I’m not really into technology, I feel it takes us away from real human connection.  A distraction from moment to moment experiencing this world.  (a paternal west-coast lineage bends me to the left a bit, eh?)

I use these tools because I have to, then this technology that I consider cold and impersonal brings me something warm and kind.

With permission-

Inquiry from missmalpass.com

Are you the same Marjorie Malpass who used to live in Kingston, Ontario, back near the start of the 80s? I ask because I remember a Marjorie Malpass who lived near us in Kingston. If you’re the girl I’m thinking of, you lived near the Queen’s University campus and student ghetto. You went to Victoria Public School and you collected stickers, having a number of sticker albums. If so, my sister and I used to trade stickers with you. If not, then I’m a 37-year-old man who just admitted to trading stickers with girls in primary school. LOL. Either way, I wish you all the best!

Possibly a fellow sticker collector in childhood,
David

Hi David,

That’s me! Did you get any of my scratch ‘n sniff ones? I was over the moon for those, not an easy trade.  Still get wistful about stickers to this day.  Enjoyed my time in Kingston, moved to Rideau Public School for grade 5 and 6 and met Mr. Glen Stewart who put me in my first play. Got bit bad and never thought of being anything else.  Then Mom finished her law degree at Queens and we moved on to Ottawa.  I’m in Toronto now, acting and on faculty at Second City teaching improv and comedy. It’s a treat of a life, I’ve gotten to travel the world performing, and I owe it to my time in Kingston.

Did you stay in Kingston?

Thanks for the note, I had forgotten that part of myself and it was nice to be reminded.
All the best,
Marjorie

Hey Marjorie,
I don’t think you traded away any of the scratch-and-sniff ones although you did let me sniff at least one of the chocolate ones. From what I remember, you were a pretty hard bargainer. I think I wound up on the bad side of a couple of trades, and that’s when I first realized that life in the sticker-trading lane came with a price.   I think you were a grade younger than me back then because you and my sister were the real sticker traders. Albums upon albums. I also seem to remember that you read comic books because I think I traded a couple of comic books in return for some of your sticker doubles.

Regardless, I lived in Kingston til I was 23, but then I met a girl. She told me she was moving to Ottawa to go to Carleton and said I should move with her. It wound up being the right decision because just last night we celebrated the 12 year anniversary of the night I knelled down in the hallway at Carleton and asked her to marry me.

Here’s the Coles Notes version: after I moved to Ottawa, I finished my OACs, graduated Carleton, got married, became a teacher, won a federal competition, and became a federal researcher.

That’s right, the boy you and my sister traded stickers with is now a federal civil servant.

Wow, acting and teaching. Amazing, but I wouldn’t say you owe it to your time in Kingston. I’d say you owe it to you and your desire to do what made you happy.

I’m in Ottawa and we just bought a house in the country. I have a boy who’ll turn 2 in a couple of months and he looks like I did at that age.

I wish you all the best, Marjorie. It’s wonderful to not only get ahold of a kid I knew but also to know you’ve become such a success!

Life is good,
Sincerely,
David

P.S. If you ever make it to Ottawa, you have a standing invite to dinner.

I lost the stickers, have moved from comics to graphic novels, though the essence of who I am is still the same. For someone who works at being other people, what a treat to find I’ve been myself for so long.

Me at 9 years, still often have chapped lips.

I was a born Princess. Not the pink, frilly “Do my Bidding!” kind. Too passive, I realized early that a true princess is born to lead. My early mentors in Princess land are the independent leadership of Robert Munsch’s Paper Bag Princess and the fierce joie-de-vivre of Miss Piggy. These pioneers guide me still. My real life was less glamorous, my family was encouraging but broke, if I wanted to be a princess, I would have to bankroll myself.  I started early, lemonade stand in the student ghetto at Queens University got me my first bank account at nine years old. Getting drunk frosh to buy lemonade is surprisingly easy, I just asked them if they had a little sister back home and do they miss that little sister? (insert big eye blink with a bit of a tear) Fish in a barrel.

Thought it would be all feather boa’s and pink gloves, instead I found I enjoyed embiggening my savings more.  The penny dropped, a princess is not about stuff, it’s about attitude!

