennifer also wrote), is that it’s better to lean on your friends and not be with a man out of desperation. The show always made me feel like it was okay to not be living a fairytale life, and that sometimes fairytales are just that.

However, do not get me wrong. In retrospect, I enjoyed the film very, very much. It was precisely what any Sex fan needed to make the circle complete and it won’t be the only time I see it on the big screen. It’s all perfectly peppered with sweet memories, humour, laughter and tears. If you haven’t seen it yet, and I haven’t already completely ruined the film for you, get thee to the theatre immediately…and make sure you wear something fabulous.

And so for those of you who have seen it, thoughts? Comments? Critiques?

When I was very young, I liked to write letters. I also liked to write short stories, notes, cards and especially took joy in jotting down my thoughts and feelings in my diary. I still remember what it looked like too: it had a cheap brass lock with a photo of Johnny Depp on the cover, clad in ripped jeans with the ‘21 Jumpstreet’ logo splashed on the brick wall behind him.

As I got older, and finally hit my teenage years, everyone started getting online with the World Wide Web. Everyone I knew was staking their claim at Hotmail with a clever e-mail address, and a few more found their online chat identity at ICQ (if you have to ask what that is, you’re too young to remember). At the time, blogs and online journaling seemed like a hugely “out there” idea, and only a select few moved from the concept of pen and paper to fingers and keyboard.

Photo: stevegarfield on Flickr

In fact, it wasn’t until many years later and I was in my early 20s that I, too, started to blog. This was in addition to the many so-called wonderful ways in which the internet allowed us to stay connected with those we know and reach out to new friends. Geocities, Friendster, Yahoo! Chat, MySpace, Classmates, Blogger, MSN Messenger, Facebook, WAYN - need I go on?

For most of our lives we got on just fine with paper stationary and telephones, so why now are we so heavily dependent on the internet?

With quite literally each passing day, I am starting to see the internet as more of a curse than a blessing. The very thing that makes getting in touch online so simple is also the same thing that exacerbates one of the biggest problems in human relations.

This topic has been cycling through my social circle a great deal as of late.

The online realm, in all its brilliance and downfalls, allows each person who logs on to appear, say, see and be all the things they choose to represent. Our names, e-mail addresses, location, appearance, ethnicity, sex and opinions can all be 100% fabricated. For every person who chooses to use this medium to contact with and express themselves to others in a manner that is entirely genuine, there is someone who exploits the anonymity of the internet to, essentially, act shitty and take zero responsibility for it.

Cyberspace requires absolutely no accountability.

So how can you weed out the gold from the ghastly? In truth, you can’t. Sometimes you just have to take the good with the bad; the pretty with the ugly. I suppose it’s true of all things in life and in relationships with others. As a friend recently wrote, maybe the best thing to do is surround your real life with those who are simply “kind hearted and supportive.” They’re the people who keep you grounded in a twisted world…whichever world that may be.

I have one simple question for you all:

Where have all the gentlemen disappeared to?

I hate to generalize on such a large scale, but I’ve recently become rather appalled (and almost insulted) at the lack of manners in men I encounter on a daily basis in the downtown core. There seems to be a large and gaping hole where courtesies, open doors and a “ladies first” policy once dwelled.

Photo: iandavid on Flickr

I’ve long been a champion of traditionalism in its various forms - though not to be confused with blatant sexism. Oddly enough, I find it to be a topic I keep returning to, incarnated somewhat differently each time. That is, however, besides my point.

Sure, I am capable of opening the door to my office building, but sometimes it would be nice if the man who enters it before me could, at the very least, hold it open for yours truly also.

And while we all ride the elevator and get to the ground floor at the same time, it would be nice if the random men I ride it with would offer me the option of walking out first (particularly if they get on after I do). Oddly enough, the only men who do seem to remember these common, basic courtesies are the 60+ crowd.

As I said, it’s wrong of me to pidgeonhole 21st-century men in such a way. To prove me wrong, I challenge my more chivalrous male readers to tell me who they are and take a stand against those who…aren’t.

It was a sunny afternoon, this past Saturday, as Amy and I pulled open the door at Book Warehouse. My only mission was to find one particular book. Being that she’d already read it, Amy was quick to point out the humour she found in the title of a particular section in the first chapter:

“Here, look…‘Our Inherited Dysfunction.’ I showed that to my mom and she laughed.”

I suppose it’s something we can all laugh at, being that each and every single one of us not only comes from a dysfunctional family or background, but also because we all possess sociological malfunctions in ways that are unique to the individual. My personal dysfunction, something I touched down on last year in a number of posts, wasn’t something I become aware of until only recently, despite the fact it had been simmering on the back burner for close to a decade.

