The Tragically Unhip

a blog with three fingers on the pulse of uncoolness.

live in the lost February 22, 2010

Filed under: Art,Culture & Society,Manifesto — MP*erron @ 1:32 am

77 Yoko Ono Hair Pieces, Corina Kennedy

Emily Shanahan & Corina Kennedy

Liminal, fragmented, disconnected. Live in the lost sandwiches existence between the past and the present, alluding to a cultivated nostalgia that is made intelligent by distance. As a whole, the exhibition questions what it is to be present, complete, missing.

From the classical references in Shanahan’s study, to the avant-garde perdu in Kennedy’s 77 Yoko Ono Hair Pieces, the work moves through a non-linear timeline and carries into each era a notion of the fractured; many of the pieces fail to be complete in the traditional sense, and although selected pieces appear to form clusters in time, there is no overarching progression to define the experience. What then begins to appear is a hint of time – more specifically the “past” – as both here and gone, minus the measurement of how far gone, and how exactly here. The paradoxical imperative, live in the lost, becomes increasingly attainable; as the live (adjective) locates itself within that which has slipped away, it pulls the whole brouhaha within mind’s reach. And yet, the lost here is not exclusively temporal.

As one examines individual pieces, the pattern becomes prominent. Things are missing here. Limbs, faces, life – even Yoko Ono. The art, then, becomes a study of what constitutes a whole; and the question of whether life is carried on in the severed appendages teases the viewer.

Shanahan especially investigates this theme. Many of her classical inspired paintings feature statuesque figures and sculptural renditions from which key parts have been removed. Crumbled and eroded by time; or broken off by the artist? Both possibilities are entertained as one moves through the analogous representation of representation. Within this dialogue, an exploration of horror and darkness begins to emerge. The duo Head of Alexander and Head of Athena flatten and wash out once corporeal sculptures. The result: eerie and vacant glimpses into celebrated mythology. The disembodiment, then, becomes symbolic rather than incidental.

On another level, Nyx, Seer, Cupid #4 and Cupid #5 introduce a philosophical exploration of the void. Rich with dark, glossy strokes, this group of paintings pushes meaning forward from obscurity. Seer mirrors the disfiguring fear of Munch’s The Scream with blurred intentionality. Put into context by the surrounding theme of time, it gains a sickening sense of anxiety in the face of death. Paired together on a single wall, Cupid #4 and Cupid #5 enter into a charged exchange: the limbless #4 appears to emerge from a swirl of black, the headless #5 to retract into one.

Independently of these pieces, the video installation Six Minute Vanitas invites spectators to strap on headphones, turn their backs to the gallery, and meditate on death and the nature of transience. Contrary to the traditional stasis of the genre, Shanahan’s version employs technology, light play, sound and, delightfully, the human breath, to engage with the symbolism of the featured objects. A cow skull is framed by flickering candles – which are later extinguished – and adorned with plastic flowers. The limited life of the candles, imitated life of the flowers, and intimated life of the skull posits a modern eloquence in the execution of the vanitas, which is furthered by the chosen medium. And while the six minute clip suggests brevity and constraints, its cycling ad infinitum captures transience perhaps more accurately than the original model.

If Shanahan is concerned with enabling discourse between the classical and contemporary, Kennedy reconfigures the iconic. An interest in the fragmented is present alongside an investment in the effects of repetition, both acutely addressed in the aforementioned 77 Yoko Ono Hair Pieces. The sprawling arrangement is comprised of 77 black and white paintings on identical blocks of wood, forming a seemingly random pattern, the result of which is a rather arresting checkerboard portrait of that very famous hair. Individually, the pieces vary in texture, ratio, and complexity. Some are simple – nearly entirely black or white, unintriguing in their monotony. Others are complex to the point of creating optical illusions, poetic in their rendition. Together they challenge identity and the absolute, playing with the multiplicity that constitutes the individual and, cleverly, hair.

On a distant wall, AHair APart teases the memory of the hair pieces. Separate from the others, yet similar in style, this one stands a hair apart, so to speak, and yet, without the reference suggested by the previous work, entirely different, unidentifiable, mysterious. Barely resembling hair, upon closer inspection, the painting yields a humorous clue: the sweeping black is separated by what, in the hair world, is known universally as a part.

Kennedy’s paintings often take on a haunting quality that remains like an imprint upon the eye. From the first work encountered – a soft, wallpaper inspired vase whose flowers blur and bleed into the background – to the bizarre The Ambassador Inn – the exhibition literature offers another clue, and the answer it seems, is also in the wallpaper – color is muted, shaded, and layered, often having an otherworldly effect. Often the allusions in her work must be deciphered, at othertimes they seem private.

Glazed Girl is set apart from the other pieces by its ethereal eeriness and penetrating skill. At once zombie and flower child, the subject is rendered in wispy and hazy colors: across her belly stretches a gauziness that is suggestive of a womb into which we may peer, and flowers imprint a halo behind flowing hair that frames a hauntingly vacant face. In a collection of work that shows Kennedy’s skilled hand, Glazed Girl is exciting because it clearly pierces an entirely other level. This is the kind of coveted early work that will one day appear in a retrospective and garner marvel at its concentrated innocence and sophistication. Marianne Perron, 2010.


Warren G. Flowers Art Gallery, Dawson College, 4001 de Maisonneuve Ouest, through February 27.

 

Never Mind The Fashion Week… October 4, 2009

Filed under: City Living,Culture & Society,Fashion,Shopping — Little Evie @ 8:13 pm

Manhattan Vintage Clothing Show
Vintage wasn’t cool when I was in high school. Well, no one wore it when we actually got free dress days, unless it was Hallowe’en and someone went all-out with their ‘1960s Hippie’ costume (the only thing more embarrassing than that has got to be marketing Punk Lite to tweens). But somewhere between my ‘80s hand-me-downs and ‘90s quasi-raver gear, I had myself a nice little collection of retro clothing, all care of my auntie Elsa aka Liz Kolanksy aka ‘The Cool Aunt.’

The stand-outs included a gold evening jacket and a bright green mod mini dress that blew everyone else’s standard school dance fare (Calvin Klein Mom-cut jeans and baby tees) out of the water. Or maybe it provoked giggles. I can’t remember caring, just thinking I looked like the hot distant Brady cousin.

Manhattan VintageSo I was thrilled when some time after high school I started heading down to New York and helping out Elsa with Studio 42 and Oly’s Vintage (named after my uncle Oly, whose salon then shared a space with her shop on E. 21st) – and with the Manhattan Vintage Clothing Show, a yearly showcase of vintage clothing and textiles for designers and fashion fiends.

It was then and there that I…

…learned how many designers’ ‘designs’ consist of re-issued vintage pieces (often after low-balling vintage clothing dealers – it’s odd, to say the least, seeing an exact replica of a piece you sold for a mere $75 for $1,000+ apiece in Saks).

…found out cool parties and media clippings don’t pay the rent, selling alongside a designer for Imitation of Christ who had moved back in with her parents.

…marveled at interns from major fashion houses sent over to buy up vintage items from their own labels.

…realized some people’s reaction to used clothing is still a decisive, ‘Eww.’

…ran into celebs and designers, managing to remain oblivious to their identities until afterward (except maybe Patricia Field and Betsey Johnson because, well, c’mon).

…found out even celebs and designers haggle.

