Tag: Opinion

I came to the training house looking for a fight

Three things of which I am not ashamed.

1.) I am a recovering anorexic and bulimic.

Sometimes – although very rarely now – after I finish eating a meal, a little voice inside my head tells me to throw everything up.

Sometimes – although very rarely now – after a week of rest, a little voice inside my head tells me that my inactivity has rendered me ugly and powerless.

Sometimes – although very rarely now – I feel as though my skin is itself crawling the length of my body, and that none of my clothes fit my frame.

Sometimes – although very rarely now – I’m afraid to leave the house for fear of others looking at me.

Sometimes it’s hard.

Every day it’s getting better.

One foot in front of the other…

2.) I firmly believe in the importance of first impressions.

Don’t get me wrong, I also believe in second chances, but nothing leaves a mark like an awkward or obnoxious round one in, shall we say, the boxing ring of life.

And in the end, after the bell has run twice, if I still don’t warm to you, I’m probably not going to stick around and try to play-act nice.

I’ll probably just punch your lights out.

(I kid, I kid.)

I mean, I’m not going to treat you like a right-arse, or anything to that effect – I will be polite, or professional, or formal (or a combination of all three), but then I’ll get the heck out.

My cat is also incredibly picky about the individuals with whom she associates.

Plus, if I don’t dig your style, you probably don’t dig mine. It’s a mutual thing, right? It’s not me, it’s you – and vice versa.

I fight tooth and nail for those that I love (in said boxing ring of life), and I put a ton of energy into championing them and their causes. As such, I would prefer to invest my time and resources into helping those individuals.

I am finally at a place in my life where I have stopped completely wrecking myself over what others think of me (I am now known to only marginally wreck myself.)

And I’d like to keep going down this path.

3.) I love, LOVE pop music.

I sing along to Carly Rae Jepsen ALL THE DAMN TIME. On repeat.

I like Robyn.

I like Lady Gaga.

I like LMFAO.

(Seriously, everyday I’m shuffling.)

I love cheesey, dance-crazy, pump-up-the-radio-and-SING music.

(I like other music too, but come summertime? GIVE ME BEATS THAT MAKE MY FEET TAPA-TAP-TAP AND TEETH ACHE FROM A SUGARY SYRUP OVERLOAD.)

And if you ever pull up next to me in your car, at some random stoplight, betwixt the months of June and August?

You’ll see.

There’s no power in the ‘verse can stop me.

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.

Friday I’m in love

Friends! It’s Friday!

THANK GOODNESS.

Here comes the sun!

Phew, and what a week it has been. Thirteen hour days, volunteer gigs, tears, runs, blisters, beauty cats – and heading into next week, I’m just going to do it all over again.

Do what exactly, you may ask?

The same thing we do every night Pinky…try to take over the world!!!

Because it’s the end of the week, and I am so very excited for the (long!) weekend, I figured it was time to bring back the ol’ Friday Fry-up.

First on the docket:

Street food.

Simply put, I cannot get enough. Although I really try to bring my lunch every day to work, there is only so many days a girl can survive on nutella-almond butter sandwiches (this week was a little bleak in terms of foodstuffs available at the homestead. I am glad to report, however, that to balance this out I ate oatmeal everyday for breakfast, as well as at least two fruits over the course of the work day.)

I wrote earlier about all the great new joints popping up around the downtown core, and it’s nice to try out a different one every now and then.

But there are some days where the only thing I can think about is getting my little mitts on a tofu hotdog, slathered in fried onions, bbq sauce, ketchup, and mustard.

And today, my darlings, was one of those exact days.

I needed to get out of the office, stretch my legs, and spend some time in the sunshine, all alone – on my own.

I walked over to the law courts, purchased my dog, and sat down in my own little sun-soaked spot.

Nom.

Bliss.

Also, it is weird that as much as I love the hotdog itself, my favourite part of this meal is the two last bites – bites that are nothing save for the bun, the onions, and the condiments (that have all mixed together to form a orangey-yellow super sauce?)

Da best part.

Or is that just me?

Either way, it was fab. And amazingly enough, I didn’t spill a drop on my dress.

Look ma! No dry cleaning bill!

Second on the docket:

These ads from Aldo.

Barf.

First, let me preface this by saying that I pretty much despise Aldo and never shop there. Their shoes are totally overpriced, and the quality absolute shite.

Plus there is nothing remarkable about the styles they offer. Everything is boring and bland.

So when I see something like this, well, don’t colour me surprised:

Double barf.

Colour me bored and scornful.

Aren’t we over this trope already, or what?

I mean, if we’re going to keep pumping out ridiculous and sexist advertising campaigns, can’t we get something a little original?

For heaven’s sake, just have a vagina wearing the shoes (hell, have a vagina eating a popsicle wearing the shoes, for all I care) and get it over with.

Because the whole banana/iced treat as phallic symbol is old as dirt and twice as stupid.

