2009

please take my advice; open up the giant eye

it has been awhile, not like anyone checks this anyways but, apologies.

I was earnest in the first couple weeks to try to write up a little "weekly" about everything going down, academically & otherwise, but have since declined into the throes of a mighty, mighty menstrual flow & haven't felt inspired to lift a finger. This, I hope, is temporary. There are too many things afloat at the moment. A quick few being an interview (or two) tomorrow, theory to read, class to attend, & a resume to drop off at a place which is 100% Quebecois. I need to be en pointe. & instead, I am bleeding.

This is what my horoscope says:

PISCES: Once every few years, a panel of Hindu and Buddhist judges in Nepal chooses a new "living goddess," a young girl who serves, until she reaches puberty, as an incarnation of the deity Taleju. One of the tests each candidate must pass in order to be eligible for the role is this: she must show no fear as she spends a night alone in a room filled with the bloody heads of ritually killed buffalos and goats. Consider the possibility of carrying out a more humane equivalent of that ceremony, Pisces. For one night, keep symbols of what you're afraid of in the place where you sleep. To do so would be an excellent way to earn the right to graduate to the next level of your spiritual evolution.

Pisces like me love this shit.

In lieu of a biblical 'bath water' interpretation of my astrological assignment, I figured a simple list would suffice. Also, quite frankly, I do not want the relics of my fears surrounding me as I sleep; my lover would wonder wtf I was up to. They are the following:

-babies
-silence
-lovers
-bailouts
-indifference
-french

admitting these things blog-wide could also make the list somewhere, categorized under 'exposure' I suppose; I am exposed.

as a kindred birth-mother of feeling mentioned in her blog, list making is an art form in and of itself, perpetually continued, accomplished in spurts and bouts of efficiency or alternately left malignant, lingering, lengthening day by day. I hope I am on an upward swing towards of the former. Here it is:

"Decade" 2 disc cd set - Neil Young

-the void (for fun)
-momentum mag (for a feature)
-citizenshift (news distribution)
- CV to cinematheque quebecoise (for money)

- make rob vilar a shirt before he goes, preferably mashables

NEWS REACT STORY - develop questions, meet c.townshead, remember to breathe and smile

Readings WS 290, 291, 292 & Gender & Journalism 320:
- "experience"
- The Second Sex: "Destiny"
- TB, hooks Ch 1-4

LOOK UP APOCALYPTIC IMAGES (written in caps, of course)

this is my life, people.

--- --- ---

the other day I was walking down a metro platform and my favorite sassy redhead screamed my name from across the tracks. Prior to this public salutation, I haven't run into anyone on streets in MONTHS and it is starting to feel normal. Thank goodness for Winnipeggers & their saturated but inevitable social situations. I miss(ed) this.

& speaking of winnipeggers, I should apologize to all of you for commencing tactical attempts to lure one of your finest away thisaway. the confession being that I delivered a pr-etty convincing argument to one mr. rob 'golden' vilar (over 3 bottles of red, a quiche, and a bar of chocolate) that montreal is the place for him. we will see what transpires, but the prod is on. I am nudging.

& finally, for visual pleasure:



culturejam (more on manstream) & an infatuating lady drawn in class.



thats all I got, loco.

le deuxieme sexe

today I went to a radical queer dance party.
it was lovely; I have hope for humanity, despite gaza.
this was after a day of intensive feminist theory and existentialism.
I managed to throw it all together on the manstream, if you're interested.
it is crazy how fast conceptions are crumbling. Journalism can eat me out.
But I have had too much wine and need to go to bed. Long live two thousand and nine.


katy perry style, larryb.

ten heads

I couldn't rant and rave about the beautiful backside of simone de beauvoir on my 'serious' blog, so I will do it here. I love her. love her. love her. look at her. if my profs only knew how I perv on her I would be kicked out of the institute...

and, in addition to a glorious french tush, what an institute it is! today was the second day and I feel the intoxicating, academic buzz. I feel like I fit; a sentiment which, admittedly, is likely to wear off as soon as term papers and projects begin to mount and eat away at my motivation... but I will express this elation now: what a tush! what an institution!

Feeling both dichotomies of full & empty in unison (from paying far too much for course packs and then stuffing myself heartily with the (free) vegan goodness of the peoples potato), I spent the afternoon with a new professor, new school, new peers and new ideas about feminism.

