Take Your Bags and Shove 'em

Now that things have come to a stop, however briefly, I'd like to take the opportunity to express my dislike for the term 'unpacking'. I've only started hearing this term used to describe taking apart and analyzing an idea or text since I started grad school.


Whenever I hear it, I think of people on airplanes with rolling luggage, removing items one by one to reveal whatever looked suspicious on the x-ray.









I think of something roughly and rudely rammed into a too-small container.



Worst of all, I think of...of business school. Is that what I'm doing with myself now? Am I in business school? This type of jargon makes me fear that I am.

High school was all about juxtaposing and
simulacra. University was about context and worldview, meta- and post-.

Information studies borrows from other fields or makes due with combined words: access, informatics, and closure. Unpacking seems to have been borrowed from linguistics?

Dear teach,
examine, explain, analyze, interpret or pick apart, but don't unpack because I won't be joining you.

Growth...or Regression?

5 years ago I saw this place peeking out from behind several other hideous buildings.
I found out that it was a love hotel decorated as though it were X-mas every day.
I thought it was one of the silliest things I had ever heard. What kind of weirdo wants to f%&k in such a tacky, wasteful place?
I thought "The Japanese are a very strange people that I will never understand."
Now I'm beginning to see the appeal. The problem is, I don't feel that I've changed that much. What's different? Do I take myself less seriously and therefore have a more playful and wondering attitude about everything?
Am I developing a fetish?
Are they just way ahead of me on the curve (as they are with many other things) or have I fallen behind?

A Poem

Come find me,
I'm lonely.
I live in
The Li'bry

There's nothing
To hold me
Except for
The ivy

Procrastination. I does it.

I'm in the library, and up until this moment I've been trying hard not to be distracted by everything around me.
First there was the miniskirt with the bangles, jingling.
Then there was my discovery that I had access to two strangers' itunes libraries.
Then my t.a. came and sat nearby.
In a few minutes I'll go downstairs to sit in on a Microsoft Access tutorial...mostly for moral support. As I imagine going down there and spending an hour or more listening to my stuffy but kind professor discuss the attributes of a program I don't understand, I think of pregnant women and their partners. I liken myself to the one that's not pregnant--unable to completely relate, not as feverishly invested as the one carrying the child, but trying.
Trying to make the issue as relevant for me as it is for you.

love

liz

Did we talk about this?

About 14 months ago I read a Boingboing post about Kohei Yoshiyuki's 1970's photos of peeping toms. It was one of the most interesting groups of photographs I'd ever seen, and I looked through them and thought upon what I thought I knew about Japanese sex culture and what I felt or thought I felt about it.
Man, that was a mouthful.
Here are Yoshiyuki's images of voyeurism...
And here they're imagined for a fashion photo shoot. They get much, much racier than this one. I think that they're interesting for a whole different set of reasons than the originals.
I really enjoy that these images came back into the pubic public consciousness. They have stuck with me for a long time, and I've looked at them a few times over the last year. They're not exactly arousing, or fully disturbing. The originals seem so incredibly honest to me, stolen shots of animals straining against their sweltering, boxed-in city lives. I am uncomfortable with the general situation in the original series--after all, neither of the partners are consenting to be viewed by others...or are they? I lack the knowledge of context for this place and time. Would this be like making love at Hanlan's point? Or in Queen's Park?

The new versions of these pictures seem flat to me because of their staged-ness. They do a great job of capturing the light and style of the originals, but feel dirty because of how the models are portrayed. The women are on the bottom, they're prone, and they're often portrayed with more than one man in scenarios that make me nervous. Also I'm not a fan of their 'outfits'.

Call me a prude if you like, but I like old fashioned fashion photography...

Hockey Haute Couture

TJSFF 6 - Short-Short Reviews

I've been going to the Toronto Japanese Short Film Festival for a few years now. The festival comes in 4 or more programs shown at different times over three or four days.
I usually select the program based on a glance at the stills and the titles on the festival website. 90 percent of the time this works, but be warned: it can also be very dangerous.
I spent an entire Saturday night once at the Images Festival watching people suffocate themselves with saran wrap, call for their mommy, get their faces stepped on and punch themselves. Even worse, I dragged a friend with me.
Last night's program was generally very good.

