sussex

Little Rat, Little Rat

2010-03-01T22:22:00.002-05:00

I'm sorry your eye is fucked.
I hope you don't feel too bad,
and want you to stay alive.

Little Rat, Little Rat,
As long as you're not in pain,
I'll tickle your ears again
and we'll wait and see.

O Amor Natural

2010-02-16T15:02:00.003-05:00

Happy Valentine's day. I remember watching this documentary about the posthumously published book of Erotic poetry by a famous Brazilian poet when I was a teen. It blew my mind for several reasons. Firstly, I had never heard of someone writing about sex or lust in an artistic or beautiful way before. "Dirty" words or ideas made acceptable by being framed by an artist in a tender way.
Another thing that shocked me about this doc. is how it uses the elderly. Old people read the author's poems, give their opinions, and sometimes their personal sexual or romantic experiences. It forced me to view old people in a new way: as people who used to be young, and who fornicated, yearned and explored in their youth. I tend to think of the past as a more sexually repressed time, a sanitized, powdered age, forgetting that no matter what type of repression exists, human needs always find an outlet.
For awhile, I thought that the documentary also reflected a different attitude towards sex among people in Brazil. Watching it as an adult I'm not so sure, but I still think it's worth a watch. Happy Humping.
Watch below in parts.
xo

Annoyance

2010-02-02T19:02:00.006-05:00

This* is just to say: I am very bored with the contemporary obsession with fonts and witty/emo phrases oh-so-skillfully arranged, pretending to be art. Inspiration, maybe. Art? Meh.

*O hai! I made this in mspaint to express my feelings. Isn't it beautiful?

Crazy things I believe

2010-02-01T22:02:00.005-05:00

Crazy things I believe number one:
eating apples without washing them strengthens your constitution, making you less susceptible to illness. I don't know if this conviction came from being too lazy to wash apples, or a period of apple-eating good health. I know it's silly, but this I believe.

Audio Candy

2010-01-29T22:16:00.003-05:00

Dear, sweet Pete gave me a wonderful gift the other night.

He stood outside my old apartment and recorded 45 minutes of ambient noise to help me sleep, and generally prove that he's awesome. Did I mention that it was -19 outside?

I used to fall asleep to the sound of streetcars entering the station, drunks heading to/from the bar, cars and trucks and dogs. All of the noise of living just off a busy street. Now I can do it whenever I want.
I'm a damned lucky fool.

Sugar Friends

2010-01-19T19:58:00.004-05:00

Call them Sugar Friends. Call them your Cinnamon Fantasies. Call them when you're having a party and you run out of ice or cutlery. They are friends who you can count on to help you do things like drag home scavenged furniture, explore new recipes, eat your leftovers/offer you their leftovers. We all have friends like these, but when they move into your neighbourhood or you move into theirs, something special happens.
Calling all my close friends near and far. Move to Seaton Village and share my sugar.

Master Khan

2009-11-27T15:17:00.005-05:00

Do you know this mouse? We believed we had caught the elusive Master Khan, however this morning, well after the release of the fugitive into the wild, another critter who looked suspiciously like him scurried under the dresser. If you see this mouse, call 542-6666 (KHA-NNNN) immediately.

Working on your Resume

2009-11-23T12:36:00.001-05:00

Working on your resume, while at work, on a computer whose screen everyone entering the premises can see: Tacky.
Tackier than baseball JC. Tackier than blogging while at work.
End Transmission

Unemployed in St. Thomas

2009-11-19T19:50:00.003-05:00

Working on a project for school. It involves choosing 75 books to buy for a library in St. Thomas Ontario (whose notable characteristic recently is that it has lost thousands of jobs in the auto and manufacturing sectors).
Unfortunately, we chose the Dewey area of 'Recreation and Sports', which means I'm sifting through a lot of books like 'How to win at Internet Poker' and 'Solitaire and other solo games' and 'Drinking Games neither you nor your friends will remember' and 'How to become an awesome online gamer'.
Every book hurts a little. Except Amy Sedaris' book on entertaining, which I think might be a perfectly justified addition to any library.

Moondog

2009-11-14T20:17:00.002-05:00

I went to Wikipedia to discover the name of the type of Jazz played occasionally on my favourite playlist. Was it free jazz? Experimental? Whatever it's called, it gives me a goddamned headache, and makes me milli-anxious.
Instead I discover Moondog. I'm still not sure if I like his music, and it seems he's become a bit of a cult figure to some, but he's an interesting chap. Blind, he lived on the streets for many years by choice, and earned the nickname 'The Viking of 6th Avenue. Apparently, though, he was a talented composer who even invented a couple of instruments.
Here's a sample if you're interested.

Go Moondog!

2009-11-09T22:12:00.003-05:00

Today I thought I came up with the perfect job for myself. I wondered if it already existed, and it seemed to me that it might be an untapped market, and that I could land or create the position.
Unfortunately I've forgotten what it was. Goodbye, calling.

What to do

2009-11-06T21:59:00.003-05:00

When you're walking down the street, with a load of confusing feelings. When things seem out of control and you want to laugh like a mad person. When you're too old for most of the classic self-destructive behaviours, and too prissy to go out on a bender.
Solution: SUPERCUTS. 10 minutes and 14 dollars later and I'm a new(ish) woman.

Ask Manny for the short-long. It'll do you good.

Wall Decals

2009-10-30T16:48:00.005-04:00

They really tie a room together

Love Bites

2009-09-29T18:05:00.003-04:00

How many people do you love?

I only love a handful. I only feel capable of loving a handful. Another few I like, sometimes quite a lot.
The rest of you, I'd like to push away with the glowing torch of my misanthropy, like you're beasts closing in on me in a low cave. That is all.

The Hobbled Woman

2009-08-25T17:16:00.007-04:00

The following has been bothering me for the past few days. I recently read that the 'Stiletto Sprint' will be coming to Toronto. I'm not usually one to get up in arms about things like this--sure, I think about them, but rarely does it seem so clear to me that I am unhappy with something. I feel that this event is an excuse to sell interest in the company's consumer goods, encourage an unhealthy attitude towards appearance to the participants, and to make a spectacle of women, all under the guise of 'a good cause'.
The charity (Look Good Feel Better) benefits minimally from the event (there is a minimum 15$ entrance fee, all of which goes to the charity...the participants do not get sponsors or donations of their own). The women all receive a 'Stylesense Prize Pack' (which I assume will be full of Winner's coupons) and are competing for the $10,000 prize money, as well as the chance to "show what they can do in heels". The race will be shown on Breakfast Television, where the whole city can watch the participants look like idiots. Don't get me wrong, I'd have less of a problem with this if the charitable connection were more obvious. I have no problem with charity events that use exceptional tactics to get attention for their cause and raise money. I don't feel that this is the case here. The whole thing makes me uncomfortable.