Much of what troubles me manifests itself in such a way that my security can easily crumble. Questioning my self-worth while allowing my mind to be invaded by doubt comes faster than I often have the chance to put my guard up. And once again, as it has a tendency to do, my dysfunction reared its dreadful head on Sunday afternoon. As of late, yours truly and her blog have been the target of online mud-slinging 5 different times in as many months. Some have chosen to e-mail me their disdain directly, while others have chosen subversive attempts on blogs that aren’t quite as secretive as the authors may think.

And while words can initially sting, the actualities behind the language are far more comprehensive.

“Words, no matter whether they are vocalized and made into sounds or remain unspoken as thoughts, can cast an almost hypnotic spell on you. You easily lose yourself in them, become hypnotized into implicitly believing that when you have attached a word to something, you know what it is. The fact is: You don’t know what it is. You have only covered up the mystery with a label. Everything, a bird, a tree, even a simple stone, and certainly a human being, is ultimately unknowable. This is because it has unfathomable depth. All we can perceive, experience, think about, is the surface layer of reality, less than the tip of an iceberg.”
– Eckhart Tolle, A New Earth (2006 Plume Publishing)

What I find most astonishing in any of my communications (or, rather, mis-communications) with my readers and other bloggers alike is how often the tongue-in-cheek manner which peppers my writing is missed altogether. And further, it is rather perplexing to me how many of my readers that I don’t know in any regard can purport to know me enough to make solid statements about the person they believe I am based solely on the content found at a web address. However, if you believe and understand what Tolle says about words and their impact, it is uncomplicated and easy to see how it unfolds. Because the words used against me, ultimately, are as meaningless as the words I use on this blog (and even in this post), and it is rather clear that you and I are no better than each other or anyone else.

Photo: sporkist on Flickr

If, as Tolle states, we are easily lost in and hypnotized by someone’s words, we must ask ourselves why that is so. It is much the same with anything in this earthly world in which we can become entangled. When our focus is not grounded in what we know to be fact and truth that is based on tangible experience, we will undoubtedly allow ourselves to become carried away based on our emotional side. Most often, the emotional side will dictate based upon our insecurities.

Much of the aforementioned mudslingers chose to attack my physical appearance, the tongue-in-cheek posts I tend to write and what they perceive my personality to be based on, merely, words. Our emotional sides remind each of us of robbed happiness, lack of self-confidence or any number of things that any number of us experience at one time or another. And, unfortunately, it seems those things tend to spill out in a sometimes spiteful manner.

On this blog, I write about my family because they’re my everything and are the one thing that truly matters at the end of the day. I chronicle adventures with my friends because each of those friendships is a give-and-take situation that provides nutrition for the soul in one way or another. I compose entire blog posts based on a pair of jeans, a bikini or a new nail polish colour because new jeans, bikinis and painted toenails are fun (and besides, what girl doesn’t like buying pretty new things?). I share the mundane aspects of my life and add a twist because, for whatever reason, there are those that have an itch to know.

I write because I love language and connect with the joy in the expression of it.

Rest assured that I won’t be letting “the haters” get me down. Instead, I thank them sincerely for the drive they provide.

I have a guilty pleasure. I love celebrity gossip sites, even though I know I shouldn’t. Why do I find candid photos of him, her and that guy interesting? I can’t explain, but that’s besides the point. Upon perusal of one of my regular haunts, The Superficial (enough said), I came across an article leading me to Newsweek.

Miami, Florida-based plastic surgeon, Dr. Michael Salzhauer, undertook the task of informing children about the plastic surgeries their moms and dads may be undergoing.

“Salzhauer got the idea for a book after noticing that women were coming into his office with their kids in tow. He says that mysterious doctor’s visits can be frightening for children. “Parents generally tend to go into this denial thing. They just try to ignore the kids’ questions completely.” But, he adds, children “fill in the blanks in their imagination” and then feel worse when they see “mommy with bandages,” he says. “With the tummy tucks, [the mothers] can’t lift anything. They’re in bed. The kids have questions.”

You have to see the excerpts from “My Beautiful Mommy” to believe them…

All photos courtesy of Big Tent Books on Newsweek

It’s an interesting endeavour, I must admit. Being one who spent years teaching pre-school, I see the validity in educating children. Adults have an incredible responsibility with regard to being open and honest with children, answering questions they may have and enlighten their malleable minds.

So where are the boundaries drawn? 2008 is an age of plastic surgery and appearance enhancement. And quite often, it goes way over the line. At what point do books like this stop teaching children about the reality of a situation and start teaching them what the world thinks to be “pretty” or “beautiful?”

What are your thoughts?