Je suis faux french

7 classes in 6 days, and now I rest

2012-01-15T09:34:00.001-08:00

Crazy!! I am the laziest person in the world and I managed to go to 7 classes in 6 days. I am trying to get in shape for an upcoming trip… in a week HAHAHAH. I’ve always been a crammer, but unfortunately cramming doesn’t work with exercise like it does for academic subjects.

I’m taking my usual classes, plus I added a couple yoga classes and tried out this ballet conditioning place. I decided to check out a yin yoga class, and holy was it weird. I think the place I went to is very into the spiritual aspects of yoga. It was the slowest class ever, 6 poses in an hour and a half, and I found some of it very uncomfortable and not in a good way. I also felt like I didn’t fit in. The ballet conditioning class was also weird – all weights, and no ballet. At points I felt like there was danger to my knees and back, which I did not like. However it occurred to me, that maybe part of the reason I haven’t progressed as quickly as others is my lack of abdominal strength, and other body parts. I was taking classes with beginner girls who were proficient at pilates, yoga, etc., and they made exponential progress. So, perhaps I need to add some body conditioning regimen to my week, I’m just not sure what I feel comfortable doing, and what I can fit into my schedule. Maybe I have to make up my own and just be disciplined enough to do it. The three areas that are really slowing me down are my weak abs, tight hamstrings, and weak turnout. I am not a person who cares about extension or 180 degree turnout, but in order to dance with some degree of grace, improvement in these areas is much needed.

Oh yeah, doofus moment. Putting my eggs in the dance basket for now BECAUSE, I am still in really good shape despite my old age. No pain anywhere, still feel pretty pliable. But I am turning 35 next year, so this is obviously not a forever thing. I want to take advantage of my health while I got it. My other interests, photography, film, writing, can be done by an old crone.

A lil bloggity resolution

2012-01-10T20:55:00.001-08:00

In 2011 I discovered adult ballet blogs. It was great to find a bunch of individuals sharing an inappropriate giddy enthusiasm for a bastardly difficult dance whose artists end their careers at the ages we’re starting. My favourite, hands down, is Adult Beginner. Through the dance bloggy awards I just discovered another good one, Born Again Dancer, who shares more of the angst I feel about dancing.

So, I am kind of inspired by these adult dance bloggers. I am in a slightly different situation as I don’t pick things up as quickly. I’ve been slogging away at classes for almost five years now and haven’t made amazing progress. But, I am thinking. I’d like to give a little more to ballet this year. I usually only take one class per week because it is so hard and after class I am spent. For awhile I tried to take two, but I was taking classes at a place I’ll call the Adult Ballet Barn and I just hated it. They packed the classes full of students, and taught them as if they were children. Technique was not learnt, and many of the adult ballet students promoted themselves to the next level despite the lack of technique. It was a gong show. Finally I just quit. But I haven’t found a studio that offers such a flexible schedule. Anyways, my goal this year will be to take two classes a week. Aaaand possibly a yoga class for conditioning. Maybe that’s too ambitious!

I have made a little more progress in some ways this year because I’m not as mean to myself. Being less judgmental & perfectionist. Which in turn, has made me a better dancer (who woulda thunkit).

Shoes for dancing

2012-01-06T19:26:00.000-08:00

I started taking ballet when I was in grade one. My doctor recommended it for my pigeon toes, so my parents enrolled me in a free class at the local city rec centre. I remember my dad driving me to a dark and dusty shop to buy my first pair of dance shoes. They were full sole, pale pink leather capezio childrens' shoes.
Later, when I started ballet again as an adult, I bought a similar full sole, leather pair by Angelo Luzio. After a few classes I noticed the teachers and more experienced students prefer canvas split soles. I also noticed that leather gets a bit hot and smelly in the summer. So my next pair of shoes were split sole canvas sanshas. They disintegrated after a year, and I went back to my leathers. Recently I bought a fresh pair of sanshas.

As an adult, I also decided to try social dancing and flamenco. After a particularly painful lesson in a pair of street heels, I purchased capezio character shoes.

Really comfortable, durable, cute but boring shoes that lasted me through beginner flamenco, tango and salsa classes. (Coincidentally, the first pair of street heels I bought for myself as a teenager resembled character shoes).
After four months of tango classes I went to Buenos Aires and purchased not one, but two pairs of tango shoes. Thrifty.

I went to the holy grail of tango shoes and bought a pair of Comme Il Fauts. They were so beautiful that I knew I was not worthy - so then I had to buy a second, not as nice pair to actually dance in. (A year later I quit tango and my beautiful precious shoes sit sadly, unused, in my closet).

My last pair of dance shoes have just arrived in the mail from Madrid. These are the opposite of the elegant tango shoes. After four years of flamenco I think this might be more than a fling (hi tango & salsa). I've finally purchased a real pair of flamenco shoes. They are tough, clunky shoes with nails on the bottom. They are handmade and feel very old school European. I like to think an old spanish man cobbled them in his workshop.

Is this the end of the road of my dance shoe journey? Or are there other pairs to try? Will I ever use my tango shoes again?

More dancing & blogging

2011-10-05T20:59:00.001-07:00

After writing that I don’t think its a good idea to study too many different types of dance at one time (especially for someone like me who works 50-60 hours per week); I started a swing class with my boyfriend. We’ve been together for just under a year. He loves to dance, but has never tried formal classes and was really excited about trying one with me. So last night I was like, yep, let’s do this. This is where it comes in handy that I’ve tried a few different dance styles and studios across the city. The most fun and effective partner dance class I’ve tried was this swing school. Everything about it feels good; from the location to the nice, friendly crowd of people, to the choice of music and the style of teaching. The curriculum is precise. They teach certain steps, in a certain order, and layer movements so that you can get something into your body memory before adding the next step of complexity. I think people learn faster in these classes than I’ve noticed generally.

Anyways, he loved it. Besides the instruction, the music suits his upbeat, perky nature. And I think the fact that there were lots of young-ish, cool guys made him feel comfortable.

This morning I started thinking about tango again. I clicked on my tango blog folder, and found a post about tango quitters. I.e., me. After 2 years of tango, I put away my Comme Il Fauts. The article was one of those snooty, pretentious tango rants about how us quitters just don’t get it. Well, clearly we don’t, I’m not arguing that. But I will argue that for a dance that depends so heavily on following, its a futile pursuit when there are no leaders. Not none, I should say, just no good ones that aren’t your tango teacher. Plus, learning with leaders who are also learning is just the worst way to learn. You learn all sorts of overcompensation tricks like memorizing steps; but not how to follow. The learning curve for North American men is so steep. Not only have they little dance experience; they tend to have posture with their weight thrown back. The milongas were also always weird, disappointing experiences. In my city, at least, it just did not attract a good crowd of people. I did not want to connect or embrace with anyone there. So I had no choice but to move on.

It would be nice to revisit tango one day, when I’m older. And maybe something will click in the future. Maybe it won’t terrorize me as much.

My ongoing rollercoaster relationship with Dance

2011-10-03T20:59:00.001-07:00

If this were a real relationship; It woulda died a long time ago. I’m not a talented dancer; I’m actually more of a visual artist and a writer. However, I spend 10-12 hours a day working on visual stuff at the job I am paid to do, and well, writing is just another introverted, sitting down activity. I guess I gravitate to dance because its physical and extroverted, the opposite of my work life.

For a few years now, dance has been my new weird obsession. It all started when I took a ballet class (for the first time in over 10 years), and got that runner’s high after the class – and then I was addicted. Most days I suck, but every now and then I have a really good moment, and that keeps me going.

When I first started I thought about it, and came to the conclusion that ballet, while my favourite type of dance, is too difficult to pursue for fun. So I tried a number of dance genres; bellydance, tango, salsa, flamenco, swing, jazz, modern, samba. It was fun, but also flakey. It was like I was dating a bunch of different dance genres and studios. About a couple years ago, I realized that the most progress is made when you commit to a style and a studio. And so I did. I take ballet and flamenco once a week each. Flamenco can be really interesting and rewarding, but today in class my teacher was asking us to be expressive and I wanted to hide in the formality of ballet. Ballet kicks my ass all the time, but it really is my favourite and the idiom I feel most comfortable in. Perhaps I should’ve gone all in when I started, but now I also feel equally committed to flamenco.

So has progress been made? Yes, and that’s a blessing in disguise, as I get better the classes get harder and more gruelling.

Lately I’ve been thinking about yoga. I find yoga boring compared to dance, but I do really enjoy it. And its not so harsh and unforgiving. When I have more time I’d like to incorporate a weekly yoga class.

Yeah, you

2011-07-16T20:19:00.001-07:00

I love reading books and blogs about women who travel the world, and I also wanna punch them in throat. Envy, I believe it is. I am currently reading “Poser: My life in 23 yoga poses”, about a stressed out thirty-something who is trying to do life perfectly. I was on her page, relating all along, when somewhere in the middle of the book she mentions that she spent her twenties traveling around the world, carefree as a bird. I stopped. I didn’t go through that phase… as much as I wanted to… did I make the wrong choices? It seems we both landed in the same place anyways; stressed out thirty-somethings.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. I did briefly live in Europe, and I did live in another province for a spell too. But it wasn’t really that fun – both situations I was working a lot. It was more edifying than carefree. Really, the factor of my twenties that annihilated free-spiritedness boiled down to school. I wanted to go to university so I ended up with student loans. I also passionately wanted a creative computer-y job so I went back to school and got more student loans. Then I started getting digital artist contract jobs and worked hard at proving myself while paying the damn loans. So, its about choice really. At the end of the day, I felt most passionate about getting a job playing with pixels and too insecure that I’d find work in another country in time for the next loan payment. But still, living a hippie artsy nomadic life was a definite second on my list of what I’d like to do with my life.

Work, for me, is hugely important to my sense of well-being. I feel good when I’m productive and doing something I like. I like contributing to a project that is bigger than me. I get self-esteem from work, and a sense of security. I used to hate the routine, but when I added dance classes to my life, I realized how good routine can be. I always sign up for a term of classes (much more motivating than drop-ins). And then you don’t think about it – you just go and get better, nano by nano. The problem is when work takes over your life – like it is doing to me. Then I don’t have time for the other things I enjoy, and hard to keep up the motivation.

Its also hard to connect to that free-spirited person deep down inside when you’re working 60 hours a week.

Shopping anxiety

2011-06-28T21:12:00.001-07:00

I have a limited amount of money (and I’m aware of it), so shopping is a very anxious experience for me. Despite my also limited amount of time, I feel I have to comparison shop to make sure I am getting the right thing at the right price. I definitely have problems with ocd, consumption, anxiety, and trying to buy my identity. Sometimes I buy clothes with this fantasy of who I’d like to be rather than who I am, and then they sit in my closet, but I can’t throw them out because then I’ll be giving up on this idea of who I’d like to be. So they remain, living out my fantasies in some other dimension.

