Secret to how to REALLY start doing things differently

I once witnessed a car accident while driving with my sister-in-law. At impact, the red minivan two cars ahead of us lifted up and spiraled like a football into the ditch. Mercifully, there were only minor injuries. After attending with water (and chocolate) until the paramedics arrived, we were asked to write witness statements. Upon reading each other’s, my sister-in-law and I were surprised to find that what we’d paid attention to was wildly different. Our attentions can be inherent to our coded personalities, cultural, or based on personal experience. But here’s the secret: retraining your attentions will give you incredible freedom of action.

Now let’s go to the grocery store. If you noted and evaluated every single one of the tens of thousands of products sold at your average grocery store… well, quite simply, your brain would shut down. In reality, we each walk into a markedly different store, depending on our tastes and habits. Like those big green signs on the highway, our attentions allow the rest of the landscape to blur into the background. A few weeks ago, I was standing in the salad dressing aisle with a bottle of Miracle Whip in my hand – not only Easy Squeeze, but on sale too! See that fellow on my shoulder in the illustration above? That’s Mitch – my insatiable human itch. When you give something an identity (Mitch’s origins will be explained in an upcoming post), you give yourself the freedom to open a dialogue. NOTE: This isn’t any sort of talking-to-yourself or actually seeing the little guy weirdness, just a fun philosophical allegory, like Nietzsche’s Zarathustra or Virgil’s guides in Dante’s Inferno (although I don’t suppose either of those two examples could be called particularly ‘fun’).

When you can dialogue with your primal human drives, habits, and interpretations (dare I say subconscious), you can begin to challenge your reflexive attentions, thoughts, and actions. In this case, choice of salad dressing. Don’t let a touch of natural, biological anxiety hold you back from trying something new. Our neurotransmitters are calibrated to keep our patterns stable in this so often unstable world… just push through (practice makes it easier). I’ve always thought about trying to make my own dressing, so told Mitch to shove off, and through the subsequent catecholamine haze, went hunting for apple cider vinegar, canola oil, and a good novelty mustard.

This shift in attentions began to change my experience of the store. New products came into focus, new flavour combinations, textures, and possibilities for combination. I was essentially shopping a different store, not literally, but a new menu for selection had opened up on familiar shelves. In lieu of an allegory brush off, you can also try this…

Practical Exercise For Retraining Attentions: Next time you’re in the grocery store, arbitrarily pick a 2′ by 2′ area of shelving. For every product within that square, imagine being served a sample at a dinner party. How does it taste? Smell? Look? What is it being served with? What are people talking about while eating? Build a story around it. Then pick one of these products (one you’ve never picked before) and have the balls, yes I said it, balls, to put it in your cart. You can stop here, or if you’ve really got kahoonas, build a dish around this product and see how your story plays out when you serve it to your family.

Quinoa for beginners: Nutritional information, How to cook quinoa, Recipe for easy low-cal veggie quinoa salad

So few things can be called ‘complete’ in this world. There seems to always be something amiss: the perfect outfit but for the shoes, the novel with the unsubstantiated plot twist on p. 234, the ideal man but for the Star Trek… But Quinoa, the Inca’s sacred ‘Mother of all grains’ can lay legitimate claim to being a ‘complete protein’, containing a healthy balance of all 9 essential amino acids (including the ever elusive lysine). It’s also completely delicious, despite being closely related to tumbleweed, pitseed goosefoot, and the even more off-putting plant kin ‘fat hen’.

And so what if quinoa resembles tiny pale alien worm spawn wrapped tightly around plump translucent egg sacs; in comparison to wheat, barley, or corn, this miracle ‘pseudocereal’ delivers substantially more copper, fiber, iron, magnesium, manganese, phosphorus, potassium and zinc – and ranks low on the glycemic index. One cooked cup (222cal) of quinoa provides 5g fiber (36% soluble 54% insoluble), 8g of protein, and is low in sodium. Click here for a full nutritional/calorie breakdown. Being exceptionally low in gluten, even those with celiac disease can munch ahead without fear of digestive retribution. But like anything in life claiming ‘completeness’ there is always an unwanted extra, so make sure you rinse off any residual saponin before enjoying this mildly nutty, mildly chewy delight.

