Twestival MTL

Last Thursday, I volunteered as a photographer for Twestival Montreal, an event that raised money for Charity: Water.

Event photos can be seen here.

I am really loving doing event photography. Although portraiture will always be my favourite form of photography (one-on-one bonding, makeup, and all that good stuff), I have a fabulous time at big events too. It's a great opportunity to meet loads of new people, and it gives me an excuse to dress up!

french fights and equal rights

Back to the issue of anger in a second language that I mentioned a few days ago. Today was freaking frustrating.

Basically, 5 minutes after inviting me to her wedding, and telling me that, "it doesn't matter that we don't have much. Love is all that matters," the same girl who I mentioned in my previous post proceeded to go on a homophobic tirade.

It's as hard for me to translate the class discussion that followed, but it essentially consisted of this girl and a Peruvian man saying incredibly offensive and closed minded things about queer people. I don't even want to repeat the things the girl said. Suffice it to say that our teacher had to reprimand her. When she began to backpedal and said she doesn't respect gay people but she would talk to them if she had to, I called her a hypocrite (which is the same word in French).

When she said she sympathizes with people who say they would kill their child who have what (in her words) "is widely considered a mental illness," I asked her if she would be equally eager to kill a child that had any other kind of "mental handicap." Thankfully, my classmates and teacher stood behind me.

Our teacher told the girl that she has the right to her opinion, but that the school insists on tolerance, and she has to at least respect that while she's in the building.

The Peruvian man said: "the problem begins when you let them marry. It's even worse when they want to adopt. They should NOT be able to have children. " For him, gay marriage is as the destroyer of the nuclear family and basically heralds the apocalypse.

I am not a person who gets easily angered, but discrimination and hate speech are things that I refuse to tolerate. The girl and the man attributed their viewpoints to being latin-american. This excuse angered a lot of the other latin-American students in the class, who absolutely disagreed with them and were furious to be lumped in with their beliefs. For me, being intolerant has nothing to do with what country you come from, rather it is a matter of personal choice.

Anyways, this argument went on for about half an hour, ending only because the class did. Our teacher asked the two students to, if nothing else, reflect on what we've discussed today, and to consider opening their minds and hearts. She asked them:

"If you were in a car accident and someone came to your aid, would you ask them what their sexual orientation was before they saved you?"

I wonder if my classmates will go home and think more about this, or if they will go home to their respective households and reaffirm their close-minded beliefs with their sympathetic partners. I have been thinking about this discussion, and the protestation against equal rights a great deal lately, especially in light of Proposition 8, which "eliminates the rights of same sex couples to marry."

Jessica recently posted a video of Keith Olberman on MSNBC, discussing this very issue. In his words:

"This isn't about yelling, and this isn't about politics. This is about the human heart. And if that sounds corny, so be it. If you voted for this proposition, or you supported those who did or the sentiments they express, I have some questions, because truly, I do not understand.

Why does this matter to you? What is it to you? In a time of impermanence and fly-by-night relationships, these people over here want the same chance at permanence and happiness that is your option. They don't want to deny you yours. They don't want to take anything away from you. They want what you want: a chance to be a little less alone in the world."

Olberman claims to have no ties or sense of obligation to the gay community. He simply cannot fathom why people would be so against giving the equal rights to people who are in love and who want to marry.

I do have ties to the queer community, as many of my close friends are gay and lesbian, but that is not the sole reason I get so angry when I encounter intolerance.

I get angry because I believe that all humans who are honest, good people should be treated equally, and should be given equal status as citizens in country that claims to offer equality and freedom for all. I am always for things that promote love, and against things divide and discriminate.

I have a hard time dealing with the notion that immigrants who arrive in Canada with refugee status, and are given a chance by this country after suffering some kind of injustice or persecution in their own, would not be able to grasp the concepts of equality, compassion and respect for other humans.

I think it's obvious how excited I was by Obama's victory and the election of North America's first African-American leader. On the same day of his election, however, people voted yes for proposition 8. While a step forward was taken, there was also a large step back.

Today I struggled again to express my opinion in French. It's unfortunate that anger is what's driving me to push myself harder to speak well, but that's the way it is.

I am not giving up on either fight.

(il)literati

In my research, I have come across the work of some fantastic writers. One person who has really stood out to me is Nigerian poet and author Ben Okri. In his book A Way of Being Free, he often seems to see clearly into the hearts of all sorts of people. One phrase that I like in particular:

"A young woman, standing on a shore, looks out into an immense azure sea rimmed with the silver line of the horizon. She looks out into the obscure heart of destiny, and is overwhelmed by a feeling both dark and oddly joyful. She may be thinking something like this: 'My soul looks forward and wonders—just how am I ever going to get across?"

I just picked up Sarah Slean's latest album, The Baroness, and am finding it to be her best yet. Definitely recommend.

This is a quiet Saturday. Last night a bunch of us went out to Main Hall, a place that always seems to bring out the crazy in everyone who goes there. I spent too long talking to a moustached man, my one friend accidentally swan-dived off the side of the stage while dancing, and most of us aren't sure how we ended up home.