(Or, you know, if you want to be totally off the charts risqué, just rely on quality products to increase sales, and have your marketing campaign revolve around your merchandise – a radical thought, I know.)

In the meantime, I won’t hold my breath.

Third on the docket:

I CANNOT stop buying clothes.

Okay, that’s a big of an overstatement. I’m not exactly out on a bender, slinking about outlet malls and breaking open my bank account.

However, over the last month I’ve purchased two dresses!

TWO!

Good grief. That’s one less than I purchased all of last year.

Just typing these words, I feel as though I need qualify and explain how cheap the items were, but then another part of me starts shouting WHO CARES STOP IT YOU WORK HARD ENJOY IT LOVE IT.

Today at lunch I ventured to H&M (holy crappola, this place is like my fricken Brokeback Mountain – for serious, WHY CAN’T I QUIT YOU!?) and tried on a couple of dresses.

I feel as though these past few days I’ve been oscillating wildly back and forth between über feminine and über masculine looks. For instance, yesterday I work skinny-legged men’s dress pants, a man’s sweater, collared shirt and tie, and today I wore this:

And then I tried on this:

Jewel tones FTW.

Which actually has a ridiculously cute bow on the right shoulder:

Bow!

And then I tried on this:

Love me some spots.

Dudes. It’s a lady-bug dress!!

(Okay, not really. But that’s what it makes me feel like.)

In the end, I wound up purchasing both, but got the first one in black.

(For a very, very low – combined – price.)

STOP IT ETHEL! MOVE ON.

So there you have it folks: Food, fashion, and fallacies (otherwise known as the world of advertising.)

What are your favourite street foods? Have you bought yourself anything nice of late?

Put your feet up, pour yourself a cold drink, and tell me all about it.

Golden lads and girls all must, as chimney-sweepers, come to dust

Last night I watched Werner Herzog’s documentary Into the Abyss.

It is an amazing film, though disturbing. In fact, I went to bed feeling very strange.

Mr. Herzog’s films often leave me feeling profoundly unsettled – their subject matter, his style of direction, his narration, his score – all of these elements combine to create a film that rattles something very deep inside of me.

It’s like something has been jarred loose, and I cannot put it back in place.

And I’m nervous – because I’m not even sure from whence this piece of me came.

If you have ever seen any of his films, you will be familiar with one of his trademark styles – how he purposefully lets his shots linger, long past the point of comfort.

Instead of cutting away, the camera will remain focused on the person, or the scene, and as a viewer, it makes me squirm; I find myself willing for him to move on.

Indeed, the longer he stays with the shot, a feeling of perverse voyeurism begins, and takes root inside of me.

I feel as though I have no right to see these moments, these snapshots of humanity – raw, stripped, debased, terrifying, beautiful, maddening, heart breaking – scenes that in any other film might end up on the cutting room floor.

But it is also these moments that – no matter what my stage of discomfort – envelope me is a perverse majesty, luring me into the film.

In fact, they transform me – from disconnected bystander, to active participant.

No longer a passive observer, disconnected from the film, its subject, and its characters, I am forced to reconcile how  my judgments, my reactions, my questions fit into the movie’s narrative.

Where do I fit in this conversation?

Into the Abyss focuses on two inmates: one is on death-row awaiting execution in a Texas penitentiary; the other is serving a life sentence. One crime; two sentences.

The film explores, in a very subtle and yet incredibly powerful way, the question why people, and the state, kill.

Why do people die? Why do people live?

Who decides who dies and who lives? And why?

The film is structured is such a way that we absorb not just the heinous, senseless crime that these two men have committed (for which neither shows any remorse, nor do either of them admit guilt) but also the broader (and yet incredibly insular) world that contributed to the crimes.

A so-called “civilized” society that is unable to tame a chaotic nature driven to seed – one that is reflected in an endless cycle of broken homes, abuse, unemployment, casual street violence – a warped world where two eighteen year old boys would kill three people for a red camero.

Where two young men are convicted of the same crime, but only one is sentenced to death.

Both have killed, but only one is killed.

Although the question is never expressly asked in the film – indeed Herzog never reveals his overall thesis statement – you cannot stop asking yourself, why?

Again and again this question: why do some live, and others die?

Indeed, I find this query arresting.

And it keeps coming back, over, and over again – presented in different incarnations, addressed to different situations, but always the same: no matter what the reasoning behind it – blind rage, capital punishment, war, pre-meditation, revenge – how do you kill someone?

Why do you kill someone?

This system, the institutions we have devised to support life – call it the state, call it society, call it government, call it the law, call it civilization – these are not infallible, impartial machines.

They, like human beings, are susceptible to bias.

Sometimes they are as equally chaotic as the world they are meant to discipline and punish.

They are flawed.

And like human beings, they kill.

And by the end of the film, after conversations with lawmen, a priest, the convicted killers, bereaved family members, and a former prison guard, we can look at this unthinkable crime – these three murders, and their inherent meaningless – and at the bottom of it all, we do not see redemption.