How to cook quinoa and make the low calorie quick and easy vegetable quinoa salad shown above
Stir the ingredients listed below into 3 cups cooked and cooled quinoa in a 9″ by 12″ casserole dish – Add 1 cup rinsed quinoa to 2 cups water, bring to boil, turn down heat and let simmer 15 minutes, stir (when translucent with little white tails).
1 cucumber (chopped)
8 celery stalks (chopped)
6 carrots (chopped) (can be lightly steamed)
2 green onions (chopped)
2 cups frozen peas
1/4 cup chopped parsley (can be augmented with mint)
1/2 lime (squeezed)
salt to taste

DIY Jewelry Ideas – UFC Themed Necklace

Hooters girls are going to be there!” heralded my Viking in his sales pitch for a friend’s upcoming UFC party. Hooters girls, eh? As if watching the gnarly, bloody mayhem of Ultimate Fighting Championship wasn’t enticing enough… add giant breasted hot chicks and we’ve got a recipe for severe testosterone overload. Now, I’m not without my attributes, but wit, charm, and blonde hair can only take a gal so far when the surroundings are 100% eye candy. Solution? Parlaying some of said wit and charm into an eye grabbing, chest focused… craft project!! Because nothing’s sexier than a gal who can ‘bead’ down the competition.

DIY UFC themed necklace instructions:
Components modeled by a very manly, and surprisingly willing, neighbourhood construction worker – working on, yes, those are train tracks.
2 mini wrestler action figures ($10 for duo at Walmart)
2 lengths of 22 gauge wire (length of your leg) (Dollar Store)
1 package white/grey/black pony beads (Dollar Store)
wire cutters

1-Dismember wrestler action figures. Trim joints and scrape off unwanted paint.
2-Beginning at center point (see legs in detail pic), wrap both strands of wire around 1st body part. Secure by twisting wires together (three twists each time – to resemble UFC chain link fence around ring)
3-Working outwards from center, alternate beads as shown in detail pic. Thread each bead onto one strand (leaving other wire on outside of bead), then twist wires (three times) to secure.
4-Once all body parts and central chest area beading is complete, bend to form desired shape (see detail pic). Continue beading on either side until desired length.

Note: Eye protection is heavily recommended for this DIY necklace project!! I admit, dear readers, there was a moment halfway through this bizarre beading adventure when I had to ask myself: “Is this awesome or… just weird?” In my defense, I did promise you I’d do something radical over the weekend…

Dear Friday, how could have I let you see me like this?

Startled? Shocked? Horrified? All of the above. How could this have happened? Oh, I could give you a perfectly reasonable explanation for why I’m wearing slacks today – not pants or trousers, but honest to goodness slacks. And I swear I’m only surfing celebrity gossip to calm my beta-brain into a blissful alpha interim before boosting back up to finish my intellectual tome-of-the-moment (and it’s a really thick one too). But on the surface, I have completely submitted to the stereotype: the hair, a bun; my shoes, practical; my cardigan (yes, cardigan), thigh grazing and demure. I’m even drinking from our office kitchen’s “make every day a Friday!” mug. The horror.

Now, before I confess what I’m about to, I’m trusting you to understand something, that this moment does not define me. Just as I’ll trust that wherever you might find yourself today – in whatever footwear – that you, at least, have hope that someday you will find your own expression of whatever marvelous uniqueness your soul is coded to contain. That said…

My full surrender to the stereotype came as I reached into my desk drawer and dug out a cherry filled chocolate from my secret stash… and then another. Yes, dear readers, I’m typing this with still-sticky fingers. I’m living the very paradigm I’ve spent a lifetime trying desperately to escape. And I ask myself… What effect does environment really have, on our identities, our actions, our morale? Maybe we are not so independent of circumstance? Maybe my day job is more than a time ticker? Maybe you and I are risking more of ourselves than we realize? So let’s do something radical this weekend. You and me. Pinky swear…

Multi-tasking mushroom soup + casserole recipe = A threeway even monogamists can enjoy!