I guess I was in good spirits though, as I apparently sent the following text message to my friend Peter from Brian's cell:

"Hi dallas says she lovery you and you are a favonsive."

Despite being in school for 19 years, after a bottle of wine, I am always brought back to my kindergarten level of self expression.

stormy weather

Let's get the weather out of the way first: we in Montreal (and across south-eastern Canada) have had 3 major snow storms in one week. Jennie and her boyfriend Zach got snowed in at our place last Tuesday night, and we got snowed in at their place in Ottawa this weekend. I have no memory of a winter that surpassed this one. That being said, there are ways to take advantage of such an extreme winter.

Option 1: Embrace it

Last weekend, I attended Montreal's edition of Nuit Blanche, an all-night party spread across the city's cultural venues. We started out at a giant gallery that had all kinds of lovely art, performance pieces, a free cupcake feast and cheap apricot beer. After dancing in the snow at the Old Port, watching a disco dance at Old City Hall, eating maple syrup poured on ice, dressing up and having our photos taken at a costume shop, listening to organists play horror themes at a cathedral, and passing out at the planetarium, Brian and I made it to the free breakfast at 4:30 am. I was surprised to see a lot of small children who made it through the night at hungrily ate their free breakfast. I admire their stamina.

Ariana and I, falling asleep in line for the free breakfast

I know many other cities are starting to join the Nuit Blanche tradition, keeping their museums, galleries, and other cultural spaces open all night. I think it is a fantastic idea, and it is taken up by citizens with enthusiasm. I'm not sure how similar the Toronto version of Nuit Blanche is, but if it's anything like Montreal's, I would certainly recommend it.

Another way to embrace this weather is to frolic in it. During the height of the latest storm on Saturday night, a few of us piled on some winter gear (and in my case, some scuba goggles) to play in the snow. Instead of grumbling about the storm, why not make the best of it? There's nothing to get endorphins pumping like flailing one's body into 4 feet of snow.








Option 2: Become an Indoor Activity Enthusiast

In addition to my ballet classes (which I do not enjoy, but take as some kind of self-imposed torture), I have recently started taking ballroom dancing lessons. Believe it or not, this was my dad's idea. He thought it might be good for my dancing confidence (of which I have little) and brighten up my winter life. He was right. I think I have found a new passion. Despite his penchant for silk shirts, my instructor is great. Let me tell you, busting out a Viennese waltz is one way to dance away the winter blahs.

One aspect of the lessons is a supervised practice period. At this point, the instructors lower the lights, turn on the disco ball, and start calling out dances to each successive song. I managed to learn the basics of the tango, foxtrot, swing, hustle, mambo, rumba and many more within that period. My favourite partner was 80something man who hobbled over to me to ask for a dance. Once the music started, however, he straightened up and, as if by magic, was the strongest dancer on the floor. I could not keep up with him if I tried, and believe me I was trying. If you are a hardcore Dirty Dancing fan, or just looking for a new activity, I would suggest taking a ballroom dancing class. It is surprisingly fun.

I am leaving for Toronto next Sunday. Before then, I have a heck of a lot to do. Here goes nothing!

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.

my texistence (and its bane)

On more than one occasion over the last year, I have proclaimed texting, or more specifically, those who text incessantly, to be the bane of my existence. Text-a-holics are more than a slight annoyance, more than simply rude--they actually make my life worse. They suck joy out of my life, and are therefore a bane (or killer) of my happiness.

I love the ease, cheapness, efficiency and surreptitiousness of texting over phone calls. I can understand why people text. I text. But when I choose to do so, I ensure that it is not going to disturb my conversation with someone, or offend or endanger any other person. It is very simple to wait until a conversation, or other engaging task is over to decide to send or reply to a text message. People who choose not to wait, or are simply overwhelmed by the urge to reply to a friend's "wut u up to 2nite?" inquiry, to finish a conversation or other task are rude, stupid people.

I really cannot believe that people cut their companions off in mid conversation to tediously press a bunch of digits, only to reply, "not 2 much, just talking to some friends."

Imagine my disgust then, for moms who push baby strollers through crowded streets while texting, owners who don't notice that their chiuahua is relieving itself while they are busy texting (and consequently walk away leaving a steaming pile of rat-dog poo in their wake), or--the gravest offenders--those who text and drive.

Last week, 5 teenage girls were killed in a head-on collision that occurred in between text messages sent and received on the driver's phone. It is believed that the driver was sending messages to friends in the area, asking what they were up to that weekend. This has been well discussed in the news, but I still cannot believe how stupidly tragic this incident is. WHY would anyone possibly endanger the lives of her friends in order to send a text message?

It is a terrible tragedy, and I feel horrible speaking badly of the dead, but when I see friends, my younger relatives and strangers texting constantly, oblivious to their rudeness as well as to their immediate surroundings, I get very angry and very worried. Just WAIT! Wait 5 minutes until your conversation is over, or you can stop walking or, for god's sake driving. Life will wait for you.

keep on keeping on

Is it just me, or, despite the increasing availability of online communication tools and social-networking software designed to connect people, it is becoming proportionately harder to actually keep in touch?

