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!