Victorian cape from Studio 42

Victorian cape from Studio 42

…gave some bullshit interview to a Village Voice reporter about the popularity of Victorian whites post-9/11.

…fell in love with every old timey soul living in New York, from a couple stuck in the 1800s to a gang of rockabilly kids (when I mentioned the cuteness of one of the boys, a girl from the group warned me he was an alcoholic).

…wandered around in a gaudy one-armed Miss Universe pageant gown and had it bought off my back.

…bought my first pair of (and god help the Sex and the City-ness of it all) Manolos for about $100 and learned the single upside to my giant shoe size: Lots of models have it, too, meaning I get a great selection of runway cast-offs and stylist steals.

Looks like I’m heading down again this year for Oct. 8 and 9, hopefully after developing a strategy for keeping myself from spending the last of my life savings on a Victorian cape or Chanel twin set (though it’s hard not to kick yourself for passing up a gorgeous 1940s dress for $100 only to find a look-a-like for the same price at H&M).

I wonder what it’ll be like this year, if it’ll be full of Mad Men fans looking for hot Joan-style dresses. Or Rachel Zoe wannabes hunting for peasant pieces to put under ‘stylist’s own’ in the fashion spread credits. Hipster kids, burlesque performers, bargain hunters and incognito millionaires. I doubt I’ll even want to hit Century 21 when I’m done.

 

Relationship Taxidermy May 6, 2009

Filed under: Culture & Society,Dating,Musings — Laurin McNiff @ 1:44 pm

I recently told myself that if I could say one thing to any truly indecent friend or lover it would be this: “On the Friend Report Card, you have failed every subject,” and then walk away. Unfortunately, while emitting a statement like this would probably make me feel better at the moment, I’m not sure the feeling would last and I suspect the other person would likely not understand—or care.

 

Thus making it an exercise in futility. Almost, anyway. When I think about the people in my life, I have a great deal of mixed feelings. Some evoke a little “Where are they now?”, while others produce the kind of heavy-hearted sadness that not even books, movies, or music can ameliorate; in fact, some might even induce more grief production. And then there is anger. What makes people do the things they do? Are they propelled by envy, lust, greed, or any of the seven deadly sins—and is that why they’re called as such? I consider that an easy—albeit vague and roomy—explanation, and too black and white for my taste.

 

I spent some time with an ex recently, which was both a good and not-so-good thing. History has shown that my feelings always tend to jumble, cluster, and tangle whenever I’m around her, and what once was a coherent, reliable, thought- and logic-producing machine (my brain) turns into a scattered, fearful playground of confusion. And awkward is spelled with every letter capitalized, by proxy. It used to be simple (somewhere there’s a flow chart): girl from past shows up in my life, I word-vomit my feelings of unresolved affection and lust, girl sleeps with girl, both begin to have global scale panic attacks at the thought of regurgitating a relationship for the 9328984968496th time. Simple, predictable, cyclical. I used to jokingly alter the Serenity Prayer when particularly frustrated by relationship evolution: “God, grant me the serenity to accept the women I cannot have and the wisdom to know the difference.”

 

So basically, how can you tell if you really want someone back in your life, or if it’s just a Pavlovian reaction, such as salivation at the sound of a bell? Or, perhaps in my case, the sound of a lesbian mistake about to be made?

 

I believe that I used to be far more romantic than I am these days. My old girlfriend once told me that the pupil of one’s eye dilated when in view of something attractive. Of course, I thought that made perfect sense (while highly debatable) and it was sweet. The girl I dated after her refuted my sensitive and romanticized notion by expressing that it was simply the scientific reaction to light and dark. That ultimately deflated my grandiose ideology.

 

Living in New York for several years now, I’ve had a variety of relationship experiences. Some wistful, some very fun, and others regrettable. But in the end, I remain thankful for the dodged bullets and the experiences I’ve had. My time in this city is ultimately coming to a close, as I head toward greener, less crazy, more stability-yielding pastures. I also aim finally figure out just what the difference is between genuinely wishing to be with someone from your past versus being misguided by hormonal shifts and assumed familiarity. With my continued disappointment in the actions of others over the last few years, I vote the latter. Otherwise, I am founding a school that deals specifically in refining the ability to resist ex-girlfriend temptation and to locate and isolate the source.

 

Then cauterize the shit out of it.

 

Post-Its as Death Threats April 1, 2009

Filed under: Culture & Society,Etiquette,Manifesto,Signage — Laurin McNiff @ 6:20 pm

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Some of you may think that I’ve fallen off the grid or that I’ve eloped with a nice girl to an island with blue waters, tiki torches, and neverending alcohol. Unfortunately, that type of vacation will have to come later, because right now I’m basking in the warm and ecstatic comfort of Vicodin and homemade spaghetti that I probably won’t even be able to eat due to a recent trip to the dentist’s chair. I’m at my parents’ place in Maryland’s fabulous Eastern Shore: home of blue crabs, the Chesapeake, restaurants called The Red Roost, and other assorted wonders of half-country/half-beach living.

 

You might be wondering how I’m enjoying my stay thus far. I can happily report that there is still alcohol in the house and enough food to make me create my very own eating disorder. (Although it would seem I already have a drinking disorder, however.) Truth be told, I miss New York. I miss the hedonistic parties I find myself perpetually partaking in and documenting, I miss the Brooklyn bar-hopping, and I miss ingesting such strange and appetizing drinks as Pickle Backs. However, one thing I realized I did miss about Maryland is the incredible clarity of the stars at night. It’s also a welcome change to sit outside with a cigarette and not hear gunshots, incessant horn honking, or the same damn drum beat blaring from some tricked out shitwagon speeding down my residential street. Ah, Brooklyn.

 

But I have readers to entertain and I’m sure you already suspected that there is a whiskey and coke keeping me company as I write this. With that said, I would like to tell you about a site out there on the interwebs that has had me laughing more times than a few. I can’t really remember why I haven’t posted this sooner; could be a number of reasons, blackout being the most likely. So without further ado, I link you to Passive Aggressive Notes, a site declaring itself as “painfully polite and hilariously hostile writings from shared spaces the world over.” This claim doesn’t disappoint, its content comprised of submissions from readers from all over the world, taking photos of public notes (slash tell-offs) like ”Your stairs think you’re fat“ and my personal favorite: ”Any 17 year olds who thinks they are the man of the house needs a psych eval.” These sassy notes are the complete antitheses to the friendly notes that Craig and Chris have been posting around their respective towns (and subsequently warring over, as I reported here).

 

Reading the passive-aggressive notes brings back memories of my own office wars. My last job was at a staffing firm in Midtown, where we shared office space with the famed Beau Deitl and a law firm that will go nameless due to its incredibly immature (even by middle school standards) staff. What I remember most fondly is the Milk War. My co-worker Priscilla and I had a decent working relationship: we freaked out over deadlines and staffing requirements, and had a habit of making fun of everything and anyone (even our COO was fair game). One morning, Priscilla went to the kitchen and used some milk from the communal fridge for her cereal. This milk was obviously for the employees because I can’t imagine any one person buying five cartons each of fat free, skim, whole, and half and half out of their generous, beating little hearts.

 

Priscilla ate her cereal and we went about our day. Later that afternoon, when we went back to the kitchen to refill our water, we stumbled upon a huge, new note pasted onto the refrigerator door: “Milk is for COFFEE ONLY“. Priscilla immediately went to Duane Reade and bought her own carton of 2% milk and labeled it with her name in the fridge.