The problem lies in the frequency at which all of these social tools emerge, become wildly popular, and are rendered obsolete when replaced by newer social tools.

I can't keep up with the very things that are supposed to help us keep up with things. This is a problem.

I consider myself to be fairly technologically savvy. And, after all, I am doing my MA thesis on just this kind of subject matter: blogs as tools for story-sharing and connection. But just as I begin to investigate the idiosyncracies of blogs, to try to understand all the virtual chatter that takes place in the blogosphere, and to describe the voices that "speak" within it, suddenly things are becoming very...quiet.

Large parts of the blogosphere are becoming ghost towns. Dusty blogs sit stagnant, left months without an update or a comment and are declared dead after 3 months of inactivity. Internet fame is fickle, and it is hard to sort through all of the ghost blogs and their dead links, to track down living blogs, even using search sites such as technorati. This becomes especially problematic for my research.

The voices, the words, and the people who are sharing them, have taken their digital soapboxes and begun to move on. The internet hosts a travelling caravan of online entertainers and raconteurs. Those who have something to say, want what they say to be heard. They follow the action. They go to Youtube and Facebook. On a more personal level, when the next social/sharing phenomenon comes along, and I believe that will be sooner than we think, will I have to pack up all my friends again, only to "find" them again on another online venue? This is silly, and yet I am a slave to the system because I move, physically, around a lot and I do want to keep in touch.

Maybe blogs are just a moment in time, evidence of one attempt to connect us to eachother. My generation seems to be one of movers and travellers. Perhaps communication technology is simply being developed this rapidly to try to keep up with the pace of life of those who move around so much. Maybe it is just racing to keep up with us.

women: arm yourselves

I find it interesting that the rhetoric accompanying abstinence-only educational and cultural phenomena endlessly discusses the need to protect women, and places the onus on women to protect themselves, while very rarely discussing the responsibility of men to remain pure, or at least to be sexually responsible. Abstinence-only educational efforts are predominantly aimed towards white, female adolescents. In addition to the educational curricula aimed at these girls, various cultural and commercial ventures are emerging to shepherd these girls along the straight and narrow. Advocates for chastity, in efforts to make abstinence appealing, are now telling young girls they have the power to choose freedom: to be free to choose abstinence despite living in an increasingly sexual culture. As author and journalist Judith Levine has pointed out, by using a word so strongly valued in U.S. society, “the idea of freedom, soaring like an aria over the ostinato of sexual peril, was a stroke of marketing brilliance.”

While abstinence is presented as a choice, it is also institutionalized as growing numbers of young girls are invited to the most recent trend in conservative sexuality: the purity pledge. Events and organizations that have young girls pledging their purity—which aim to make abstinence cool by pushing “chastity chic”—are quickly becoming the Christian Right’s main complement to abstinence-only education . The first major organization to popularize an abstinence-only-before-marriage pledge was True Love Waits. Founded in 1993 in Nashville Tennessee by youth minister Richard Ross, True Love Waits encourages youth to take a vow of premarital abstinence that reads: “Believing that true love waits, I make a commitment to God, myself, my family, my friends, my future mate and my future children to be sexually abstinent from this day, until the day I enter a Biblical marriage relationship.”

Canadian writer and journalist Elizabeth Abbott notes the organization teaches that True Love is a God-given phenomenon that “attacks heterosexual couples,” and firmly asserts that “love intra-gender is neither true nor sacred.” It sanctions sex only after the couple has made its union permanent in a Biblically inspired ceremony. Although True Love waits is aimed at adolescents of both genders, all of the paraphernalia (such as dainty jewelry) is aimed towards young girls. Ladies, get yerselves some perty jewels to remind you to stay pure.

More explicitly designed to preserve the chastity of female adolescents are purity balls. Especially popular among evangelical Christians, purity balls also ask young girls to contractually pledge their purity until marriage. These balls, which are attended by daughters and their fathers, also incorporate fatherly protection into the vows. While the daughter lays a white rose in front of a cross, the father signs his own contract which says:

"I (daughter’s name)’s father, choose before God to cover my daughter as her authority and protection in the area of purity. I will be pure in my own life as a man, husband and father. I will be a man of integrity and accountability as I lead, guide, and pray over my daughter and my family as the high priest in my home. This covering will be used by God to influence generations to come”

The creator of contemporary purity balls, Randy Wilson, explains that he identified a dearth in U.S. culture of sites for father-daughter relationships to flourish, and that the purity vow relationship established by the ball’s ceremony “allows the daughter to become a stronger person in her culture as she is bombarded with all the sexual images that are out there” (as quoted in the AFP). With the slogan “Because we cherish our daughters as regal princesses,” these balls function as a father-daughter prom where, after the pledge is completed, dads and daughters dance the night away in tuxedos and gowns . An article in Glamour reports that Wilson began the night by asking fathers “Are you ready to war for your daughters’ purity?” By using the rhetoric of warfare, Wilson’s statement reveals the ideological intent of the ball. With over 1400 balls in 2006, and double that expected in 2007, purity balls are growing as a site where fathers join the war to preserve their daughters’ chastity, and socially conservative sexual ideology at large. Given that those who take pledges break them 88% of the time (according to a study by Columbia University), accurate information about contraception should still be taught. Remember girls, it's up to us to protect ourselves, lest we end up like this. I am by no means against the promotion of abstinence, but I believe it constitutes a denial of human rights to teach misinformation about sexual health.

