Month: June 2012

Come on baby light my fire

Hey all you crazy cats!

It’s time for another installment of the Friday Fry-Up. But first, before we get into the meat of the matter, I need to ask you all one question:

What fresh hell is going on around these here parts temperature-wise?

It is ruddy freezing!

I mean, here I am, it’s June, and I am sitting in front of my fireplace, and it has a bloody fire in it.

A fire!

In JUNE!

What. The. Eff.

Anywho, strange things are a-brewing, and until the wind changes I suppose we’re continuing on course for more madness and foul weather.

So let’s solider on!

First on the docket:

Awful doughnuts.

Yesterday, after eating a super healthy lunch, I went and bought five timbits from ye old church of Canadiana (aka Tim Hortons) – because noting tastes better after a cracking salad like those sweet little glazed balls of heaven.

I got in line with the six hundred and ninety-two other crazed patrons and waited to have my order taken. After waiting roughly twelve years, I reached the front of the cue and placed my bets.

Er.

Placed my order.

I asked for two honey cruller, two sour cream glazed, and one chocolate glazed.

(Urg, I never know why I bother ordering that solitary chocolate timbit because it is never, ever tastes all that great. Slightly stale and just…missing something.)

The first two however are far and away the two top offerings available at ole’ Timmy Hos – seriously, take my word for it, I am a card-carrying timbit connoisseur.

Here is the honey cruller:

Nom.

It was dee-lish.

However, I was pretty disappointed when I bit into the other donut hole because low and behold it was not my beloved sour cream but old fashioned glazed.

Blech.

YUCKAMUNDO.

That crap tastes like bread soaked in expired dish soap.

DO NOT WANT.

(Full disclosure – obviously I’ve never eaten a Sunlight saturated baguette before – so don’t get any ideas! It’s a simile you smug bastards.)

And it was a bummer!

So all in all, out of five treats, I had three, but only enjoyed two. This is not exactly world-destroying events here, but like I said, I feel as though the universe is subtly letting me know that things aren’t exactly in balance these days.

Second on the docket:

Joe Fresh Fashion.

Now normally I am a pretty big proponent of Mr. Fresh and the clothing for sale at his establishments. I’ve bought some terrific stuff that I continue to enjoy, both for work and pleasure. However, if you visit one of his stores at the moment you might be surprised to see an overabundance of bat-shit weird, weird stuff.

Like this Finnish flag inspired shirt:

KOIVU!

Or this “Is it clothing, or a walking magic eye puzzle?” dress:

It’s always some stupid sailboat.

Or this neon orange disco suit:

I – I just don’t know anymore.

(I also think that they were implying that you would wear the suit with the paisley green collared shirt.)

Seriously, at what LSD binge were these pieces not only designed, but then sewed together as utterly wacko separates!?

Also, can we mayhaps make an effort to stick to one decade to “bring back” at a time? I was one to believe that we are currently experiencing a resurgence of 90s nostalgia, so let’s keep the 70s and 80s at bay for the next little while – at the very least (we don’t need to bring them back at all, if that option is still available.)

Speaking of which – PEPLUM.

Guys.

No.

Just no.

They are hip flaps.

They are Malibu Barbie.

They are winged menstrual pads, designed as a dress.

They are no.

Just yell no like you mean it, and then just run away!

NO!

Moving on.

Third on the docket.

The Cranberries.

Speaking of flashbacks, the other day I was getting ready for work, listening to CBC radio 2 as I am often wont to do in the am. As I stepped out of the shower, I caught the very tail end of the song “Dreams” and I had a very affecting flashback to the day I finished grade five and I heard the group’s song “Zombie” for the ever first time.

Man, I loved that song.

(Is it just me, or did music – for the most part – mean a hell of a lot more in the 90s than it does now?)

I remember taping (!!!) that song off of the radio and listening to it on repeat for hours and hours and hours.

I always laugh to think of myself as the crazy tall, gangly awkward nerd who would half walk, half dance around singing Soundgarden, and Pink Floyd around the school hallways.

I remember discovering Smashing Pumpking in grade four. I heard “Today” being played from my sister’s bedroom while practicing highland dancing in my basement.

In grade six I saw the music video for Beck’s Loser. Kind of weirded out, but also really intrigued, I asked my friends if they would buy me the CD for my upcoming birthday. They did, and it was AWESOME.

In grade seven, sitting in Mr. Bell’s English class, Simon Eisler played Weezer’s Buddy Holly for our “Song as Poem” class project. I rushed home, found my sister’s Weezer CD and listened to the song on repeat for probably the next three years.