Today I bought something that I really needed, and is just right for me. I bought a pair of sandals that are cute and comfortable. I walk a lot, and I can imagine myself wearing these sandals around the city and on travels. Its got that strappy gladiator look without being too heavy or 2008. Even though they were the first pair I tried on, I still had to bounce through a bunch of stores to “make sure”. Nonetheless, I felt secure in my purchase and I wish I could shop like this all the time – buying only quality, needed things that I will use and love. Things that help my life rather than filling my apartment with confusing crap while draining my bank account.

Where I finally write about “Black Swan”

2011-03-29T20:45:00.001-07:00

I was super anticipating this movie. I really dig ballet. I love watching it, I apparently love dancing it (even though it feels like torture), and I love books and movies about ballet. I’ll sit through some crappy “Center Stage: To the Streets: IV” because it supposedly has ballet in it. I was really excited to see the movie. And man, was I disappointed. Having seen a bunch of Center Stage, Turning Point ballet movies, this was just a horror mashup of ballet stereotypes. Nothing rang true except maybe the costume design. I couldn’t really enjoy the dancing because I was terrified the whole time. Why was I terrified? Because the constant scary music was telling me to be, and I am so conditioned by scary music that I just freak out.

I need to watch the movie again, but I really don’t recall much actual dancing. I saw some toes here, some flapping arms there. Oddly, I don’t think the director was really interested in Ballet. Ballerinas, yes, not ballet. If he had I think it would have been a more nuanced film.

I’m finally writing about Black Swan because of the recent controversy involving her dance double, Sarah Lane, who was shafted proper credit. I don’t doubt that the illusion of Natalie becoming a ballerina was behind her oscar win. I found her performance of Nina underwhelming. But this is where I have some inside knowledge most people don’t have;

Easy ballet is fucking hard.

Natalie and Mila would’ve had to work their asses off to do the simplest things; and its very impressive that they were able to go on pointe. I don’t doubt that they worked very hard, but the script still sucked and the acting was mediocre.

Epiphanies & Transformations

2011-01-03T14:59:00.001-08:00

In my demograph, say women over 25 up to the baby boomers, I think there is a fascination or mythology of transformation. From Oprah to Eat, Pray, Love to the all the many year of living X projects. Maybe 15 years ago I read a Douglas Coupland book. There was a character of a french woman who told the main character, something like (gross paraphrase), “In America, you always want to change. When you meet someone you haven’t seen in years, you want to say ‘Oh, I’ve changed so much, I’m a completely different person’”.

In my magazine & bloggy reading, I often come across accounts of women who tried something, met someone, or visited a country that catalyzed an epiphany or transformation. Its something I envy. Particularly the stories of women who took a dance class and a year later were semi-professionals. I’ve been taking dance classes for three years as an adult and I’m still scraping along in beginner classes. Nor have I found a type of dance I truly click with other than ballet, and ballet is too difficult to get good at. Nor have I had transformative experiences in foreign countries. Its just me… in a different place. There’s also the stories of women who turned their hobbies into profitable small businesses and were able to quit their day jobs. Love those stories ;-)

I suppose its like finding a life partner or soulmate. When they first picked up a pair of knitting needles or a cookbook they fell in love and were able to focus tremendous energy on this project and turn it into something real. I guess for me, my hobbies are like my dating life. I’m dating a lot of different hobbies. I’ve tried swing, tango, salsa, samba, pole, jazz, modern, flamenco, bellydance, burlesque, sometimes for a class, sometimes for several. I still want to try hip hop, contemporary, aerial, bollywood and celtic. :-D. Which I know, is nuts. Its like taking Japanese, German, Italian, and Spanish all at the same time. (Come to think of it, my hobbies did include studying Spanish and Italian, FTW). Next week I start a photography class.

Hmmm, but as I’m writing this, I think perhaps I have had clicky experiences that weren’t as memorable because they weren’t as dramatic. When I was about 19 or 20 I clicked with the College street neighbourhood. I thought I’d like to live there, and a couple years later I did. I stayed for years. It had the perfect mix of the old world southern Italian immigrant vibe that I grew up with (my family settled there when they first arrived), and the young student/grad boho hipster thing too. I’ve also had a couple clicks with my job. The first was at a very young age, 16 or 17, when I realized I liked making stuff with computers. The second was when I had my first job after graduation and first taught myself how to use the software, and it clicked that I loved and wanted to do this. I’ve always clicked with writing… just haven’t done anything with it. There are places in the world I clicked with; Inis Mor in Ireland, Nicoya Peninsula in Costa Rica, Tropea in Italy, Gaspe Peninsula in Quebec, California, NYC, Barcelona, and Nice. Basically I love anything with a coastline and a Mediterranean climate is a plus. I’ve always loved books, film and ballet, from a very young age. This is starting to sound to sound like a vision board. Which, ironically, is a tool in the transformative process I’m so jealous of…. I’ll be right back.

Um. Other than being attracted to images of pretty ladies and throw pillows, this collage is not giving me any insight.

New Year’s Resolutions

2011-01-01T18:28:00.001-08:00

Hello neglected blog, not sure why I’m still keeping this going when I obviously suck at it, but there is some reason and so I will let it be until it completely runs it course.

I’ve been so busy with work that I haven’t had time to update. Work is something that I both resent and am grateful for. Not just the paycheque, but the way it consumes me and keeps me out of the black holes of melancholy I fall into.

I haven’t been winning at life. There are things that need to change, and I’m going to try to identify each individual nugget of shit that’s keeping me down. I’m going to start with the practical and work my way up to the conceptual.

Practical.

1. Go to bed on time. Being a natural night owl, I get my energy later and have trouble shutting down for the night. Invariably I wake up feeling like crap and sleepwalk through my days. Having the energy to more than just get through a day would enrich my life.

2. Watch my pennies. Money, student loan debt, and the fear of poverty keeps me anxious, feeling trapped, and afraid to take risks.

3. Spend way less time on the internet. I think I got seduced by social media, thinking that it was a way to connect, only to realize it only truly reflects how much you connect in real life. Numerous fractured anonymous personae and chronic information gathering serve no real purpose. Ironically, I write to my blog. Granted I think that blogging is a more active form of internetting and not the devil. The devil is the hours whiled away in front of the computer reading internet minutiae. Its sad that I know what rikrolling is. I’m killing all internet accounts I don’t use regularly, and combine things I use for tracking info into evernote. The internet is just not working for me.

4. I need to socialize more. My past years of hermitage, while destructive to my social connections, were not entirely bad as I learned to deal with my problems by myself, I learned to love being alone, I found some balance, was able to concentrate on work, hobbies, and housecleaning, and I became less needy. But um, now I need to figure out how to balance social life with my work and hobbies.

Less Practical

5. Curb my anxiety. I rarely get through a day without some bout of stress, and after years of this, it can’t be good for my health. I still need to figure out how. I think deep breathing and talking myself out of each individual bout will help.

5. I must stop being a jerk to myself. So what if I’m ugly and ordinary. Most people are ugly and ordinary but manage to love and live.

6. Romantic rejection does not mean that I am unworthy.

More Conceptual

7. Everyone has their path. I chose to concentrate on my career, rather than my social life, or a nomadic life, or family life. I often envy other people’s paths, but they likewise often gave up something for something.

8. The past is past. Give up regret.

9. Stop comparing my experiences to what they should be and just experience.

10. Stop hoping to achieve validation through my goals. Do things because I want to, no less.

Money & electronics

2010-09-27T18:41:00.001-07:00

I was playing solitaire on my two year old ipod nano on the subway to pass the time, when I looked up and saw a depressed old man, holding his hands, staring into space, and suddenly realized how lucky I am to be able to purchase this gadget. I guess this train of thought began when I was listening to the radio the other day, and it was a classical request program. Everyone who called in sounded odd, a little uncomfortable with speaking, and I became very melancholic over this outdated medium. “Who requests music on the radio anymore” I thought, “when you can just download any song.” And of course, the answer is clearly, people who can’t afford a $600+ computer + $40/month for internet, but can afford a $10 radio.

In Toronto, (and in any big North American city), the minimum cash needed just to survive month to month is actually quite high. Rent, hydro, phone, food, toiletries (and we’re talking just basic, no frills stuff) will cost between $1000-$1200 a month, I estimate. A $100 ipod shuffle, and the computer needed to put songs on it, is just out of the question on that budget. So is most entertainment. Adding a $50 cable bill to that budget can sink a person. I just did a cursory search for welfare, old age pension and disability payments. A single mother gets about $1,300/month, OAS is $500/month, and disability ranges – let’s say about $1000/month. Most of us just throw out our old electronics like they’re junk.

Granted, most companies don’t make products that are easily recyclable. And um, yeah, Apple products are among the worst. I switched back to PC computers because I can reuse all components.

A Story about Style

2010-07-25T20:29:00.001-07:00

When I was 18 I spent a summer in Montreal studying french. (This was a million years ago so, no, I don’t remember the language).

I never had any special desire to learn french, just a fake french name and an opportunity to study for free through Canada’s bilingual program. In order to qualify for a bursary of five weeks of study, room and board, all paid for by the government, you needed to be a student. And that was it – your grades didn’t matter.

I took the train there, for free, because my dad was an employee of Canadian National Railways. I wore a white dress shirt that had been my brother’s grade 9 uniform shirt, a black a-line miniskirt I had bought for $20 from Dynamite and which I wore all the time, burgundy tights and 8 hole doc martens. I weighed about 100 pounds and had dyed dark red hair. When I arrived at the school I met a girl who told me she had seen me on the train and thought that I was a Montrealer.

We went to a lot of bars and restaurants that summer. I had a small savings account that I used to put christmas and birthday money in and I used up most of it that summer. I preferred the divey grungey bars of Montreal (it was the 90s, and I was pseudo bohemian), but I also went to nicer bistros and clubs with the other girls. One night we went to an upscale rooftop bar. I was 18 and probably looked younger and was worried I wouldn’t fit in. I didn’t even know what fitting in would look like. I think I wore a lace pencil skirt I had found at a Montreal thrift shop, DIM fishnets (they had a smaller, tighter weave than typical fishnets), a pair of black heels that looked like vintage character or flamenco shoes, and a black top of some sort. I had a vintage clutch I’d found at goodwill for $3. I am sure I looked out of place, but probably had enough bohemian retro vibe going on that it was acceptable.