 

The next day, her milk was frozen solid. I can’t tell you how amazed and shocked we were that someone had spitefully put it in the freezer, but I can tell you that it sparked our office’s Milk War. Every chance we got, we’d go into that kitchen and take milk, sometimes with enormous flair, even if we didn’t drink milk. It got so bad that the kitchen staff began hiding the milk. We never knew where they were hiding it or if they were just taking the milk home, but we knew they were serious. Eventually, the office manager had to create a separate fridge for Beau Dietl and ourselves, because even people who were not involved in our direct assault were getting their hands slapped (literally!) for using milk for other purposes than coffee.

 

The length of this war? Six whole months.

 

La vida Dulce March 18, 2009

Filed under: Culture & Society,Hipster Culture,Musings — MP*erron @ 10:18 am

Just as the first signs of spring are beginning to crack on the horizon, fellow blogger Kimberly and I are off to where sunshine and tequila are a permanent fixture. Yup, we’re off to Mexico with our backpacks and tanning oil (Kim) and a stack of newly published Canadian books to get through (me). Our plan is to head for silver haven, the small town of Taxco, where we’ll mingle with the locals and scope out their artwork, before heading out to the beach. Once there, we plan to laze around on the beach for days with our fancy drinks, books, and bikinis. OK, so I don’t actually own a bikini. Thank God. Finally, we’ll head to the town of Oaxaca, reputed to be Mexican hipster central. Hopefully we’ll be able to integrate with the locals and report back with an in-depth guide to being a Mexican hipster. Maybe we’ll even learn how to say hipster in Spanish.

Photo courtesy of YUCATAN BLUE REALTY

Photo courtesy of YUCATAN BLUE REALTY

 

L.E.S. Artistes March 17, 2009

Filed under: Art,Culture & Society,Neighbourhood,Nightlife — Laurin McNiff @ 6:04 pm

megdeer1

Remember when my roommate and I decided to try out a breeder bar named Hugs? Well, we remembered it well enough—albeit slightly fuzzily—to go again, this time for a queer party DJ-ed by Tikka Masala, who can normally be heard spinning at the once monthly That’s My Jam! party held at Sputnik in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn. While our last trip to Hugs involved much dancing, drinking, and scaring drunken frat boys away from my roommate, this foray yielded a nice surprise: an opportunity to meet with a local artist who was kind enough to invite me to her exhibit last week.

 

I met artist Meg McGreevy while standing outside, indulging in a cigarette (one of these days I’ll quit, I swear), and had coincidentally already seen her work on display in a gallery window while I’d been nearby with friends, getting dumplings in Chinatown. She and I swapped information and I was lucky enough to spend a few hours with her at the gallery on the final day of her exhibit.

 

Meg had several pieces in the Foolsgold show, which were on display at the Stanton Chapter gallery in the Lower East Side.  Foolsgold had been running since March 3rd and, along with Meg, it showcased the works of artists Shanan Campanaro, Lana Crooks, Maria Kozak, Jeremie Tolentino and Alexander Zaklynsky. The exhibit was sponsored by Redbull (lame) to benefit the David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust, which helps protect and preserve African wildlife (cool).

 

Meg is a cheerful, fresh, and helplessly genuine young artist, originally from Minneapolis, and newly returned from the UK where she spent six years expanding and growing as an artist, studying fine art at Nottingham Trent University. She independently marketed her work at a popular seaside stall in Brighton where she sold bird paintings, sculptures, and hand-painted shirts. As part of the Foolsgold exhibit, she has sold her first major piece of work: a large, life-size deer skeleton painstakingly created out of papier maché (original sketch above). Her other sculpture, a buffalo skeleton, has not been sold, but both pieces were featured in the two storefront windows of the gallery, visible day and night to all passersby. Her work is eccentric and linear with elements of one-line drawing, but bright and alluring. Often whimsical and light, but never boring.

 

One of the most enjoyable facets of Meg’s personality is her clear desire to get to know you, which further proves that she is indeed inspired by life, and in times like these, that’s a seldom seen and wonderful inspiration in itself. Follow Meg’s work—she’ll be doing big things and she wants to hear what you have to say!

 

Photo courtesy of Amanda Kirkpatrick

Photo courtesy of Amanda Kirkpatrick

 

A Cat Named Ikea March 15, 2009

Filed under: Culture & Society,Language,Musings — Laurin McNiff @ 11:37 am

I am on a constant search for new material, and so far no avenue has been too sacred for me to yield little pearls of reading pleasure while authoring for this blog that permits me to write about such random subjects as odd pet names. While Genevieve has covered the bad trends in baby-naming before, as displayed pricelessly in this post, what sparked my particular variation is the long-running joke I have regarding my own cat’s name. See, her name is Silas (as in Silas Marner), but because my cat seems to live to destroy me, I have grown accustomed to occasionally calling her “Ex Girlfriend“—because only a creature so hellbent on destroying everything I hold dear (such as brand new ottomans, leather furniture, books, and my soul) could be called ex-girlfriend. And because of this, I decided it was high time to see who else names their pets in such a way that implies they should probably never have children.

 

I found myself endlessly sifting through various webpages that were dedicated to “weird” pet names. One particular name that had me laughing was Ryan is a Fatty (yes, full cat name) and the reasoning behind it, being: “I named my cat this because my cat is a fatty and my boyfriend is a lazy FATTY just like my CAT but they both have nice eyes.”

 

Among some of my favorite epic fail pet names include the following:

Google

Edible

Telephone

Lestat

Poo-nugget

V is for Steve

Money Pit

Mantaray

Vitamin

 

There’s a story about how my mother wanted very badly to name me Siobahn, a traditional Irish name, but my father had visions of me coming home from school with black eyes—or maybe just a hugely expounded identity issue (because being gay isn’t enough)—and threatened divorce if she insisted on it. Thus, they agreed upon the name Laurin, with an “i” to replace the traditional “e”, and teachers, bosses, and spam emailers have been misspelling my name ever since.

 

I still count my lucky stars, though, because I haven’t met a single lesbian in my life named Siobahn and frankly, I don’t think the name suited me. It still would have been better than, say, Electrolux.

 

Words Are Meaningless March 9, 2009

Filed under: Culture & Society,Language,Neighbourhood,Performance — MP*erron @ 12:56 pm

This weekend I finally left my new NDG home for something that wasn’t work or grocery shopping. That’s right. I’ve a) relocated to the depths of NDG, b) been a recluse all winter, and c) finally participated in a social activity. What could it possibly be that would draw a hermetic literary blogger with a comfort food addiction (and belly) out into the world? Why poetry, of course. And not just any poetry. Zen poetry.

 

This weekend I volunteered to assist at Centre Zen de la Main’s second biannual Zen Poetry Festival, right here in our lovely city. The theme of this year’s festival was Forget the Words, a reminder that only when the poet can transcend semantics can poetry really happen; in the Zen world at least – call your egoistic, affected ramblings poetry if you must.

 

The weekend-long festival began with a pre-festival poetry reading by Sina Queyras, Oana Avasilichioaei, David O’Meara. Erín Moure and Ian Orti, at which the host got deliriously tipsy and showed that even Zen practitioners know how to have fun. Following that were workshops, discussion panels, poetry readings, a literary brunch, and even Zazen, for those keen to participate.