I am not Bananas

2009-07-24T22:05:00.004-04:00

I tidy up my room, open some unread mail from my optometrist, and a bewitching scent floats out of the envelope. My optometrist has scented business cards. Apparently he is not the only one.
"Scent Your Business Card- (an ebay guide)
Not only will your business card reflect your business visually, you can have an added dimension that is guaranteed to make an impact on someone’s nose. This method works well for those of you who sell gift baskets, baked goods, flowers, or perfume. Perhaps your name, or company’s name, is Rose, Rosemary, Jasmine, etc. or that is your logo—so a matching aroma would be beneficial to helping people remember your company.
Scented cards won’t be appropriate for many people or businesses (for example, if you run a mortuary? Or a brothel?)
The card actually smells very nice--like woody citrus fruit, but without the alcohol taint that gives you a migraine.
Dr. Andrew Leung, you've outdone yourself once again.

Skirts Can Be Treacherous

2009-07-21T13:25:00.002-04:00

I wore a flowy skirt to work yesterday. I just didn't feel like wearing pants and that is my right. I've actually come to appreciate the freedom and comfort of skirts in the last couple of years instead of looking down on them as impractical and crippling. When I left work at midnight yesterday, though, my imagination started to go a little crazy. What might jump up and bite my legs as I knelt down in an empty lot to pet two sleepy cats? What strange sewer snake might jump out of the grating on the sidewalk, paralysing me forever and rendering me highly unloveable? What crack-addled man at the sketchy boarding house would see the flash of colour and determine that I was his next victim?
I got home safe (as I totally knew I would) and thought more about whether pants or skirts are truly freeing, and thinking about how we try hard to keep the snakes and rats and badgers away from our cities. Thinking that only a city girl has the privilege to walk around in a state so theoretically exposed to danger.

Another drunk post

2009-07-19T23:34:00.003-04:00

Went to a barbecue tonight. All was well, I was being social and funny, and felt pretty confident. Until I said something sexist. And someone called me on it.
I don't even really believe what I said. I just said it. I guess some part of me believes it. It was something that implied that men can't be blamed for cheating as much as women (in the case that the man is your partner and the woman is your friend) because your friend should know better, and a man can be more easily tempted when put into fucked up circumstances (like being wasted or heavily hit on). Someone took this to mean that I was implying that men are stupid, which I was not.
Someone else made the point that when the pants come off, everyone knows what they're doing. I agreed with that. I don't know what caused me to say what I said. It feels like a dark mark on an otherwise very lovely evening with some great new people. I'm taking it fairly lightly right now, for some reason, but I think I will actually think about it more seriously tomorrow. For now, the sleep of the well-boozed and well-snacked.

On Being Hateful

2009-05-28T10:12:00.003-04:00

For the last couple of weeks I've been impossible. I've had trouble being around anyone, and everything has made me unhappy or unsatisfied.
When I'm somewhere, I want desperately to escape. When I'm alone, I'm lonely and introspective.
I went to an event alone the other night after work, an event full of people schmoozing, with some lectures and musical entertainment scheduled. I stood around for 40 minutes, drank a beer, and then went home. I had absolutely nothing to do to keep myself entertained. There was nowhere to sit, no one to talk to or even make eye contact with, and nothing to look at after I finished endlessly surveying the audience from the stairs. The bartender served 5 other people and ignored me while I stood at the bar. I saw people secretly smoking and I wanted to rat them out to the bouncer. I overheard a boy telling his girl he'd never cheated in his life and I believed him. I saw seemingly underage girls in ugg boots and backpacks pooling their money to buy a drink. I felt tired and angry.
Why did I buy a ticket to this stupid thing? If this was my idea of the kind of cultural event I would enjoy, why was I miserable? Why was what I thought I'd enjoy so boring and unpleasant? What do I really want to do with my time?
Which leads me to the problem. Everything seems to be unpleasant these days.
There's too much stuff on the desk in the living room and my blood starts to boil. Someone asks me for help at work and I instantly go from zero to fifty on the aggro scale. Someone makes a comment about my home or appearance and I want to keep them from ever seeing, or hearing anything to do with me again. I work really hard to be alone so that I avoid having these intense feelings, but they're still here even when everyone else is gone. I get into fights when I'm trying to express my opinion. I'm afraid I might crack, and I've gone from one of the most helpful people around to someone who shuns social contact. All I do is complain. And now I have to do write a paper.
Something has to change. Fucked if I know what.

Movie week

2009-05-06T22:06:00.003-04:00

I'm at day 5 of this unplanned week of movies.

I went to the theatre on Saturday night to see Adrift in Tokyo, which turned out to be a cute, but not exceptional movie. It was nostalgic, and conveyed mood well. It was full of walking, talking and eating (three of my favourite things) and the young male character had no love interest, which is a choice I respected.

Day Two - Rented 'In the Realm of the Senses' based on a positive dvd review in NOW Magazine. The review, which I scanned, made it clear that the movie revolved around lust and sex, and was explicit. I did not realize how explicit.
I should have known when one clerk at Queen video gave me the dvd (which I'd called ahead for) and said to the other clerk "This is the person who's renting it." I had no idea a movie could depict what this movie did and get an NC-17 rating (I later learned that NC 17 is not the last rating before X, but replaces the X rating).

Day Three - Went back to Queen video (was hoping to see the same employees so I could give back the dvd and go "bleckhh!", just to prove that I'm not a perv)
and picked up Wong Kar Wai's Happy Together. It was satisfying (although, not very happy-I should have known it was a somewhat ironic title) in that is was very moody, colours were used or not used symbolically, and the sets and plot were a great contrast to the personalities of the characters. I'm amazed at how convincingly gay Tony Leung is, and how passionate and emotional both of the actors were. I feel like this is the first portrayal of a gay relationship I've seen that really felt authentic. And painful.