My fashion was hit and miss; but at that age of 18, surprisingly there were more hits. I cultivated a wardrobe of vintage things from thrift stores and the occasional pricier piece from Jacob or Le Chateau. (This was long before H&M). I cherished my wardrobe – it really was like an art collection of special pieces I found. I didn’t have as many clothes and wore things much more often than I do now.

Oddly, I rebelled from myself and went through a bunch of bizarre fashion phases from my teens in my early twenties (goth, rave, glam, indie- the precursor to hipster). In my mid twenties I regressed into a hippie/grungey teenagery look as I felt that was the last chance I had to dress like a mess. Then there was the floundering into adulthood, a confused sartorial journey aided by H&M and Jacob and often derailed by some hipster throwback impulse.

Who knows what the future holds, but I think the future wants me to dress in vintage again.

“What the Dog Saw”

2010-07-21T10:23:00.001-07:00

Part Three; Personality, Character and Intelligence.
“Late Bloomers; Why Do We Equate Genius with Precocity?”

“What the Dog Saw” by Malcolm Gladwell was my companion through my trip to Italy. It framed many of my experiences, from discovering the flavour of umami as a clue to why Italian food is so excellent, to noticing the graceful and emphatic body language of Italians. One insight especially resonated with my state of mind at the time.

Soon into his essay about genius, Gladwell parlays some stats and quickly debunks the artist as child prodigy myth. He then meanders into a hypothesis; there are two kinds of artists. One, the prodigy, is a conceptual artist. His ideas arise fully formed and then are transmitted through the medium. The second is experimental. She doesn’t know the end product, her art is a method of searching. These are the late bloomers. Gladwell wrote of an artist who went to Haiti 30 times; without a clear idea of why or what he planned to do. In the end a best-selling book emerged.

At the time of reading, I was on a trip for which I had only a vague notion of why I was there. I was following some vague instinct. A vague, expensive instinct. I did not have any grand experiences or life-changing insights. I made some mistakes. Much like the rest of my life, which is a comedy of trial and error. There are many things I like to do, and many things that interest me, but I do not have that overriding concept of “I must do this and live here”. Therefore, most of my activities, trips, jobs, decisions, are experiments. Some work, half don’t. My life is like a crappy rough draft of an immature artist. The essay gave me hope that the things I chip away at, the ideas I mull over, and the experiences I chase may one day coalesce into something grander than myself.

Getting the heroine wrong

2010-07-19T13:43:00.001-07:00

There’s an interesting, provocative discussion of Russell Smith’s new book “Girl Crazy” in Eye Weekly.

Background; Russell Smith is probably the Canadian version of Jay McInerney. His early fiction was contemporary portraits of scenesters in the city. I love him for writing about Toronto as a vibrant character in its own right. He’s now an aging Gen-Xer.

The book provoked some harsh criticism from the Eye Weekly panel, and thank god for that as I often find Canadian lit criticism too tepid. I think we’re afraid of criticizing someone we may actually run into. The critics mainly take offense with the utterly cliched premise of the book; an older wimpy man develops an infatuation with a cheap stripper type. That was enough to turn me off picking up the book. I do not need to read any more explorations of a man’s fascination with this crude, overly sexualized young femme fatale. As one reviewer wrote, “It's difficult to objectively review a novel that I feel actively dislikes the person that I am.”

Sure, this type of affair abounds in both fiction and reality; but I do not share the fascination in her that some men and authors do. Not just the aggressively sexual type, but any of her femme fatale sisters from characters played by Angelina Jolie to the empty non-women painted by broad brush strokes in novels.

The heroine I’m interested in does not rebel by transgressing sexual mores or adopting masculine traits. That is boring and empty. Nor is she a perfect model of femininity and decorum either. I’m not sure what my heroine does because I haven’t met her yet. I imagine she’s some sort of anti-hero, a female Clint Eastwood. In her own way; not a masculine imitation with long hair.

Jezebel, The Daily Show, and Slate duke it out virtually on behalf of Womanity

2010-07-18T21:55:00.001-07:00

Full Disclosure; my main source of news comes from The Daily Show and Jezebel, a tv news parody and a celebrity gossip blog; my beloveds. Yeah, I’m an awesome citizen of the world. So when I read this post in Jezebel that claimed The Daily Show was a sexist place to work, I was heartbroken. It was like one best friend telling me my other best friend was a secret nazi. However, I quickly rallied. How could this be true about a show that I love? There were a couple weak points of the article that called into question its integrity. The first was that it claimed the show did not appeal to women. Um, hello? Second, it completely neglected to mention hilarious Samantha Bee’s success on the show. And sure enough, the next day Jezebel posted a follow up, a link to a statement from The Daily Show’s women stating that the articles claims were bogus and based on biased sources. Whew.

Then this article appeared. The title, “Outrage World; How feminist blogs like Jezebel gin up page views by exploiting women’s worst tendencies” gives it away; the author doesn’t like women much. (Apparently, we women have some worse tendencies, easily exploited. Unlike the menz, who never have jealous or competitive feelings towards their bros.) The remainder of the article I may sum as “Jezebel sucks because they incite feminist rage and hatred of pretty women. Oh, and they don’t tolerate anyone who thinks differently.” Fascinating, because The Daily Show’s official rebuttal to the initial post was posted in Jezebel itself. The controversy over the hiring of attractive Olivia Munn was only a brief speculative point somewhere in the middle of the original article.

The comments to Slate’s article were typically bizarre, ranging from Ms. magazine feminists who were disappointed that Jezebel wasn’t feminist enough, to those douchey men that roam the internet commenting that every woman with a thought is a feminazi.

The truth, with everything, lies somewhere in the middle. Jezebel is not a feminist blog, but has a few writers with feminist leanings. It is a conglomerate of quick and dirty writing culled from celebrity gossip and the blogosphere. Some of it is tripe, some of its awesome. The commenters reflect the full spectrum of opinion on every subject. I don’t like or agree with everything they post, its not a hive mind. Jezebel gets me through my day, every day, and for that I owe my fiercest allegiance.

World Cup withdrawal

2010-07-12T16:35:00.001-07:00

Torontonians celebrating Spain’s win. Picture stolen from Blogto.com.

Sigh. My dad introduced me and my brother into World Cup soccer back in 1994. Back then it was part of the package of Dad’s eccentric un-canadianisms like espresso, noisy family, and anchovies. We were on summer break, so we were able to watch all the games. And we pretty much did, getting caught up in the passion and drama of world cup soccer. We were rooting for Italy (for our dad) and they played some amazing dramatic soccer; I remember Baggio always scoring these beautiful last minute goals and saving the game. We thought we might go to St. Clair if they won; and it was really sad to see them lose in a penalty shootout to Brazil.

The next World Cup was in France; and so was I. It was a complete coincidence; but I got to watch a lot of games in hostel bars. I left before France won. Again, I ended up in Europe four years later. 2006 was the first World Cup I spent fully in Toronto, and was surprised when the games started and I realized something was different – I was still here! I didn’t watch as many games due to work and friends who weren’t really into it.

Nonetheless, I was back on track this summer when I found myself (by coincidence) in Italy during the start of the games. I returned to Toronto a couple weeks ago and caught the rest without the interruptions of travel. Last night I finally found myself in a group of girls who were as into it as I was (the drama, the game, the hot men). In the excitement, we headed down to the spanish hood to watch the party.

I’ve been joking about how I’ll end up in Brazil for the 2014 games. Who knows? It would be a fitting culmination to my WC odysseys. It has always been a special time for me, and its been great to watch the popularity of the sport grow (especially because now I have more friends to watch it with).

Italy is still my team (although I haven’t been impressed with their play lately). But I’m dreaming of a Canadian team! I would love to see my country represent.

A ticket to Italy

2010-05-26T20:11:00.001-07:00

So I’m going! Its… rather spontaneous. My trip is in three weeks. I got word that my project is wrapping up sooner than I thought, so I bought a ticket for shortly after. I keep taking on new projects without stopping for a break; and so I’m forcing myself to grab this window of time while I can. I’m long past burnt out. And I must say I’m nervous about it. I have a feast or famine approach to work.

Going spontaneously means I’m going alone (Any Italy bloggers reading who can suggest good places to visit/things to do for a single lady?)

Why Italy? Well, I made the mistake of asking my Italian relatives for advice on where to vacation. According to them all other countries are totally overrated. And Italy has been on my brain lately. Maybe this will be my eat, pray, love summer… except a lot shorter, and without the praying and loving. I’ve never even been much of a foodie.

I hope my trip doesn’t suck :-). I’m going to try to keep my expectations low and just learn to enjoy the moment.

Organic beauty

2010-04-11T12:17:00.001-07:00

In the past year I’ve been phasing out my regular cleansers and cosmetics and replacing them with organic, eco-friendly products. Blogging about products is totally lame, but I am doing it for the planet!!! Anyways, it took me a lot of research, trial and error to find good, inexpensive products that are actually eco-friendly. (I’m not affiliated with any company/getting paid for this post). A lot of products claim to be natural just because they have one or two plant ingredients, but if you read the ingredients, they’re full of parabens, silicones, sulfates, and other crap. Other products are actually green, but don’t work or are too expensive.

About a year ago, I decided to let my hair go curly rather than chronically straightening it. I found a website (probably through some internet discussion on “good hair”) called Naturally Curly. I had a lot of baggage about curly hair. I thought it made me look ugly, but constantly fighting it was ruining my hair and costing a lot of money.

The gist of the naturally curly method is to avoid using harsh chemicals that dry out and break curly hair, and to avoid waxes and silicones that stick to hair and weigh curls down. After a couple months of changing my routine, I started getting a lot of compliments on my curls, that have continued. After some trial and error with health food store shampoos and expensive products, the best hair care I found at the drugstore. Live Clean is Canadian, biodegradable, free of harsh chemicals, made with organic ingredients, doesn’t test on animals, and it costs the same as other drugstore shampoos. Recently I started using their argan oil, which has smoothed out my hair.

After seeing the difference in my hair, I decided, hey, maybe my face would benefit too. Other than sunscreen, skin creams are basically bullshit. They do nothing for your skin. They’re formulated mainly to feel nice and look shiny as you put them on. There’s only three ingredients that have shown any improvement to skin in clinical studies; retinol (vitamin A), vitamin C, and vitamin E (tocopherol). Juice Beauty contains these ingredients, is made with certified organic ingredients, doesn’t contain harsh chemicals, uses recycled packaging and eco-friendly production. However, it is not cheap. I justify the purchase because I’m a vain hippy.

I haven’t phased out my cosmetics yet, I’m still using vile petroleum based products, but I only wear makeup occasionally. I have tried Physician’s formula Organic Wear bronzer, which was nice and affordable. Cosmetics can also be found at health food stores, The Body Shop, and the Sephora natural section, but I haven’t tried any of their products yet.