You can view some sample abstinence-only t-shirts (and some joke ones) here.

My friend Jessica referred me to a link about anti-rape condoms. Critics have called this device, which protects women against rapists by sinking plastic teeth into the man's member, "medieval". In the frequently asked questions section of the product's website, the question "Why must the responsibility shift to the woman?" is answered with:"Simply because your body is sacred and it is your legal and moral right to be safe. Nobody can make you safe except you. You do not have to secure your home, equally you do not have to secure your body, however it is better if you do so!"

Why is there so much pressure put on women and girls to prevent rape and consensual sex, and almost no focus the promotion of male sexual responsibility? Does anyone else see a problem with this?

give and take

"Taking is too easy, but that's the way it is."
-The Spice Girls



I came across an issue of Photoshop magazine a while ago that instructed nerds like me how to touch up old film photos, and even make them look like oil paintings (and not in a cheesy, one filter kind of way either). That activity, for now, is my pet procrastination project.

You see I have this new thing about being productive. My life for the last couple of months has been all about consumption: consuming readings and books, consuming countless movies from Movieland (the great video rental place down the street), consuming many glasses (ahem: bottles) of wine and late-night General Tao tofu at one of the various noodle houses in my hood, consuming albums of new music, and spring 2007 fashion photos. In fact, first semester, one of our profs actually told us that it is our responsibility to consume as many cultural products/news items/trends/ideas as possible. I've taken heed, but I'm afraid I've been consuming overzealously.

But what fun is life if you're not also producing things with your own hands and mind? I feel I've accomplished a lot this year, but I sometimes don't have sense of accomplishment. So lately, I've been consciously steering farther away from Facebook, and closer to: my guitar and my songwriting, my photography, my academic writing, you get the point. I want to give things instead of just taking. But Geri and the girls had it right--taking is so easy.

Anyways, here are a few samples of my works in progress. They're all from my high school and undergrad makeup portfolios (some are just makeup, some are makeovers, as you will see).



Click here for more.

"french exoticism"

Not only was Opera de Montreal's production of Lakme not sleep-inducing, it was breathtaking. Canadian coloratura soprano Aline Kutan was the best singer I have ever had the fortune to hear in person. What a voice! I could only dream of ever having that much control of my pipes. She was graceful and powerful, completely dominating the stage; all eyes followed her wherever she moved. I don't mean to play down the prowess of the rest of the cast, but I have never seen one performer have such...magnetism.

The set design and costumes were jewel-toned and elegant. Saris swirled in the stage fog, and bustling market scenes gleamed with dangling jewels and bouncing cages filled with faux tropical birds.

Highly, highly, highly recommended.

This morning I tried out an Ashtanga yoga class, which was no easy feat. I mean sure, the incense and the peaceful music make it seem like it's going to go smoothly. and sure, the world-class, lulu-clad instructor with his nimbleness made it look easy as hell, but it was challenging!

Today is superbowl Sunday. I called my family to see who my brothers were rooting for (so I would know who to cheer for--go Colts!). Now Brian and I will continue a winning streak of procrastination while we eat pizza, watch the game, assemble our new Ikea aquisitions, and put of thinking about thesis proposals a little bit longer.

cleaning out the attic

Alright alright. It's not that I've had nothing to say, rather that thoughts and ideas have been collecting in my mind like pieces of discarded clothing in a messy room. Or maybe the mess of my room has been too distracting. Hmmm. In no particular order, here's what has been on ma mind.

- Concordia's new gym is huge, clean and glorious. The best part for me is passing the colour-changing wall on the way down the escalator down to the gym.

- In consumer news, high-end fitting rooms will soon be getting a high-tech twist. Soon clothing shoppers will be able to stand in front of fitting room "magic mirrors" and see items of clothing projected onto their bodies via this new screen. They can then email, IM or text images of their favourite items to friends for feedback. Talk about hyper consumption. The Montreal Gazette, to which I have recently subscribed, discusses the increasing speed of fashion consumption.

- Lucky Charms are not magically delicious without milk. They're just plain terrible.

- I've finally come to agree that Grey's Anatomy is a good show. I would love to write a book, show, or play about the idiosyncrasies of my program here at Concordia. It would be a good way of telling all the stories I don't feel I can share online. Ah, the beauty of character names.

- Charest, Dion and Harper have all stood up to ignorant French presidential candidate Segolene Royal who, having never set foot in Quebec, felt she was in a position to proclaim her support for the "liberation" of Quebec. From the Gazette:

"The problem with her declaration is that we are free," Dion said. "We have been free longer than the French because we had responsible government while they were still in the midst of debating empires and revolutions.

