Jessica Wei

Something that I’m working on.

(It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything, but I’ve been workin’ sump’n out. 

Here’s a snippet.)

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BABY, IT’S COLD OUTSIDE.

Talking about the weather may be a cliché, but when it’s -15 degrees out there and you’re trudging through what feels like miles of snow just to get from the subway to the office, it’ a hard subject to ignore. The weather is ever-present: it disturbs morning routine (like having to spend 5 minutes to layer up before leaving the house), it determines personal outlooks for the day (“waking up on the wrong side of the bed” is just another way of saying, “I got hit with a face full of dry, blistery wind this morning. PRE-COFFEE.”). There are three all-encompassing things that unite Canada and remind us that this huge, sprawling, often uninhabitable mass is still one great country: Tim Hortons, bitching about how cold it is, and the communal heart-attack/orgasm that swept the country during the 2008 Olympics men’s hockey final between Canada and the US.

I have undergone these winters for 22 years now, and every May, something twitches and zaps in my brain and suddenly I forget the feeling of thawing toes and shaking fingers pressed up against a travel mug during the morning commute. I begin to say things like, “You know, I kind of miss winter” as I sip a sangria, watching heat lines lift off the concrete. “I love that feeling of being bundled up when it’s cold outside”, I’ll murmur to myself, wiping sweat off of sunglasses with the hem of an airy skirt. And, of course – “I miss my winter coat.” I muse, plodding along the sidewalk in leather one-strap Birkenstocks, propelling dry dust into the cracks between my toes.

But now it’s mid-January, the week after the City of Toronto has released a Cold Weather Alert across the city, and I’m thinking about those patio sangrias and cursing every winter-positive sentiment that has ever floated through my sun-baked brain.

But I’ll tell you one thing: after 22 years of battling the snowy elements, one does get the hang of preparing for it. Here are my own personal tips and experiences to make it through the next few months until that blasted twitch and zap occurs and I’m off deluding myself with dreams of winter wonderland again.

JESSICA’S WINTER SURVIVAL GUIDE:

1) BUY STUFF FROM PEOPLE WHO KNOW WHAT COLD IS (AND DEAR GOD, COVER YOUR ASS)
Kimora Lee Simmons lives in LA and the clothes she designs are made in China. Neither of those places understands frozen bus shelter benches. So my question is, how have all those twig-waisted Baby Phat girls still walking around in those cropped, air-fluffed car-tire jackets? And why do people think that leggings are appropriate bottoms for any temperature under 10 degrees? Nobody hates on Canada Goose jackets more than I do (let’s face it, ugly designs and ridiculous price tags), but even I will concede that those things are like a trendy, less-smelly alternative to a cut-open Tauntaun. What gets me through the day? A navy blue wool pea-coat, with room for optimal layering underneath. And I’ve got my ass covered.

2) PRETEND THAT YOU ARE GOING SOMEWHERE.

Just pretend. Look up hostels, compare plane fares, use the power of imagination to lift you out of this frozen tundra. As you wipe off the salt stains from your Sorels, think about all the pebble beaches in Monaco, or the strawberry daiquiris in Mexico. Welcome to your happy place. And if that’s not hot enough for you, let your imagination run wilder – is that Benedict Cumberbatch running across the sandy dunes of the Malawi desert in a Speedo, playing Frisbee with Wishbone? Oh, and he’s wearing the hat? Well, hellooooo, there….

3) DRINK LOTS OF ALCOHOL AT HOME.

Obviously.

4) HYDRATE, HYDRATE, HYDRATE.

Take a cue from your childhood, when your mom wouldn’t let you leave the house before she could forcibly slather your face with Vaseline (or was that just my mom?). Cold weather zaps moisture - and nobody wants flaky-face. The key? Drinking plenty of water, using a simple face moisturizer, and industrial-strength lip balm. I hoard lip balm. I have probably ingested enough petroleum to fuel a golf cart, but I’m slowly phasing out my current line-up with products with familiar ingredients. And don’t forget – lipstick is the DEVIL in the winter. If you must use it, go for a moisturizing one, like Clarins Joli Rouge. You’ll have to reapply more often, but it won’t make your lips look like a dry sponge at the end of the day.