Leaving the small business world behind, I turned to my first love, performing.  A working actor since I was a teenager, (and babysitter, server, camp counselor, popcorn pusher at a theatre, sales associate…) I made enough money to pay for university, but not enough to have a drug habit.  Working in the arts, in a country that undervalues the arts, often translates in to earning a paupers wage. As a frugal femme, I can make a penny squeak. You have to when you earn literally dozens and dozens of dollars.  The truth of an actors income is a bit ugly, many of my talented hardworking colleagues are teetering on the edge of poverty.  This leads me to Cheap Princess rule #1: Refuse to let a lack of funds detract from your Princessness!

I learned to work the angles to live a heightened lifestyle on a limited budget.  I’m earning more now, yet the aesthetic remains. Cheap Princess rule #2: Experience over Objects!   I spend a long time on the road touring shows, living out of a suitcase for months on end taught me how little we actually need compared to how much we own.

Upcoming blogs will delve into princessing up your lifestyle. From the general of finding a deal, to the specific of finding your inner royalty, because friend, you are worth it!

Cape Spear

Summer of 2003 in sunny White Rock I was Juror number 7 in Walking Tall, staring Duane “The Rock” Johnston. Don’t look for me in the credits, I was a special skills background performer, a fancy way of saying extra who gets more time in the make-up trailer.  Four days of the best seat in the house to watch a working film set.  The scene was an impassioned defense to the jury from Mr. Rock, culminating in him taking off his shirt.  The scene required endless takes, a real acting moment for a man known more for muscles, and trust me, he has them. You can’t see a man undress in front of you for four days and not notice. All that and lunch!

I used every penny from that lovely gig to pay for a dream: go to Newfoundland to write for a whole month.  I have a trio of beautiful, talented friends I met in theatre school in Montreal who were kind and generous hosts. I borrowed a laptop and took every scribbled idea I had since high school. The paper scraps took up most of the suitcase.  I arrived from my coast to coast flight and was immediately taken to Cape Spear, the most easternly tip of North America. There was a dance show amongst the rocks, even a whale swam up to check out the action.  An auspicious beginning. This began a month of drinking (screetched in at Christian’s on George Street) seeing music (last night of the Ship’s inn, before it turned into the Ship inn to listen to Ronnie Hynes and have my butt accidentally touched by Alan from Great Big Sea.) dinner parties (arguing with a Republican untill we realised I was talking George Bush and he was talking pro-separation of NFLD, oops) events (Brigus Blueberry Festival) unusual food (Fries with gravy I get, but adding bread like stuffing locally called “dressing”? Awesome). A road trip across the province (narrowly avoided getting beat up in a bar in Deer Lake by my fierce Karaoke skills) to Cow Head (to watch excellent theatre and eat deer that a friend shot and a night-time ocean swim with bioluminescence, milky way above and milky sea below.) and more and more and more, (Don’t even get me started about Gross Morne) surrounded by a gorgeous landscape and excellent peeps.

As for those scraps of paper? Plugged them into the computer and threw them out. Mostly teenage mooning about boys and wanting attention with a few deep thoughts, cute poems and concepts for jokes. Nice to honor who I was and move on to what’s next. This was my start, where I developed my first stand-up material, got a bit of discipline going and most importantly, gave myself permission to be a writer.

So thanks Mr. Rock, for bringing me to The Rock. And keeping eye contact while you took off your shirt.

When performing stand up in cities other than Toronto, I make a joke about moving here to learn how to be more selfish and arrogant.  Although it will take years to harden my soft personality, I admire this Toronto attitude, especially after a decade of the faux-bohemian lifestyle of Vancouver.  Toronto seems to get things done.  When I had a bad audition in Vancouver, the majestic mountains would breathe on me, saying “We don’t care about your petty audition, we’ll be here whether you book or not, so relax and go walk by the ocean.” Hard to get anything done when nature makes one feel so insignificant. Cannot compare a few lines from a movie of the week to the aching beauty of the Georgia Straight, so why bother?  In Toronto, I am inspired by industry. The CN tower teaches me to “Work hard and you can be like me, the tallest thing in the world for a short amount of time! That was a bad audition? Go take a class, hit the gym, write a new joke, get to work!”.  The lights shooting up the side at night urging me to manufacture my success in this city that thinks it ‘s the center of the universe. I’m starting to agree.