I am sure these products aren’t perfect and won’t perform miracles, but I did actually look up the definitions of ingredients before I went to the drugstore. Its amazing how many cosmetics are full of petroleum crap yet claim to renew a woman’s skin. I used to use Clinique and my god they don’t even list their ingredients anywhere. If we’re going to spend money on shampoo and facial cleanser, we may as well use stuff that is eco-friendly.

An excess of ambition

2010-04-10T21:03:00.001-07:00

Noticed: I’m wearing myself out trying to be perfect, then getting angry at myself for failing.

I used to be more forgiving. Maybe around the age of 18, I gave myself a free pass for my quirky, absent-minded, non-schedule keeping self. “I’m just artistic, that’s my problem.” And didn’t worry about it too much. Then I became an adult, and decided that excuse just doesn’t cut it anymore.

So, I’ve decided to give myself a break. I’ve accomplished plenty. Now I need to rest. :-)

Rather than trying to do everything all at once; I will just concentrate on whatever it is that my heart feels most strongly at one time.

Rather than worrying chronically, I’ve also decided to schedule my existential crisis. My next one is in May. :-)

Tonight, I read a magazine and now I’m going to watch a silly movie, and I’m really grateful I have the means to do so.

“Paris Times Eight” book review

2010-02-28T12:17:00.001-08:00

I exercise every Saturday near a bookstore, and after class I often poke my head in… and make mental notes of books I’ll later take out at the library. Yesterday I picked up “Paris Times Eight,” and after I’d read a couple chapters I decided to buy it. I’ve been having a really shitty go of it the past couple weeks, and as a chronic, unreformed bookworm; diving into this book gave me the same feeling I experienced as a child bookworm of entering another world of a kindred soul.

Paris Times Eight: Finding Myself in the City of Dreamsis an autobiographical collection of stories of Torontonian Deirdre Kelly’s eight trips to Paris. I immediately indentified with Deirdre, she’s my people. She’s a woman from a poor background who grew up in utilitarian Toronto; dreaming of Paris and strictly denying herself fun or sensuality less they interfere with her goals. Ironically, Paris is not easy on Deirdre. It heightens her sense of inadequacy and poverty.

I found in this book a unique voice of the Canadian tourist that I relate to more than American tourist writing. Americans are bold and optimistic and their currency is usually stronger. Even if they’re broke, they have the confidence that they’ll find work quickly. Deirdre, on the other hand, is shy, timid, and easily mortified when she commits faux-pas. She takes refuge in studying the art of the city thoroughly, rather than getting to know the people. You could also call this book “A Nerd in Paris,” and reminds me of my favourite 30 rock moment;

Deirdre takes her second trip to Paris when she finishes her undergrad, hoping to stay and become a writer. But her money is running out and she can’t find work. In a conversation with an American artist, she talks about her disciplined life of study and exercise in Toronto, “I said that I had been in fear of sliding. I had nothing to fall back on should I fail.” Later, she calls her mom for money and her mom talks her back home;

“You haven’t a job and you haven’t any money, and let me tell you something about that fact of life, you never seem to give it much thought, lost in your world of books and make-believe. When you don’t have money, life is miserable. Even Paris can feel like a trap if you can’t eat or go to all the nice places you are telling me about. Believe you me, four walls in Paris will look just as depressing as four walls in Toronto if you can’t go out and enjoy yourself.”

After awhile I started wondering why Deirdre still liked Paris. It seemed nothing much ever went right for her there. Perhaps as a high achieving workaholic, Paris seemed the pinnacle of sophistication and if she cracked the code, then she knew she had really made it, transcended her background. Her sense of responsibility and fear of failing prevents her from ever staying for long, or having much adventures. It reminded me of my two trips to Europe. My first, I was such a shy nerd and easily seduced by art that I spent most of my time ogling art and architecture (see above video), but loving it nonetheless. My second trip, I was older and had more fun, but also worked like a dog 6 days a week since I went there to stay for a few months with… and I’m not even joking, a grand total of $260 euro after I had bought my ticket!!! I didn’t even have a credit card!!!

The expats in Paris sound like assholes. I also got that impression from “Le Divorce.” They really seem to be smug and snobbish about their fastidiousness to local habits and are mean to the newbies, for not knowing any better. I despise snobbery and classism, so I don’t think I’d do well in that environment.

Wacky project

2010-02-14T14:40:00.001-08:00

For the past couple years I’ve found myself developing a fascination for something you could call “lifestyle design”. I’ve found myself seeking out and reading articles, blogs, books on living well. Its a very broad, vague term of course, so this includes every topic from de-cluttering your work space to developing your talents through deep practice.

However.

I’m not a very focused person. Its hard for me to achieve mastery over one thing because my interests flit all over the place. Even domesticity is a struggle when you think you might be taking off in 6 months. Certainly this blog has waned under a lack of focus. As is my habit, I wrote down my list of goals for 2010, and they were, of course, numerous and disparate.

So this weekend I came up with a wacky idea. What if I wrote down all the things I’d like to do on slips of paper, put them in a bag, shook it, and pulled out one per week that I would focus on? I can still do other stuff as the mood strikes me but I would have to make time to work on that subject. It may work, it may not. One thing I’ve learned through the course of my reading is that practice is important. Practice involves doing things, and the best way to do something is to break it down into small unscary chunks. Do the first thing, then the next, and then the next; and before you know it, you’re doing it.

So I wrote down all the odd things I want to do. And reached in and pulled out my first task. “Pirouettes.” I used to be able to pirouette when I was 12, but I can’t do a proper pirouette now. So I found a video on youtube, started practicing, and it was freaking hard. It wasn’t a successful experiment, but focusing on one thing allowed me the time to realize all the things I’m doing wrong. (Posture, releve, placement, gah). I still have 6 more days to practice, so I’ll let you know if I figure it out.

Researching Tarantella!?

2010-02-02T17:07:00.001-08:00

The ball is rolling. I am researching Tarantella and am looking for any media - photos, videos, stories. Any contributions will be fully credited!

I must also figure out a more high traffic place to post this query if I hope to get any replies. Any of my three readers have any suggestions?

A comic!

2010-02-01T19:29:00.001-08:00

http://www.nataliedee.com/012810/bilingual-curious.jpg

Sayonara Spanish!

2010-01-17T20:39:00.001-08:00

It feels so good to forget Spanish. In 2008 I spent a month in Spanish-speaking countries and about four months studying Spanish at home. I was initially resistant to learning Spanish. I felt an obligation to work on Italian, my dad’s tongue. But Italian is pretty useless in Spanish countries so I took myself to school and applied myself diligently. And yes, I got confused a lot. Italian words started bubbling up from the depths of my memory. I mixed a lot of words and grammar and spelling and pronunciation. And then I returned from my last trip, and decided not to learn anymore Spanish, and felt very happy with that decision.

Recently I’ve had some opportunity to exercise my latent Italian. It totally sucks, but wordreference.com and italian-verbs.com have been my saviours. Occasionally some spanish has surfaced, but overall the Italian is becoming dominant again. The way it should be. Well, my bad Anglo-Italian ;-).

Strangely, my French and Italian almost never got mixed up, even though I studied them both at the same time since my childhood. I would like to refresh my French as well. I’m looking into the following website; verbal-planet.com as an alternative to language classes since I prefer learning at home than dragging myself to a class.

If I visit another spanish speaking country I will take a refresher course, but I think I will not try as hard as I did a year ago.

Reflections on a year of blogging

2010-01-02T11:48:00.001-08:00

2009 was a very non-rockstar year in the life of a self-proclaimed gypsy. What can I say? I spent a lot of money traveling in 2008; then the economic crisis hit and scared the shit out of me. So I spent most of 2009 at home and at work. What I did do was hang out on the internet with facebook, jezebel, and google reader.

As for my own blog, its been just over a year of posting, and its made quite the non-presence! I have about two readers; if google is to be trusted. My subject matter never coalesced into any strong or unified theme. I’m too shy to share anything too personal or that threatens my anonymity; which makes me a lousy blogger. Nonetheless, I like having a space to share books, movies, music or thoughts that interest me, so I will continue on!

In 2010 I hope to do something worthwhile of this blog’s aspirations. Yes, I plan to travel. Maybe even to the land of the French peeples. I will also continue trying to learn to dance, trying to learn to cook, trying to write, and trying to make a film. Maybe I’ll even write about all the trying here.

Mara Tremblay

2009-12-23T20:41:00.001-08:00

Recently, on a rare browse through the itunes store, I found music by Mara Tremblay, a French-Canadian singer. Since then she’s caught a hold of me. I’ve tried to look her up online but the only information is in French. She seems to be popular in Quebec, but doesn’t exist in English. Which is when I remembered I have a blog so I might try to redress that imbalance.

Her current album is a pop electronic genre, but I found her first album most interesting. Its a mixture of country, Quebec folk, and rockabilly in a voice that’s both vulnerable and bold. Here is a video from her current album;

Here is a song from her first album; its much more raw. Listening to it sounds like being transplanted into a French-Canadian pub decades ago; that strange blend of French, Irish, and American country.

“Interesting Women” by Andrea Lee

2009-11-23T20:07:00.001-08:00

I was first introduced to Andrea Lee by the New Yorker fiction podcast. I finally picked up her collection of short stories, Interesting Women, from the library.

Her writing style is beautiful and evocative. Immediately I’m thrown into her world. I was always a huge fan of Alice Munro, and I find there’s a similar economy and sharp edge to her stories.

I was attracted to her stories because she writes about being an female expat in Italy, without any of the silliness of say, Elizabeth Gilbert. In fact, her stories are cynical, brutal, and sexual. If there’s one thing I don’t like about her stories is the suffocating presence of egotistical, sexist, men. In some of the other female expat in Italy prose, there’s an obsession with learning the culture of the country. In contrast Lee writes of her character;

From the beginning she’s been smart enough to understand that the more energetically one sets oneself to master all kinds of idioms in a foreign country, the sooner one uncovers the bare, incontrovertible fact that one is foreign. (p. 26)

Although the book is called Interesting Women, her main female characters are just barely sketched out. As I mentioned, her males figure too oppressively. It made me wonder about her life, and flipping to the author photo on the sleeve shows that she is a very beautiful woman. She is African-American but very light. I wonder that being so beautiful renders one somewhat captive to constant male attention. Her racial identity is also central to many of the stories. She writes of being other, of being called exotic, and this paragraph I loved,

Once, four or five years ago, on vacation in Senegal, she and her sister sneaked out of Club Med and went to a New Year’s Eve dance in the town gymnasium and a local boy led her onto the floor, where a sweating, ecstatic crowd was surging in an oddly decorous rhythm of small, synchronized stops and starts; and in those beautiful African arms she’d taken one step and realized that it was wrong. And not just that the step was wrong in itself but that it led to a whole chain of wrong steps and that she - who had assumed she was the heiress of the entire continent of Africa – couldn’t for the life of her catch that beat. (p. 52)

Reading blogs d’abroad

2009-11-08T12:40:00.001-08:00

I really love reading blogs by ex-pats. I’ve done some traveling, lived in different cities across my country, and lived abroad once (although I picked a country as similar as possible to my home country ;-), but these days I only get away for a couple weeks a year from my native city. My bitterly cold, difficult, native city.