5) REMEMBER THOSE AROUND YOU.

Post-recession statistics say that 1 in 10 Canadians live in poverty. In 2010, the average rate of occupancy in single and youth shelters was 93%. In 2010, the number of households on the social housing wait list was 76, 549. Toronto is expanding their programs for the homeless in cold months, offering emergency shelters, drop-in centres and increasing transportation services. There are a variety of different opportunities to volunteer for those so inclined, but anyone can help out just by carrying a few extra items in their gym bags. One of the leading causes of death among the homeless is dehydration – remember what we said about the cold zapping moisture out of the air? Grab a few water bottles on your way out. And you know that horrible feeling of frozen, damp socks when you’ve been walking around for a few hours outside? Most homeless shelters don’t have full-out walk-in medical clinics, but most hold regular foot clinics. Corns, calluses, athletes’ foot, and frostbite hugely affect people who live in the same socks and shoes for days and weeks on end. A fresh pair of socks might just make someone’s day a little brighter.

6) EMBRACE THE COLD.

Nathan Phillips’ Square is a hotspot for tourists, and the indoor skating rink in Place Bonaventure may be overrun by children, but there are great places to actually enjoy wholesome Canadian activities all over our fine country. After a while of complaining about the weather, people tend to forget that skiing sucks in July, and street-hockey on rollerblades pales in comparison to some good old-fashioned pond hock. Hibernating is fun (and sanity-preserving), but how fun are full-out snowball fights, right?

7) EXPLORE OTHER CUISINES.

Who doesn’t appreciate a big beefy pot of stew after a blistering winter day? Uh, people with a history of bombdiggity á la table culinary traditions, that’s who. Chinese hot pot,Mongolian grill, Korean BBQ – those are all to be had for way less than a plate of pasta at Terroni. Any North York Szechuan joint will have you sweating through your t-shirt in mid-January. Slow cooking is a fine comfort, but if you really wanna warm up, come sit by the fire.

That’s my advice. I’m about to go bake something with a lot of butter and sugar in it and not leave the house. 

Catch you all in the imaginary beaches of my mind. 

I SMOKE CIGARETTES.

(Audible, communal gasp). 

Most people that I see with any regularity know this about me. I don’t step out for a bi-hourly nicotine hit (unless it’s late at night and I’ve consumed copious amounts of alcohol, which is hardly often), I don’t smoke inside, and I don’t constantly reek of tobacco. But I smoke. Maybe one to five cigarettes a day. 

This can be attributed, maybe, to having lived in Montreal for almost five years, which is a city that can be arguably considered the ashtray of Canada. Perhaps I smoke because I have been through Europe a few times in the past few years, and many of the heavily romanticised places I bounced around are full of Mad Men types who have been smoking heavily for generations. Another factor could also be that I enjoy taking a break from large gatherings to stand outside alone for a few minutes, watching dark grey clouds seeping from my mouth. But I really, honestly, simply just enjoy the act of smoking. 

It is not my New Years Resolution to quit this year, nor will it probably be one next year. I don’t anticipate continuing this habit into my 30s, mainly because I’d like to be able to still walk up a staircase without gasping for breath, and eventually I’ll probably have better, more important things to spend $10 a week on. 

But for now, I smoke. And I don’t think it’s evil. I would also argue that it’s better than most things that people do on a regular basis that nobody bats an eyelash at. I avoid, for example, going into fast food chain restaurants where meat casings could possibly have been in contact with feces and toxic waste products. I rarely drink to excess. I don’t have sex with strangers (for entirely different reasons). I don’t drink milk, which is riddled with antibiotics and hormones unsuitable for the human body (okay, this one isn’t as serious as the others, probably, but you still have to think about it). I don’t work in a coal mine. And the fairly obvious (hopefully) — I never entertain the very idea of anything chemical passing through my nostrils, I hate needles, and pills just kind of freak me out. (Okay, I had a week-long love affair with Adderall within the confines of my campus library, but that fling ended when I noticed unusual heart palpitations at 3 AM and no one else was around to find me if I were to die that night). 