 

I stood guard at the book table, had my idea of poetry challenged, and even made a couple of new friends! Imagine that. Overall a very pleasant affair. Hopefully the festival will be held again in 2011, as planned.

 

The Beginning of the End, or Simply: Fin. February 28, 2009

Filed under: Culture & Society,Language,Musings — Laurin McNiff @ 3:29 pm

There are many moments when we stop and think about the magnitude of what, who, and where we are. Do we live to the best of our abilities? Are we guided by an adequate code of personal ethics? What about that time when we got too much change back from the little Manhattan deli and we anguished over whether or not to give it back? We all have our moments, despite religious beliefs or the general rearing of our moral selves to be good.

 

Times are hard. For the first time in a long while, people are rampantly losing their jobs despite years of service and clearly-shown talent and dedication. So every once in a while, something hits a nerve with me and I wonder just what is on the “other side” and from whence my judgment cometh.

 

The Texas Department of Criminal Justice, for all of its inadequacies and questionable capital punishment laws, has completed the most uniquely odd form of websites: a collection of transcripts of Death Row prisoners’ Last Statements from 1982 until today. The statements range from long and storylined to short and profound, such as “Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted. It is finished.“, to the incoherent and startlingly unaware: “Uh, I don’t know, Um I don’t know what to say. I don’t know. (pauses) I didn’t know anybody was there. Howdy.“

 

Some indicate that the prisoner declined to make a Last Statement, while others will only allude to what was said, as is the case with this particular entry for Inmate #709, Joseph Nichols: “Profanity directed toward staff.“

 

Click here to have a look at a lifetime of crime and last-ditch efforts for redemption, immortalized through the Last Statements of criminals who range from the clearly guilty who seem to be genuinely sorry for their crimes, and others who may have even been innocent. Some are profound, moving and touching, while others are simple and straightforward, but the fact remains: we’re all human, and if you had the opportunity to voice your last words, what would they be?

 

Grasshopper Reads February 18, 2009

Filed under: Books & Mags,Culture & Society,Language — MP*erron @ 11:37 pm

grasshopper1

 

Interested in the up-and-coming, innovative, indie and underground? Obsessed with (or at least occasionally entertained by) good literature? Not sure where to get the scoop on who’s writing what, who’s publishing whom, and who the cool kids are reading? Fret not, Tragically Unhip wunderkind Marianne Perron to the rescue! OK, so that’s obviously me, the Unhipster whose words of wisdom you’ve come to love and trust, branching out into a whole new arena. That’s right, I’ve got a lot to say about a whole lot more than fashion and whatnot.

 

Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado—Grasshopper Reads! Grasshopper is me, and what I’m reading is contemporary Canadian Lit by some of Canada’s smaller presses. Welcome to the hottest inauguration since B.H.O. And sure as Obama’s got a mama, this blog is HOT!

 

My main objective with this project is to acquire and distribute knowledge about Canada’s smaller presses and writers, and spread the word about what’s going on in our country’s literary scene. I invite you now to check out the site, paying special attention to our poetry section, where I will be showcasing new and local talent. This month’s poet is the very talented (and delightful) Jessica Dolan, who has been a great help to me in editing my own work. Also featured are reviews of work by Lola Lemire Tostevin, Jennica Harper, Carolyn Marie Souaid, and Andrew Hood.

 

So, check out the site and let me know what you think. Bookmark us, pass the word along to other literary types, and READ! And if you or anyone you know is interested in writing reviews, having your poetry showcased, or drawing my attention to fab writers, please contact me; I’d be happy to chat online or off.

 

E-Dating a Scam Artist: Part Three February 1, 2009

Filed under: Culture & Society,Dating,Technology — George Blottttt @ 7:38 pm

As we learned in parts one and two, Magnus and Natalya, two cosmopolitan singles on the move, had found each other in a flurry of internet dating that would put the paid actors in those hookup.com commercials to shame. These two heavenly bodies had fallen into orbit of one another, and with the ensuing communication they will have reached their periapsis. Would the friction between the two be enough to cause orbital decay and send their planets on an explosive crash course? Or, would one fly off into that final frontier, leaving the other behind in the vast coldness of space? What is the escape velocity of a broken heart?

Hi Magnus. It is very pleasant that you studied my ideas in the last message. Magnus, I usually don’t tell anybody about my deep ideas and thoughts, but I wrote about it to you, because I believe you and eager to open myself to you. I consider myself to be rather independent woman but probably sometimes I wish there was a man who I can trust. Now I should say that I am so glad that I has found you. Because you understand me and I understand you. :-)
Thank you my dear Magnus, that you have written to me some information about your life, I studied it closely. It helps me to understand you and your life more. I should confess that you became closer to me.

Magnus It’s high the time to go to do some affairs.Have a good day. I wait for your letters.
Your Natalya.

Natalya's butt.

 

I have to confess that this was getting a little one-sided; it seemed to me that my Slavic scampignon’s responses were becoming more and more cut and pasted from some anthology of scam scripts. However, after closely inspecting the photo included, I noticed that “Natalya” was wearing no pants in this latest photo. Maybe I’d get to see a boob or two out of this whole thing. And with those thoughts in mind, Magnus dipped his quill into the virtual inkpot and began a new note:

Dearest Natalya,

I am confused, you ask of me more letters, but your picture you cover your lips as if to say “silence”… is there some silence between us that confusing you? I am very pleased to see more and more of you, maybe one day I will carve your likeness from soapstone and leave it in a forest of a thousand mosquito birds, each singing a song prettier than the last.

I fear there has been some bad news today, my cat, Belinda, has gone missing. I let her out two nights ago and she has not returned, I fear that an antelope has perhaps stolen her away for dinner. But maybe I am wrong and she will return with a missing ear or lopey gait from some hot cat on car crash action… I don’t know what to think…

Natalya, you are like a mystery box wrapped in surprise paper, I wonder what could make you happy? I would like to photocopy those thoughts a hundred times and send them back to you in realization of great passionate reproduction.

I received the nested dolls that I ordered through the i-net and they are exactly what I was told they would be. If only life were as predictable as a 4-star eBay auctioneer.

Tell me more about yourself, ask me more questions, I want to see deeper inside of you like an x-ray would, or an MRI… let your email be that magnetic resonance image of your soul, and your beautiful skins, I am enraptured.

More is greater than less, wouldn’t you agree?

I hope to see your pretty face again, it is the highpoint of my long days in the swamp aka office, you have very lovely blue eyes, like a steel heron in japanese watercolour paintings.

Adieu my fair, your Magnus, whom you can call Magnie.

 

After sending this last note, I found myself checking my email every 20 minutes, I was genuinely looking forward to hearing from her. I realized this, and it made me a bit sad. After all, here I was, communicating with a scam artist, bearing little bits of my soul between long passages of absudity, hoping to see a bit of boobie.

Hi my dear Magnus! I’m reading your letter and iI find it rather intetresting to learn your oppinion in your last mail. We exchange our oppinions in the letters and I think I learn you better.

I write to you from the Internet of cafe, it is convenient, but unfortunately is not cheap for me. I do not have own computer, therefore I am compelled to write to you from this populous and noisy place!