Why let one man, one woman, or one flavour profile hold you back in your quest for sensory bliss. We monogamists have the secret… adding a dash of this, a dash of that, changing it up to make every night a new recipe for…

Night One – Comforting Soup
3 cans condensed mushroom soup
3-4 cups sliced mushrooms (or one large package)
1 bunch celery (chopped)
1 bunch parsley (chopped)
8 green onions (chopped with whites separated)
2 tbsp butter/oil
1 tps dried thyme (or to taste)
salt/pepper to taste
grated cheddar (to garnish)

In your largest soup pot, sauté mushrooms, onion whites, and celery in butter until just softened. Add canned soup and water (+ extra 1/2 can water). Add thyme/salt/pepper to taste. Add 1/3 parsley and 1/3 onion greens. Simmer 5 min+ to combine flavours… serve with garnishes.

Night Two – Surprising Stir-Up
leftover mushroom soup
1 large can corn niblets
3 cups fusilli pasta
retained garnishes

Prepare pasta according to package (al dente). Add drained + rinsed corn to reheated soup. Stir in pasta… serve with garnishes. Note: you may have to alter the pasta proportion depending on how much soup is left over.

Night Three – Personal Casserole
leftover mushroom stir-up
lots-o-cheese
retained garnishes

Heat leftover stir-up on stovetop (pasta will have expanded to absorb soup liquid). Divide into oven safe bowls and top with hefty amount of cheese. Broil until cheese is bubbling. Garnish and serve.

Risking everything to get from Here to There

Once, on stage, I blanked out. I stood there stupidly, holding a silent, quivering flute, cantilevered out into nothingness.

Once, before a deadline, I blanked out. I sat there stupidly, hating my hands for shaking, this time over a keyboard, poised over an article that would never be written.

Now I sit here risking everything promised by our current paradigm, but my hands are steady. These words are my own. There is no fear beyond the slow, mild panic of a human engaging her humanity. There is no composer’s melody to forget, and no interviews to transcribe. There can be no ‘blanking’ out because this is Blank Canvas Living. This is a living dialogue. This is a brain exploring, within and without. This is freedom.

Who are you? Who do you want to be? Risk asking.

But more than that – risk knowing.

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom – Anais Nin

To blossom in this world takes a sharp act of will, fierce and unwavering. There can be no permission. Blank Canvas Living’s  tips/techniques, personal style guide, creative living exercises, and experiments in engagement are designed to loosen our jumbled neural associations and give us the freedom to learn our brains, love them, and blossom according to our most primal coding. Backed by a five year dedicated study into the evolution of ideas (from prehistory through to today), and ongoing philosophical field testing, Blank Canvas Living is an interactive forum for passionate people who share a high need for cognition and sensory/sensual involvement.

How to survive life as an artist – Inspired by the ages and stages of Robin Gibb

Robin Gibb, 1/3 of the legendary Bee Gees, cheated on his first wife with (by his estimation) over 100 women. They divorced and he spent two years in bed with a bottle, so depressed he feared he was going mad. This is the same man who so recently fought with everything he had to stay alive for just one more day. What had changed?

We all live in different worlds. One person’s reality may look, taste, and smell quite similar to another’s, but our brains wire meaning and importance with incredible variation. Where/when our realities overlap, we feel safe, accepted, secure. Surrounded by like-minded brains, the world makes sense – cause and effect, social etiquette, cultural norms. But there is only one place where we meet, all of us, on the same plane… emotion.

The artists we remember have the ability, through their work, to draw us into an emotion and keep us there until we feel it is our own. Emotion and intellect is a back and forth evolution of consciousness. Art, whether through colour, words, or music, allows us to engage in this evolution outside of ourselves, protecting our delicate identities and egos. An emotional reaction triggers an opening in our thinking. Suddenly, we have internal permission to change our perceptions of reality, bringing them either more in line with the artist’s vision, or reinforcing an opposing viewpoint.