In fact, I don't even think that I can title myself in this manner anymore, it is too simple, too limited, requires too many additives.

Today we learned that the ambiguous 'fourth wave' of feminism takes on much more than equality, sexual liberation, autonomy and the ilk and is battling much more than the traditional 'patriarchy' in the home, the public, and politics.

The contemporary arena of feminism requires much, much more. It is a political analysis of race, sexuality, orientation, social class, constructed categories of gender, hierarchies & wealth distribution, media domination, capital. It is about egalitarianism in an age where dismantlingchallengingtransforming the structures that construct these contexts seems, well, daunting.

and, more personally, it is an analysis of accountability and participation in these systems. everyday.

---

but perhaps no one can take this seriously because I am really a female chauvinist pig for exploiting the beauty of simone & her beautiful bum to try to make a point. maybe if we stare at it long enough the answers will suddenly appear, but probably not. from this point forward I vow to put the collective lady-perv on hold & get down to what she wrote & what she stands for and put her behind behind me.

---

& in other news, totally, this man is home & back in my arms.

to spoonfilled nights and mornings, loco.

the ball drops

because blogging just so happens to be more fashionable than an email en masse, I will lay the play-by-play of NYE while orphaned in montreal for the second consecutive countdown. exhibit a: the mirror.

this hip little weekly (for whom my roommate LR writes about art from time to time) had a FIVE PAGE SPREAD about all the shit that goes down when the ball drops on this crazy island. From Erotic Circus to Ye Olde Orchard to everything in between.

it also had a lovely little top 10 of 2008s 'best' movies, music, art, dance, et al; which I read at one of the DEADEST HOURS I have ever worked while singing at the top of my lungs to the best of janis joplin.

while reading this guide to the ever-so-cool montreal new years experience (and wondering once again to myself how-the-heck Raf Katigbak landed the job as editor of vice canada), it dawned on me that I was reading the bible of expectation. the overdrinking, overdancing, overflirting expected. the perpetual anticlimactic cock tease countdown followed by the question: who is the kiss?

sort of trite, right?

so this new years, with a five page spread atop a heat press, I decided to go where the wind takes me, zero plan steeze. after checking in with my tightest of homies (an email to the lover in france, a phone call to a cherished lady bird, a meeting with alex boy, a plan with britt, a call from saraj, an invite from gram) I decided to forego the velvet rope, the cool hunting, the dance party, the dinner, the expectation, and just stick with the couple of peeps I have made into a mtl fam jam.

thus, with winnipeg phone numbers written on my hand (I didn't call a soul though - life is complicated sans cellulaire) I set off into the night in my grandmothers foxy boots (a gift from my mom). high-fiving my bro at saloon, to the Dep (where a cabby bought me a seven up 'je vais payer votre premiere brauvage de la nuit, mademoiselle') to the metro, up a hill, past the lineups and ridiculous bare skin of st. laurent, through the people in the streets, past the noise, the lights, into the loitering hallways of corridor, up to the warm energy of the wide eyed to my friends -best friends- my cross-canadiana friends who have art on their walls and there was wine in my hand and thinly rolled joints passed between lips and a mellow countdown and many friendly kisses and a beat and new friends and a russian fox wearing a little black dress and a photo-shoot which is likely on the internet somewhere (is anything sacred?)

and after, a break from the wide-eyed, blood flowing up the hill, a saucy redhead to meet, chili (non-carne) and champagne at casa (exhibit b), to an unexpected and sweaty dance party, to the famous 24 hour bagel place, to my saucy redheads abode, to sleep, to wake, to sip tea and eat more bagels, to work, to home, to here, to laze in haze & to sleep again.


7:30 dec 31 2008 - 7:30 jan 1 2009 in a nutshell.

someone once told me the way a person spends their nye is how they will spend the coming year after it; this proverb has whispered in my ear like a ghost each holiday season, proving to be - subjectively - accurate. (notable example: an incident I would like to call 'stealing Janelles new years cab and the madness that ensued')

If this tale is true, I am hot in anticipation.

left the house in hot grandma boots: style & comfort.
ten lines of winnipeg phone numbers stylo-d on my hand like some booked dance card: staying in touch.
surrounded by lovelies (old and new): I love 'em
not once phased by expectation: flow going.

seems like the very best way to start up 09.

happy fucking new year. loco.