Magnus, I am sending you my new picture. I informed you about my work earlier. You know I work in a children’s hospital. Usually I work with children. It is more work in therapy, than in surgery. I work with the therapist together. She the skilled woman. She already works for a long time. I very much respect her. She helps me in all. I measure temperature basically, I write out some recipes. Some days I should remain at night on work to watch children in an accident ward. It really very intense days for me. But when I have a free time I spend free time by reading novels. I am very romantic. I like to dream. I hope you like my picture. I would be very glad to see your new pictures. I would like to to know how you spend your free time. I like to make life interesting for me and for my friends, so I like different types of entertainment. I like to dance, go to the cinema, different parties and of course I adore to spend time on the air communicating with nature. But now I more and more think of a romantic evening with a man. Do you like evenings with your family/friends? I love very much to spend holidays with my girlfriends and when we gather together at the table. How do you like to spend your holidays? Tell me please about it, I am very curious! I would like to ask you a very personal question, I hope you won’t be angry with me. :) Do you have any woman now?

Please write me more about yourself: your feelings and desires. I am ready to read it. Wait for your messages.
My hugs. Your Natalya.

Tree hugger?

 

She sent this exact note and photo again the next day and she hadn’t called me Magnie—something was definitely wrong. I needed a second opinion, so I called up one of my best friends and began to let her in on the story. I sent her an email with excerpts from the Magnus-Natalya exchanges. She thought it was kind of funny, but also brought up the fact that “Natalya” could just as easily be some dude in a room full of dudes copy and pasting email messages all day, trying to reel in a sucker. I had known this all along, but the thrill of writing love letters had removed some of my good sense. While I was nowhere near sending a cheque to her, I was still making an emotional investment in the relationship, and it was proving to be a bit too costly. Still, I tried to keep appearances, but was my heart still in it?

Dear aka.Natalya, You have asked the question I dared not to ask.. do I have a woman in my life? Let me answer your question this way: “Mary, mother of Jesus”. Mary is in my life and I ask her for guidance often, I have forsaken jebus because of his poor grammar, and backwards views on gun control and the gays right to assembly, but I still hold my lighter in the air for Mary Mag… Other than my spiritual lady friend I have no lover in my life, no beautiful angel with wings of fetid complacency as your golden showering beauty shines adequate lighting to read such passionate words upon my nested doll heart cavity. Indeed you are the filling in that cavity. These few weeks, days, we have spoken in email with each other have been so enjoyable I can’t quite keep down my supper, I am tempted to spill my guts to you, on you, with you! Why does she ask me about if I have a woman, is what I ask, and the answer is uncertain as the sound of a tree falling in the woods with no one within hearing distance. Could it be true, does Natalya want to take this relationship to “the next level” and send me nude pictures? I don’t know what to say, your offer of naked pictures is appealing but I am also afraid that you take me for a one night hot dog stand, a simple gigolo… that is not true… I am looking for a girl with true intentions, who can appreciate my Nancy Kerrigan earring collection and love of the artwork of Michael Godard? What I am trying to say, in my shy and awkward sprained ankle kind of way is: Do you have a man? Could that man be me? Magnus the magician, who will pick a card any card and it will always be the 2 of hearts if you are the assistant on my stage show called: “our life together on paradise island”.
Natalya, do not keep me waiting, I must hear more about you and your wonderful worldview, your tender words are like ambrosia to my inner ear cavity, sweet waxy ambrosia, let your words be the Q-tip that brings that to light. I love to hear from you and will better once I get all the damn ambrosia out of my ears… I swear, it must be the humidity, there’s like a cubic pound of wax in these babies. To quote Micheal Diamond, “I want to butter that muffin, serve it on a platter with thanksgiving stuffing, stuffing.”
To you and yours, good health, my dear Natalya, I must run, pressing matters at the agency keep me from writing more, I think of you before I sleep, kisses, Magnie.

 

Less than 12 hours later:

Hi my honey Magnus! I am very glad to news from you. Magnus, yesterday I could not send you the letter because I had no opportunity to enter into the Internet. I don’t have computer at home. Sometimes I use a computer of my girlfriend, but often I use Internet cafe. I am very grateful my girlfriend, that she allows me to correspond with you. But yesterday she was absent at home. I hope, what you Magnus did not lose me. I missed without yours e-mail. Today on work I thought of you and, it was pleasant for me to know, that there is a person, which which thinks about to me, reads my ideas and writes something for me. And how you Magnus You these days missed on dialogue with me? Today we with friends plan to have some entertainment. It will be possible it is club or a disco. It is a pity, that now not there are opportunities to invite you there because you it is far. I think, that we with you could carry out perfectly together evening. I hope, that we shall make still it in the future and we can well have fun. I am sure, that it will be good time for us Magnus! We shall drink easy wine, then to dance, while our legs can maintain it. And after that we probably shall reach somewhere else….., and where I shall make with you some things. Ideas about it me beforehand raise. My imagination very much advanced and I can represent for myself many details of ours appointments. Probably, dear, it is time to me to finish this letter, and I now shall write that a lot of superfluous and I shall have then confusion before you. I wait for yours e-mail, my lovely. Hug and my kiss!!!

Yours Natalya.

PS. My girfriend Olga & I

Melange a trois?

 

My initial reaction was that I would do one of three things:
1) Tell her that Magnus is actually Margaret, but that her feelings are the same.
2) Rejecting Natalya in favor of Olga.
3) Writing a letter that was total gibberish with the exception with a “dear Natalya” at the start and a “love, Magnus” at the end.

 

I chose to do neither. Days went by. These letters had been fun to write, but the fun had faded. She showed no concern over my missing cat, my wax filled ears, my work for “the agency”—the thrill was gone. Try as I might to write another amusing response, I had nothing funny left to say. Breaking up is hard to do, but I felt it was the best thing to do. I took several long pulls from yet another bottle of 14 dollar red, and wrote:

Dear Natalya, I fear all is not good, I am done with disappointment, I am tired of rejection. I am far too simple a man for this. I am like a wind-up robot, whose springs and cogs are soiled. The coat of paint is peeling off of the aluminum, it glows dully in the sun. My fingers leaden. I have run myself out, others have run me out. I am manic-depressive, mute and coated in veils of cheery platitude. There is little hope for me. I see people in the street and wonder how they do it, I am sick of being empty. I am full of sugar water, styrofoam, and modeling glue. My veins feel like empty balloons, my heart stings from time to time, I don’t sleep well but am tired all the time. I run on caffeine and distraction. Empty gratification. I don’t want to joke around anymore, I don’t believe you, I don’t trust you… I don’t trust anyone much, I let them let me down. I sometimes try but give up so easily. I am the butt of my own jokes, I stradle a dead horse, the whip is loose in my hand and slipping. I would rather feel this way, apparently… I keep having dreams of failure and not measuring up, I can’t really drink anymore, I thought I could clean myself, I’m thick with parasites, I cling to filth, detritus, abandon… all is not well.
Goodbye, M.

 

It was over, the only remaining communications came from her, the same message every couple of days for a month, like an echo:

Subject line: Hello again
Message: At you all is good?

 

It was something out of a sci-fi novel; I had fallen for an android, an AI, a series of 0s and 1s… I had fooled myself. The nights were starting to get longer and I was idling at a crossroads in my life.