Day 4
No, not another asian movie. Watched 'For Your Consideration' (I may be the last person in Toronto to see this film). The most interesting part of the film, for me was watching older people play youthful characters, or characters striving to be youthful. I found myself thinking of the actors a lot, wondering whether they felt awkward about being old and playing people fighting their age, being old and playing people desperate to be cool and hip. It wasn't hilarious, but there were a couple of lol moments. And I think I could listen to Harry Shearer all day.

Day 5 . . .

Toying With Designs

2009-04-27T20:08:00.005-04:00

I liked the images that I found related to the last post so much, I played around with them and turned one into a pattern. It's been my ambition for awhile to find a picture (preferably from archive.org, but perhaps not) and turn it into a pattern to print on fabric. Then I'd like to make it into a skirt.

My sewing skills are pretty bad. I'm getting better, but it doesn't come naturally to me. Also my sewing machine came from the garbage :)
This is what i have so far. It seemed to need something more, so I added a dot in the middle. Also, making it only two per pattern allows me to print it on standard paper at a higher resolution. I'm working on another cat one now.

Porno Comedy Show

2009-04-26T11:44:00.007-04:00

I read about this night on BlogTo, and by the end I was sad to learn that it would be the last one of its kind. It was a blast.
The premise: the internet has killed the porn industry. The video store is closing its porno basement and selling everything off for 5 bucks. Come see a sexy comedy show and perhaps take home a souvenir.
I enjoyed every act.

The whole room was pink-tinted. We ended up near the bj section, just behind the gay pr0n area. The bum stuff was on our right. Strangely, it managed to not be that awkward. But I have to admit, that when I picked up the movie on the top row, far left, I covered the penis on the cover before reading the info. I didn't even realize that I did it.

All the comedy was sex-themed. I am clueless enough that this was not obvious to me. One of the first acts was a girl group, sort of a musical acting comedy troupe. When they walked on stage chanting about 'yoni power' I knew I was going to love them. They need to come up with a long-form of their act and turn it into a 'Best in Show' type movie. They did some great bits about their first sexual experience, complete with chanting in unison and grand, wavy vaginal gestures. Good girls!
I didn't get a picture of all of the performers, but the opener was great as well. She was incredibly crass, and made a great joke about preferring the taste of vegetarians.
Next up was Jimmy Hogg, who I imagined would be a 200lb trucker. Instead he was a musical brit who sang about his platonic love for children. The sentiment I remember liking most was
'We'll play a game and the winner gets ice cream. Unless I win, and then we'll both get ice cream, but I won't win, I'll let you win. But I won't let you know that I let you win'. I yelled something while he was on stage, instinctively tried to contribute to his joke (yes, it's possible to forget that comedians really don't like it when you do that) but he took it in stride.
The most memorable acts of the evening came at the end. First, a woman with her 'dance partner' Gerard - A dummy with her hand under it. She did an incredible job of using her right hand to seduce herself, and ended up getting herself drunk and passing out 'in his arms' (after showing a fair bit of garter-clad thigh).
The grand finale - the adorable and hilarious host did a dance to what he proclaimed to be his 'coming out' song from the nineties - the most glorious of dance tracks, 'I'm gonna get you' by Bizarre Inc. He did this dance in shorts, totally balls-out.
Combined with drinks with Deb, a stellar night.

Is there any better reason to be full of joy

2009-04-22T23:05:00.002-04:00

Than the sight of cats jumping through hoops?
This is a shot in the Inle Lake Monastary in Burma-Myanmar, where they train cats to jump through hoops. Let's go?

Eating for two?

2009-04-19T21:31:00.003-04:00

No, not that kind of eating for two. I ordered from New Generation Sushi after a long day of disassembling furniture, cleaning and moving mattresses in preparation for the new roommate. When I got my order home, I noticed that it had two pair of chopsticks in the bag. They must have assumed that due to the volume of food I ordered, I must be two people.
All of this home preparation is strange and new for me. Up until now, no one else here gave a crap about the apartment, and I was the last one in. I wasn't about to take responsibility for making the place look better or keeping it super tidy if I was going to be doing it all alone.
But now that I'm the senior roommate (wtf...am I in goddamned college or something) I feel more of a sense of responsibility for the place. Now I do things like buy tablecloths and clean baseboards instead of wake up hungover and crawl to brunch.
On a related note, I got very down after going out with people from my faculty. Not only was I terrible at making conversation, but I found only one or two of them remotely interesting or friendly. I biked home drunk, huffing and puffing and feeling like a big boner.
Should've gone to a movie instead.

Grownups Read Things they Wrote as Kids

2009-04-07T22:58:00.002-04:00

Lives Here.
What a wonderful night.

Who'd have known little you would be so hilarious, seemingly without effort.
Have a look at the most tender, naive, selfish, unadulterated part of yourself by looking at your childhood writings.
Some of the readers seemed to treat the evening as a sort of therapy. Others laughed at their young selves and played to the audience. Each presented a slightly painful, completely deluded and understandable view of reality. One more memorable moment-two versions of a young girl's autobiography, written two years apart. In the first "the most important person in my life...is my mother"
in the second
"the most useful person in my life is my mother"
I'd love to contribute next time...off to my mother's house to dig up some 'treasure'

Must be the Season of the Witch

2009-03-18T10:21:00.003-04:00

A gang swarmed several people last night in my neighborhood, attacking them with a knife and some kind of metal object and robbing them. I wonder if it had anything to do with the few recent warm days, or with St. Patrick's day. I guess not wonder--hope. In my heart I'm hoping that they're drunken revelers from the suburbs come downtown on St. Patrick's day.
As an evening worker and a fan of late night walks in my hood (and taking the back roads) this worries me.
Also in the news, our friend Joseph Fritzl is in court. According to wikipedia, he is charged with: "rape, incest, kidnap, false imprisonment and slavery, which carry a maximum 20-year term."
Reading up on a similar case in Britain which did not involve imprisonment but did result in 19 pregnancies, I was puzzled. In the latter case, the defendant received 25 consecutive life sentences and must serve a minimum of 19.5 years in prison. Why do the charges against Fritzl only amount to a maximum of 20 years? He imprisoned his daughter and their children for 24 years. It will likely be impossible for some of them to have a normal life after what has happened to them. In some ways I think that several decades of rape and enslavement are worse crimes than murder. I know that life can't be returned once it's taken, but in essence, these lives were taken as well.

