About me:

Hello. I don't think we've met. My name is Miss Emily Jane Plunkett. You can call me Em if you want. Pleased to meet you.

My birthday is April 24, 1985. I was supposed to have been born on April 24, 1945, but fate made cruel, cruel mistake.

I was born, raised and currently reside in Sarnia, Ontario. Can't always say that I'm proud of that. It is in fact a hick city…not a hick town, but a hick city - and a retirement community at that. It will never mater how much it grows, rumours spread just as rampant and slowly but surely the one weekend of the year with the prospect of something to do is slipping away because kids don’t buy beer and it’s a better idea to market to the hick old folks. But hey, its home and I refuse to swim in the sea because Lake Huron doesn't leave the gross salt water film on your skin (despite the pollution).

Ethnically, I'm 50% British, 15% Irish, and 85% Canadian. Dad was born in Manchester, England, his parents in Dublin, Ireland. I have cousins in both countries. As mentioned, I was born in Canada, which means when I'm overseas; I am an extremely patriotic odd ball. They know and consider me a proud Brit. I too know and consider myself a proud Brit. But I'm also Canadian and I make sure they don't forget it.

I'm 4’11. I have brown hair, dark blue eyes, and I’ve consistently stayed at a size 16 for most of my young adult life, and I weigh almost 200 pounds. That's right. I said it. Most people don't believe me. I mean, they know I've got some extra curves, stout, but I'm definitely not stereotypically obese. I'm just a plus sized petite who really doesn’t look THAT heavy.

A cab driver once told me I shouldn't date theatre people because they're strange. Her advice came too late for my ex-boyfriend. Four months into it, he realized that dating a volunteer with the local theatre company wasn't such a good idea.

I work at a call center...no, I'm not the lady that calls you during dinner time wanting to give you a free vacation in return for your time for a survey. Rather, I'm the lady you call when you are having trouble with your phone bill and you want credit. Not that it maters. I get yelled at all the same.

During a visit latest visit to London, England, I wrote, "I would be dead if I didn't have music. I listen to music because of the Beatles" on the gates outside Abbey Road Studios. My one souvenir from the city where three Who t-shirts purchased at the Lambretta store on Carnaby St. The first Pink Floyd song I ever remember hearing all the way through was See Emily Play. The first song I learned on the bass guitar was Money by Pink Floyd. The first song I learned on regular guitar was Wish You Were Here by Pink Floyd. The first song I played on the turntable I got for Christmas was Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd. Yes, I was born 40 years too late.

The only American music I thoroughly enjoy is the Ramones, Green Day, Foo Fighters, Chuck Berry, Buddy Holly and anything played on 104.3 out of Detroit. Beyond that, my CD collection would put any Canadian radio station to shame. If you're interested, I recommend Matthew Good, Sloan, Our Lady Peace, Barenaked Ladies, Buck 65 and anything played on CBC Radio 3.

My training as a guitarist is a strange one. Most would start on the acoustic the parents got them for Christmas, later to progress to electric when they figure out Metalica sounds better amplified and then progress to bass when you realize it might be a good asset to your band. I’m doing it backwards. I tried to play an acoustic the other day. Can’t do it right now. To busy learning to use a capo, learning to use a recently purchased slide and taking another try at Lalya by Derek and the Dominos.

My hero is Sir James Paul McCartney. Back 40 years ago, he was known as "the cute Beatle.” I just consider him a fucking God. You can say what you want about him, but he did write Blackbird. And Yesterday. And Hey Jude (you know you're not afraid to sing a long!). And, you have to admit, he's an amazing bass player. You wouldn’t think so, considering his style is the furthest from flamboyancy that is Flea, but I dare you to sit and figure out the bass for Something. That's not saying he talent far exceeds that of his best friend and partner in crime, Mr. John Winston Ono Lennon (who is a fucking Saint). I just think you should never underestimate Sir Paul.

I write on a blog. I’ve been doing it for almost two years now. Frankly, I think I’m turning into the Paranoid Android as I vent about my rather depressing life. It comes with the territory of being diagnosed with bipolar. I could journal my life in a notebook, but that would be boring and nobody would be able to read it. A very subtle attempt at attention from a painfully uncharismatic and seemingly innocent looking young woman, I guess. What can I say? I've been training as a musician for half my life, volunteered at the local theatre for longer than that (well, until the Crash of ‘04) and I have a stack of paint mediums on a shelf in my room just waiting to be experimented with further. The need for attention comes with the territory.

I have a small background in media studies, and I carry on my interest in media literacy. I wake up to CBC Newsworld every morning. I fall asleep with CBC Newsworld every night. I may not be able to comment on the state of the world, but at least I know what's going on. I will admit most of my attention is direct towards the entertainment headlines. Most of the time, I’m waiting for a spotlight on an artist that's worth while. The rest of the time is spent bitching at the state of this generation’s pop culture and why it's so fucking embarrassing that even Andy Warhol is spinning so fast that his dead body could provide a reliable energy source to light New York right through the new millennium.

My favourite DVDs to watch are my five volumes of Loony Tunes cartoons and Planet Earth. I enjoy visiting toy stores and don't mind watching children's programming. The creativity in some people is just amazes me.

I generally consider myself a subscriber to Christianity. My denomination will never be defined and there are many who would be happy to tell me why I’m going to Hell. My personal belief is that the world and all its hidden beauty had to have been created by an individual using a love beyond our comprehension. I really don’t care were I end up in the end, just so long as I can tell that individual that it was an honour to be part of this masterpiece called Earth and that I liked the dolphins, the penguins, my cat Mitzy, and sunsets the most; and that His son was right during that bit about forgiveness. I do not believe in organized religion or being told that what I’m believing is all wrong because I’m not afraid to let you know that I have absolutely no hatred towards homosexuals, no real problem with sex before marriage and would fully understand and support whatever reasoning a 12-year-old would have for wanting an abortion. Last thing an underdeveloped body and mind needs is to carry a child conceived with the uncle she thought she could trust. When the power of love overcomes the love of power, there will be peace.

That’s about it for now. If you actually read some of my entries, thank you very much for listening. Sometimes it’s just nice to vent knowing that someone somewhere is listening.

Have fun.