Asked if a statement like Royal's can harm federalism in Canada, Dion said: "It hampers her own credibility. We do not interfere in the affairs of a friend country. We do not wish for the dismantling of a friend country. Canada does not wish for the dismantling of France. France certainly does not wish for the dismantling of Canada."

Take that, wannabe FLQ

- I have finally found the solution for my skin. After searching for years for a product that could treat my combination skin properly, I have discovered Lush's Sweet Japanese Girl. It is amazing, and all of the user reviews are true. It exfoliates, unclogs pores, and moisturizes. I kid you not.

Other than that, I want to wish Kate the best of luck in Kumasi, Ghana, where she will join Gill for an adventure, a retreat, and a fabulous opportunity.

"The road of life twists and turns and no two directions are ever the same. Yet our lessons come from the journey, not the destination"
-Don Williams Jr.

"Haraka haraka, hamna baraka" (To move too quickly is to miss the blessing)
-East African proverb

alarm

This morning, someone's bad fashion sense raised a hell of a lot of commotion around here. When a security guard spotted a young man dressed in full camo, and carrying a long, black bag heading into Concordia's Loyola Campus (my campus), he called in the Montreal police. The swat team arrived, and a lockdown was put in place. I had just left work at this time (I thought I had to work this morning, but was mistaken). After Brian's mom called to ask what was going on, I turned on the news and was taken aback by footage of the swat team surrounding the peripheries of the buildings.

After the lockdown, the entire campus was evacuated, and classes cancelled. Soon after, police broke into the locker in which the suspicious bag had been placed. What they found was a poor guy's martial arts equipment. He had just returned from karate lessons, and was attending one of his courses. A false alarm.

This guy's choice of military-esque attire had raised alarm, perhaps bringing back haunting visions of Dawson College shooter Kimveer Gill in his black leather trench. In all the early reports of the Dawson shooting, emphasis was placed on Gill's subversive style of dress. In this case, army fabric seemed to be interpreted as a way of identifying a potential shooter. A sign of the times?

To be fair, I've known many guys who love shooting beer cans with BB guns, who also have had a penchant for camoflauge clothing. I would never assume, however, that pulling on a camo t-shirt or cargo pants means these people would be hell-bent on shooting someone.

Once it was black trenchcoats thought to clothe the disturbed among us. For now, military buffs best leave their favourite clothes at home. What will it be next, Star Wars paraphenalia? Non-conformists (and Star Wars geeks) everywhere, beware. You could be the next potential threats.

Given the nasty bad luck Montreal (and especially Concordia) has had with shootings, I guess concern, and these kinds of responses are warranted.

But still, I feel for the poor guy and his nunchucks.

more tense than awkward?

“We condemn most in others what we most fear in ourselves”

-Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

Hot chocolates and petit desserts are my best friends/worst enemies right now. They're good for the soul, and the student's morale, but not so good for my ever-expanding grosh 15 (grad student frosh, 15 pounds...well, maybe 5 pounds, but it doesn't feel pretty either way).

My body is lacking exercise, and daylight. I write all night and sleep til noon. I'm going to get rickets any day now. 4 hours of sunlight is not cutting it anymore. Soon I'll have to invest in one of those artificial sun lamps for people with basement rooms or Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD).

I was thinking more about sawk, or general awkwardness. I’ve decided to write off analyzing the gossip hens, and just vow not to become one. But, after talking to a few people, I’ve realized that what I was referring to as social awkwardness, is really just tension caused by changing lives and insecurity. I can’t really pass judgement on what it is like to be a proud mom, a bitter mom, or even menopausal. I can, however, talk about twentysomething tension with a fair degree of accuracy…I think.

I know I’ve talked about this before, but now that the holidays are coming up, I realize more than ever that things are not what they once were. Friendships are evolving, revolving, dissipating, and reappearing. Jobs are starting, ending or put on hold for other pursuits. Not all of us have equal amounts of money jingling in our pockets, equal education under our belts, or equal experiences with family, love, or traveling. I’m writing in general terms here, but:

But does difference of current situation mean we should turn away from each other?

Different pursuits, setbacks or accomplishments shouldn’t erase histories of relationships, but they seem to.

We used to be attracted to the things that were different or quirky about each other. Why should the trajectories of these quirks divide us?

Maybe we trust each other more than we think, and we’re diverging for a while, only to return later, once our issues have been tackled.

Do we see past versions of ourselves in our friends, and turn away from what we have tried to grow out of? Is a rekindled friendship like coming home to yourself?

I apologize for getting so sappy on you all. It's my tension talking.

SAWK

I've been trying to figure out if sawk (social awkwardness) dwindles over time, or if it just worsens as we get older.

Most people would probably argue that the early teen years of voice cracks, the sudden need for deodorant, and unrequited schoolyard crushes are the most awkard. I used to agree, but I'm beginning to think otherwise.

The early twenties are also full of socially awkward moments. I think there's a dangerous assumption during this period that everyone has grown up to a certain extent. How do you react to twentysomething temper tantrums, baffling unawareness of current events, or complete neglect of general manners? Whining, ignorance, and rudeness to me characterize the classic cases of socially-underdeveloped twentysomethings. When some people seem at least somewhat grown-up, and others act like stunted pre-teens, it quickly becomes...awkward.