It's not a tumour

2009-03-17T18:38:00.002-04:00

Or perhaps it is.
Fauna got out of the cage recently, and began acting strange shortly after.
The vet thinks she might have a tumor of the pituitary gland. From what I've read online of symptoms, I would tend to agree.

She's acting confused and very affectionate. Poorly coordinated. She presses her head against the wall and against my hand.

Prognosis: wait and see for now. And don't chastise me for getting attached. They are my first adult pets and so far it seems a lot like a first love situation. Gimme gimme gimme---ow ow ow...

Happy International Women's Day!

2009-03-08T19:48:00.004-04:00

I hope you've taken a moment to think about your womanhood--about what you love and hate about being a woman, about how you enact your ladiness (or don't) and about the plight of your fellow double x-ers.

On such an important day, this woman is contemplating her vagina. It's not necessary to do this in order to fully enjoy I.W.D.

Seriously, though. This is a painting by one of my favourite Canadian artists, Alex Colville. It is a picture of his wife when they were younger, and it hangs in the AGO beside a more contemporary picture of her.
Her hair is grey. She is rounder in the belly, and looks to be retirement age. But you can feel her strong presence through the tempera on particle board (or whatever it is). It's quite obvious that he loves her and that she loves him.
But heterosexual romantic love is also not mandatory in order to enjoy this day. Have a good one!

I has a bored.

2009-03-07T00:40:00.003-05:00

It's Friday night.
I'm removing old paint from my bedroom floor with nail polish remover. What the hell is going on.
How did I forget how to amuse myself? All I can think about is the schoolwork I have to do tomorrow.

Touch me

2009-02-26T10:58:00.002-05:00

I'm sad that the friendly man representing a Muslim association at the university wouldn't shake my hand.
I listened to his speech. He seemed nice. I had some doubts about his message, but we left on friendly terms.
When I left and bid him a good day and tried to shake his hand. He put it across his heart and mumbled that he couldn't shake my hand.
I had to get back to class, and walked away.
I don't dislike him, but feel confused. Should I make myself angry over this, or am I being a self-centred ass?

Dear February

2009-02-26T09:40:00.002-05:00

I'm done with ye.

You make me want to eat cheese and hide, neither of which are at the top of my list of priorities right now.
You make me want to skip school and spend all morning changing my gmail colour scheme.
You make me want to call in sick and scrape old paint off the floor with a razor blade.

Spring. PLEASE!

You asked me where he was,

2009-02-10T20:16:00.002-05:00

and I couldn't help but think:
you wish he were here instead of me. You prefer to be supervised by a man. To chat and gain experience with a man. To fraternize with a man.
You don't like the way I do things..or you prefer the way he does things? Or you don't like the fact that I'm a woman, or that I'm younger than you?

Good luck to you anyway,

love

liz

Cataloguing is Boring

2009-02-03T22:50:00.006-05:00

What I learned: mouth closer to eyes=cuter. Mouth closer to fat part=cuter. Wide-set eyes=cuter. Smaller mouth=cuter.

Putting faces on avocadoes. Far superior to doing homework.

I was the mother last time

2009-01-30T14:40:00.005-05:00

Why don't you have the baby?

I will be upwardly mobile.

I'll take my fancy education,

and bring us home a hundred grand.

We'll get ourselves a big 'ol house,

we'll care for junior in style, and you

can do your thing until you're satisfied.

Leggo

2009-01-06T17:29:00.005-05:00

How cliche are symbolic gestures? They're so much a part of our culture, they've become so tired that any personal meaning they might have had has been sapped.

I've found myself too often lately dwelling on resentments and unresolved feelings from my recent past. The problem with these kind of feelings, for me, is that time doesn't necessarily make them easier to handle or duller.
It sometimes takes me a very long time to process things-that's a problem I have.
It seems that I find events too complicated or to dangerous to process and my mind holds onto them for later. Either that, or I look back on them with new eyes as I grow and change.

I'm not an unlucky or an unhappy person. Just the opposite, I feel better about my life than I have in a long time. I'm stimulated by work and school, and have a partner who I love and am very proud of. A domestic but generally happy life, and the best I can do for right now.
I wish I could pack up all of the things that I feel resentment, hurt, and anger for and throw them into the sea or crush them like a car in a wrecking yard. Appropriately, every earthly analogy I can think of for what to do with how I feel highlights the fact that these feelings don't actually go away.
I started this post thinking that I could compose an exorcism, but now I'm not so sure.

Take Your Bags and Shove 'em

2008-12-30T22:54:00.010-05:00

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?

2008-12-08T14:04:00.004-05:00

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

2008-12-05T01:04:00.004-05:00

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.

2008-11-22T13:31:00.004-05:00

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?

2008-11-14T21:02:00.005-05:00

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

2008-11-02T09:18:00.000-05:00

TJSFF 6 - Short-Short Reviews

2008-10-10T00:12:00.007-04:00

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

2008-10-08T18:38:00.001-04:00

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

2008-09-20T20:44:00.007-04:00

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

2008-09-12T12:16:00.003-04:00

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

2008-09-10T22:33:00.005-04:00

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

2008-09-08T00:06:00.002-04:00

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

2008-09-03T00:31:00.005-04:00

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.

2008-08-28T18:16:00.004-04:00

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...

2008-08-24T22:45:00.010-04:00

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

2008-07-31T22:30:00.002-04:00

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...

2008-07-22T20:07:00.003-04:00

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!"

2008-07-18T10:29:00.004-04:00

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

2008-07-13T23:33:00.004-04:00

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

2008-07-06T20:20:00.007-04:00

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

2008-06-27T22:58:00.008-04:00

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

2008-06-25T21:18:00.002-04:00

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

2008-06-25T17:43:00.002-04:00

'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

2008-06-18T12:38:00.004-04:00

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

2008-06-14T14:35:00.004-04:00

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

2008-06-11T20:49:00.007-04:00

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

2008-06-04T18:36:00.004-04:00

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

2008-06-03T15:13:00.011-04:00

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...

2008-05-22T22:42:00.003-04:00

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

2008-05-08T17:58:00.009-04:00

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

2008-05-06T00:22:00.005-04:00

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

2008-05-02T16:42:00.007-04:00

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.

2008-04-29T13:30:00.005-04:00

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

2008-04-18T14:38:00.002-04:00

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

2008-04-17T14:52:00.006-04:00

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

2008-04-10T17:58:00.007-04:00

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

2008-04-07T16:12:00.004-04:00

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.