 

Recessionista Fashion January 25, 2009

Filed under: Books & Mags,Culture & Society,Fashion,Language,Money,Musings,Shopping — MP*erron @ 6:31 pm

A true word I read in this month’s edition of Vogue, recessionista, captures everything the modern woman should be—or does it? The article in question was yet another piece about a modern day trend I don’t understand: the clothing swap. Maybe it’s because all my has-been threads get demoted to gym wear status or donated to charity, and, being an oniomaniac, I keep my closet stocked with pieces I love, but the swap party fails to appeal to me. Add to that the fact that, at size 12 (thank you Club Monaco), I rarely fit into the petite fashions being auctioned, so you can see why I’ve been known to choose dinner with grandma over the swap scene.

 

courtesy of NeimanMarcus.com

Photo courtesy of NeimanMarcus.com

That said, I did enjoy the article. It’s entertaining, if nothing else, to muse about what swap parties are like among the dolce vita set, the Kate Spade/Louboutin-sporting women it’s aimed at. Honey, if I owned a Dior handbag, I would not be trading it in, I’d be clinging to it for dear life among the debris that is our current economic flow.

 

After I’d put down the magazine and trudged home in the January snow, I got to thinking. Recessionista, a bug that had snagged my eye upon first read, came back and lodged itself in my mind. Normally, I’m crazy about linguistic acrobatics. Anyone who’s read my poetry knows I invent words and coin phrases like it’s nobody’s business. Recessionista. I even like the way it sounds. Sort of chic and regal, not at all financial crisis.

 

The more I thought about it though, the more the word made me feel sick. Don’t get me wrong—I love fashion. I love fashion and I have a shopping problem. Still, the idea of taking something very serious and turning it into a light amuse-gueule made me ponder the kind of thinking that got us into the mess to begin with. I think “recessionista” says it all: trying to plaster a fake face on a rotten corpse and keep the good times coming. While I do think today’s fashion vixen should be more economically minded, and it’s only smart to promote thrift in times of recession, the word seems to signify something beyond itself. It hints at the flawed state of American thinking—that although the ship is sinking, the pageant will go on. 

 

Video Blogging: A (Sexual) Revolution January 20, 2009

Filed under: Culture & Society,Musings,Sex,Technology,Video — Laurin McNiff @ 10:29 pm

Sometimes, when plugging in and connecting to this vast blogosphere, we forget that solid gold can be found in simple expressions and critiques by regular folk just like you and me: via postings, webisodes, and other forums splashed across the interwebs. Take, for example, this gem I found today while casually browsing YouTube, called “Let Me Smell Yo Dick“ by a woman who goes by the handle “gloriousmandestroya“.

 

When first viewing, you’re not quite sure if this is just a dialogue on change, society, and economic climate; or if it really is a defensive analysis of the act of smelling male genitalia (or fingers) to determine whether a significant other has cheated. It’s a candid (yes, candid is the word I’ll use here) rundown on relationships, cheating, and sex.

 

Other issues that gloriousmandestroya addresses in the 119 YouTube video blogs she’s posted thus far? Hairy armpits, titties, birth control, the joys of being a slut, voting, the N word, the guilt suffered by rape and abuse victims, women who don’t have orgasms, interracial relationships, and vegetarianism. Is she a feminist? A talking head? Clueless? Accurate? Is she a controversial voice of the Internet Generation? Whatever she’s doing, she’s doing something right, because her video blogs have more subscribers (4693 people, as of January 20) than our humble blog gets visitors in a month.

 

Gloriousmandestroya’s “Let Me Smell Yo Dick” video blog is actually a commentary on the song of the same name by Riskay. We’ve posted it here, for your viewing and listening pleasure. 18+ only!

 

 

Your Facebook Status Makes You Look Stupid January 20, 2009

Filed under: Culture & Society,Musings,Technology — Elli S. @ 9:55 pm

Something quite noteworthy about the Facebook phenomenon is the ubiquitous Facebook status. Occasionally, I have found myself thinking in Facebook status mode, i.e. the voice in my head will say something like, “Elli has no clean underwear and needs to do her laundry like ASAP. Updated just a moment ago.”

 

What really boggles my mind is the number of people who are willing to share their private business via Facebook status. I’m talking about the emotional baggage that no one wants to hear about, being dragged out onto the wwwdot for everyone to read. It seems that these divulgers may have forgotten one teeny little detail, though: FACEBOOK IS ON THE INTERNET. THE INTERNET IS PUBLIC. If your personal life is in the pits and you Facebook-status that shit, it is highly likely that people will indeed read it. And chances are, no one will pity you when your status is something like this: 

 

Margaret Thatcher* is over it, once again…and for sure this time. 3 minutes ago - Comment


Margaret Thatcher, you look stupid. Foremost because you need the person you are getting over to read on Facebook that you are over him. This doesn’t really prove that you are over him. If you were over it, wouldn’t your status be something like this: “Margaret Thatcher doesn’t see a cloud in the sky!”? Also, the “and for sure this time” bit fully shoots down any legitimacy that this status ever had. Sorry, Thatch.

 

Let’s look at some more examples, shall we? 

 

Winston Churchill* is upset that people who call themselves friends can’t be trusted. This does not apply to you four though. 22 minutes ago - Comment


Cyndi Lauper* is i rather have a few friends that are TRUE friends than a bunch of friends that just talk shit. 7 minutes ago - Comment


Why do Winston and Cyndi feel the need to bash their so-called friends over the internet? It sucks that you can’t trust your friends, but telling the world via Facebook is just irrational. What if these people were to apologize tomorrow? If that happened, Cyndi and Winston would have already immortalized these harsh feelings in their Facebook statuses. And, like Maggie, they look stupid making their relationship problems public on the internet. Also, Cyndi made a grammatical error in her status, which really isn’t getting her out of the virtual hole of shame she’s already dug herself into. 

 

But I believe Helen Keller said it best with her status, updated 15 hours ago:

 

Helen Keller* hates when ppl change their status for EVERY stupid little thing they do like every five hours… GET A LIFE  15 hours ago - Comment

 

Eloquently put, young Helen. We at The Tragically Unhip agree.  I especially like your use of the word “like” to portray your frustration. 

 

While Facebook is the best/worst thing to ever happen to procrastinators like myself (I should be doing homework this very second, actually), I can’t help but feel a little distraught over the fact that I found out about my old high school English teacher having a child and that an old co-worker of mine got divorced—by reading their Facebook status updates. Maybe I should pick up a phone once in a while instead…? Nah.

 

 

*Quite obviously, the names have been change for your, but mainly my, amusement. I suppose the people I’m making fun of here—actual Facebook friends of mine—wouldn’t want their names to be used in one of my cynical rantings, but I will mention that all of these status updates are real. Of course, it’s not like any of these people would ever be reading this blog, mostly because I highly doubt that any of these people actually read.

 

E-Dating a Scam Artist, Part Two January 16, 2009

Filed under: Culture & Society,Dating,Language,Technology — George Blottttt @ 10:22 pm

As I wrote last week in this post, I wasn’t up to a whole heck of a lot back in November, 2007. To prove my point, here’s a snippet from an MSN conversation from around that time:

George says:
I’m gonna make my own Paris Hilton video.
_____ says:
orly?
George says:
Yeah, me eating Triscuits and playing World of Warcraft, shot in night vision mode.

 

But things were starting to look up: I had a Russian stalker who had sent me two messages and clearly wanted to get her hands all over me my wallet. What can I say? I’m a sucker for Slavs. Channeling my inner player, I decided to take it slow and see how the relationship progressed before sending her the money to fly to Alberta.