'The Milky Audition"
Directed by Yumi Yoshiyuki, a former 'Pink Film' actress. The video appears to be a remake of an eighties video for a racy song with some minor sexual content. It was a video from that frantic workout genre of 80's music.
I didn't quite get this one. We saw Yumi Yoshiyuki imitating the video on stage, saw her play a callgirl, dressing up in fantasy costumes and being sent to jobs to sleep with men, and saw her almost nude, tied in japanese rope-bondage style, dancing and singing all the while.
What struck me most about this video was seeing her act thirty years younger than her age. I'm still not used to seeing an older woman positioning herself as the sex object in a film, showing her naked body shamelessly. I wonder if this speaks to western ideas about aging and sexuality, or if there's a whole other layer of satire to this video that I didn't get.
"The Swimming Restricted Area"
Couldn't find much info on this one. It was a bit disturbing for me...but perhaps I'm a bit of a prude. 6 young people drag themselves out of a love hotel in the hot summer morning sun, hung-over and grumpy.
As they slouch down the street, the two females and 4 males have a series of short exchanges which indicate to the audience that they've had a lot of drunken sex the night before, and that not all of them are too clear on what happened with whom.
We learn that the girls were told there would be three girls and three boys.
We also learn that one of the girls canceled, leaving the other two to 'date' on their own.
There was so much to be disturbed by in this film. When one of the girls goes into the bathroom of a park to puke, one of the guys who likes her follows her in.
The men ask each other about the women, sexually, when they're not around.
One of the last statements made is "If you get pregnant, I think it was me. I will handle the expense, so please call me if you are."
A very strange statement that I can't possibly judge from this side of the world.
"Woman of Golden Fish"
A very socially awkward 40 year old man named Sato is profiled. His life is boring and a little sad. He regularly frequents a brothel, and is a little bit in love with an escort he's been seeing for over 3 years.
The director convinces him to ask her on a date, and we follow their awkward trip to a fishing pond and a Karaoke room. We later discover that she's not the real escort, but an actress they got instead.
Sato is a frustrating character to me because my feelings for him are so complex. I want to be disgusted with him for frequenting escorts, for fetishizing his date by buying her a schoolgirl uniform. But he's so pathetic. His life was so dull it made me want to cry.
This film made me wonder about the differences between the Japanese and Canadian traditions/laws regarding prostitution. When I was in Osaka, I was told that there were no street prostitutes because they all worked indoors in an organized manner in gentlemen's clubs. Part of me wants to believe that Japan is 'worse' than here because prostitution is such a well-established, organized and accepted part of society, and another part of me wonders why most of the sex industry workers here are cowering on street corners.
"Fujica Single-Date"
A filmmaker learns that Fuji has stopped producing Super 8 film, and becomes nostalgic for the style and content of films he made as a younger man.
He is unhappily married with a young son. He decides to make more super 8 films before he loses the chance. His subject matter is a series of affairs that he either has or wants to have while his wife and son are away for the weekend. He sees the end of the stock of film and the absence of his wife as his 'last chance' to recapture the young, free, sexy life that he had when he first began using the film. He turns on the camera and begs it: "Make my dreams come true!"
We follow him through a series of encounters with women in their mid-twenties. I found it to be honest and disturbing at the same time. I think I understood what he was striving for with those real or imaginary encounters...freedom, randomness, playfulness, and impermanence. I hated him for being so detached from his family, and so 'adolescent' in his desires, but I respected his brutal honesty. I wondered what his son would think if he ever grew up and saw this film.

Wish I could take a picture

Surprise! Your class has moved to a computer resources room.


How the hell are you supposed to pay attention to the screen with a computer in front of you?!


love


liz

How do I love Okonomi House

You're tucked away on Charles St. I always have a hell of a time finding you.

Your interior screams 'Japan circa 1979', but is always clean.
Your menu is fairly limited.
No sushi, no Tempura, no Udon, no bullshit.
I can see everything the chef is doing.
I get a Japanese pancake and a hot tea for under 8 dollars, and nostalgia that's worth a lot more.
We speak the same language in this mom and pop shop, and so I don't have to get anything mysterious on top of my dinner unless I specifically ask for it (and sometimes I do).
You're my favourite hole-in-the-wall international greasy spoon.
After a long bike-ride back from the island, I earned you. Hail to the barbecue and mayonnaise covered round that is Okonomiyaki.

Biased

Scene 1: A friend mentions that he has gotten a referral from his doctor to see another doctor, who is his regular doctor's sister.
I make an off-colour joke about how he should watch out, in case his new doctor looks like his regular doctor, but instead of a man is a sexy woman.
He mentions that his regular doctor is also a woman and, assuming his doctor was male, I'm caught in the tired old riddle.
Doctor?
Scene 2: I attend my first class. The professor introduces herself and the course with a series of slides. Shortly, she mentions just returning from taking two years off; one for sabbatical, and the other for maternity leave. She puts up a slide that introduces her graduate research, and explains the project briefly.
She follows this with a slide which is a picture of her toddler. The slide reads 'The Motherhood Project' I smile, but immediately feel uneasy, assuming that this teacher is going to be less professional because she has brought her personal life into the classroom on the first day.
Where am I?

Scene 3: I'm listening to the radio when they mention the beginning of the trial of Michael Schmidt for selling unpasteurized milk products. During two separate newscasts, they use the same report of the courtroom, in which the reporter describes the members of the public present in the courtroom...he describes some of them as "...wearing Birkenstocks, some carrying cloth bags."
Because, of course, only hippies are interested in this debate.
I'm sure my Nonna would have been there if this were another place and time.

Someone I never met, halfway across the world has died

I only know her because I saw a video she directed at Resfest a couple of years ago. She's not the singer.
Like it a lot though.
Her agent released a statement which included this line
"She passed away in her Mark Ryden dress, Chanel boots, perfect make-up with Viktor & Rolfe black-lace eye lashes surrounded by friends and family," It's interesting to me that it seems to have been important to her to be fashionable and beautiful. Or perhaps it was her last artistic statement. More of her work here.
Skip straight to minute 1 to bypass a long, annoying shot of Yuki acting like a baby.

You're Coming Home With Me

Little Hercules strikes again.
Found a table in front of the 7-11 at midnight.
Since I've been looking for a desk for a month or so, it seemed like fate. Desk directly in my path=meant to be.
So I dragged the damned thing home and up two treacherous flights of stairs. Even with the pushups I've been doing, I had to stop 5 times in one block.
I'm afraid it might be much worse an idea than it seemed in the wet dark.
Let the morning decide.

My Evil Twin

Is going to eat up all of your cereal.
It's incredibly hot.
My rats are alternately laying on the floor of their cage,spreadeagled in a way that makes me want to check to see if they're still alive, or sniffing desperately at the paltry breeze coming from the fan.
The neighborhood just exploded in sirens. I'm going to go outside to get some relief and some groceries, and to see what's happening.
Because one can only make the very best shopping choices at 1 am.