2008-04-03T13:59:00.006-04:00

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

2008-03-31T20:32:00.002-04:00

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

2008-03-15T17:03:00.005-04:00

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

2008-03-14T13:03:00.006-04:00

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

S.O.S

2008-03-12T12:49:00.005-04:00

I've been infected.

Days off should be for fun, not for fevers and mucous. For being productive and having coffee with a book in a sunny window.

Send over soup. Stat.

But for your own good, leave it at the door.

My Imagination is a Garden

2008-03-07T13:26:00.004-05:00

Unfortunately, it sometimes seems as though it's trapped behind a fence, on private property.

Last night, as I was falling asleep, I came up with a melodic drum sequence. Each beat had a different note and depth, imagined on different types of drums, creating a wonderful, repetitive melody.
Do the drums in my mind even exist in the physical world?
I imagine scenes and drawings that are beautiful, and beyond the ability of my meat-self to make a reality.
Sometimes the distance between the creativity possible in my imagination and the reality of physical limitations seems impossible to traverse.
I find it a fascinating, discouraging, wonderful part of being alive.

Reverse Motivation or Earth to Steve Jobs

2008-03-06T18:26:00.008-05:00

Motivation. I suffer from a habitual lack of it.
I'm not a complete slouch, but I've often found it difficult to begin things, even though I consider myself a fairly creative person. I fill with excitement at the prospect of a new adventure in creativity, but a combination of things seem to deter and distract me.
Most motivational speeches don't appeal to me. I feel as though they fill me with sentiment and energy that are only temporary, and I've never heard one that I can remember that's left a lasting mark.
I recently heard a commencement speech that Steve Jobs gave to the 2005 graduating class at Stanford, and I thought about it for days afterward. The title of this post is a link to the full text of the speech.
The part that got under my skin was when he said
"...for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: "If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today? And whenever the answer has been "No" for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something."
This line dug at me, and bothered me over the next few days. I thought: not everyone is you Steve Jobs. For many of those 33 years, you've lived a privileged life, with many options open to you that aren't possibilities for average people.
You're white, you're male, and you've had money for a long time now. How dare you imply that it's easy for people in other situations to throw off everything and change?
As I thought about it more, and became more angry, I realized that Steve Jobs' attitude really was motivating me, but not for the reasons that he intended.
For me, a good motivator is often anger. I remember a professor at York, one that I thought was amazing, giving me a copy of 'A Room Of One's Own' by Virginia Woolfe. At first I was pleased that he gave me something that he thought would help in my development. Looking back on it shortly after, I started to feel insulted.
Did this man think he knew me...? Or did he just think he knew where I might be in my development as a young woman?
Either way, he pissed me off. And, juvenile as this is, I find this kind of thing to be a source of motivation far more powerful than any poster or speech could be.

The Blues

2008-03-01T16:35:00.004-05:00

Tried to make me some lunch,
but the kitchen was occupied.

Started to do my cooking,
didn't have the right spice.

Went out my door,
the sidewalk was covered in ice.

Panhandler on the street,
mumbled offensive words my way.

Off to the grocery store,
went to pay, but forgot my wallet.

Back in the kitchen,
all the pots and pans are in the sink dirty.

Things aren't going exactly my way,
I'll just sit in my room and pout.

I got the city-living, spoiled brat, nothin' s really that wrong blues.

Jodha Akbar or 3 Hours in the Dark

2008-02-26T00:15:00.004-05:00

I was a bit intimidated at the prospect of watching an Indian movie in the theatre. I'm definitely a fan of classic Bollywood, but I usually watch it on Saturday morning television, where I have the option to get up and go to the grocery store, make breakfast, clean the bathroom, and catch up with the film at my leisure.
I wondered if I'd be able to sit through a 3+ hour film without getting bored or antsy.
Jodha Akbar is the story of a ruler of the Mughal Empire
who is remembered for his tolerant view of religion and his contribution to the arts.
I'm not really crazy about schmaltzy, romantic films (don't tell me you're surprised) and was happy to find that this film was more of a historical drama. The plot was complex, with unending deceptions and misunderstandings, but was pretty easy to follow, and kept my interest. There was a lot of fighting, but a lot of the more brutal violence was depicted with subtlety. What most surprised me was the music in the film. There were only two or three long, choreographed musical sequences, and they weren't overly sentimental. The music sounded traditional but contemporary, and Aishwarya only sang one long number.
There were scenes which I felt were very sexy, and although couples in Indian movies seem never to kiss or go to bed together, I felt that the tension between Akbar and Jodha was built well, and culminated in a satisfying way.

My only complaints:
The score was a bit cheesy. At times, the music was so tense and dramatic that it made Akbar seem like a serial killer.
The large battles had a few gaps in them (I happen to be a picky jerk about epic fight scenes).
The film seemed to be trying to cover all the main genres at once, and fell shy of completely satisfying any of them. Not enough music to be a musical, not in depth enough to be really educational, and not enough action to be a straight action movie. At the same time, I was entertained all the way through. Perhaps there's a lot more to learn about Indian cinema.
Tip: pack a lunch if you go see this in the theatre.

Keep one hand on your sack at all times.

2008-02-21T18:10:00.003-05:00

I was sitting by the lake at Versailles, watching families on a Sunday afternoon playing with their dogs and children, when I saw a little girl with a pink handbag frolicking along the edge of the water. She must have been around 7 years old.
I wondered why she had it. Had she asked her parents for it? Had her mother given it to her as a gift to make her feel grownup, or because it was cute? Was it part of a rite of passage?
And what on earth did she put inside of it?
Lip gloss, a mirror, some candy or gum?
Or pencil stubs and shiny trash?

Traveling alone made me very cautious about my belongings. Everything that I needed to survive in a foreign country, and to return safely to my own was in a small bag by my side.
I thought about the awareness created by having a pouch of important things at your hip or on your shoulder.
I think it takes away from your awareness of your physical body and your placement in the world, drawing your focus towards your belongings.
Has anyone called you? Check your phone.
How do you look? Check your mirror. Apply makeup or fix your hair.
How's your breath?
Where's that abm receipt?
How much cash do you have?
Oh no, you looked in your wallet. Will the money flash attract a pickpocket or homicidal vagabond?
Who's behind you?