 

By the way, did you notice how in her first email she mentioned that both her parents were dead? Who tells you that when you first talk to them, within the first paragraph? Not only that, but she told me how long ago they died. Like I care! Look, as long as they aren’t around to mooch off of my wealthy estate, affording me more time and money to dote on my lovely dancing queen, I will be pleased as punch.

 

My plan was to use the Babel Fish translation website when composing my messages to Natalya: I would write something grammatically correct in English, then translate it into a few other languages before reverting back to English, just to add an air of mystery to the responses I composed to my dearest of dears. Here was my first (and last) go at it:

“Dear Natalya, I am so glad to hear back from you. I know what you are saying about being alone, I live alone too. A stranger in a strange town.”

Translated from:
English -> Dutch
Dutch -> French
French -> Italian
Italian -> English

“Better Natalya, is therefore happy for meaning to speak it about you. Me know that that only says to you on he is only also, screw me. One foreign in one disowned city.”

 

Not too shabby! I especially liked the “disowned city” part. Still, I felt that not sending my own words to Natalya would be dishonest, plus I was pretty sure that I could write in an even more mysterious insane voice than the translation game was allowing for. So after a bit more research, I decided to send my reply:

Very honoured Natalya so nicely to hear from your message.
Here are some details regarding myself. I am 30 years old, guess what? my birthday am the same as yours! ! On 17 October!!, how to amazing that one is! ! ! It is certainly a beautiful day! I was married in the past, but my wife, who died in a train accident, by traveling by the United States. It occured 8 years ago now, and I have placed it behind me. My cat, is baptized Florette, by the name of her. It was a difficult time, but the inheritance permitted me to travel in the world and to learn many new things. I have to drive pleasure ski, and play badminton, my preferred card game is Cribbage, you me will often find to play Cribbage at the old people house where I volunteer on weekends. I think you look very pretty in your dancing dress, do you like to do foxtrot or the manhattan? I learned many of these old dance from a class I took in Carcassone, France, years ago. I would love to hear about your dancing and see more pictures. I am more of a salt tooth than a sweet tooth, I enjoy eating fine meats and brandies. Where did you get such a lovely name as Natalya? My wine cellar is huge. I hope you are well, I must tend to my bonzai, your friend, Magnus.

 

Yes, I chose not to use my real name. Magnus seemed to fit the worldly, eccentric persona I was creating for myself in this internet dalliance, so I went with it. And, not surprisingly, so did Natalya:

Hi Magnus! I am pleased to receive your message. I regret concerning death of your wife, I know as it happens hardly when very close person perishes! Our birthdays in one day! It is surprising! It is possible to celebrate together:-)
Magnus ,I wait for your e-mails impatiently, it means that I’m curious about your life and really very intetrested in our relations. I think, that you have read my profile and could have seen there, that it is very important to me to get acquainted with a good person for serious relations. For this reason I will try to tell you a little about my character. I don’t know what to start with, ok,I think, that I am a very romantic person. I like to communicate with other people, I have a sence of humourIt is very important nowdays in our cruel world. I appreciate in people such qualities as fidelity,kindness and honesty of course . I believe in love, and I think it very valuable thing which needs to be protected.I am not very jealous person. I adore,to say people compliments and I’m always ready to listen to them from other people. For me it is necessary, to keep everything in order. I also like to cook various tasty things. It is worth while mentioning that I appritiate good relations between man and woman. I think that women are more romantic and they dream to find person to have with him serious relations. But very often their dreams are broken, because idealise everything. And many man brake women’s heart taking the joy of life forever. As for me, I had a bad experience in my life with a man. hen we sepsrated I lost the intention to live. Now I wish to find a person to whom I can share my happiness and problems.Now it’s only a dream, but I want it to become true very much. I think, that for women the main thing is to live a family life not but not to build a career . Tell me please, what is a woman of your dream? Sorry tha I bother you by my question, but I’m very curious about you. I impatiently wait for your next e-mail. Sincerely yours Natalya.

 

Wow, she really cared! What a sweetheart. I couldn’t resist: (You should note that I responded within one hour of receiving her message)

Dear Natalya, I am a busy man, between my 2 jobs and my pets my life is zoo. So I’m terribly sorry it has taken me so absolutely long to reply. Still I dream of you at night, in your lovely aquatic marine dancing uniform and overwhelming make up, on face. I am no make out artist, or pick up romeo, I prefer to cook a meal in the oven than in the microwave. I prefer candied apples to pop-corn, movies on a big screen, or the back seat of my car. My favorite colour is beige, I eat fish for breakfast and I live in a house far too big for one person. I wish to make some babies on an island of cotton candy and have each one to be bigger than the last. My favorite song is “Doncha” by the pussy cat dolls, second favorite is the Rite of Spring by Stravinsky. Tell me about you, are you also enjoying a bath of jello? I yearn for your foreign touch, the smell of your hair, do you groom yourself? I have a collection of Matryoshka dolls, and wish to peel back your layers like the onion where we met, online. I see your profile is gone… are they trying to keep us apart? I am shocked and pained to think of days without our conversation. My voice is gone, since my operation, and I sound horrid, so we must speak in words. My darling, I await your next lovingly crafted reply. Now I must go and return some bottles to the recycling plant, of my heart. What do you think of the strong canadian dollar? It inspires me, I wish to purchase items from the internet and sell them in my store at a slight mark-up. I only have work in my life, and now, maybe you, dear Natalya. Send me pictures of yourself, for I need to put a face to your name and print them on my custom lithographic machinery. ’til next we speak, yours truly, Magnie.

 

I really thought this last email had gone too far, no way she would reply, s/he would clearly realise I was ” ‘aving a laugh”. But NO! I had woven a spell and she was bound by it, my little Russian minx…

Hi Magnus. I am glad to receive again your message, every day we begin to learn each other better and it is very interesting for me. I love your letters and every time wait for them. They help me to forget about cruel world, they like a sun ray in the dark realm.
Magnie, I send you other pictures of me. I hope, you will like it. Tell to me more about youself and aboyt your family. Do you have many relatives or not? How often do you gather together ?I’m the only child. As for my private life I can’t say that I’m happy. My last relation with man was the last year. I left him. Now I think we did not love each other and had various interests. Among all the man who I know I cannot chose anybody for serious relations. Nowdays there are less and less decent man, so it’s rather difficult to find one.You see I had to address to i-net. This is my last hope to find a fair man with whom I can keep up the time. Probably here I can find the person who will love, appreciate and understand me. It is not important for me his financial situation and work. I’m interested in a man who is older than me, who has a great life and love experience, who knows how to appreciate women. In my turn I will be ready to give all my love, tender and care to such a person. I think that the main advantage of the woman is to be fidel and have skill to make family happy, without quarrels and conflicts. Ok, my letter comes to its end and I have to go. Mine favourite Magnus, write me your ideas of life. I wait for your messages. Your Natalya.
PS.I do not think that canadian dollar strong, but I think that the American dollar – weak!

PPS.By the way that you want to buy on the Internet? And how many nested dolls you have?

Natalya?

Natalya??
Is this even the same girl?