The artist works between the beats of his heart, in order to keep his hands perfectly still.

I really enjoy Time's Photo essays.
This one was the most interesting one the last time I checked. I remember discussing how I felt that the type of things I was making was changing, and how I felt I should make smaller and more useful art to feel less wasteful.
This man seems more focused on craftsmanship than ecology, but still, you could display his whole portfolio on the walls of a thimble. He claims that the gold AK47 pictured above took him 6 months to finish.

Three weeks...

without blogging.
Three weeks of relative success not smoking.
I say relative mostly because I've really felt its effects on my mood and behaviour this time. I didn't feel that sense of fighting with myself when I initially quit, because I was away from home and around new people in a very relaxing environment. I didn't have the opportunity to grit my teeth and struggle not to run to the nearest convenience store, and there was no stress to deal with.
Since getting back to regular life, I find myself periodically filled with silent, steaming rage.
It is impossible to reason away, and sometimes I feel like one of those tiny, angry, ineffectual dogs that everyone feels sorry for when they try to show dominance.

In other news, a few things happened while I was incommunicado. There was a small rave outside of my apartment in the early evening, a newmindspace event to commemorate the 5 year anniversary of the blackout. I left work for a few minutes to see what was going to happen, having read about it online and looking forward to glowsticks and candy necklaces. It wasn't planned for directly under our apartment, but for some reason that's where it happened. There were young people hanging out, playing loud music and beating a drum, but it didn't seem like anyone was having fun. Some people walked up and then walked away quickly, seemingly feeling that the group was too small to join. It seemed very awkward, but I read later that this group joined two other groups for a large party a block north after dark. Good on them.
My favourite part of seeing this event was watching my home from across the street, seeing my neighbours and roommates looking out the window to see what on earth was happening on the street.
















I like the picture on the left because it shows a group of runners coming up beside the people preparing to 'rave'.

The one on the right I love because that evening the sunset looked spectacular, and reminded me of brilliant sunsets caused by an airborne toxic event in one of my favourite novels, White Noise.

Bloor Borden Farmer's Market

How happy I was to finally get off work in time to hit the new Farmer's Market in my neighborhood. I got everything pictured below for 20$ and change.
I've pulled one egg out of the carton so that you can see how oddly shaped it is. I got a kick out of making an eggplant tomato omelet and some Moroccan mint tea with my new purchases.

Today, I shucked and boiled the first fresh peas of my entire life. I've been waiting for at least 5 years to get some, but haven't had the opportunity until now.
Verdict: hopelessly addicted.

As Cod is My Witness...

I will never paint my room again.
Yes, I feel good that I did it. Yes, it only took a few (maybe 13) hours. Yes, the change is remarkable, and yes, it's nice not to look at the same poorly painted yellow walls that I've been seeing since I moved in.
But good goodness, was that ever exhausting. It was one of the hottest, wettest weekends of the summer so far.
Also my room is very tall. And I am very short.
I was a little surprised and disappointed when it was all over. I did feel good walking into my 'new' room, but I had the sad feeling after a few hours that nothing had really changed. I had cosmetically altered my room, but all of the issues that I have with life within it are still the same.
In other news, my kitchen has been on fire lately. I feel closer to my nonna than I ever have before. I made my own pasta, bread, Japanese sweets, and Jam (just to name a few things)

I think part of this is dealing with my increasing anxiety about returning to school in the fall. I'm scared of being broke, of committing to focused growth in one area for the next two years at the expense of other areas... or worst of all of being bored.
I've been dealing with these panicky feelings by cooking and playing Tetris. I've gotten to level 13

"I just love what you've done with the place!"

I love found photo websites. I have since I first started using the internet in 90-ought-seven or so. I started playing with them a few years later.
An early piece of 'work' from oh two:

It seems like there's been a resurgence of interest in found photos and objects in the past few years, and I couldn't be happier.
My photoshop skills are much, much better now, and my appreciation for these pics goes deeper because I've grown up a bit more.

Found a site last night via bighappyfunhouse that I just loved. It reminded me of first using the internet. There was no sidebar and the page just continued downward for minutes, but it was enjoyable to view. The photos are diverse, and the site includes a lot of mp3's from rare or kitschy thrift store albums.
My favourite part by far, though, was the page leading to various photo archives. It looks like a pile of thrift-store books where the titles have been altered to describe the contents.

My favourite link so far is the collection of pictures of 'Boxers in Boots'

End transmission.

A Film, A Mani and An Art

The Art
Really, all of these things deserve a separate post...but I didn't get to any of them soon enough.
This week I was invited to a party at a work friend's house. Beer and barbecue would be provided. The cost of entry: create a piece of art. Several of my coworkers (all artists of some sort) also had to make pieces...the pressure was on. How would my work compare to theirs?
With two working weekday's notice and a large blank canvas, I tried to make something that didn't make me cringe.
I have to admit here that I have never finished a painting in my life. I've never been too comfortable with the medium, and even when I've got an idea or style that I like going, I never feel that a piece is complete. In this case, I didn't have much time to deliberate. I ended up
using two found photos that I got here to make two stencils. Then I painted the background (so much white space to fill!) and I ended up being pretty pleased with the result.
All of the other paintings were great despite being all very different. The only similarity was that several of us used a lot of red.
I think the party was a great idea, and the host came away with some pretty nice art.