I noticed that little girl because I felt like she was being robbed of a feeling of freedom that she'd have difficulty getting back. I looked at her and saw her holding an accessory that I felt was the beginning of her being molded into someone else's idea of a woman.

How to love me? Let me count the ways...

2008-02-20T21:46:00.006-05:00

You love me when you share something personal with me.
You love me when you let me tell you how I feel, and don't hold me to it tomorrow.
You love me when you go away and make yourself better, so that you'll have more to bring to me.
You love me when you respect my limits, but still challenge them.
You love me when my feelings make you feel.
You love me when you give me gifts that make me better.
You love me when I'm in your face, and miss me when I pull away.
I love you, and it makes me want to punch.

Back from outer space.

2008-02-19T19:34:00.006-05:00

While I was away, I had a dream.

In that dream, something had been created. It was a book, or a painting. It had been assembled inside of a building by a team of Artists, and left in the lobby.
The art took the form of a lifeless monster.
It was an impressive piece, in size and complexity, but no one could figure out how to get it out of the building without waking it--or destroying it.

That was the first night.
I had great, but groggy days as I adjusted to the new time, and at night I stayed up wishing for sleep, and more wonderful dreams.

Dear Blog,

2008-02-11T10:15:00.000-05:00

I miss you.

I ll see you tomorrow. Qs far qs I cqn tell, there qre no qpostrophes in France. Also q is a more poulqr letter thqn A.

love,

Racist Pizza: A Short Scene.

2008-02-03T23:52:00.000-05:00

Setting: Papa Ceo Pizza
Liz walks in and asks for a slice of Margherita. She is told to sit down, it will be ready in about 5 minutes.
She watches a comedy-western on a t.v. at the back. Behind her, a table of students. To her right, a table of young boys with Indian accents. In front of her, a grumpy looking, slovenly employee smoking an illegal cigarette in the shadows.
Several minutes later, Liz heads up to pay for her slice. The group of young boys gets up and heads toward the door. One of them asks for water.
PIZZA MAN: (smiling)"I'd give you water, friend, but I ain't got no glasses. Sorry."
TEEN: "Okay."
PIZZA MAN: "Look! No glasses. I don't have anything."
silence.
PIZZA MAN: (laughing)"You can drink from the tap if you want water. But I don't have any glasses...sorry boss."
TEEN: Mumbles goodnaturedly and walks with his friends out of the store.
Liz is getting her pizza packed up and a can of Brio. She finishes the transaction.
The door closes behind the young men.
PIZZA MAN: (in singsongy Indian accent) "Do you have any vot-ter? I vould like some votter." etc.

Liz stands with Pizza in hand. She wishes this exchange had happened before she bought her pizza. She wonders what to do. She's hungry, but annoyed.
Liz walks away.

Liz gets home.
Liz eats her pizza.
~~Tears and grease stream down her face as she imagines cheese and bigotry mingling in her mouth~~ she vows that this will be the last slice she ever buys there,and gets on with her night.

The Unbearable Likeness of Bean

2008-02-01T18:11:00.000-05:00

What is this woman saying with her face?
This is from a psychology text. Subjects were asked to describe what the actor was feeling by looking at her facial expression.
These photos were not labeled with specific emotions.
What do you think she's trying to convey?

Last night a DJ shaved my wife.

2008-01-19T01:39:00.000-05:00

Seven months ago I volunteered to participate in a drug study at CAMH. It looked at the effect of genetics on anxiety and mood disorders.
Now the chemicals in my brain are returning slowly to their normal levels, and I feel like robot girl, learning how to manage her emotions for the first time.
I hadn't realized how much the treatment dampened my feelings. I did feel a little robotic occasionally, but in general I felt calmer and more logical. Like a Vulcan, but friendlier and without the ears and the sweet-ass nerve pinch...
Lately I've felt like a superball in a room full of kids who just ate birthday cake.
Here's hoping that things level off soon.

The Ballbuster.

2008-01-13T20:54:00.000-05:00

I was a craigslist addict at one time. An apartment, a job, a free menorah, a terrible date and two rats later I've calmed down a bit.

Although I no longer consider myself addicted, I still check the site every few days for cool free stuff and activity ideas. I noticed that one of my favourite posters from the past, let's call him 'BB', was still posting. He posts in the 'strictly platonic' section, offering 200 dollars for 30 minutes worth of ball-kicking.
Let's call it Testetorture.

I wondered whether or not I was the kind of person he was looking for.
I like money. I like trying new things. I like feeling broad-minded and sensible, even if it is in an unconventional way.
I especially like surprising the people that know me.
I toyed with the idea of being dominant, of reversing gender roles. I pictured a brief, clinical brush with someone else's outsider fetish, and imagined myself as a distanced participant, able to coolly report on the experience.
I wrote him, and asked him a few questions.
Yes, I could bring someone with me. Anyone I wanted.
No, there was no sex involved.
Yes, there was a safe word to prevent him from being injured.
No, he didn't require any special script or costume for the scenario.
Yes, he had done it before, often.
For about an hour, I thought about doing it.
And then I decided against it.
I'm comfortable enough to inquire, curious enough to try to figure out what it might mean, but creeped out enough to politely decline.

Nobody Ever Tells You That it's Fun to Try

2008-01-13T15:20:00.000-05:00

Do you remember Mag Ruffman?
She hosted a home repair show on the women's television network. I watched it as a tween, and was a little confused by it.
She was a funny, attractive woman who encouraged her viewers not to be afraid of tackling tasks around the house. She presented the repairs with detailed instructions, but added personal stories and jokes and introduced you to some of the people in her life. She made a few mistakes, and laughed at them or showed you how to hide them.
At the end of each show was a small segment in which she would get personal. The camera lens was misty and the setting romantic (either a bedroom or bathroom, I think) and she would assess her achievements in a jokey, flirty way. She might even have been eating candy or drinking champagne.
I remembered her while trying to fix the kitchen faucet this afternoon. I remember admiring her, but being puzzled at the sexy edges of her show. Was it an expression of her personality? A cute gimmick to add spice to a conventionally dry show format?
An attempt to glam up do-it-yourself to make it more attractive to women?
I find myself tackling minor repairs and adjustments in my life lately, and it's very satisfying. I realize how easy it would be to become totally engrossed in discovering how everything around me works. This seems to be an emerging theme with me. Sewing, silkscreening, knitting, computer basics, solo travel, basic repair/construction, all things that used to seem boring, frightening or impossible to me, now give me a great sense of control over my life.
Trying is my new hobby.