But I smoke on a semi-regular basis and this, at least in some parts of Toronto, warrants obnoxious, over-acted coughing, death stares, casual comments such as, “You smoke? Gross!” and “Enjoy your cancer stick!” 

You know what also gives you cancer? MOST THINGS (including, studies show, milk). More smokers who die cigarette-related deaths die of heart-related complications. And who has a history of heart complications? MOST PEOPLE. Not to mention all the other factors linked to heart disease like deep fried foods, energy drinks, birth control pills, stress, sodium, and obesity. 

It’s not healthy, and these 1 - 5 cigarettes a day will not be a habit I wish to continue for the next decade, for a variety of reasons - some that have nothing to do with health, and some reasons that do. But no. I’m not going to stop smoking this year. 

There was a period in my life where I would buy a package of bacon whenever I felt the pangs of self-loathing - which was a lot of the time. I became a recluse, barely slept, barely ate anything else, let the state of my apartment sink to disgusting lows, and poured my heart into writing an entirely self-indulgent play that seemed like an enormous deal at the time (but now just seems kind of trivial and drippy). 

I rolled out of bed one morning, poured myself a cup of coffee, ate a meal with vegetables, and cleaned my apartment.

You stop bad habits when they start impeding on your real life. Because of this, many people have valid reasons to stop smoking (just like they have valid reasons to cut down on caffeine and/or sugar, eliminate the word “like” out of context in conversation, etc). 

New Years Resolutions are, in my mind, positive affirmations. They look to the forward, set expectations on how one can be a better, healthier, more functional person. Eliminating bad habits are positive steps forward, but I prefer to think of short, manageable mission statements that fit more than one area of my life, relevant to where I am and what direction I’d like to be in that year. 

Two years ago, it was “Buy the plane ticket and the rest will follow”, which took me to Europe alone for the first time, exercised my adaptability, and taught me to kick my own ass. 

Last year, I resolved to “Do what you want until it starts to suck”, mainly because I realized that I was at a point in my life where I had the most opportunities to do so with little responsibility. I learned about self-preservation, picked up some new hobbies, tested limits, and more important, experienced the horrifying burn-out from too much self-indulgence. 

This year? “Give yourself some time”. I wrote about this a few posts ago but I’m seeing that it may be particularly relevant for anyone who is in their early 20s, recently graduated, unsure about their future, and torn between a reasonable, dependable adulthood and the urge for travel and excitement. Since I wrote that post, I’ve found a job at a place that sells clothes that I enjoy wearing and a full-time internship at a publication that I respect. I constantly worry about all of these far-away lands available for exploration, all of the kitschy downtown apartments I’d like to inhabit, the money all of it involves (oh, the moneyyy) and the limited amount of time it will take for all of that to happen before I become a grown up. 

But right now, all I’d like to do is pour myself a glass of wine, wait for some friends to arrive, have a nice, casual discussion with some people that I love, and spend a few hours ringing in what will hopefully be an exciting, adventurous, financially stable, occupationally satisfying new year. And even if it’s none of those things, at least it should be interesting. 

Have a beautiful 2012, guys (and watch where you throw those butts if you’re smoking from a high altitude). 

IT IS MY DAY OFF.

On my bed are the following: 

- Two pillows, a duvet, and a big flowery quilt

- Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway, which I have attempted to read seven times in the past week and a half; and Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential. 

- A cell phone that is switched off, but still within reach for sporadic 40-second rounds of Brick Breaker

- A laptop that I am currently typing on. The other windows that are open on this screen include iTunes (playing The Velvet Underground & Nico) and a paused episode of Downton Abbey. 

This should give you some indication of how the day will be spent. I pledge not to leave this bed until 6:30, which is in five hours and 23 minutes - except for washroom breaks, coffee replenishment, microwaving popcorn and the possibility of a family member sending me out for milk or something. 

It is my first day off in two weeks and, more importantly, it will be my last day off for at least the next few months. 

However, somewhere during viewings of Downton Abbey and reading, stray thoughts will invariably, maddeningly intercept my autopilot brain. 