Middle age also seems to be plagued by sawk moments. I always thought the most awkward clashes arose between adults who accepted their age, and the mid-life crisis (sports car buying, mistress-shopping) types. It appears, however, that sawk can be stirred up even between adults in the same demographic.

Yesterday, for example, I was standing in line at a United Way charity lunch. The pasta was delayed, and the flock of mid-forties ladies around me was certainly not pleased. To pass the time, they gathered in for gossip, and somehow engulfed me in their circle. I honestly have no idea how this happened, but I suddenly found myself inescapably enclosed within a circle of sawk.

Lady 1: So, lady 2, I’m well. I’m assuming you’re well as well?

Lady 2: Yes, I’m well thank you. We’re all well at home as well. You know we’ve got the usual holiday hustle and bustle, but what else is new? [Side note: who talks like this?]

Lady 1: Oh tell me about it. The kids’ lists get longer every year!

Lady 3: Speaking of kids, Lady 4, is your daughter still…acting?

Lady 4: Yes, she is actually. She has the lead role in a production right now. We’re really proud, but we’re also trying to steer her towards thinking about University. But we figure it’s best to go along with it now, and let her give theatre a try.

Lady 3: Of course, it’s probably best to humour her for a bit. Let her figure out for herself that she has to go to school eventually. I mean, she definitely will once the acting thing doesn’t come through and the parental safety net is pulled out from under her.

Lady 4: I didn’t mean—

Lady 2: Come on, we all had dreams, didn’t we? I know I did until I turned 30, thought my life was over and the sun would never rise again. Then I realized that my dreams didn’t really relate to real life.

Lady 3: --People have no idea who they are or what they need when they’re young. Not even in their 20s. You just don’t have the life experience to know who you are or what’s right for you. It wasn’t until I turned 45 that I figured out who I was.

Lady 4: To be honest with you, I wish I'd done what she’s doing now. We’re actually very proud of her and we think she has a good chance of making a career in theatre. We just want her to get an education as well at some point.

Lady 3: Of course she has a good chance. But how many people do you know who are doing what they “dreamed” of doing?

Lady 1 and 2: Not many. Yeah, really, not many.

Lady 3: But we all turned out all right in the end. Like I said, we know who we are now, and what life is really about.

Awkward silence. Me, staring down and playing with my zipper, avoiding eye contact so they don’t realize I’m probably the same age as said daughter and start asking me about my life plans. Me, in desperate need of escape, backing slowly out of the circle and quickly budding the whole group to get my lunch and get the hell out of there.

After I finished my lunch I watched Lady 3 arguing over who had won the digital camera raffle prize. She was screaming for a redraw, claiming her son “had to have it” and refusing to take no for an answer. As I left I tried not to let the ladies’ conversation depress me. I really felt for the mom who was proud of her daughter, and had to listen to a bunch of acquaintances/co-workers project their crushed ambitions onto her daughter’s dream. If knowing “what life is about” means being rude and mean to a proud mom, and creating an incredibly awkward scenario (contained in which was an unwilling eavesdropper), then I have no intention of joining the ranks of those ladies. How do ambitious youngsters turn into sawky gossip hens?

Please, do not let a similar fate await me.

In other news, I am officially finished the longest paper I have ever written. One more to go, and then home for the holidays.

See more photos here.

contagion

"Defense against the spread of germs has kept pace with the onslaught of increasingly efficient speed of communication: it is the old story of the contest between armour-plating and the armour-piercing shell, each in turn having the advantage"
-from Germs and Diseases by Andre Siegried

So I'm writing one of my final papers on biological warfare, threats of "foreign" disese and discourses of contagiousness during the cold war. It isn't exactly elevator conversation. I got halfway through explaining how anthrax really does seem to be the most effective, and frightening bio weapon, when I noticed half a bus of people had gone silent and were all staring at me. It's a really creepy topic. It's also very weird to read about how people always try to label a disease as "foreign." For example, many people racistly argued that the black plague was brought to Europe and South America by the slaves, when it was really transported by rats in the horrific conditions of the slave ships. More recently, I remember SARS being referred to as an "Asian" disease, which hopped on some planes and travelled into Toronto.

In a lot of cases, these diseases have no connection to the people of the countries the "originate" from. They are viruses, vectors and parasites that use humans as hosts. They are not the fault or characteristic of the people who are afflicted by them. They are also not very easily transmitted. Calling a disease Asian just fuels the racism of the ignorant. Sheesh. Also,I seem to remember, not too long ago when people refused to visit us in the deep suburbs, simply because we lived too close to the "contaminated" Toronto. These people certainly didn't want to be ostracized by their neighbours. As you may recall, not only was that the summer of SARS, but also of [one suspected case] of Mad Cow Disease in Alberta. That was a tough summer for Canadian tourism. Too many people have watched Outbreak and the ridiculous footage of thousands of people wearing surgical masks around the city.