Maybe music didn’t necessary mean more in the 90s on the whole – perhaps it just meant more to me. Individually.

Hmmm.

Stuff to ponder as we head into a rain soaked weekend!

What are you favourite doughnut flavours? Do you like Joe Fresh? And what are your strongest music memories?

I’d love to hear about it as I stoke my fire.

Reading the empty spaces

Friends.

There is some majorly wacked-out stuff going down all over the globe these days.

From the most horrific, to the most mundane, it’s bizarro world out there.

I’m not really sure what to think of it all.

However, of one thing I am sure.

This morning I learned that Ray Bradbury has died. He was 91.

And I am devastated.

In terms of books, I am not one to mince words.

If I like an author, I will make it known. If I don’t like an author, well, I won’t waste my time.

And I love Bradbury.

(I refuse to use this verb in past tense. Just because he died doesn’t mean I am magically going to stop celebrating his works.)

I love him.

His writings are of such majesty that they brings tears to my eyes, and gooseflesh to my arms, and warmth to my cheeks.

They bring me pain and strength and desire and need – to my head, to my hands, to my heart, to my feet.

…

I’ll never forget the first time I read Fahrenheit 451.

I was in grade eleven and I had just finished reading Catcher in the Rye. Reading these two books back-to-back exploded my brain so hard it’s amazing that I managed to speak in complete sentences for the remainder of the year.

I wanted to know more.

I wanted to know everything.

I re-read 451 for the first time in the summer of 2007. This time around I took it slowly, reading each chapter and then pausing – taking time to digest the words, the ideas, dissect my growing feeling of unease, of understanding how this fictional world was so alike the one I inhabited – flesh, bones, blood, mind, and heart.

It unnerved me.

And I wanted to know more.

I wanted to know everything.

After this, I read The Martian Chronicles. Sandwiched in between Asimov’s I Robot series and Heinlein’s The Moon is a Dark Mistress, I learned about the Earthmen, and Those Summer Nights; The Settlers and The Green Morning.

“Ylla” (like so many of the book’s other stories) moved me in such a way that I have a hard time communicating them through my typed words.

Everything seems too silly, too trite.

He made a world that I wanted to visit. Wanted to dream about.

All of his worlds – I wanted to know them.

Know everything.

My favourite Bradbury work is Something Wicked This Way Comes.

This book is probably the most terrifying, most beautiful book I have ever read.

Will ever read.

Often times, when I am feeling overwhelmed, or lost, I will pick up Mr. M’s and my dog eared copy and re-read the following passage:

“Why love the woman who is your wife? Her nose breathes in the air of a world that I know; therefore I love that nose. Her ears hear music I might sing half the night through; therefore I love her ears. Her eyes delight in seasons of the land; and so I love those eyes. Her tongue knows quince, peach, chokeberry, mint and lime; I love to hear it speaking. Because her flesh knows heat, cold, affliction, I know fire, snow, and pain. Shared and once again shared experience.”

I will think about good and evil.

About youth.

About age.

I will think about the American Dream, and its evolution. I construct a world that I imagine Bradbury inhabited as he created his work. I deconstruct the world I inhabit when I read his work.

His books make me nostalgic for a time and place I have never known.

For a time and place I will never know.

I have nothing in common with Charles Holloway, and yet I feel for him. I yearn for him.

I am him.

If you have never had the chance, please, take the time and read this book. It is magic.

…

Bradbury was a literary giant, unmatched by most, in a league of few.

I sincerely hope that individuals, young and old alike will continue to read his works.

Lest we all become firemen.

Lest we all become consumed by fire.

A muted Monday

Hi friends!

Here are a few snaps from my life of late:

Post-gala flowers.

Earl grey macaron.

Multi-hued handbags – not all mine, alas.

First clothing purchase from interwebs.

Relaxy cat.

Ju-on girl, pre-crepe brunch.

FIN.

So there you have it ladies and gents.

It has been a complete and utter madhouse around these parts of late. I cannot remember the last time I cooked something, let alone slept the entire night through.

After a fourteen and a half hour work day on Saturday (a huge shout-out must go to my partner-in-crime Ms. J who was there with me the entire time and without whom I would have lost my mind long, long ago), I am finally done one of the longest, most taxing projects I have ever undertaken in my entire life.

And in just six short months, we get to start working towards next year’s event!

EEP.

(We will cross that bridge when we come to it, and not a moment sooner!)