The Manicure
The day of the party I went with a friend to pick up dye at a specialty store near OCAD. As we were leaving, I noticed that the shop next door was a place called "Everest Nail Salon". Without thinking, I asked my friend if she wanted to get a manicure. I've never had one before, and it seems to be a semi-regular occurrence with some of my female friends. Almost everyone I know either does their own nails or has had a manicure at some point in their life. It was...interesting.
My manicurist barely spoke English, but I think that even if she did there would be little small talk between us. This wasn't like a hair salon. No polite banter. She grabbed my fingers and plunked them into a warm bath, followed by a filing and a frighteningly precise cuticle trimming.
Her tools were sharp, but she was like a machine, and I wasn't afraid. Still, I found it easier not to watch this part.
The massage was the strangest bit. The whole manicure made me feel weird. It made me feel spoiled and bourgeois, and I was embarrassed to have that much attention paid to any part of me. She rubbed my hands with cream and then deftly grabbed my fingers with her fingers, lacing them together like we were lovers and pulling on my hands and wrists to moisturize and massage. As I sat, I overheard regular customers coming in and leaving, getting last week's finger or toe job touched up, exchanging minor pleasantries with their usual technician. I think my curiosity has been satisfied.

The Film
Onward! To the Bloor Cinema!
I spent most of today listening to the radio, drinking tea and playing Tetris. I was getting restless and decided to go see 'The City of Lost Children'. It stars everybody's favourite Tom Waits doppelganger Ron Perlman. It was beautiful, creepy, ridiculous, and I'm so glad I saw it. It was full of striking images and clever ideas. There were a couple great scenes where the whole city acted like a Rube Goldberg machine, advancing the heroes' cause when they were helpless. I wonder how far back that type of God-Perspective, quick sequence chain of events goes in films...
There were some scenes between Perlman and the young female lead that skirted the edge of creepiness in the gentlest way. There was also an extended sequence of toddlers crying and screaming in cage-like cribs that made me wonder about child actors. When you grow up, do you say "Thanks, Mom and Dad, for putting me in a film that became such a cult classic!" or do you wonder what possessed them to let a bald, bug-eyed man dressed as Santa yell and sing in their faces for hours on end. Never mind.
City of Lost Children is one of those films that I've heard about forever and never gotten a chance to see.
It reminded me of "Labyrinth" without the singing or David Bowie in spandex.

Basic animation

Created my first animations in a long time today...using a free 'Shapeshifter' tool at Aniboom.
The first one is a pull no punches look at the harsh realities of life...
...they're all gonna laugh at you...

:)

The second is probably an expression of my deep fear of nature.

The View From the Balcony - an Open Letter

Dear Residents of the brown building on Spadina.

I noticed that there have recently been some changes to your balcony.
Some new plants, hanging from what look like lovely macrame plant holders. A fresh coat of regulation brown paint...
I also noticed that you wrote the words 'BONER MANSION' on the front of your balcony with what appears to be duct tape.

Kudos, friend!

I imagine that it took a bit of skill to tape that on, upside down, that high up.

To what does this refer?
I can't imagine that I, on my lowly balcony, reading my book, drinking tea and leisurely scratching myself, could have anything to do with the ample boners that caused this explosion of creativity.

Is this a statement about government-subsidized housing? Are you a male escort, whose attributes are financing your lodgings?
Whatever the inspiration for this artistic display, keep up the fine work. At this moment, I think it's hilarious.
You'll hear from me if I change my mind and decide that it's an eyesore.

Love,

Liz

When you think that you're a smarty-pants

Always be sure to google your great idea.
In the elevator I came up with a 'great' book title.
The Great Grape Ape Paper Caper.
Looks like I'm about 29 years too late...
\

Sisters

'Sisters are Doin' it for Themselves' was supposed to be the theme of the day.
This is how a friend and I refer to times when we do 'male' jobs at our workplace. Now I get into the hairy area of trying to explain what we mean. These have usually been jobs that were more technical, that were usually left to the people with more expertise in these areas--cameras, computer problems etc--who happened to all be male. Being next in the chain of command at our workplace, we would sometimes end up having to learn these new skills out of necessity.
However frustrating and nonsensical the task, we were proud when we finally accomplished them. High Five! Sisters etc etc.
This philosophy spilled over into my private life (I've always been a bit D.I.Y anyway) and I started taking on small tasks at home. Usually with positive results.
So this weekend the sisters took their good work outside of the workplace.
Mission: Replace two bicycle tires.
Plan: Head to MEC. Purchase supplies. Stop for vegan sandwich. Replace tires. Continue with Saturday plans.
Minus the bathhouse, this is what I looked like by the end of the day.


We were in the entranceway of my building for a good 2-3 hours, fighting to stretch the tire over the rim of my bicycle. After the first painful hour I suggested we go upstairs and ask Dear Google what we were doing wrong.

With some 'helpful tips' in mind, we returned to try again, confident that we could do it. We still could not. I had started to lose feeling in my fingertips.
Enter the neighbors.
Two older gentlemen, very kind and quirky, trying at different times to help us. One of them stayed for at least an hour, using his man-arms (after awhile, we started to think that we couldn't get it because we didn't have enough upper-body strength) to no avail.
Enter the quitters.
By this time it was after 5 pm. We were tired, hot and our whole day had been derailed. We headed to La Carrera to ask for help.
The owner was nice, but laughed at us. Asked us what tools we were using, and joked that he imagined us using spoons. I didn't have the energy to get angry.
He seemed basically kind, and you don't fuck with the keeper of information when you need their help.
We were trying to put the wrong size tire onto the rim.
"You have a CCM tire, not a road or mountain tire. You need to look at the measurement written on the tire in millimetres, not the inch measurement."
That was it. I don't know how I could have known that it would have been that complicated.
I felt defeated. This should have been an easy task. I felt that the bike world was laughing at me...that this task was made purposely complicated over the years to discourage people from attempting home repair and create a broader line of products in order to take my money.
75 dollars later my bike is wheeled once more.
Several days later, I feel slightly less discouraged. And I carry on.