But what about the artist?

“The real world was just too real – and we didn’t want to be part of normal life. We wanted to create a magical world for the three of us, and the only way we could do that was to lock ourselves away and be creative.” – Robin Gibb

We must not underestimate the emotional intensity and sensitivity needed to create an outside expression of a universal emotional reality. Among those few born with this gift (some might say curse), along with the talents to communicate it, there are fewer still who can touch us independent of their time. We call them ‘the greats’ – our ‘geniuses’.

But when a mind can only justify itself by creating its own external reflection, participation in a communal, comfortable reality is an impossibility. To add to the artist’s burden, the energy costs of this constant self-reflection make peace of mind an active, rather than a passive, state of being. The artist requires a certain level of selfishness to preserve these energies and not get sucked into the bottomless emotional demands of a world, which to them, is forever on fire. Those who deny this in-born protection, and claim an artificial selflessness, risk their minds following ‘the rules’, if not their very lives.

Robin Gibb got out of bed and began living more honestly. When an artist accepts himself/herself as an artist and begins to live authentically in their ‘village role’, they are able to surround themselves with people who will support (if not necessarily share) their unique vision of reality. Under these circumstances, the artist can finally give back more than he/she takes. Robin Gibb found Dwina, a liberal-minded woman who gave him the space and freedom to live in a way that fueled his creativity instead of draining it. Even so, Gibb pushed his luck by fathering a child with their maid. Because after all, artist or not, guess we’re all stuck being human.

I woke up officially too fat for all my clothes – and I’m loving it!

This post is about as PC as sending back an adopt Namibian baby after the novelty of carrying the little tike round on your hip has worn off. You’ve been warned! I woke up fat today, with a couple tike’s worth of pudge cantilevered out over my own hipbones. Not one single waistband would button or zip. A winter’s worth of last-hurray-before-milestone-birthday denial fueled debauchery, combined with a classic feminine retention, conspired to maximize the bloat factor – and on a Friday no less!

But I have a secret, I kinda like it. Actually, I feel like I’m breaking all the rules because I’m loving my new pounds in a sneaky, indulgent sort of way. I’m deep into a one night stand with a new partner, a strange woman with hedonistic appetites and soft, yielding flesh. I can’t help but wonder… Is this what it’s like to be a man? The lure of a novel body is intoxicating. How do men survive surrounded by so much flesh? Do they feel the same intense, driving curiosity to explore, and by exploring, possess? These curves are fresh and foreign, and I’m drawn into the passionate exoticism of knowing another body for the first time. The temporal (oh please dear gawd let it be temporal!) nature of my current weight allows a sense of detachment; my internal body image has not had time (or my permission!) to adjust. I am free to explore, to indulge – but what to wear?!

The temptation to dress for concealment, rather than display, is strong – and entirely culturally driven. But the logic is all backwards… What joy can there be in hiding? Hiding implies shame, and I feel no shame for maxing out my humanity in preparation for said epic B-Day (maybe a wee smidgen of guilt, but let’s not go there). Blank Canvas Living is, in essence, about honouring our humanity, and what could be more human than breakin’ out the cleavage.

My back-of-the-drawer-fat-day clothes don’t celebrate shit. Neither do yours. Let’s not kid ourselves. We all have go-to uniforms for when we wander too far from our own, uniquely personal, weight baselines. Instead of camouflage, I started searching my closet for something, anything, that would highlight my new curves. After various exercises in claustrophobia, I finally settled on an outfit: an extremely forgiving stretch gray A-line skirt; a serious push-up bra; and a fuchsia faux-pashmina, draped over my shoulders and cinched at the waist with a wide, embroidered belt.

So far the outfit has prompted at least one “is that Scottish…?” coworker complement. But more importantly, I think I look how I feel – powerful – like a medieval knight strapping on my house’s colours (heralding… pink?) before charging into battle. And as an added Friday bonus, I get to enjoy the delightfully fleshy treat that Tia Carerre (see left) was such a dear to sign last time I found myself in a similarly salacious situation.