There’s reasons for my decision to stay that make sense. I have an interesting job, some gargantuan student loans, and after being nomadic for so long, having some stability and trying to build a life is very appealing. But damn it gets dull sometimes. So on weekend mornings, I sit down with my coffee and read about women who chose to uproot everything to live somewhere warm and write and dance.

I found ex-pat blogs in a funny way… I was googling an expression from my dad’s province, and found a blog which had a link to a tango blog by a woman I had met briefly on a trip. Traveling ties into another interest of mine; dancing. And well; I’m not that great at either ;-). You could say I’m an armchair traveler/dancer.

There’s a very good blog, that is the antithesis of mine. Through visiting Argentina and strapping on tango shoes to her virgin feet, she discovered herself and love and life. I discovered nothing through tango but mild frustration and holding my friend’s bag while she danced through milongas in various parts of the city.

I had tried to learn tango for my trip and failed. But while I was in BsA, I bought expensive tango shoes, so I am still trying to learn. I’ve spent over a year as a tango beginner. I am perhaps the slowest learner ever in the history of tango. And it is still the wrong dance for me; I hate touching men, I hate the embrace. I love the music though, and I have these goddamn expensive shoes. But something exciting happened in my last couple classes; I actually started following. Yeah, it was a pretty amazing breakthrough.

The tango world is strange. It can be very snobby, which doesn’t jive with me. I think I understand some motivations behind the snobbery; the dance attracts a mixture of traditionalists and show-dancers, and the two don’t mix. I myself am attracted to the traditional style. I love to think of it as just a social dance that most of the young people did in the early part of the 20th century in Argentina; the way young people now go to dance clubs. Now; social dancing attracts mainly dancers or people interested in nostalgia and esoteria, and in the case of Argentina, weird creepy guys who want to prey on tango tourists.

But I digress. I love the ex-pat blogs; and I prefer the authors who talk about both the good and the bad about life abroad. Any good story has some struggle.

I read a lot of blogs that take place in Italy. I’ve noticed, however, that bloggers will bitch about the lack of convenience and lack of funds, but no one ever bitches about the Italians. Why is that? I am related to a whole whack of Italians, and I can tell you, they are some of the most annoying people on earth ;-).

“The Women’s Crusade” – New York Times

2009-08-20T20:43:00.001-07:00

I often bookmark and link to articles I find compelling; but this one is a must read. “The Women’s Crusade” in the New York Times is based on a book that will be out next month; Half the Sky: Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide.

In many poor countries, the greatest unexploited resource isn’t oil fields or veins of gold; it is the women and girls who aren’t educated and never become a major presence in the formal economy. With education and with help starting businesses, impoverished women can earn money and support their countries as well as their families. They represent perhaps the best hope for fighting global poverty.

I’ve come across some of the ideas before in anthropologic work; that women manage money and resources in a way that directly benefits their children and society. Therefore if you increase the opportunities of women, you better society as a whole.

A couple days ago I saw a picture of an Afghan woman who had nearly died from self-immolation. It shook me to my core. I often feel trapped and belittled by Western gender expectations; and it made me feel what it must be like to be a woman in a place where your whole existence is considered sinful; where you literally are living in a prison. In so many developing countries; that is the reality woman have to live.

The article describes many of these situations, but it was so very hopeful because it showed how just a little bit of change, from a $6 school uniform to an inspiring conversation, could change a woman’s life forever. Women really are the most resilient creatures. It makes me wonder; mired as we are here in the Western world of anxieties; if a woman in Africa can do so much with so little, what are we doing wrong? Has the media so influenced us to fear fat, ugliness, old-age, loneliness and even other women that we’ve lost our true path? What are we doing, here where we have more power than anywhere in the world… to fight against climate change, poverty, and corruption.

The website, Half the Sky, lists a number of organizations that help women in the developing world.

An American in Paris

2009-08-17T22:40:00.001-07:00

I’m reading Le Divorce, a book I got through Bookmooch. Its the story of a young American girl abroad in Paris. I had to double check the publish date. 1999, but I felt like I was reading Graham Greene or Truman Capote. Isabel hangs with well-heeled middle aged Parisiens and expats, dresses in stockings and Kelly bags, goes to the Opera and dates older men. Le Divorce has much more in common with 50’s novels and movies then the contemporary experience of an American in Paris. The reality is a week long trip of stale croissants and coffee at the hostel, regulatory trips to the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower, monuments that barely withstand the tourist cliche, unintentionally awkward clothing and bad highschool french. You must watch this short sweet film that gently laughs at but dignifies the tubby American tourist who goes to find a little bit of romance. This short was the best of the tripe that was Paris, Je T'Aime, a movie of insufferable cliches.

I’m enjoying Le Divorce nonetheless. The author, Diane Johnson, was born in 1934 and perhaps got to experience Paris in a better time. Definitely her book is about the American love affair with Paris. (One that I’ve never fallen into despite my francophilia. I personally lust after the Cote d’Azur).

I might take a moment to explain the title of my blog. By accident; I ended up with a totally cliche french name, and am frequently assumed to be french. People are often disappointed to find out I’m not. I didn’t care. I was pretty happy with my Italian heritage, until one day I found that I actually am part French and the irony was not lost. Now I’m learning to appreciate my faux frenchiness; New Wave cinema, cheese, the Cote d’Azur, scarves, Francoise Hardy, and the American mythology of Paris.

Interesting Article: Southern Italy's ills: The messy mezzogiorno

2009-08-15T09:21:00.001-07:00

Southern Italy's ills: The messy mezzogiorno | The Economist

I'm linking to this article because it summarizes the contemporary situation in the always neglected Southern Italy. There's a reason so many of my parents generation moved to Canada; and apparently it still sucks there :-(. Its a shame; such a beautiful place.

Perhaps the biggest concern of all is the pervasiveness of organised crime. Police in Sicily have recently dealt a string of devastating blows to the Mafia, called the Cosa Nostra. But Calabria remains firmly in the grip of the ’Ndrangheta, and Naples and its surrounding region of Campania are still in thrall to the Camorra (see article). Organised crime bleeds healthy firms of cash they might otherwise spend on investment or R&D. And it reinforces the league’s argument that spending money on the mezzogiorno is pointless because it goes to mafiosi and corrupt politicians.

Thanks, Sartorialist, for the free beer and jaeger

2009-07-27T17:25:00.001-07:00

Something strange happened this summer. I notice I rarely pay for drinks anymore. Sometimes I buy my first drink of the night, or buy a round for my friends. But I get home with most of the money I went out with.

On Saturday night I was wearing a super cute outfit; black bubble dress with high heel brown leather gladiators and a matching purse. I looked in the mirror and thought “Yay I look like a Sartorialist photo”. The next day as I was nursing my free hangover… it occurred to me that the two might be related.

I started reading The Sartorialist in 2007, and have been a regular ever since. Meanwhile my style has evolved to the point where I feel like its finally clicking. Some days I seem to have found that sweet spot between trendy and classic, romantic and casual, feminine and fashionable, young but womanly. I’ve developed a style that’s age appropriate while still feeling young and fresh.

In 2007 I was still rocking a look I liked to call “post punk” but was probably more accurately “post 90’s queen west hangover with elements of mall”. A lot of black and grey, jeans, miniskirts with little tops, converse sneakers and boots. I was starting to get into heels, but I would wear them with jeans. I wore a lot of floppy comfort items and pseudo punky things from my younger days (egads black tshirts with zedigns scrawled all over).

I still depend too much on black, but I’m getting into other colours and the occasional subtle print. I’m not afraid to wear feminine dresses and no longer feel the need to throw an “edge” on everything with some black or studs. I’ve figured out how to wear softer clothes without looking like a drifting wallflower of a woman fading into her thirties. And I’m having more fun with fashion.

Saturday by Jen Dolce featuring Moschino

More kids

2009-06-03T18:06:00.001-07:00

Ok I know nothing about youth culture or what kids think is cool, but someone sent me a link to this newish dance among kids in California, and its freakin adorable. Its some hybrid of hip-hop, indie nerd, and dance music. If you listen to the lyrics they’re bragging about being a nerd and wearing skinny jeans, and the kids are dressed geeky cool. The dance itself is just so energetic and fun, and what’s really cool is that there’s no poseur gangsta tough guy attitude.

It reminds me of the early days of breaking. In the early 80’s, I lived in public housing, and kids like these ones used to lay down cardboard and play their ghetto blasters and just dance for fun. And they were really good! Its dance as an organic, social form, rather than something academic (art) or sexual (entertainment) or nightclub (awkward).

Hmmm, also makes me think; children are better at dancing than adults. I’ve taken enough beginner dance classes both as a child and as an adult to know. Not only are they better at learning to dance (like learning a language), they are also better at inventing dance (unlike language).

The kids

2009-05-28T19:13:00.001-07:00

While I was at the indie videostore, a group of children came in, ranging from age maybe 8 to 13, and headed to the counter. The two oldest were preteen girls and the two youngest were boys. A couple girls in the middle. The preteen girls were disconcerting in that they looked like little teenagers in skinny jeans and converse, and even the youngest girl of 8 was dressed trendy. (When I was that age I dressed like a dork). The youngest boy said something immature, I didn’t catch what, but the older girls quickly put him in his place and he shut up fast. You could tell the boys were a little intimidated by the girls and their semi-adult outing, and they were subdued. The youngest was staring hard at the middle rack, and there I saw, amongst the indie/art, and grown-up films, the Igor video with its goofy, totally appealing, big-headed character grinning at us. I bet that kid wanted to watch Igor. I wanted to watch Igor. And I felt sad for this tiny sliver of time when you can watch that stuff with total abandon, and how quick it flies away, especially when you’re a rapidly maturing preteen women.

The oldest girl went to the counter and asked for “The Goonies,” under her mom’s card, and I was relieved as that’s a great choice for kids of various ages. Maybe their mom recommended it.