Tourist in Toronto - Mount Pleasant

2008-01-07T19:57:00.000-05:00

On on of my last holiday free days, I decided to visit Mt. Pleasant Cemetery. I'm rarely in that neighborhood, but have always seen it through the windows while on the subway. I'd heard that the Eaton family and Glen Gould were buried there, and that the mausoleums were large and decorative.

Edie and I had some trouble navigating the wet, thawing snow.
Other than a few joggers and a few hundred squirrels, we had the run of the place. It was wonderfully quiet and not at all spooky. We could hear the water dripping off of the trees and our footsteps.

This gentleman, for some reason, felt the need to put a giant dollar sign in the middle of his giant cross headstone.

Tasteful!

After a bit of time checking out the grounds, chapel, and crematorium, and getting briefly lost, we headed to Mt. Pleasant Ave. to get some food and check out a toy train store.

Because of my interest in little people and tiny towns, I'd called a few stores to see if I could find a source for tiny plastic figures.
George's Trains seemed like a good place to look, and look I would have if the store weren't closed on Mondays. Instead, I had to be satisfied with the display in the window. Here is one cool scene:

The man has been pulled over and is being frisked by a policeman.

Next:
By the watertower, a spirited funeral is underway. Some of the mourners appear to be dancing .Or are they mourning...with gusto?

On the way home, we found a doll-house store. Yes, there are whole stores for doll houses and their accessories. Cans of Campbell's soup the size of a thumbtack, complete decks of playing cards, perfectly detailed pencils the just wider than a pin, and tiny, fake dinner and dessert spreads.

This photo of a kitchen set is the only picture I was able to sneak while being watched by the preoccupied staff. It must be difficult to work in a store where things are tiny and so easily stolen.

No, I didn't steal anything. I bought a pack of photographs.

Juno/Blueberry Girls

2008-01-06T11:15:00.001-05:00

I woke up this morning intending to write a little bit about the film Juno, which I saw last night. But I got seriously sidetracked. While looking for a nice, pregnant belly picture for this post, I discovered that there are people out there with a body inflation fetish. I'm going to try to discuss this based on what info I was able to cobble together...
This community (and I think it's a small one) seems to be divided into a few sections. There is the hardcore body-modification set, who fill the area under their skin temporarily with saline or gas. You can look for pictures of this yourself.
There are the huge breast/huge belly fetishists who appreciate breast enlargement, pregnancy, and fake inflation (with some sort of suit, I assume).
And there is a group of people who seem to be into the more imaginary side of the fetish, morphing already existing images to make them appear inflated and drawing/appreciating inflation images in comics and culture. Right now I can't decide whether to be disturbed or amused. It seems to be the pleasure of watching a woman be overwhelmed by her sexuality, watching her helplessly become nothing but a pair of breasts and a belly. It's sometimes implied that she enjoys this, and has a need to be relieved of her juicy burden.
Now I've filled most of a page with inflation talk. I wanted to say that Juno was a great movie. Well cast, nicely shot, great soundtrack, reminiscent of Wes Anderson's films. I was a bit uncomfortable with the passive role that Michael Cera's character played in the whole pregnancy, but the film got me into a great discussion with my friend Edie about babies, goals, and what it means to be ready to have a child.
Onward to blueberry pancakes.

Tourist in Toronto - Pacific Mall

2008-01-04T12:44:00.000-05:00

Work was kind enough to give us a week off, and I wasn't able to schedule a vacation for this week. So I thought I'd try to visit some places in Toronto that I've never been to. Some are not easy to get to, and some I've just not had the chance to visit. Yesterday I got the opportunity to go to the Pacific Mall, 'North America's Largest Indoor Asian Mall'. So on a day when I woke up planning to clean the apartment and rid my life of some clutter, I found myself visiting kawaii-mecca. The mall is full of electronics, anime and car hobby stalls, beauty products, clothes and imported food, and places selling all of that cute, useless stuff that I find it impossible to resist. I think I did pretty well. I came away with a few things, none of them especially useful, but at least...they're small. Two of my purchases were edible: a red bean/green tea kitkat and a perfect little french-style green tea white chocolate cake.
I picked up a Studio Ghibli Dvd with a few films on it, and some keychain/cel phone accessories. One of them is a character called Aokubi Daikon, who is a Daikon who runs away from home when he realizes he's about to be eaten.
Charming.
The coolest thing that I saw was a collection of metal palm-sized international airplanes, which you could assemble and set up at an airport, complete with tiny landing strip employees. The weirdest thing I saw were the sexy plastic dreamgirl statuettes, styles tailored to your preference, complete with tan-lines, stray hairs and pouty, sexy facial expressions.
Now that I've had my tea, and the Rats have had theirs, time to get on with reality.

Stay out of my Va-j.

2007-12-31T13:22:00.000-05:00

I'll listen to practically anything. Well, anything spoken. I think it's a product of having a very quiet house while growing up. The unfortunate thing about this is that I'm not left alone with my thoughts for as long as I'd like to be. The fortunate thing is that I can get a lot done without feeling that I'm totally wasting my time. Lately I've been listening to 'White Teeth' by Zadie Smith on audiobook. It's been amusing, but not great. In one scene towards the end, one of the central young female characters. Irie, has intercourse with a set of feuding twins, one after the other, in separate places, for her own reasons. I'm not sure how the story ends yet, but It made me uncomfortable that the Vagina was the place where the two originated, and that it was the place in which they were supposed to be reconciled. The book discussed being the elder and younger son, and fighting their way down the birth canal. I feel like the young woman had nothing to do with the exchange...that her vagina was a battleground or a neutral space for the conflict and reunion of two brothers.
I remember reading something that hit me the same way when I was younger. In Stephen King's 'It' the young people all end up having sex with the female of the group when they are hopelessly lost in the sewers. The sex seems practical and even romantic from the young girl's perspective, although I'm not sure that losing your virginity in a sewer gang-bang would be my idea of a great playdate.
Her vagina is used to 'Unite' and 'calm' the group and they are able to safely find their way out of the sewer.
Glad to be of service.
P.S. Stay the hell out of my loins.

