C'est L'Halloween

Amazingly warm weather this spooky holiday. I got about 3 days of wear out of my creepy Medusa costume over the weekend, so tonight I am staying in and watching "scary" tv shows, which for me = Ghost Whisperer or Medium. Although such programs are usually enjoyed by moms only, they are about as scary as I am willing to go. Sounds like a perfect Halloween night for me!

The only unfortunate thing about this holiday is that living in an apartment building has meant no trick-or-treaters for the last 2 years. I kind of wanted to walk around to look at kids' costumes in my neighbourhood, but several people suggested to me that might be creepy. What's wrong with costume scoping? I'm too old to trick or treat and too young to have kids to trick or treat, so I don't see anything wrong with being interested in what young folks are wearing these days.

I have loved halloween costumes since I was a toddler. Around the ages of 3-5 was known to get into my mom's makeup and draw abstract lines all over my face. The results weren't pretty, but they were practice for my later obsession with makeup. I proudly wore my mom's glue-gunned costume creations all through elementary school, and come high school I even glue-gunned my own sequiney, flesh-toned Britney Spears costume (which was layered under a pinstriped suit and surprisingly applauded by my middle-aged home-ec teacher) for a school dance. Skill I had, but shame I didn't, apparently.

To this day I take great joy in Halloween and I'm not planning to give up the pleasures of dressing up any time...ever.

Some photos from this week's photo walks:
bright afternoon sun over McGill




Lunch line at a Polish bazaar. So many angry grannies yelling in Polish.

Delicious Polish style crepes

foreign aid, face-to-face

Fantastic news! All of the money that people so kindly and genderously donated last holiday season has reached its destination at long last: Mwanza, Tanzania.

10 months may seem like long time for a donation to be processed in our wireless, instantaneous age. Unfortunately, I don't have the vast resources of a official charitable organization at hand, and things often happen more slowly in East Africa. After a series of money transfers and events, however, the funds have finally been hand-delivered to 22-year-old Sikitu and her family.

My internship was facilitated through an organization called Western Heads East. The project focuses on sustainability and has thus sent a steady stream of interns to Mwanza to ensure the ongoing success of a probiotic yogurt nutrition program. In addition to their project duties, nearly every intern has ended up volunteering for orphanages, schools, hospitals and other institutions. Also, I am positive that every intern has been touched by the people they have met in Mwanza. Because of these circumstances, I am able to send money to a reliable source, and to be certain it will reach the right people.

Doug Keddy, a gentleman who is in Mwanza helping out the project right now, accompanied Meghan (the intern who is helping me deliver the funds) as she traveled to Sikitu's house. Mr. Keddy wrote about the experience here. Though I have not met him in person, I am grateful that he was able to share the experience of delivering the money on his blog. His rich descriptions paint a vivid picture of one of Mwanza's villages.

Although money can be damn helpful and necessary, foreign aid is more than just money. As Phyllis Pomerantz explains, "Money is a crucial part of the story, but it's not the whole story...just like money can't buy you love, money can't buy you reform."

Although sending money is vitally important, more necessary is sending people to establish sustainable organizations that are run by local people, as they themselves know how to best help their communities. By sending people abroad, we establish relationships with our international peers, to find out what they need, and how we can best use our resources for their benefit. Foreign aid happens when people from two very different countries come together to help eachother. One party may give money, one party may help the other find reason, meaning in life.

Buoyed by funding and donations, foreign aid occurs largely on the ground level, in face-to-face interactions between people. It is wonderful to see--despite the many challenges it has faced--Western Heads East is still present in Mwanza, and sending interns who give their whole hearts to the community there.

black holes & blasting water

I live one block away from the barren, boarded-up city block that has lately been referred to as Montreal's "black hole." It is an entire city block whose gradual demise has been a hot topic in the Montreal news over the last few weeks, especially since the last remaining business--an Indian restaurant--recently vacated the area as well.

I would like to say that dilapidated, chaotic space is a rare thing in this city, but infrastructually speaking, Montreal appears to be crumbling, cracking, leaking, and bursting at the seams (see photos below for the last two effects).

Montreal's main thoroughfare, Blvd. St. Laurent has been dug up, sealed, and re-dug several times, much to the rage of local residents and business owners. Virtually every other main street is gouged by deep pits that are not properly fenced off, or just seem to gape open for weeks upon weeks.

In accordance with night-time construction, last night our water was supposed to be turned off for 6 hours, but stayed off for a good 13. This dry period was interrupted by a 4 am fire alarm (the second in two days). A friend of mine had his water turned off without warning for 36 hours.