Putting together a pretty outfit can save your soul

2009-03-10T18:47:00.001-07:00

I have a love/hate relationship with fashion as it represents the biggest expenditure of my disposable income: the savings I don’t have, the debt I do have. I didn’t go into debt for fashion but I often bought a pretty something-something instead of putting extra payments on my student loans.

My lowest points in life can be charted both by how much or how little I shopped. If I shopped too much, I was trying to buy a better, more loveable me. But If I didn’t shop at all; I’d just given up.

Putting together a pretty outfit is saying yes to life. To put on a pretty face despite all the crap that life has rained on you. Even if there is no reason; no where to go, no one to see you but a sunny day. Young women dress up because they’re hot and they have people to see. Older women will wear a brightly coloured scarf because it makes them happy, and it makes other people happy to see these quirky splashes of colour.

There is a recession on and so I will now be one of those people who “shop in my closet”, but I will try not to hide out in grey schmattes anymore.

Listen to literature

2009-02-27T20:46:00.001-08:00

I am not much of a radio person; its an obnoxious, staticky, retro technology, but I've developed a fondness for podcasts. They are a life saver when I have to do dull tedious stuff at work. I listen to CBC and NPR podcasts (radio people still produce the best podcasts), and some other stuff.

I have to recommend the The New Yorker's fiction podcast. Every month, a different New Yorker author will read his/her favourite story from the archives, and discuss it. The stories are beautiful and possibly not the best to listen to at work because I have cried a couple times. Or maybe a few times. There's something about the way that authors read out loud that is natural and nuanced and well, better than listening to a non-writer read. If you are a writer/aspiring writer its a great way to enjoy, and learn about the craft of writing.

Here are some of my favourites;
Louise Erdrich reads Lorrie Moore’s short story “Dance in America.”
Antonya Nelson reads Mavis Gallant’s short story “When We Were Nearly Young.”
Mary Gaitskill reads Vladimir Nabokov’s “Symbols and Signs.”

Now go listen. You're welcome.

City Mouse vs. Forest Mouse

2009-02-26T21:04:00.001-08:00

In Canada, we get confused about what our national dream is. I'll start to say "chasing the American dream," applied to Canadians and then I'll hesitate, and feel existential for a moment.

But today, I am happy to say, I finally figured out what the Canadian dream is. It only took me years of hearing people say "I want to live in a cabin in the woods" over and over and over till it sunk in.

Yes; this unabomber fantasy is the ubiquitous Canadian dream. Even I have had this fantasy, at times in my life. Times when I needed the space and time and freedom from distraction to write a thousand page manifesto. (When I come to my senses I return to fantasies about exotic beaches and european cities.)

The Europeans who emigrated to the USA were interested in forming their own societies, striking it rich, becoming whoever they wanted to be. Meanwhile, those that chose the far north instead were attracted to its remoteness and emptiness of society.

I haven't traveled a lot but enough to know that if you want to lose yourself in immense swaths of space, Canada is the country to do so. And Canadians have a lust for space. An ex of mine told me of his dream to buy 160 acres of land in the middle of nowhere, he wanted to convince a few friends to buy in, (You'd have to build roads but you'd have your own river! you won't even be able to see your neighbours property! ) I've mentioned in another post here that European farming towns are much denser than rural Canada.

Of course, there is a problem. Our national dream, the shared dream that inspired handfuls of people to spread out over one of the largest countries in the world; is totally not sustainable. The infrastructure to support such sparsely inhabited areas is ridiculously expensive, and environmentally destructive. Meanwhile, the bulk of our population resides in the three major urban areas, because that's where the work is.

Politically, the rural areas have disproportionate influence and votes, which has kept city money flowing out and to the country. Even within the city; anti-urban sentiment has constantly fought against density. But we need density; that's what makes housing and public transportation affordable. Reasonable density is the antidote to our environmental problems and overblown economy.

So, if you're living in a nice big cheap house in the country, working for whatever heavily subsidized industry exists out there... I kind of hate you, because you're living it up on my tax dollar while I put up with the crumbling decaying inner city.

I am too broke to write interesting blogs

2009-02-17T18:47:00.000-08:00

I nearly booked a trip to Montreal this weekend on my credit card. But then I listened to a CBC podcast about personal bankruptcy that largely blamed credit card use. Sigh.

So there will be no awesome Montreal photo blog. Instead you will have to read my rehashed stories of trips I've taken in the past, and my outrage at whatever article I've recently read.

In the meantime, here is an awesome photo I found in my file of random photos from the internet. I love the way the dancers look all athletic, boho, and european, and the studio looks both grand and crappy.

The curmudgeonly cab driver

2009-02-14T15:51:00.001-08:00

I was a mess today and so I grabbed a cab because I was totally late. It was a real beat up car; the kind that if you're in a foreign city, you wouldn't get in. I didn't see any identification documents, but the meter seemed to be in order.

I gave the driver my destination, and then he started to talk, "All day, people have been wishing me a Happy Valentines Day. This is not a proper holiday! Since when do you wish someone happy valentines? I'm not your Valentine."

His talk was slow and sardonic, and he was an older guy, portly, with a white-ish beard and that fair english/scottish complexion. He's the kind of guy I call the Ernest Hemingways. Tough old curmudgeonly Canadian men who've read a lot.

"I was having my friends over for cocktails at my place in the country, and they were telling me, its just for fun why do you have to be so accurate? Without accuracy in language and thought we lose beauty... And then they say, oh well that's just your opinion. Of course its just my opinion! I'm just a guy talking I'm not the pope. Next holiday we'll have is "That's just your opinion day."

"And then after that we'll have a taste is subjective day," I added and he laughed. "I hate when you're having a debate with someone and they say, well everything's subjective anyways. It shuts the conversation right down."

"And its a way of putting you down," he agreed.

Another pause.

"People don't talk anymore they text. And then they tell me, ('m 57) oh you just don't get it, you're too old. But I have a computer! I'm not a curmudgeon, I'm not a luddite! The other day, (I play in a band),I got text on my landline from a friend who couldn't make it to rehearse. I picked up the phone and I said why didn't you just call me? You live two blocks away! And you know why people text instead of talk? So they can lie! You can get away with saying stuff you couldn't get away to people's face!"

I thought about it. I'm not a big texter. I don't totally buy the lying thing, I find its a way for people to hide behind shyness, to communicate with weaker ties, to appear casual. The only time I find texting useful is when I'm arranging to meet someone, or I'm in a club, or receiving a text from someone in a club.

Nonetheless, it was funny to find I share a lot of opinions with this old guy. Maybe I'm a curmudgeon in training.

Working

2009-02-13T18:40:00.001-08:00

On my way home from work I stopped at a burrito place to get guac and chips. The smiley girl working there told me that she loves their guac and chips, it reminds her of her home in Mexico. "How long have you been here?" I asked.

"Four years, but it feels like longer."

"Do you like it here, or would you rather be in Mexico?'

"Well, I like it here, its more organized, but I feel like I work a lot more, and I feel the work more," she said, pointing to her shoulder and hunching over. "I worked a lot there too, but it seemed like I had more time to have fun, see my friends, and I had a little bit of money, not a lot but enough... but here things are more organized, and people can't just say whatever they feel like..."

I agreed with her about the work, and she asked me if I like working. "No!" I said. "If it were only 2 or 3 days a week I'd love it, but its too much."

Most of the people i know are immigrants, but I don't get a chance to talk to a lot of recent immigrants. I've mentioned before that since visiting Latin America I'm having a crisis of faith in the quality of life in Canada, and this brief exchange seems to corroborate my suspicions. I'm still mulling this over. I don't know if it an issue of the haves vs. the have-nots, or some class-indifferent cultural problem, perhaps there's a decline in quality of infrastructure that makes our lives run smoothly, or if its just the shitty weather. It maybe the only recently admitted recession; we have the appearance of wealth but secret inflation has been shrinking our paycheques, meaning that we have to work longer hours.

Anyways, she was really sweet.

Poverty

2009-02-03T19:14:00.001-08:00

I live in a strange place; a crossroads between the well-to-do, and some of poorest, most disadvantaged people in the city. I picked this neighbourhood because one of the nicest, most european-esque streets in the city crosses through it. But I literally live on the wrong, gritty side of the block.

I had to go to the neighbourhood pharmacist today, a place where they have signs and products in both english and the languages of the neighbours. There was some mix-up with the order of the woman in front of me; "Have you had a prescription for Paxil before?" The woman answered quietly, "Yes." "10 mgs isn't covered by your plan but 20 mgs is, do you wanna get the 20 mg and split it in half?" The woman answered, and she had a soft, retiring voice. She was the kind of woman you just don't notice unless you two are the only ones in a room. She wore a plain, practical, serviceable coat, and cheap, shapeless gray polyester pants. Plain black practical shoes. Her clothes were clean and maintained (not always the case around here). She was thin and black and had her hair unprocessed and tied up in buns. No makeup of course.

While this exchange was going on, my first thought was "Oh, here is a person who takes Paxil." It was like, a face to the thousands of prescriptions. I can't begin to guess what her life might be like, but living in this neighbourhood, dressed as she was dressed, picking up her prescription for anti-depressants, and with her shy nature, I know it can't be easy. At the same, the fact that her clothes weren't dirty and ripped, and she had some health care plan also means that she's better off than many of our neighbours.

Traveling a bit last year has... changed my perception of poverty in an unexpected way. Its not just about material wealth; there's also quality of life. And I came home to see people who don't have much of either.

Canadians don't think our country has a problem with poverty. If they live in the suburbs or good parts of the city they don't see it at all. They might even be in over their heads themselves (just like many middle-class Americans), only one paycheque away from foreclosure. But I have a trickle-up theory about poverty. If you don't take care of it, it grows steadily, and becomes a time-bomb when economic crises happen.

Notes on tango & ballet

2009-02-01T11:16:00.001-08:00

While I was in Argentina, my travel buddy and I decided to take private lessons. She had gone to a group lesson and found it useless, and we weren't there for long so it made sense to optimize our time. In a panic we realized we'd been in Argentina for over a week and hadn't even taken a real class. For our first class we went to this beautiful, rundown studio for music and dance. (I think that's the way most places in B.A. are, grand yet delapidated). This is a photo of some random room on the way to the studio.

As I've mentioned before, I hate touching strangers, and I'm really bad at reading social interaction (some sort of undiagnosed autism) so tango is a very tense experience for me. Dancing with large 6 foot 200 lb men also makes me nauseous. Our teacher was about 6"5 and had, lets say, unorthodox methods, and on our second lesson, he tried to seduce me with the power of tango. After he frightened the bejeezus out of me, the standard closeness of tango didn't seem as terrible.