Dance fi di Presidency

Last Friday I went out dancing. After working late and arriving late and quite wet, it was a bit hard to get into the mood to get down.
After a couple of beer, we dragged our asses out onto the dance floor. The music wasn't great at first, but it seemed to be getting better as the night wore on. The deejay started to play more dancehall and reggae and I started to get drunker and things were looking up.
Then I noticed that the lyrics to most of the songs in the chunk that I really liked had lyrics that were offensive.
First off was the whisper song. I'm sure you've heard it...the remarkably creative lyricist has these gems to offer:
"Ay Bi##h, wait til you see my dick...Imma beat that pu##y up..."
and "Walk around the club with yo thumb in ya mouth-put my dick in, take your thumb out."
I wouldn't have known the lyrics unless someone told me...and when I found out, I didn't stop dancing.
Next there was some innocuous Sean Paul, followed by the rabble-rousing "She's a Ho".
Not to fear boys...if you were uncertain whether or not your woman is unfaithful, the song provides you with tons of examples of things she might do to indicate that she is, indeed, a ho.
Remember to put up a good fight when you're approached by a man in a public place...or else!

This stuff was pretty much as I expected. I'm still not completely willing to leave the dance floor when songs like these come on, and I don't totally know how to react because it happens so rarely. Mostly I complained and made fun of the artists while I shimmied.
The most memorable song of the night was a light and playful reggae ditty that had me bouncing happily, until the chorus, which was simply the name "Barack Obama" repeated in rising tones.
In my research I discovered several songs written for the presidential hopeful, most of which celebrated his ability to unite people and anticipated positive changes that might occur if he became president. A great little song that put a shine on the damp evening.

Goodbye, little desk

Yesterday I posted an ad on craigslist, trying to give away a desk that I love...in theory. I scavenged it from a park down the street, dragged it home, cleaned it up, and hoped to use it as a work surface for arts and crafts. It didn't quite work out that way. The desk is small, the chair is uncomfortable, and the work surface is on a slant.
This is the picture that accompanied the ad:

It was hard to put it up because I felt attached to it, and I was nervous to meet the man that was going to take it from me. I got a response to my ad within an hour.
He showed up, his tiny black-haired child walking beside him.
"Say hello, Megan." he prompted. She waved.
She later told me, with her fingers, that she was four years old.
When I put the desk online for free, I expected it to go to a hipster or an antique dealer. This was much nicer.
The man ushered his tiny daughter up my stairs and encouraged her to sit in the desk.
"Do you like it, Megan?" he asked.
She nodded her head and swung her tiny legs. I hope she draws some kick-ass pictures of elephants and rainbows on it. Go Megan!

Theatre Review: Minotaur-June 10 2008

I was excited to see Minotaur. I've never been frightened by a play before, and I was looking forward to seeing exactly how the writers were going to do it.
I thought about the conventions of scary films, and wondered how a play, without the same edits and special effects available, could frighten me.
The play began before we even entered the theatre. It was presented as a lecture: the audience were the students, and the cast members the instructors. After I saw the play, I discovered that the cast members shot some videos and posted them to a blog...a very nice touch, I thought.
It's hard to believe that anything happening in a play is really happening, but the cast did a good job of creating tension and suspense by describing a strictly regulated learning structure and then inserting inexplicable, haunting elements which interrupted the flow of the 'course'. Lights dimmed, characters lost each other in the dark, characters lost themselves in their attempts to recreate the events in the last few weeks of a missing couple. The theatre was freezing cold*
Another effective element of the play was its abrupt ending. There were no bows and there was no space for applause. The audience was led out of the theatre in awkward silence. I half-expected to see the cast waiting outside.
I wasn't crazy about the 'background lectures' delivered at the beginning of the play. They were probably necessary to give symbolic background to the story and establish the lecture form, but I felt that they could have been a lot shorter, or delivered in a more serious way. I loved that the show started in the foyer, but the introduction reminded me a bit of the type of enthusiastic and slightly creepy welcome you might get when you go to see the circus or a magician perform.
I've seen three plays in under two months.
I'm afraid that I might have a bit of a fever...















*Perhaps that was just the air conditioning.

Take a Deep Breath...Nothing is Really Wrong

I'm in search of ways to trick myself into being more motivated and positive. I've been paying attention to the way that life events, media and cultural events make me feel in an effort to make my life a place where I can feel secure and encouraged. I'm starting to worry that this is not exactly the right way to go about things.
Some basic assumptions I made and my reactions to them:
1. Anxiety has the power to cripple me. Therefore, eliminating all possible sources of anxiety should make me feel more free and comfortable and by extension, more like myself.
PROBLEM: As a person prone to anxiety, eliminating major sources of anxiety causes me to focus on smaller and smaller sources of anxiety.
RESULT: Life becomes less interesting when you remove many of the tension-causing but rewarding elements...and anxiety level remains the same. Small non-problems swell to seem like life or death issues.
2. A lack of free time leaves few opportunities to play around creatively. Must create more free time.
PROBLEM: Inspiration cannot necessarily be scheduled. Free time must be structured.
RESULT: Giving myself a whole afternoon without structure to do whatever I want usually ends up with me smoking too much and listening to a lot of cbc radio one.
3. Spending too much time in crowded places or watching television is exhausting and depressing.
PROBLEM: Hiding from the media, from fashion, from all the wonderfully frightening parts of people takes away a dimension of life that inspires criticism, wonder and curiosity.
RESULT: Ideas stagnate as they are recycled in a closed environment. They are so protected that they become like religion or ideology, and are not questioned or tasted as regularly as they ought to be.
4. Exposure to people with very strong ideas or personalities makes me lose sight of who I am.
PROBLEM: Part of the effort of getting to know myself better must involve being challenged by others, having the opportunity to decide and defend my position. Also, I never really go anywhere. I am always me.
RESULT: In a panic, I strive to protect what I believe to be the core of who I am, holding it so close to myself that it suffocates.