Simply walking through the streets, one can see the sad state this city is in. Although I have little knowledge in the realm of urban planning or construction, it seems to me that a little co-ordination should be involved when planning to rip up major streets. How about warning citizens when water is going to be turned off? How about actually turning water off in the streets, instead of letting fire hydrants, hoses and pipes spray water all over the streets?

So many places seem to be sitting in a state of desertion. Another expample is Ben's Delicatessen (see above),once a montreal institution, has been closed for over a year, after a long labour dispute that began in July 2006.

It's hard to describe the appearance of the downtown core to people who do not walk through it on a daily basis, so I have taken it upon myself to document how dramatically ripped up this city is.

It's gotten to the point where the state of the streets are described as one would the weather. For example, today I asked Brian what it was like outside.

"Constructioney," he replied.

Which is why, despite the beatiful sun, I am staying indoors today

blogs and getting over oneself

Doris Lessing, a lady who at age 87 lives by herself in London, and just recently received a Nobel Prize in Literature, is hugely inspiring person. Despite the fact that her fiction is based predominantly on her personal experiences, her stories have appealed to millions of readers. Lessing suggests that that the best stories--or perhaps the most relatable ones--tend to come from writers who share a piece of themselves with their audiences.

At the beginning of her book The Golden Notebook, she explains her realization that "the unease of writing about petty personal problems was to recognize that nothing is personal in that sense that it is uniquely one's own. Writing about oneself is writing about others."

Recently, I was interviewed by the Montreal Gazette about blogs and privacy. The reporter was asking me about the act of sharing one's personal life online, and the various ways in which one can choose to do so. She asked me what the intent of my blog was, and at the time of the interview I had trouble thinking of a good answer.

After thinking about it for a while, and after coming across Lessing's quote, I have realized that I do think there is value in sharing with strangers. The idea of sharing with strangers goes against everything we are taught as children. Our interactions(and our words and images) should be limited to people we know, we are told. But sometimes it is nice to share our thoughts in the hope that someone out "there" might relate to something we have written. I sometimes think that the less the reader knows the writer, the more they may be able to relate to the story, the thought, the image--the post.

Through the buffer zone of the blogosphere, traces of the writer's specific life can be cleared away, and the reader can approach the post with a degree of neutrality. Maybe he or she, the reader, will encounter a phrase that makes something click in his or her own life, a realization that might not have been sparked by someone immediately familiar.

I do believe that our stories are less ours than we would like to think. I suspect that there are lots of women who write like I do, take pictures like mine, and who are even gunning for the same careers as I will be. As I meet more people in life and come across new strangers online, I have fewer illusions about my own self-importance. Ironically, as self-involved as the personal blog inherently seems, maintaining one is often a step into a much larger community.

sweet naïveté

I suppose I've reached the point in my life where I have to start networking.

Less than a year from now, I will hopefully embarking on a career of some kind, so I guess I should start planning for that...well, right about now.

The other night, a friend of mine invited me to be his date for a film festival meet and greet he was attending. Despite him being well into the indie film scene, we had no idea what to expect from this party. What we found was a crowded, mahogany-paneled room full of people who were much more dressed up than we were, trays full of hors d'oeuvres that I could not identify (I accidentally ate foie gras thinking it was tofu)and lots of name-dropping that I sure couldn't keep up with.

At one point, I was asking an British man which film he had directed. He told me the name and I said,
"Cool title."
"You don't have to say that," he replied.
"Say what, that I like the film title?"
"Yes, you're too polite."
"Okay, well, I do like it. Can you tell me about your film?"
"Sure," at this point is is laughing at me.
"What's so funny?"
"You don't mean to tell me you actually want to hear about my film, do you?"
"Yes, that's why I asked."
"Oh. It's just that when most people ask about your film at events like this, they don't really want to hear about it."
"I guess I missed the memo."

I totally missed the memo. The one that informs naive young party-goers, "being genuinely curious will make you seem like a crackpot."

My friend, on the other hand, having attended countless parties such as this one at various film festivals, is quickly becoming a networking pro. He even inadvertently landed an invitation to be hosted by a huge media exec the next time he's in Toronto. She took out her wallet, handed him her pearlized card. She looked over at me, smirked slightly, and put her wallet away. She has been networking so long she knows to save her cards for bonafide networkers, not waste them on the tag-alongs who are busy sucking back the unlimited free wine and trying not to fall over in the stilettos they never wear except for fancy events.

So, in short, in the near future I either have to start really networking, or at least learn how to look like I'm trying. Sigh.

and, cue crescendo

Musicians play before a small crowd at the Sala Rosa during last night's Art Matters launch party

Inspired by the hum of creative activity in this city, I am sitting here this morning, eagerly awaiting the delivery of my new musical instrument. Yesterday, during a random visit to the music store, I found the keyboard I have been looking for since I first started writing my own music, many years ago. I can't wait!

why I can't leave britney alone

I have been swallowing my urge to write on here lately, and you know you who I blame for that? Perez Hilton.