Despite his "enthusiasm," we stuck with him because he was a good teacher. He corrected some problems I have, bad posture/balance, tense legs, not keeping low enough. When I came home and returned to my regular ballet class, it was like I hadn't missed a class and in fact, was better. Correcting these problems allowed me to advance past the plateau I'd reached of 90% sucky to only 75% sucky. Now, I'm actually improving from class to class rather than repeating the same old mistakes.

I'm still having problems with the closeness of tango. Even though I'm taking a class with a good friend. I'm not sure I'll be able to get over this to ever make use of the expensive shoes I bought in Buenos Aires. Plus, I wanted to deck my tango teacher last week. We were learning some figures and I made the comment "How would I know that I'm supposed to do that?" and she went on a long frustrating, confusing tangent about counting out the steps. My teacher in Argentina, instead, was teaching me how to follow his lead, which is much more important to know when you're learning a social dance. Especially for me, cuz I can do steps like a trained monkey til kingdom come, but reading subtle movements and body language is my weak spot.

Can-con

2009-01-27T19:47:00.000-08:00

I'm a news junkie; but I like my news biased, opinionated, satirical and infotaining. I watch a lot of Jon Stewart's The Daily Show and read websites like the Daily Beast, Salon, Jezebel, etc. All American sources. In short, I'm getting oversaturated with American news. I want Canadian versions to cover Canadian issues. We need broad, irreverant Canadian bloggy websites! Ok yes, Toronto has some good websites and newsweeklies, and I read the Globe and Mail despite its shrinking every weekend. But we really don't have the equivalent.

We do have a new tv show that I'm giving props to, Being Erica. I finally watched it a few days ago, a free episode was available on itunes. (Very savvy, CBC). I might be biased in favour of the show because I was expecting something so awful it exceeded my expectations by being decent, but I liked it! It was sweet, and tailored to my specific demographic of unsuccessful, almost young, single women. It was also so unabashedly Canadian and I got emotional recognizing the physical locations, and certain cultural trends specific to growing up in the 1990's in Ontario. I'm supporting this show as we canadians desperately need to develop our chops in film/tv/new media.

Why Dating Advice is Bogus

2009-01-24T13:27:00.000-08:00

I don't know how many lifestyle writers are paid to churn out the same books and articles year after year on how to get a man or keep a man.

I still read them from time to time; the good articles are the ones that trick you into thinking they're saying something new. The best articles are the ones that trick you into believing what they say is what you already know to be true.

These articles and books drive a major economic engine; so they must be written.

Here I will systematically debunk all this collective wisdom; putting all lifestyle writers out of work; closing self-help publishing houses, killing magazine circulations, and dealing a fatal blow to beauty and diet industries.

1. You need to improve yourself in order to have a relationship.

Really? Look at your friends. Are your single friends any worse than your attached friends? Consider your friends that you knew when they were both single and attached; any difference before or after? For every good relationship; there are also the couples who treat their dogs with more respect than each other. Consider all the dysfunctional relationships, all the creepy awful people who managed to find each other.

If statistics show anything; its that women with more education and better careers are more likely to be single.

2. Looks are important.

Again, look around. Ugly people with beautiful people, fat with thin, ugly with moderately plain and buff with buff... pretty much every variation on the theme. Granted; couples tend to be more physically similar than disimilar. I have never noticed single people to be uglier or fatter than average.

3. Act like you don't care.

This is probably the most aggravating and paradoxical advice. First of all, you can't act your way out of this one. People can read each other quite well. Secondly, the entire point of a relationship is to be with someone you care about and who cares about you. Do you really want to embark on the relationship of a lifetime with someone who gets cold feet at the sign of affection? Do you really want to spend the rest of your life with someone you don't care about?

I admit that there is a kernel of truth to this last piece of advice. If your sense of self-worth is essentially strong and independent of other's opinions; you are more resilient. But that self-reliance doesn't prevent a douchebag from acting like douchebag; it can't change a person's behaviour. It merely gives you the knowledge that its not your fault, and gives you the courage to step out of a bad situation earlier rather than later.

And this is the big problem with advice number three:
When magazines and friends tell you that you need to work on yourself in order to obtain a relationship, they're basically telling you that there's something wrong with you, that you're single because of some failure on your part. And that simply isn't true. Its also telling you that a romantic relationship is essential to a woman's happiness, and again, its not. Some of the most successful women in history were lifelong singles.

In fairness; there's some advice I've noticed to have validity.

1. Expand your social network.

Any time in life that I've stepped out of my routine and met new people, I've gotten a couple dates out of it. But it doesn't always translate into dates, and its either not sustainable or morphs into a new closed circle routine.

2. Feel positive about something.

If you have a positive emotion (happiness, enthusiasm) about just one thing in your life; it tends to broadcast. Years ago my entire life was in the shitter. Every dimension of value was doing poorly; financial, personal, family, career. However, I was taking a writing class that I loved, and my enthusiasm for this class trumped all the other miseries. This charm was infectious.

3. Confidence.

My close friends who were the first to pair off and stay paired off, shared a ridiculous, unshakeable, overwhelming self-confidence. I found this character trait annoying and it was a huge factor in why I never became closer to these friends. They were always right, and I thought their life perspectives suffered from a lack of grays. Many times I found their self-confidence bordered on narcissism.

I operate on a value system of grays, questions, shifting identity, and existential uncertainty. Instead of seeing a straight path ahead of me I see myriad branches of soft tread that might be paths. I am sure this is a turn-off; but there's nothing I can do. In the same way I can't suddenly believe in God, I can't put any stake into anything in life. My existence rests on no firm ground.

I've had one serious relationship in my life. He came with his own unshakeable conviction in passion, art, life and God (thus didn't need mine ;-). We discussed it only once, and he was surprised and sad that I was agnostic. "I don't know how you can live life like that, without meaning."

Usually the articles end with some admonition to live your life for yourself and to cultivate your own inner happiness after they've just spent a page or a few breeding paranoia, insecurity and desperation.

I think we need to call it like it is; a man's bad behaviour is only his own responsibility. Its not our job to train a man through affected disinterest, or keep an ungenerous man around. Its not our job to study up on how to keep these losers in our lives.

The City is my friend

2009-01-17T12:33:00.000-08:00

Cacioppo, co-author of W.W. Norton’s recently published Loneliness, is part of the school of evolutionary psychologists—and certain biologists too—that believes our species wouldn’t have survived without a cooperative social instinct. In their book, Cacioppo and his co-author, the science writer William Patrick, argue that loneliness, like hunger, is an alarm signal that evolved in hominids hundreds of thousands of years ago, when group cohesion was essential to fight off abrupt attacks from stampeding wildebeests. It’s nature’s way of telling us to rejoin the group or pay the price. “Nature,” they simply write at one point, “is connection.”

From Alone Together, New York Magazine, Nov 2008. Its an interesting muse on whether city dwelling is actually more of a social catalyst than a force of alienation which we commonly believe.

It has always been my gut instinct that life in the city is more socially beneficial. When friends or boyfriends talk about moving to the suburbs or country, I shudder. Its my worst nightmare; I picture myself in a small house isolated on a winter countryside, a kilometer from your closest neighbour, and at least 300 kilometers from everyone I've ever known, without car, train, bus or any convenient transportation to connect us. Even the suburbs are awful. I still have a few friends in the 905, and no one of our city clan ever visits. Its too difficult to get to without a car.

I find that people with the strongest social skills and connections are more likely to want to live beyond the city. The truth is that small communities are brutal for anyone who's a little different. In the city, weirdos and artists can find like-minded folks. Troubled people; runaways, the homeless, mentally disturbed are more likely to find resources and support in urban centres.

When I was growing up; my dad always rhapsodized about his childhood in southern Italy. It was an idyllic Cinema Paradiso like story; with a full cast of characters, a gang of italian rugrats and their frustrated parents, teachers and relatives. And such a wealth of knowledge about the stories of everyone they knew. It inspired a longing in me for something I never had. My childhood was spent in two places; a public housing complex in Toronto (just by Little Italy #2), and later, the suburbs of Toronto.

When I finally visited this town that I'd heard so much about; I was surprised. I'd pictured a Canadian style farming town, with a house surrounded by acres of fields. Instead, all the houses were squished together like one giant townhouse complex. I couldn't tell where one house started and another ended. Their farms were outside the town limits. My own childhood in the urban housing complex (where I was part of a gang of mischevious raggamuffins) was closer to an Italian village than my years in the suburb.

I think our fantasy of country life comes from the old european style of small town where modest people clustered together both metaphorically and physically; just like we do in big city centers.

Money can buy you physical space, and I suppose it can also buy the social networks to transcend that space. I can only speak anecdotally because I don't know much about the rich. I have a friend who grew up wealthy. She tells me stories of the immense pressure her parents put on her to be involved in various social groups, sports, etc. and to make the right friends and date the right people. She was never able to follow their prescription and just did her own thing. I joined her family once for dinner at a country club in Muskoka. I did not know this but in order to retain membership at the club, you have to spend a large amount of money there per month. Essentially; you're financially obligated to have large social gatherings on a regular basis to retain your social standing.

Working class people don't have this luxury of space and obligatory social spending. One of my favourite albums is The Kinks are the Village Green Preservation Society. The Kinks are often seen as a 2nd rate Beatles. They started out making great British pop, except, as the sixties went on, instead of looking forward to the future, the Kinks looked back. Ray Davies never moved far from his London working class neighbourhood roots and his songs are about missing the people and the connection he once had.

Finally, one of my all-time favourite movies is a quirky, obscure Canadian film, I've Heard the Mermaids Singing. Its been largely forgotten, but it was one of the few Canadian films to receive a standing ovation at Cannes. The main character is so familiar to me and to a lot of people I know. She's a lonely strange girl who works (badly) as an office temp and spends her free time photographing the city of Toronto. Its both the film and the director's love affair with the city; beautiful photography of the city's best moments. There has always been a small loosely connected gang of artists of Toronto who document the city in our way; with a collection of stories, photography, and websites. Too many to count; but here are some good links. The last, Ninjalicious passed away in 2005. He may not have invented urban exploring but he certainly made it a pursuit in its own right; publishing 25 zines and a book on the subject. We met briefly in the late 90's through zine exchanges.

Torontoist
Spacing
Dzgnboy
Ninjalicious

Travel Literature

2009-01-14T18:38:00.000-08:00

I was reading an interview with Elizabeth Gilbert (author of Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia) that referenced an article she'd written ten years ago about working in a bar in NYC. I did not know that this article became the inspiration for the movie, Coyote Ugly. A terrible movie, but one you've no doubt heard of. It has had a weird cultural staying power.