These are just some of the wonderful, seemingly logical mistakes I regularly make.
Welcome to self help 101.
Every day from now on I will look in the mirror and remind myself that I have a wonderful life, and that I should be thankful that nothing is actually wrong.

love

liz

Miscellaneous Food-Related Musings

I wish that I could spend a couple of days in the kitchen with your mother. Or your Father, or uncle, or grandmother, or whoever it is in your family that holds the keys to the culinary v.i.p in your family. I was recently reminded of a great television show that unfortunately bit the dust long ago called Loving Spoonfuls. It was a cooking show in which the host spent each episode cooking with a Canadian immigrant grandmother, learning about her experience coming to Canada, her history and about cooking in her cultural tradition. Dabbling in recipes from different culinary traditions in the past few years has given me an appreciation for some of the basic and complex flavour combinations in different types of cooking.
The biggest obstacle to being the multi-culti foodie that I dream of being is the pantry. Many of the most delicious international* dishes require a shelf's worth of ingredients. Just dabbling in Indian, Korean and Japanese cooking has almost completely filled the storage space I have in the
kitchen.
I know that if I had a better handle on the basic flavour combinations and chemical reactions involved in creating the unique tastes of different world* dishes, I could rule the kitchen and unleash the dominant cookbeast within. If I had a week to spend in the kitchen of an Ethiopian restaurant, of a Danish cruise ship, of a big Iranian family...
I yearn for an ease with ingredients and combinations, a flair for substitutions, that magical ability to make something delicious out of almost nothing, consistently. For now, trial and error will have to do. My rats appreciate all of the leftovers.

*I'm trying very hard to avoid calling it 'Ethnic' food. Can you feel me strain for more apt, less loaded words? Phew!

When life gives you lemons...

Learn how to convert images into ascii art . I like to imagine the scene at 8:30 tomorrow morning when she gets a load of The Boss in his finest form. Letter form.

Loving You Ain't Easy

Appropriate and Inappropriate. It seems to be the theme this year.
I've been adjusting to a more 'relaxed' work environment than I'm usually comfortable with. I've had to take an online harassment prevention course. I've been assessing and reassessing my own limits and standards, and find myself floating without any landmarks except my feelings.
As a high school student, I hung around with the boys. I didn't feel connected to most of the girls, we didn't share common interests, and I found them hard to understand. Instead of being confident and opinionated, I often let their ideas guide my own about my gender. I became hyper-aware of becoming a stereotype--the giggly, sheltered flower--the overbearing mother--the downer girlfriend--the high-drama, shrieking female.
I learnt what they liked and didn't like about women, physically and socially, and their ideas (poor 16 year olds) to an extent became mine. I always felt men to be more honest than women--their method of communicating easier to understand, with fewer things insinuated or communicated indirectly. There were fewer social conventions to keep up and, for someone like me, fewer chances to be misunderstood and singled out.
As an adult, I still find relationships with women difficult. I feel like there is a layer to all of them that I just can't fully read. I'm trying hard to learn to trust people of all genders, and not to judge myself based on old paranoia.
I find sometimes that these stereotypes factor so much into my idea of self that it's difficult to act without feeling like I'm acting out a role.
How to be accommodating without being self-negating.
How to be assertive without summoning up my inner harpy.
How to react to people of all genders as individuals...not as symbols of Patriarchy or sexism, or as archetypes.
How to command respect while respecting harmony.

The Machine Girl

I completely missed any hype around this movie.

I decided that I wanted to see it based on a short description of the plot (schoolgirl loses arm, arm is replaced with machine gun, schoolgirl gets revenge) and hoped there would be tickets for the midnight screening. It just seemed too weird to be real.
After a brief Crispin Glover related delay and some technical problems, the show started.

The first scene was a perfect introduction to the genre for me. I remember seeing Kill Bill, with it's cheesy, fake spurting wounds and being puzzled. I think that this film is the type that he was paying tribute to. Possibly the most ridiculous horror movie I've ever seen.

It was awesome.

Vomit, ninjas, people being sawed into pieces, corny dialogue, B-style special effects formulaic training and fight montages, and a saucy schoolgirl.

Sitting in the dark and hearing everyone around me laughing at the cartoony violence was a little surreal at first, but I was mostly okay with what was going on...it was so over the top. Researching the film after seeing it, I found out that two of the actresses are Japanese Adult Video stars, which made the whole thing even more interesting. With its sexy amputee star, all of the panty shots and the torture scenes, this film is a fetishists bloody wet dream. 6.5/10