I worked as a SARS screener for a summer, in a retirement home. Fascinating to see some people drown their hands in the antibacterial lotion to arm themselves against an airborne disease. Other people just laughed at me in the mask, and carried on to visit their grandparents. There are different levels of fear I suppose.

I've also had many friends who have worked as West Nile exterminators during the summer. From what I understand, their jobs consisted of seeking out mosquito havens (see image above) and draining them, or blasting them with pesticide. I wonder how effective that was? Aussie?

But yeah, some of the diseases I am reading about are legitimately terrifying. The thing is, that the scariest diseases always seem to be the ones we consider foreign, because our standards of living protect us to a great extent. As Siegfried's book Germs and Ideologies notes, "The plague is a virulent disese peculiar to certain countries. In all these countries its virus must exist, ready to resume its active from whenever the conditions of climate,poverty or famine give it a fresh opportunity." Those countries with the worst conditions are at the mercy of these diseases, and yet we have the arrogance to call them foreign, as if the disparity of living conditions is in no way connected to us.

An actual bio warfare attack could go undetected. That is what makes me the most uneasy. However, my point is that we should inform ourselves before pointing fingers, and hiding.

The only thing I'm worried about catching is some of the cynicism and antisociability that seems part of being a grad student. There are some awesome people, don't get me wrong. It's more the atmosphere of nerd-level education I guess. But I'm determined to keep my idealistic ways. I don't want to be a cynic. That's what I have Brian for :)

Anyone getting a flu shot this season?

Also, if you want some cheesy information on bio warfare from 1952, check this out.

innocence and experience

"I must create a system or be enslaved by another man's. I will not reason and compare: my business is to create"

- William Blake

For a variety of reasons, it is really easy for people around my age to be hard on themselves. Many people, it seems, are wondering if what they are doing right now is the right/best/admirable/acceptable thing that they can be doing with this time, with their lives. The easiest way to create a set of criteria with which to be hard on oneself, is to look to others. And it is becoming easier and easier to do just this. I state the obvious when I note that programs like Facebook and Myspace (and of course, blogs) are becoming voyeuristic, time-eating (albeit fun) traps for many people. With a few clicks, it is possible to see everything from who did what over the weekend, to who is single or in what other kind of relationship, to what jobs people have (or want to have). It's certainly a great way to keep up with what our "friends" are doing, but I also feel like it's becoming too much about keeping up.

I'm not claiming for a second to be immune to this. Countless times I have asked myself whether I would/should rather be working, travelling more, eating less, or sitting on my couch instead of doing what I am doing. I even look to the activities of people I fuzzily remember from various places who happen to be on my list, and wonder if what they are doing, is what I could be doing instead.


I know for a fact, however, that I am not the only one who wonders while wasting her time. But while questioning ourselves holds a certain value i.e. "Yes, okay, I've seen those other options, and I am sure I want to be where I am," or "Well that other stuff looks a little more appealing; maybe I should seriously reconsider what I want to do with the next couple of months," ... I also really believe these comparisons to be harmful. If it gets to the point when other peoples' activities cause you to feel bored, jealous, or even ashamed, this is a problem.

Because life on these interfaces is not real life. We all know that. Just as blogs share tasteful, selected tidbits of real life, Facebook and Myspace break our lives into profile categories and (for the most part, though there are exceptions) shitty quality bar-life pictures. How many times have I read someone else's description of an event and thought "Hmmm, I really don't remember things happening like that at all"?

But who knows? It is someone else's memories, reality, and how they remember, or choose to show their memories to others, is not (or really should not) be my concern. Keeping up with the news feed is in nobody's best interest, and yet we are still curious. The stretch of text and photos is the new yardstick against which we measure our own worth as young adults.

I think of this point in my life as a divergence of paths. And I refuse to feel that such a cliche metaphor is dead. It seems two paths are presented: one is comfortable, guided by the expectations of others, and lit by the bright lights of conformity. The other catches my eye immediately, but still scares the hell out of me. It offers no promises, and is dark and cool, with an atmosphere thick with anticipation.


This seems to be the point in life where we are "fully cooked" as Rozlyn always says, and have to decide what to make of our shapes. Being young and foolish is no longer an excuse not to do something with ourselves, but there is a dangerous temptation to do what might ultimately be foolish.

The way I consider growing up is to learn how to handle money, while recognizing money can not buy you class. Also, to treasure the things in your life, but to not be made by, or identify yourself with those things. To accomplish something at this point is fine-tune your character, not be lured back into the hedonistic realm of what is really expired infantilism. To realize that you are defined by what you mean to those you care about, not by how you might inspire envy in strangers. To be proud of the life you lead in reality first, and then let it be reflected back here online (if it can be), instead of building a cyber facade behind which there lies a half-satisfied person filing his or her nails on the bed, waiting for comments to pop up.

I suppose I am brought to these thoughts by two things:

1) The strange contrast between lived profiles and wasted real-life potential in my younger peers, and

2) The pride I feel for so many people who, despite everything they have to be proud of, seem to be doubting themselves, yet judging themselves unfairly by rules that have no basis in reality.