Teach me things

2007-12-25T19:52:00.000-05:00

In the car on the way home from holiday visits, I learned a bit about my grandmother's life back in Italy, and her experiences as a new Canadian.
She told me about the school in her small town, where her fingernails and the area behind her ears were inspected daily for cleanliness. Where the child that did not complete their homework had to wear paper donkey-ears with the Italian word for Ass written across the back. A school where punishments ranged from a strapping on the hands to having to kneel bare-legged on dry corn kernels. I learned that she was the first person in her family to learn to read.
It will be 51 years ago tomorrow that my grandmother and her two daughters took the 12 day boat trip to Canada, and I was surprised that I had misunderstood the circumstances for so long. I grew up thinking that they came over, huddled together on the lowest level of the boat, trying to stay warm and not to starve, sleeping on their belongings, frightened and dirty.
Instead, I found out that they shared a cabin with another woman and her two children. They were fed meals in the ship's dining hall, and the ladies were able to try many things that they had never before eaten...like bananas and beef steak. My grandmother couldn't fit into her clothes by the end of the journey-she had never experienced so much food and so little physical labour before. She saw her first ever moving picture, a cowboy film. Shortly after disembarking, she cut off her old world braids, got a perm, changed her clothes and got to work on her new life.
Mille Grazie, Nonna.

Excessively Long and Sinfully Decadent.

2007-12-23T22:57:00.000-05:00

Last week's snowstorm postponed a twice yearly tradition: Fancy Birthday dinner with Debbie. Our birthdays are about six months apart, which allows us to indulge ourselves twice a year by dressing up, hauling out the pearls and going out to a restaurant that we'd normally never go to. So far, we've been to the Jamie Kennedy restaurant at the Gardiner ceramics museum, C5 in the ROM crystal, and now Kaiseki Sakura.
We had a five-course tasting menu with different sake-based drinks to compliment the food. Some of the highlights included Tongue in red miso broth, mashed Ginkgo nuts, sweet shrimp with yuzu foam, and whole fresh wasabi root with a sharkskin grater.
The waitress complimented my palate, brought free birthday champagne and strawberry-adzuki cheesecake.
I think it's hilarious that Blogger does not recognize most of the ingredients listed above as words. Titillating sights, scents, and flavours, giddy indulgence and good company made this a wonderful birthday. I'll focus on charity and thriftiness, sensibility and restraint the other 364 days of the year

If I had a minute more

2007-12-20T12:07:00.000-05:00

I would tell you about how interested I've been lately in long exposure photographs.
I would tell you about the man that I was on the subway with who, with an air sealed pillow of his personal belongings, had angry imaginary chats on his cell phone about how he just got out of jail.

I would kvetch about laundromat etiquette, and rave about Stanley Kubrick's version of Lolita.
But since I only have a minute, I'd like to discuss the tension between creativity and responsibility. Long ago, I crafted without much thought about materials. I scavenged what I could from the ground, the garbage, or my father's basement and tried to make things.
As I got older, I started to think more about all of the garbage that we produce, and all of the essentially useless things we purchase and collect for pleasure, and what I produced started to get smaller and smaller. My last spurt of pure, functionless creativity was taking apart watches and making diorama inside with the pieces.
While these were beautiful and reused broken goods, they still bothered me because they were not useful. I know, I sound like an art-commie. Living in Japan, being surrounded by ads and consumer goods while living in a tiny, empty apartment made me more conscious of what I bought and picked up and made, because of the lack of space and abundance of waste.
All of these things mean that when I want to give a gift or have an idea for a craft I feel now that it comes with more responsibility.
Is it useful? Is it wasteful? What is the pleasure behind making/giving/receiving the thing, and where will it end up? As I accumulate more buttons and string, more velcro and scraps of old clothes, more paper and packaging, I imagine new ways to be a maker.

Cluck, Grunt, and Low

2007-12-14T19:04:00.000-05:00

I really wanted to hate this restaurant.
It sprung up on a cursed corner in my neighborhood, home to 3 or 4 failed restaurants in the past two years. It appeared several months ago - a meat restaurant on a strip that is dominated by vegetarian, Asian and Middle Eastern restaurants.
I didn't know what to make of the name, or the sign. At first I found it cute, then mildly distasteful, and then puzzling:

I believe that these characters are called 'Cluckstein Gruntberg and Lowenthal', which starts a whole other line of questioning.
I can't decide whether or not it's a good thing that the restaurant has animals dressed like humans-lawyers, I think-on its sign. Also that it is named after the sounds that these animals made.
Before they were slaughtered, dismembered, smoked, shipped, seasoned, smothered with barbecue sauce and served.
I really don't care what you eat. Mood is hard to convey in type, but mine is jocular...honestly. I usually don't eat meat, but I've never tried to stop someone else from eating it. My opinions can be strong on this subject, but I won't shove tofu down your throat. Unless, for some reason, you ask me to.
Cluck, Grunt, and Low, with its noisy, mooing website and barn-like decor, made me think about whether its name and theme bring people closer to the facts of who/where their food comes from, or if it's just another case of making things cute and entertaining in order to remove them from reality. One time I walked by and there was a cartoon pig drawn on the sandwich board out front, with a speech bubble in which he invited you to come inside and feast on various parts of him.
Wonder...

My first animated gif.

2007-11-27T20:37:00.000-05:00

Making a list and checking it twice.

Ideas

2007-11-25T22:59:00.000-05:00

I have an art book from Japan with a picture of a piece by Makoto Aida. The piece is a video where he stands in front of a wall on which are written the Japanese syllables I de a with his back to the audience and masturbates. This man in Shanghaii had a similar idea. He's his own kind of artist.

I was listening to one of my favourite podcasts this weekend, and stumbled upon one by Leonore Tieffer. In it she discussed the hypersexualization of our lives, the desire to compare and compete with others that this is resulting in, the destructive trends encouraged by the introduction of viagra, and the narrowing of our sexual imagination.
She believed that many of the problems in sexual relationships were things that could be solved through discussion and increasing connection and intimacy between people, and that the modern approach of medicating and focusing on the erection as the most important aspect of sexual function/dysfunction was a reflection of our society's phallocentrism. Except, when she said it the first time, she accidentally said fellowcentrism. Or perhaps it was fallowcentrism.
I guess they all work just as well, and I like them all.
The podcast has been taken down as of this morning,(Good work as usual, cbc.ca!)otherwise I would link to it here