We do not see hope or forgiveness, renewal or compassion, regret or acceptance.

We see only time and emptiness.

Chaos.

There is life.

And there is death.

Two powerful forces – forces that exist with or without us.

Who lives and who dies?

This is something we must never decide.

I’ve found a driver and that’s a start

Happy Wednesday you winsome and wonderful weirdos! I don’t know what I’d do without you.

So here are five things that make my little heart smile:

Lunch dates with my rad mates.

On Tuesday Ms. A, Ms J. (good grief, do I sound like Tyra Banks?), and I had lunch at one of Vancouver’s newer food carts – Mom’s Grilled Cheese.

These roaming food wagons are getting more and more prevalent – especially around the downtown core where we work – and offer a huge amount of choice in terms of menu options.

It’s not just chili cheese dogs and cans of coke anymore, folks.

You can get Vietnamese subs, shawarma, Asian-fusion, Ukrainian pierogies (who knew that spell check doesn’t know what a pierogi is!?), pulled-pork sandwiches, BBQ – seriously the list, like Rip van Winkle’s beard, grows ever long.

(Man, I can’t believe that the most hip facial hair reference I could think of is a make-believe dude who slept a lot!)

Yeesh.

Anywho, grilled cheese was eaten; grilled cheese was loved.

SO blinkin’ good! And they give you a pickle!

By all three us.

I ordered Swiss with tomato on multi-grain.

Cor. Absolutely delicious that was. If you ever visit the truck, and you’re wracked by indecision – give that a go.

You won’t be disappointed.

Trying on pretty pretties.

Today at lunch I bopped about the usual circuit (Vancity’s downtown/shopping business district) with the usual suspects (Ms. J + friends) and I tried on this dress:

This dress made me feel like the queen of hearts.

And then this one:

All aboard the covered wagon dears!

It’s funny, because in the store I felt like I was veering towards the red (I didn’t buy either) – but now that I’m looking at these photos, I’m particularly drawn to the white.

When it was on me, I thought I looked super “Little House on the Prairie”, but now I’m thinking more along the lines of “Pilgrim chic.”

I’m not sure – I’m turning over the issue to the experts.

(aka YOU!)

Either way, it’s always fun when you have someone with whom you can motor, who also is game to play dress up in the middle of your work day.

It’s a great way unwind, albeit briefly.

Plus it gives you the chance to say things like, “does this look like a giant bedazzled compression sock?”

Just. Not good…plus the jeans made me look like a headbanger-carney!

To which the answer is always, yes.

Yes it does.

Tulips.

Spring means many things here in Lotus Land.

It heralds the arrival of the chickadee dee dees – and other bird friends – who have recently returned from their tropical, winter sojourn. You can hear them in the morning as you draw back the blinds, or the moment you step out your front door as you leave for work.

It also means a boat load of rain – but I don’t want to write about.

I want to write about all the amazing tulips that have sprouted everywhere! Their colours are so rich and vibrant, I can practically feel my heart swelling inside my chest every time I see them.

Tulips make my two lips SMILE!

I also have tricky fingers and want to pick all of them, so I have to walk by quickly, for fear of snatching them all to myself.

(And therefore also the police. I fear them too.)

Nail polish.

I don’t paint my fingernails all too often. So when I do, I always feel as though I’ve accomplished something pretty cool.

In fact, I’m always a little startled that no one presents me with a plaque to mark the occasion.

The other night, as M and I sat in front of the fire (yes! A fire at the beginning of May! I am just as appalled as you are!) I painted my nails a sort of aubergine-maroon colour.

It was Professor Plum, in the car, with M’s camera.

And I like it!

A lot.

(Way more than I do the idea of a fire in May that’s for darned sure.)

Tina Fey.

I just finished reading Bossypants and boy did I ever enjoy it. The lovely Emily of Well Fed, Flat Broke lent me her copy and I pretty much hovered it up over the last two days.

Ms. Fey is hilarious.

There were pages that just kept me laughing non-stop. It was also nice to read about a woman with whom I really identify.

We’re not the same person by any stretch of the imagination, but so much of what she writes about, I found myself nodding along, feeling like I could relate to much of what she was talking about.

(Except of course working at a bleak-as-hell YMCA in Chicago during the early 1990s. Of that I have little knowledge or experience.)

SO GOOD.

 I also have a massive crush on her and Amy Poehler’s friendship. Is that possible? Can you covet a best friendship?

Memo to all my real-life friends: Get cooler. And fast.

(I kid, I kid. If you were any cooler, you’d all be ice cold.*)

*In my mind I sound like Arnold Schwarzenegger when I say that.

Yikes! I must get back on track. SO – if you’re thinking of picking up the book, do it, do it!

You won’t regret it.

Unless of course your name rhymes with Parah Salin. Then, maybe, stay away.

…

So there you have it, you wacko beauty cats! Five things that bring me the lolz and smiles.

I hope they could bring you some too.