Note: Ever notice how the holes on your belt form a statistical weight bell curve? The indents on my belt (shown above) reduces my waistline to a mathematical function through time. But any further ‘reducing’ requires a less numerical form of ‘crunching’ … sigh.

In fierce anticipation of meat

Office lunch scheduled for today… at a steakhouse I can’t possibly afford. Except once this past summer, by myself, in full surrender to the experience – each bite a betrayal of my budget. The madness of it pushing the moment as far as my senses could stretch it – a complete indulgence. While others around me were simply, unceremoniously, having dinner.

Meat. There’s something dangerously primal about an animal giving its life, not just for my sustenance, but for my pleasure. I know the resource costs, the methane, the suspicious hormone side-effects, but I don’t care. Nothing about humanity is efficient, no matter what we’d like to believe. There is no underlying nobility. I confess, albeit blushingly, that it gives me a wicked thrill to think that somewhere out there a creature is plodding out its existence solely in service of my most selfish, base desires. An entire life lived for that first blissful bite…

And for the occasion, I’m in full carnivore uniform: knee high Harley Davidson boots, primal cleavage, and you can be darn sure I skipped breakfast… (which I’m sure you can already tell!) Update to follow…

Update: Fully sated, I now feel the prerequisite amount of guilt. I have sacrificed a living being to satisfy a primordial need for fleshy, sacrificial consumption. But darn it, the steak, a New York Strip, was – not to blaspheme – divine. I hang my head as one driven by the baser laws, and I wish I also felt the prerequisite amount of shame. But alas, if I am a fool, I am one of the grand old fools, and I live in the torment of my weakness. I am human. I hunger. And I eat.

Michelle Harper and the illusion of universal individual style

Michelle Violy Harper is a delight. Her quirky, oftentimes whimsical personal style is a celebration of…. yada yada – the articles have been written, Vogue, Style.com, etc. The tributes are effusive and entirely deserved. She’s spectacular (period).

We are inspired, millions of us, but to do what? Theoretically, we’re supposed to dig into our own psyches, moods, and fave cultural/fashion references to root out an individual style that best expresses who we are and/or how we wish to be perceived. Pretty straight forward, right?

Individual style is an illusion. For every time, for every trend, there are those who lead through exaggeration: Grace Kelly’s 1950s elegance, Kurt Cobain’s layered grunge jeans, Louis XIV’s Sun King ornamentation. Costuming these characters differently is unthinkable because their style is so closely linked to their psychologies. Their brains demand an outward expression of their eccentricities – they have no choice. To dress differently would be a betrayal of self, cause chaffing personal conflict, and render them invisible within their time.

Culture is pulled ahead by powerful personalities and powerful innovations. Fashion’s game changers are innately sensitive to the evolving culture around them and engage in a (often unconscious) back and forth influencing that, when successful, aligns them perfectly with the moment, even as they effectively pull it forward – making them inspirational touchstones to the public. Such sensitivity, combined with an exaggerated, ambitious personality, is a rare and sometimes dangerous mix (eg: Cobain, Leigh Bowery). The personal costs are high; it’s not often worth being envious beyond the clothes.

A brief stint working at Michaels Arts & Craft Superstore made something very clear: there are those who innovate, those who adapt ideas, and those who simply emulate. At Michaels, the innovators bought loose beads, those who needed inspiration bought kits, and the emulators preferred kits with full patterns/instructions. The same follows for fashion, and there is nothing wrong with it! This is the world! But this trend (and yes, it IS a trend) for universal personal, individual style is a philosophical fallacy.

Michelle Harper, born with a driving need to explore and experiment with her physicality, should be held aloft as inspiration. Because she, out of dozens of street style stars, is one of the very few able to transcend the trends hidden in plain view within the individuality movement (as patterned over time on sites like TheSartorialist.com – eg: fedoras, cameos). She is our latest, brightest touchstone – leather paillettes for all! ~wink