Ironically, I have spent time online here instead of working on a presentation for tomorrow, but this seemed important to me tonight. And, as much as possible, and increasingly, I am trying to follow my heart rather than a sense of obligation.

petit portrait d'une ville

Sittin' here sipping on orange blossom tea. Thinking about big cities and anonymity. New music is up my sleeves. Hoping my past won't forget about me.

I've thought a lot lately about what I would do were I invisible, and my intentions would have nothing to do with Clay Aiken and his creepy lyrics. I would take a vow of silence for a year, and do a round-the-world trip with my invisible backpack. By not speaking, or being seen, I feel like I would be in a good position to try to understand what is going on in places with politics I cannot currrently wrap my head around. In my language-transcending silence, I could maybe learn a thing or two. But then I guess people would need to know where my insights came from. Damn.

Long distance feels longer when I'm out of long distance phone cards. But we're all spread out, and spreading out, aren't we? Christmas seems like the space of time that everything will come together, when we come home.

There's a hint of frost on the tips of the air that tingle my nose. The smell of coffee is diffusing profusely from the 5 coffee shops near the bus stop. Wood-fired bagels are carried past me in bags, and I turn my head to stare after them longingly.



Books, books, and more, and research galore. My head hurts and the end of class, and it never has before. Before this year, anyways. My one prof has an endearing habit of messing up his hair as he lectures. By the end of class it sticks out, all static-charged, in a million directions. My other prof lost his voice and told us he is suffering from a bad cold. I suggested he try lemon and honey. He said he might prefer whiskey. We have a bit of a piece of work in my third class. His intentions are good, but I've heard the phrase "white supremacy" used inapproprately more times than I've cared to in the past 2 months. At least he spices things up.

Speaking of spice, I'm going to a "Spices of Life" lecture next week, on food cultures and food prejudices. Who knew these kinds of things were out there? I'm also missing Clinton's visit next Weds due to class. I was going to be a door person at this Millenium Promise event, but alas, academia takes precedence.

Got tix for Imogen Heap on Tuesday. And to think her voice frightened the hell out of me when Mandy first introduced me to her stuff.Also, I found a new place for cocktails. Sir Winston Churchill makes amazing Amaretto sours, and they only cost $2.50. Brian had a scotch and soda for the same price, though this "man drink" was just about the worst thing I've ever tasted.

A novel city takes on an ordinary vibe, once the tourist period is over. That moment, however, is when the nooks and crannies start to appear. And how you find Taiwanese iced mint green bubble tea on the cheap. It's also when youstart to notice how cute little kids look with huge umbrellas, how the man with the cane and the leather pants always dodges around other pedestrians with cat-like reflexes, how the guy who sings on the street near Parasuco and the Paris Cafe has a pretty decent voice, how hot the air in the metro is, how pigeons puff up their feathers and actually look adorable when it's cold out, how some pockets of the city are oasises of silence amidst the mess, how hot chocolate with whipped creamis the best thing to come home to, and how living alone would not be half as fun as living with a bossy but supremely generous and cute person.

I spray painted my gold She-ra boots white! How's that for a budget wardrobe piece?

handful of dust

i know there's comfort in your bed/it's warm and soft inside/ but all the visions that you dread/and all the blankets cannot hide/come with me and we will go/to the coolness of the dark/where daylight never shows/and your nightmares never start/come outside, come outside/hear the calling of the night/come outside, come outside/while the moon is full and white/come outside, sings the night's lullaby



It's nearly Halloween, and we don't have a pumpkin yet. I also don't have a costume. This, my friends, is not good. I've been chained to my desk and staring deeply into my computer screen for the past week. And yet, here I am now as well. It looks like 2 months of taking it easy are beginning to catch up, and I've found myself in the classic student predicament of work negligence = work overload. But nothing should get in the way of Halloween.

I simply don't think it's a holiday that people should give up on. When you're a kid it's for the candy, when you're an adolescent it's for the parties (and okay, the candy too), and when you are a young adult it is for reminding yourself to have fun (and candy). And, you better believe if I have children, I will be stuffing them in miniature pumpkin and ghost costumes at the first available Halloween. A chubby baby in a pumpkin suit is arguably one of the cutest things in existence.

As if to remind me that there is a world beyond my desk and the blinking pixels of my computer screen, the temperature has dropped, the wind has started to blow, and event promoters have started to collage the city with their Halloween party posters. It's time for everyone to get out of the house!

I can't help but wax nostalgic over autumn nights past, wandering in the forests of the suburbs, sitting down by the lake on a friday night with the wind whipping at our jackets. Now it's about finding a place that feels special, adventurous, unique, in the context of a city. A little different.

The other day was a welcome break; Brian and I went with a bunch of other students out to a local Irish pub for happy hour, and surprisingly good (though sketchy) free food. It's nice to gossip over a pint, and speaking of which, every MIT student's favourite 301 prof is coming to give a speech on sports journalism as spectacle next weekend. Is that road trip worthy, Larkin?

Let the costume hunt to begin!