Desmond Morris' The Human Sexes - 1 - Equal But Different

This is part of a parallel post assignment with Peter.
The first section of this six part series hypothesizes which traits of gender are learned and which are innate. I say hypothesizes because although Mr. Morris is an impressively accomplished gentleman, he doesn't claim to know it all. When he describes traits that he believes are inherently male or female, or a product of our different gender roles acting on our evolution, he is careful in his phrasing. This 'might' 'may' 'could' explain human behaviour.
His background as someone who has studied the reproductive behaviours of plants, insects and mammals for most of his adult life is the screen through which he filters the information he has gathered about similarities and differences between the sexes around the world.
Wikipedia's article on Morris directed me to also read the article on Sociobiology, which was very helpful in understanding Desi's perspective. It is not the final word on gender and culture, but series of educated therefores that are plausible and entertaining, and make the viewer rethink their own behaviours.
What I enjoy most about the series is Morris and the editor's sense of humour. A couple of scenes combine image and exposition in almost hilarious ways. Example:
A minute long shot of this little girl cooing to and kissing her horse with Desmond in the background saying "It could be argued that the horses, by virtue of their strength, represent a male element in the lives of these soon to be sexually active young women." And another shot:
This one accompanied Desmond describing his idea that grandmothers are more useful than grandfathers, and that this is the cause for women outliving men by several years. Tough luck, Nonno. I feel that by calling this episode 'equal but different' he tries to respect the role of women in primitive life, and how that role might have crafted the position that women hold in society today. He doesn't address the level of worth attached to these 'equal but different' roles throughout history, and it's effect on women all over the world.
While I definitely don't agree with everything he says, I think that his ideas about differences in physiology are interesting. I think that his presentation only touches on some subjects that can't be fully explored through the lens he uses to present them, and that deserve their own shows. Strange how I found the scenes of Mardi Gras made me uncomfortable, while the scenes of strip clubs did not.

Some things in this world are hideous. Look at them.

You have probably already heard about Josef Fritzl.
He drugged and handcuffed his 18 year old daughter, and then kept her prisoner in an underground apartment. Over the 24 years she was there, she was repeatedly raped, and gave birth to seven of her father's children.
I read all I could about this story last night, from a few different sources to get as many facts as were available. Two aspects of this puzzling, disturbing story stood out to me more than the others.
One of the articles stated that Fritzl would get the maximum 15 year sentence if he were convicted of rape. Although Fritzl is 73 years old, and a 15 year prison sentence would likely see him die in prison, I don't believe 15 years is enough. I wonder if a charge of rape, or 'murder through failure to act' (another of the possible charges) is enough. I can't help but feel that the case is choked by this charge, serious as it is.
I feel like any one charge laid on this man in the hopes of getting the maximum sentence will not be punishment enough--will not get to the heart of what he has done to the lives of the vulnerable people he should have been protecting. In my heart I want to know that whatever happens to this man will be enough to deter anyone from doing anything like this again. The darkest, angriest part of me wants to see him made an example of. I guess that the law will do what it is able to do, and society will have to do the rest.

Which leads me to the second thing that was interesting about this case. Several of the articles had quotes from analysts and citizens in Austria. One newspaper commentator called Austria a "rich, self-satisfied society" and wondered why no one had asked any questions. This question is especially important because of Natascha Kampusch case in 2006. She was imprisoned for more than 8 years after being kidnapped. How is Austria like/unlike Canada, the States, or other parts of Europe? What do these crimes say about the state of our society, and about the relationships in families, neighborhoods and cities? Is this a trend, or a coincidence? A product of individual mental problems? Old world thinking? The objectification of women in the media?
I hope that when this story no longer has the power to shock, it remains in the news. I feel like it's a huge flashing arrow, pointing at a filthy tear in the fabric of society and begging us to mend it.

Extending the Internet

Internet searches are amazing. I get caught up in chains of information, and often end up learning about fascinating things completely unrelated to whatever I sat down to look up. I'm used to having my curiosity satisfied within minutes of wondering about anything, and get grouchy if I have a disagreement with someone while I'm out of the house or office, and away from the computer.
Another curious thing about this dependence is that sometimes in the course of a chain of questions I go to search for the answer to something that is impossible to research online.

An example of this: today I've been listening to Shabba Ranks at work (it is Friday after all) and while listening to this song, 'Wicked Inna Bed' a curious thing happened. The song is, as you can imagine, a big up to Shabba from Shabba about how good he is at the sexing.
I moved my mouse, almost without thinking, to the search toolbar and paused. I was about to google whether or not Shabba actually was good in bed. I am so used to feeling like the world is completely open to me through the web that it seemed logical to me to search for this information.

Lazy or Resourceful

Yesterday I didn't want to go outside.
I was almost completely out of useful groceries, and needed something to make for my lunch for work.
So, rather than venture to the nearest store (about three minutes away) I decided that I would rather try to make my own tortilla from scratch than to venture out into the great wide open.
So, I mixed some maseca with water, kneaded a ball, placed it between two cutting boards and stood on top of it to flatten it into a disc. Then I cooked it until it seemed reasonably edible, and stuffed it full of a mishmash of crisper remnants.
Lazy? Resourceful?
Amusing.
This image was labeled 'Jesus en Una Tortilla'. Do you see him?

Naked Faced

At the laundromat, folding clothes.
Daytime television is on. It's Days of Our Lives, a show that I remember watching with my mother when I was a child. After a catty dinner scene in a restaurant, it's time for a commercial break.
Soap is no longer the starring sponsor...but I'm not sure that we've come very far.
Almost every commercial is for a beauty product. I listen to the slogans from behind the television and feel like I hear them for the first time.
Whispered: 'Maybe she's born with it...'
Sung: Maybe it's Maybelline.
(You're jealous of her...is she naturally more beautiful than you? No! You can purchase something that will give you the same powerful, illusive beauty)

'Secret Deodorant--Because You're Hot!'
(Their website has polls for 'hottest gadget', 'best way to keep your body smokin' hot' and 'best hangover breakfast'. I'm so glad that someone is providing a spot for young women to share their interests!)

And the last one I remember, an ad for under eye shadow-reducing cream.