COMPACT DISCS. When I started contributing the music section of The Link in my first year of university, the main selling point was because of all the free CDs I got. This is a ridiculous notion now. I’m relatively confident that the last time anyone got excited over the prospect of free CDs in an age where you can literally click and drag full albums onto your Downloads folder, was probably four years ago, when I wrote my last review for The Link. 

THE 80/20 RULE. Yesterday, while I was working the fitting rooms at the overpriced retail clothing store that employs me, I had a discussion with a customer who explained the 80/20 Rule to me after I tried to push a pair of pants the colour of stawberry popsicle on him. He said, “Do you ever find that in your closet, you don’t even wear most of your clothes? The rule states that 80% of the items in your closet, you’ll only wear about 20% of the time, and it’s the remaining 20% of the items in your closet, you wear 80% of the time. I can’t think of a single occasion I would ever be able to wear those pants, no matter how much I’d like to add them to my closet.” I conceded to his point. He walked away with a pair of pylon orange jeans. 

THE SMELL OF EGLINTON STATION AT 12:26 AM. More specifically, the lingering smell of the closed Cinnabon stand in Eglinton Station at 12:26 AM as droves of drunken teenagers rush past to catch their buses. I don’t understand it, but I appreciate it. 

TUMBLR. I didn’t fully understand the concept of Tumblr before I actually started a Tumblr, and now that I’ve realized I’ve been doing it all wrong all this time, I’m too lazy to change over to another blog-hosting site. Sorry, all four people who might actually read this. 

STRAWBERRY POPSICLE COLOURED PANTS ON MEN. Please? 

CAKE. The band and the dessert. No other word uttered by man has formed such a awe-inspiring combination. 

RUSH HOUR ON THE YONGE LINE BETWEEN BLOOR AND YORK MILLS. Vacant downward stares, averted eye contact, shuffling of black leather boots on tile, unspoken anger towards people who do not take off their backpacks in crowded subways, “Will the Canada Goose girl sitting opposite of me notice me if I give my seat up to this elderly woman?” , initials keyed onto windowsills, the domino effect at every sharp stop. I may not enjoy it, but I appreciate the collective human experience. But I really don’t enjoy it. 

CELL PHONE COMMERCIALS. Advertisers think that they can rope people into signing up for bullshit contracts by showing cute animals in their commercials and it fucking works. And that’s depressing. 

SHERLOCK. The BBC miniseries starring Benedict Cumberbatch as a 21st century Sherlock Holmes. Do yourself a favour. Google and watch it. 

THE GARDEN OF EDEN. The whole concept of sin, in my opinion, is flawed, simply because there is nothing inherently sinful about the pursuit of knowledge. Among other reasons. 

THE WEAKERTHANS is a band I wish I liked more because I genuinely believe that it is the civic duty of all patriotic Canadians under the age of 27 to enjoy this band, buy their albums and show up at their concerts with freshly home-baked cookies (the 27 - 35 age bracket were socially obligated to get stoned in a tent listening to Sloan, and those preceding it probably had many awkward tongue-and-teeth-gnashing make-out sessions to Rush). But I can’t reconcile my patriotism with the fact that I think John K. Samson has a voice that’s inappropriate for most of the music he makes. 

COOKIES. Shortbread, Chocolate Chip, Gingerbread. The holy trinity, in that order. Understudy: Oatmeal Raisin. Not up for discussion. 

HOCKEY. When I lived in Montreal, I avidly supported The Toronto Maple Leafs, and now that I’m back in Toronto, I (out of some misdirected sense of tradition) root wholeheartedly for the Habs. Luke-warm, contrarian sports observers never win. 

TIMELESS. When I was 14, I would fling my backpack on my bed, close the door, and turn up the Pixies on my blue plastic Sony CD player. Ten years later, I let my purse fall from my shoulders onto the floor, close the door, plug my iPod into a speaker and turn up the Pixies. This, to me, makes a band timeless. (Wilco, Arcade Fire, and Tom Waits also exhibit this quality. Ray Charles has it x a million.) 

I’m glad I got that out of my system.