I am "off" celebrity gossip sites, off US Weekly, and even trying to wean myself off of my Facebook newfeed. Why would I possibly turn down my habit of ingesting a thrice-daily dose of fragments of other peoples' lives--photos of babies with ridiculous names, pre and post-liposuction pictures, and speculations about the sexuality of teen idols? Quite simple: I overdosed.

I did. I found myself, about a month ago, browsing through one sassy, scathing site or another, my fingers going numb from all the scrolling. What was I doing, exactly? Nothing. I was, myself, doing absolutely nothing. I was creating nothing, I was learning nothing and I was certainly contributing nothing. I was just consuming images and wasting my time.

And I am desperately afraid of waste. I would say waste is my biggest fear. The fear of wasted time, energy, potential, opportunity, resources always haunts me. I always try to ask, "is what I am doing going to produce something of some value, be it friendship, art, food or love?"

My fixation with celebrity gossip was producing nothing but a hunchback from leaning over my laptop, and a creepy savviness about the failures of complete strangers. Being in the know about celebrity gossip can be handy, as a media student, for cultural critiques and inspiration for possible paper topics. My friend Peter told me yesterday that the trainwreck/spectacle that is Britney Spears is becoming one of the fastest-growing thesis topics for grad students. We feast on this stuff! We can't wait to dig our critical theory claws into someone else's disaster.

As tempting and as easy as it is to criticize public failures, I don't want to be a vulture. That's not why, at 24 years old, I'm still a student and that's not why I am alive. I am not the type to circle spectacle, waiting.

But, and here's the thing, I suspect that educated, passionate people don't feel right about just walking by a disaster. We feel a weird, ethical obligation to salvage something from the wreckage, even if it's something as ethereal and self-serving as an academic analysis. Okay, I know the importance of a critical analysis of pop culture (don't even start me on The Hills), but more often lately, I want to just agree to be dismayed, and move on with my life.

Life as a grad student can feel isolated enough without constantly living vicariously in the warped virtual world of Perez.

And yet, admittedly, I still have my fingers crossed for Britney's real comeback, which may be 10 years down the road at the rate she's going now. Maybe it was the fact that I used to be a Britney impersonator, or maybe I have a tendency to get too attached. Either way, I am trying to let go.

last weekend in pictures

autumn

Being home for Thanksgiving seems to make fall feel official. Today it is a pretty unseasonal 28 degrees celcius, though the sky is that amazing shade of blue that characterizes October.

And, through a steady diet of pumpkin themed foods, I have been able to wean myself off of summer. Why do pumpkin spice lattes, pumpkin pies, and the general appearance of ubiquitous pumpkins bring so much joy into my heart? I'm not sure, but maybe I will have an answer for you after I attend Pumpkinfest tomorrow.

One of the best things about living in a multicultural neighbourhood in Montreal is that I get to vicariously celebrate, or at least learn about the festivals and holidays of other countries. Last week, for example, I tried moon cakes for the first time, as part of the Chinese Mid-Autumn festival. Any festival that involves food is worth celebrating for me. The moon cake I tried (see above) was a intricately designed pastry filled with a custard filling made with duck eggs and a lotus seed paste. It was delicate and delicious.

Still, it's tough to beat a pumpkin pie.

taking and giving

"I like characters who do not embody my point of view, but who have an autonomous existence outside of what I think."

- Canadian photographer Jeff Wall

As I begin to devote more and more of my free time to photography, I find that my technique is changing considerably. With each successive shoot, I feel increasingly spontaneous. My work is now less about my idea of a person's visual facets, and more about teasing out those corners of a personality an individual is bold enough to share. It is less about vision, and more about having a conversation with my subject.

More photos of Peter at his home and in Montreal's Parc Lafontaine
here.

no move so fast

An elderly eastern-European lady slowly pushes her walker and its basket full of groceries down the ramp out of the grocery store. A woman in her mid-twenties who is rushing into the store bumps the lady and nearly knocks over her groceries.

"I am so sorry, Ma'am," says the girl, "I really didn't mean to do that. I lost my balance."

The older lady just laughs and says, "Oh you don't worry. You vill get in there in time. You no move so fast to get there. Belief me, you vill be there before you know!"
-----





Homecoming weekend approached, was awesome, and passed in the blink of an eye, as did the year in between this weekend and the last time I went "home" to Western. Peoples' haircuts are different or exactly the same, peoples' careers are starting or are eluding them, and peoples' flip-cup skills are still up to par.

Whatever people may say about Western, it certainly has fostered a sense of community that endures far beyond graduation day.