Today at work I scheduled in the rest of my deadlines that must be met before the end of the month.

I cannot wait to have everything finito, because in twenty-six short days, Mr. M and I will be basking in our sweet, sweet suite in Downtown Seattle before jetting off for five days of beach camping and Shakespeare acting in the wilds of Oregon.

Thank fresh hell it will all be over soon. I work bloody hard, (and I like it that way) but it is now time to play!

And play we will.

Other good things on the horizon include multiple family visits (and more time off) in July and August, Tough Mudder at the end of this month, Franz Ferdinand, Hot Chip, plans to run the Victoria half-marathon (I am still contemplating the marathon – we will see) over the Thanksgiving long weekend, dress-up parties, picnics, general merriment and awe.

What are all of your plans for the next couple of months? I’d love to hear all about your summer stories.

Take this pink ribbon off my eyes

So, as many of you know, I take great pains to work against institutionalized misogyny every single day of my life (much to the chagrin of both my lifespan and mental health.)

Last night I went to a special screening of the movie Miss Representation, a film that, according to its website:

“Explores how the media’s misrepresentations of women have led to the under representation of women in positions of power and influence.”

Now, being the hardened, calloused feminist that I am, much of the information presented in the film was pretty old hat – it wasn’t shocking or disturbing – instead it just served as a means to reinforce truths of which I am already (much too) aware.

That the patriarchy exists. That both men and women actively engage in the perpetuation of this system.

That the media makes millions of telling women that they are not good enough, and that they will they ever be good enough.

(And that they are worth nothing more than the sum of their physical parts – a conceit continually advocated by media conglomerates, advertisers, and the like.)

HEY LAIDEEZ! We even have chick chocolate now! Eat this and be a SEXY CHEEKY HOT FLIRT BECAUSE THE MENZ LUV IT.

This is not to say that I didn’t enjoy the film. (However I actually don’t think it’s really a type of film that you “like” or “don’t like.”)

I believe that it puts forth an incredibly important message – and one that should be talked about by all individuals, regardless of gender, which is that in order to change these destructive, social (and political, and cultural, etc., ) institutions we must, MUST work to empower both young women, and young men.

This is a two-pronged process.

If we hope to move ahead from the place where we find ourselves today, we must start promoting both agency and literacy amongst our youth, as these are crucial factors in terms of not only advancing the position of women in North America (and of course in other areas of the world) but of advancing our society as a whole.

Honestly, so much of it comes down to education.

And reading.

And the stories that are told.

Stories about humanity – not necessarily stories about “men” and “women.”

I mean, how else are youth going to engage with the idea of equality?

How else are they going to develop the critical thinking skills required to operate within the social systems that openly advocate and reinforce inequality?

My husband (who is one of the coolest feminists I know) is also an educator, and one of the hardest battles he wages with his students is trying to engage many of them in literature they study.

Seriously, he will tell you point blank: not many kids reads anymore.

And because of this, young people are less and less likely to dissect the different messages that bombard them twenty-four hours a day, through an ever growing number of media – be they traditional or new.

They are less likely to deconstruct the stories – the tropes, the stereotypes, the norms, the systems – they are exposed to each time they flip the channel or open that web browser (let alone question then!)

Because when we watch television, use the internet, listen to music – these are passive media. We are letting these things happen to us.

With reading you are problem solving, forming hypothesis, and working through content – (yes I am aware that this is highly dependent on the material you are engaged with – but on the whole, I’m apt to believe that reading is a much healthier intellectual pursuit that ye olde boob tube or the interwebs.)

And the great thing about reading is, you get to find out what you like, and then make informed choices from that experience – as opposed to being told what you like (which is basically the main reason that TV exists, and increasingly more and more the internet) and making decisions based on what you think is right for you, and not what you know is right for you.

(I honestly have no other explanation as to why anyone would ever sign up for reality TV.)

Now, I’m certainly not saying that as long as every kid grows up reading a book a week, engrained sexism is magically going to disappear.

Nor am I saying that TV AND INTERNET ARE BAD.

(I have made my feelings quite clear about that sometime last November.)

It’s just that when there is nothing to balance out, or neutralize so much of the awful messaging that plagues those two platforms, (platforms that are owned and controlled predominantly by old, white, men  – a group I would wager is predominantly adverse to change) it is incredibly difficult to evolve.

Instead, these norms are recreated and reinterpreted in perpetuity.

And that, as the movie successfully points out, is something that is hurting us all.

And this, unlike the movie, is something I don’t like.