Okay, I haven't been watching television for awhile now. And things really haven't changed that much...I remember these commercials, as well as shows like '10 years younger'. And perhaps I'm a touch more sensitive because I'm getting older, and closer to the possibility of....well, y'know...















Crazy catladydom.
Art is wonderful. Some people see the enjoyment and application of makeup as artistic, and I agree that it can be. I have a problem with the distance that the regular use of makeup puts between the private person and the public person. I have a problem with how it makes you dependent on it, and causes others to feel inadequate.
The most skillful application of makeup is supposed to appear natural, which creates an unattainable illusion of perfection. It creates a short leash for women...chaining them to their purses and to their handmirrors and to the bathrooms of whatever establishment they're in.
These are not original opinions, but I believe them to be true. Restating them here is the equivalent of rubbing my own back and saying 'There there, the entire world isn't crazy.'
!Hazzah!

Watch What you Watch

I'm not sure if it was watching Lawrence of Arabia right before bed or eating most of an aero bar while watching Lawrence of Arabia right before bed, but last night I dreamt that I was captured by my enemy.
She was dressed like a desert nomad, and shot me twice between the eyes at close range.
I felt the shots as I remember them being described in a Hemingway story: as white lights flashing behind my eyes, and a feeling of all my senses being overwhelmed.
After she'd shot me twice and I didn't die, I begged for my life.
"It's a miracle that I didn't die," I said.
"...just please let me live whatever kind of life I'm going to have."
She was about to shoot me again when I woke up.

Oversensitivity.

There are loads of things I don't understand.
This image, for example. It was the desktop on the public
computer at work for a few days. At first, I thought it was funny.
I wondered if it was a part of some kind of viral video or joke that I'd missed out on.

I have to use this computer every few days for some tedious time clock adjustments. Very shortly I got sick of looking at this crotch-grabbing plastic-clad party beast.
I started to think of it as a veiled insult to women, and started to be offended by it myself. But why?
One part of me looked at this as a harmless image. Kind of cute, composed well, definitely not going to change the course of art history. The tired, frustrated part of me started to see it as an indicator of an imbalance of attitudes in the workplace. A piece of humour that was inconsiderate to half of the population and half of the employees.
Is it about pancakes? Is it about breasts?

Either way, I couldn't stand to look at it anymore. Sometimes I'm so sensitive to this kind of thing that I make myself want to throw up.
I replaced that image with this one.

It wasn't your fault

It wasn't your fault that I quit smoking.

It wasn't your fault that I had cravings. I told myself I could have anything I wanted, as long as it wasn't a cigarette.

I apologize sincerely for eating a piece of your hiney.

I promise to try not to do it again.

love,

liz

Let's link internets

I don't even remember the chain of searching that led me to discover this video.
I wish I were alive and watching television when this came out...if only to figure out what the original appeal was. It's labeled 'comedy'.


I was also directed toward a number of facial hair related sites last night that you may find interesting.
The Handlebar Club has an extensive membership from all over the world, and includes a FAQ with questions like 'What is a moustache cup, and where can I find one?' as well as a recipe for homemade moustache wax.
Mybeard.org allows you to cruise user profiles of men who are bearded and proud, and looking for friendship...or more?
And The Beard Community claims to host the world's largest community of bearded images. Like this one.

I also spent some time living vicariously through someone else's family life here.
Thanks again boingboing for reintroducing me to my inner stalker.

And last, but not least. Relive, with me, fond memories of the quality commercials that appeared on tv while I was in Japan. Cute, sexy, entertaining, and ridiculous, I believe that the song is about 3 o clock snacktime at the office.

Homebound Korean Movie Reviews or Sicky and the Laptop

I've been off work for the past two days, sleeping most of the daytime hours away. By late evening, I would get a tiny burst of energy which I would use to crawl out of my room, shower, eat something instant and disgusting, and then return to the cave to watch a film.
I watched two Korean films that had been recommended to me by friends. I'm too lazy to learn how to download films, so I watched them online.
'My Sassy Girl' was the first of the two films. The story of a bumbling student who gets tangled up with a fiery, abusive and troubled girl one night on the subway.
I thought it was charming at some points, but I think I might have missed out on something. The girl, who is unnamed throughout the film, is an exciting but difficult girlfriend. She is constantly making a scene in public, getting too drunk and passing out and assaulting the male lead.
One great scene of the film (which was generally a little to schmaltzy for my taste) has the Sassy Girl confronting two young girls in a restaurant who she overhears prostituting themselves to their older male companions.
"Are you PROSTITUTING?" she says.
"Leave us alone. What is it your business?"
"Let me see your ID!" she demands of the girls.
"These are just our friends." The men respond.
"Do you take your friends to a hotel?? Shame on you!"
To the girls: "You shouldn't be prostituting yourselves!"
To the men: "How old are you?! Get out of here!"
I liked this scene a lot, but didn't quite understand the appeal of the Sassy Girl. If I knew someone who was in a relationship where their partner was as volatile, inconstant, and troubled as the Sassy Girl, I would most likely tell them to DTMFA.
6/10

The second film was quite different. The King and The Clown is set in the 16th century and tells the story of a troupe of minstrels that insult their way into the Imperial Palace. Once there, they put on risque plays that amuse while highlighting the corruption in the King's Court.

Lee Jun Ki , perhaps the prettiest boy I've ever seen, does an excellent job playing the more effeminate clown. Interesting homosexual undertones and fascinating examples of classic minstrel skills and diversions of the past. Rope-walking combined with sexually suggestive comedy, shadow puppet shows and old-time slapstick.
7/10