I read Eat, Pray, Love, and enjoyed it despite the fact that its not very good. In her book, Gilbert talks about a kind of golden touch or luck she has. Her writing certainly seems to prove this; not so much in the content or the quality, but her ability to tap into whatever the pop-cultural zeitgeist is. Imagine getting an advance to write about recovering from your depression by traveling around the world! Its a dream come true for at least a few of us. I don't know if I really like Gilbert, but I admire her.

Gilbert wasn't the first to do this. That would be Frances Mayes' Under the Tuscan Sun: At Home in Italy, which spawned a movie as well. Again; I thoroughly enjoyed this book even though it wasn't very good. I've read travel blogs better than either of these books, frankly. However, if you love to read, travel, and eat; the subject matter alone makes up for a lack of a particularly interesting story or personality. Gilbert or Mayes don't need to do a fantastic job of rendering their visits; they get there by mentioning basil enough times and my mouth is watering.

Most recently I read How to Be Single: A Novel, by Liz Tucillo (a former writer for the Sex and the City series). The premise is semi-autobiographical; the author/heroine travels to China, Iceland, Australia, and Brazil to talk to other single women, hangs out with her girlfriends meets a cad, etc. I really enjoyed it and cried at a few points. The traveloguing was briefer - it was more plot driven, but it added a nice dimension.

The movie Sideways hits a lot of these sweetspots for me without actually being a book about travel. They get in their car and taste wine in southern california; that's la dolce vita! It was beautifully filmed; you really felt the light california atmosphere.

What is it I love about these books? It isn't the quality of the writing. I think I'm attracted to the narrative of escape from one's personal struggles to a place of light and sensuality. The authors do capture the sense of time slowing down; finding the time to focus on the tastes, smells, and sights of being in a foreign country. Everything is a wonder when you're somewhere new; buying your groceries or having a basic exchange of pleasantries with a neighbour becomes a personal triumph when you don't know the language.

In fact; I can't get enough of this genre. I want more. Any recommendations?

Calabria + Facebook

2009-01-13T19:33:00.000-08:00

I joined a facebook group for my father's hometown. There are enough of us in Toronto to warrant a facebook group. The discussion groups are hilarious. It started with, what's the last names of your parents/grandparents and degenerated into "Omigod, I think we're all related!" I then got an invite from someone in Italy to join, I don't know what it is, their local soccer team maybe? I accepted, and since then I've been regularly getting invites from various earnest "No Guerra!" and "Fuori la Mafia!" groups and various political figures this person is interested in, like...

Che Guevara.

I want you to digest this for a moment. Done? Ok.

When I visited the town in 1998, there was a bar. A post office. An arcade. A laundromat. A communist office. A communist museum. And two churches.

In my dad's youth he belonged to; The International Socialist Party of Canada, and Friends of Cuba. He's anti American/British Imperialism, pro populist revolution. As his town was one of the poorest in the region and Calabria was chronically being conquered by various empires; there is a strong identification with the concept of the revolution of the people. In fact; history of the town shows that they did revolt in the 11th century against the papacy, for which they were excommunicated for the next 400 years. When the Spanish took over in the 16th century, they were only granted permission to build a church on the condition that the men of the town whip themselves for the 40 days of Lent, every year. This tradition continued at least until my dad's childhood.

One of the descendants of our town is now a member of provincial parliament for Canada's left of centre party; the NDP.

There is a different quality to the leftist politics I know from my roots and those that I've encountered in university or the Annex. The former makes me think of Latin America. Its earnest, compassionate, and black and white. Its about the people. The latter is a chronic negotiation of bourgeois privilege, armchair philosophizing and community gardens.

Its interesting to see more of this little world of displaced Toronto-Calabrese, and those that we left behind, even if its just through the shallow medium of Facebook.

Flirtations - Nothing but a heartache (Promo 1968)

2008-12-28T16:45:00.001-08:00

My all-time favourite northern soul classic!

Today we're learning German

2008-12-22T21:16:00.000-08:00

I'm reading an excellent book, "The Ascent of Money" but I couldn't focus on it tonight, so I had a nap, then picked it up again.

As I tried to focus on the story of Nathan Rotschild who grew up in a Frankfurt ghetto, it occurred to me that it would be neat to learn German. Fifteen years ago I may have had that thought and let it pass. Now, we have itunes and wikipedia. I'm downloading german lessons as I type.

Me and my fruitless, never-to-be-finished projects. There's always a thrill to be got from starting a brand new thing because the first patch of learning usually goes quickly. Then you hit this plateau where you study twice as much only to make tiny incremental improvements. That's not so much fun.

Gutenacht.

sweet

2008-12-21T17:03:00.000-08:00

I'm going to be one of those people who posts msn conversations, I just got a message from a friend on the other side of the country.

my friend
The weather is extreme here
me
its crappy here too
my friend
Start skiing west, I'll snowshoe east and we can meet in the middle

Yup; Canada is blanketed in snow.

Saturday Dance Video!

2008-12-20T09:25:00.000-08:00

This week I bring you; The Triplets of Belleville.
Muah!

Dance Retreat!

2008-12-17T17:37:00.000-08:00

I know a lot of people who go on yoga retreats, and about a year ago I wondered if there exist dance retreats... so I got online and looked. And this is what I found:

Belly Dance Camp in Egypt!
Tribal Belly Dance in Costa Rica!
Flamenco in Spain!
Ballet in Russia!
Salsa in Mexico!
Brazilian dance in.... Brazil!

I have mixed feelings about dance vacations though.

Cons:
1. Living in Canada, I crave sun and beach. I can go to a studio anytime, but would I want to spend my vacation time indoors?
2. I learned from my two week trip to Buenos Aires that that's simply not enough time to absorb more than a superficial acquaintance with the culture, and learn some basic steps.

Pros:
1. If you don't have a friend to travel with, going alone on an activity based trip is better than some awful tour.
3. What better way to learn to dance than in the country of its origin, with daily focused practice.

Ahhh, if i had unlimited funds and time; I would pour it into travel.

Smoke and Mirrors

2008-12-15T17:38:00.000-08:00

I was reading the news today and nestled amongst the current stories of economic woe was a story about a "$50 billion dollar Ponzi scheme". Unlike the other investment banks that have fallen apart, this particular investor, Madoff, was clearly on the crook side of the thin blue line.

Because I am ignorant, I had to look up "Ponzi Scheme" in wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ponzi_scheme.

Its a term named after an Italian-American crook from the 1920's. He promised investors a huge rate of return which he paid from the money of other investors. He did so on such a massive scale that his last name christened the scheme.

I am not at all a fan of reality television; but another story caught my eye about the "Real Housewives of Atlanta." This is a reality franchise that focuses on the housewives of wealthy men. This bit of investigative reporting revealed that none of these women had money, they were in various stages of broke or debt-ridden, some had criminal records and/or were involved in legal issues.

Growing up working-class, lefty and catholic; I've always associated wealth with immorality. I've never believed that CEOs are entitled to their million dollar salaries while guys like my dad worked 12 hour days in -30 weather for their companies. And as the recent economic apocalypse unfolds, it shows that not only are principles of greed and disregard for humanity at work in the banks, corporations and governments that control these things; there's also pure criminality.

The past couple decades have exalted the wealthy. Books tell you how to get rich quick, magazines show you how to buy rich stuff, and tv shows peer into their lives. But its all smoke and mirrors. The wealthy are either criminals pretending to have money, or they are wealthy because they used criminal methods to get wealthy.

Tarantella

2008-12-14T18:37:00.000-08:00

I have a love-hate relationship with Italy. I spent a couple weeks with a friend of mine who speaks very good Italian, and she doesn't understand why I don't speak it. First of all, I don't because my family doesn't. They speak a Calabrese dialect. They also speak English. And sometimes they speak Italian if non-Calabrese Italians are around. And once in awhile, if they're feeling cosmopolitan, they'll throw in some French, or Spanish.

I love Florence, I have relatives there; but I don't feel any sense of ownership or belonging; other than the books I read as a young art history nerd. Northern Italian cuisine leaves me indifferent. The people, I care not for.

Calabria, for me, is a little different. Again, I feel fairly indifferent to the people, other than the occasional shock of recognition I feel for the cheekbones and eyes that are similar to my own.

But the bread, the olives, the sun, the blood oranges, the trees, the lizards, the sunbaked crumbling little towns perched in hills of the south had me mesmerized. There is such a mystery about the place.

For the past year and a half I've been somehow, inadvertently, being sucked into spanish culture. It started with a flamenco show I caught at a street festival. Next thing you know; i was signed up for lessons. Then a friend of mine invited me on her trip to Costa Rica. Two weeks of sun and sand and friendly people and I was sold on the concept of Latin America. Next, a conversation with a friend about taking a trip together led her to suggest Argentina (as she is a tango fan), and I was signed up for spanish and tango lessons.

I tried my darndest over the next four months to learn spanish and tango in preparation for my trip. I wanted to be able to converse with people and kick ass on the dance floor. By the time I hit the third month I knew it wasn't going to happen, but i wasn't aware of how spectacularly I'd fail.

Being a perfectionist has its drawbacks. You even want to be perfect at the things that are impossible; like learning a culture through adult education courses in a couple of months.

I got back to Toronto and swallowed my pride. I went back to flamenco classes, but its damn hard. Next thing you know i was reminiscing about the one folk dance that my family dances; the Tarantella.

The Tarantella is a dance for people who love to dance, but don't know how. You basically hop around and spin; increasing tempo as the music gets faster and faster. You don't have to think about steps, or think at all. Its fun and totally democratic; and the best antidote to suffering through other people's archaic, complicated, and sophisticated national dances.

harem pants

2008-12-14T17:33:00.001-08:00

In Argentina I was terrible at everything; speaking spanish, dancing tango, meeting people.

But... there were a couple things where i kicked ass. And i'm going to brag about them now.

1. Dressing myself.

Although I didn't think i had anything appropriate for spring in Argentina; I did a remarkably accurate job of guessing. I packed about three light dresses that were both urbane, casual and feminine. I packed sandals, capris, and cute tops. I packed mostly black, but included some muted purples and olive green. These colours really work on me and add some life without being too obnoxious. Overall I was comfortable and stylish.

I didn't need to buy any clothes in argentina, although i picked up a tshirt and a couple pairs of harem pants. Harem pants are the thing there. I thought they would be horrible on me but they're cut in such a way that they look alright on short people. I was able to wear my harem pants with my own tops and I totally looked cute and awesome and local.

2. Finding my Way

I have a good sense of direction/ability to read maps. I'm also good at figuring out transportation. I've had a lot of practice trying to get around cities, and I like to know where i am and how to get around.

Those are my things; those are my strengths. Some people are good at more useful travelling strategies, but i'm good at wearing clothes and finding the bus stop.