 

The sight of cleavage, even of a shady nature, was enough to propel Magnus into the lustful madness of young love:

Dearest Natsha, My heart skips a beat when I see your goldenized face in the sunlight, you are in the darkness? Let my shine a flamethrower on your forehead, burning away the tears with the heat of passionate exchanges. I am reminded of my favorite song: “Midnight at the Oasis” by Maria Muldaur… when she says “Let’s slip off to a sand dune real soon and kick up a little dust… I’ll be your belly dancer, prancer, and you can be my sheik”. Yes my harem is a little small, but there is only room for one, which by process of elimination would be you, sweet Natalya, you make my toothache, my belly twist and turn into a noose. When you say you are mine I picture baby diapers and ziplock bags, maybe some lovemaking under a starry ceiling with glow in the dark star stickers on it and the romantic sound of the nearby quarry. I want to touch you on the inside.
I am sorry, I have offended you perhaps? I cannot help my passions, for you seem quietly beautiful, I am afraid that I suffer what Shopenhauer envisioned as the ‘will to life’, I wanna make the babies soon, see my future son and daughter become productive labourers for society. I am a simple man, with complex carbon-based atomic structure. I am like any man in that way, but I am different because I have you as a friend Natalya. I want to know more about you, what did you study? What city do you live in? What is your favorite fruit and/or vegetable?
Oh Natalya, it is too painful to think of you, who only shows me such small glimpses in photographs. Would you send me pictures of you undressed, standing in that sunlight? I would picture you dressed in the elaborate fashion of the 1890′s, and would bedazzle you with pearl necklaces, and ornate silk scarves. I would wrap you in my arms and would be able to join hands and sing in the words of that old Negro spiritual, “Free at last, free at last. Thank God Almighty, we are free at last.”
But no, the thought of your breasts rising and falling with your breath as you stare into the darkness, the imperceptible hairs on your skin, risen by the shivers, the way your hands have grown old by your pained experience… I am truly sorry you have been hurt, I hope you are like me now, one who would never hurt again… Dear Natalya, I grow close to weeping, I must retire to my antechamber, bestill your soft heart. Magnus.

Next week: E-Dating a Scam Artist, Part 3.

 

E-Dating a Scam Artist, Part One January 7, 2009

Filed under: Culture & Society,Dating,Technology — George Blottttt @ 1:50 am

November, 2007: Edmonton, Alberta.

 

The nights were starting to get longer and I was idling at a crossroads in my life.  My hedonistic summer adventures in Cow-Town had chewed all the flavour out of me and spit me back out, curbside, in chilly Oil-Town.  I live in the suburbs in my 83-year-old Great-Aunt Nancy’s basement and I’m pretty much lonely.

 

One winey night (a $14 bottle of red, most likely), I fired up the computer and fell back on an old crutch: online personals.  I’m looking for a hard-headed woman, I hummed, one who will make me do my best. So I signed up to The Onion’s personals site in the hopes of meeting some ladies who not only enjoy its quippy satire, but who are also interested in dating a bearded video game developer with no driver’s license.

 

After signing up, it became clear that I wouldn’t be pursuing any of the Edmontoniennes on the site, partly because there seemed to be only two women within 50 miles of me, but mostly because these services are “pay to play”, and come on—that’s just a few steps removed from the oldest profession. I refused to pay; successful courtship would require an enterprising young lady who was willing to make the first move based solely on my profile. (Favorite TV show? Stella. Favorite food? My great-aunt’s leftovers.) Needless to say, I forgot all about it the next day.

 

Then, a few weeks later, I got a cryptic message from someone through The Onion’s personals, with her email address in code form. See, if you are a guy, you can’t send another member a message without paying, and if you do send someone a message, they monitor it to make sure that you don’t exchange email addresses, but instead continue to use their pay system. It was the first message I’d received since enrolling. She lived in Toronto, so I wouldn’t ordinarily respond, except for the novelty and safety of it all. But is that even a good reason? Her name was Cinderellagirrl.

 

And so, after a particularly crappy Friday night spent soloing pints at a sports bar, I decided to go ahead and contact this Cinderellagirrl because I really appreciated all the work she put into embedding her email address into her message. I replied to her email through my rarely-used, safe-for-spam email account by saying something like: ”I like codes and cyphers and stuff, am I talking to the right person?”

 

I got a reply, consisting of the two pictures below, and this message:

Hello! How is your day?

Now I would like to tell you some more details about myself. I’m 24. My birthday on October, 17, my name is Natalya. I never got married and I live alone! My mother has died 5 years ago, my father has died 3 years ago! At me did not remain relatives! Since I graduate from College I have been working in children’s hospital. When I have spare time I go the gym to do sports because I take care of my body, also I like to dance! . I like to travel and visit different places, but my work does not allow me to do it frequently. I have many friends, we spend the time together, play billiard, tennis, and have other entertainment. I don’t have many pics myself, but I try to find some more pics. I send you my picture so you can an idea of me more closely. I want to confess to beeing a sweettooth, I like ice-cream, cakes, candy. But I can allow it seldom because not to be fat. What else can I say to you about myself? I love beautiful clothes and different things of light colours. Light-blue, pink, beige and other colours make me relax and even feel better. And what is your favourite colour? Please Ask me some more interesting things about yourself. How do you prefer to relax? What is your character? What is your preferable qualities in women? Do you want to have a wife? You can also ask me questions in what you are inetrested in. I impatiently wait for your letter and eager to answer all your letter. And of course it will be pleasant for me to receive your new photos and even want to learn about you some more information you. Write to me, I wait. Your friend Natalya.

 

Natalya?

 

Natalya!

 

 

Amused, but highly suspicious, I went back to review her original message through the Onion, but this is what greeted me instead:

System notice: The body of this message has been removed as this member appears to have been abusing our terms of service. By blocking this member’s message, we reduce the incentive for future abuse and thereby provide a better overall experience for our members – we apologize for any inconvenience.

I knew immediately that this had to be some sort of scam. And I think it may have been brought on by one of my profile answers:

Fill in the blank: _____ is sexy; _____ is sexier.
A fake Russian accent is sexy; a real Scandinavian accent is sexier.

Regardless, I wondered whether I should respond to her email or not, and if I should try to string this along some more. Who would have guessed that by stringing her along, I would be winding myself up instead…?

 

 

Next week:  E-Dating a Scam Artist, Part 2: I must tend to my bonzai.

 

So When Did the Internet Become Cool? December 29, 2008

Filed under: Culture & Society,Musings,Technology — Tess Hart @ 8:06 am

Growing up as a young geek into an adult geek, I’m sure I’m not the only one who has noticed that a lot of things that were once considered uncool or dorky have gradually been absorbed and claimed by the mainstream. Like the internet. In the days of yore, when the internet was still in its fledgeling years and the dot.com bust wasn’t even a glimmer on the digital horizon, we had online services like CompuServe and Prodigy and 14.4 kbit/s modems; those were cutting-edge. Companies never included URLs in their commercials, and most people didn’t even have an e-mail address.

 

I remember my seventh-grade Technology teacher showing my class a primitive, text-based version of the ‘net. He typed a few words to a Technology teacher in North Carolina: “Hi, this is Mr. H—’s class. How are you guys?” He made eye contact with each and every one of us as we sat erect on our backless stools (“great for posture!”). In the light of the overhead projector, he looked like a mad scientist on the verge of a monumental discovery. And someone—presumably another seventh grade Technology teacher, and not a serial killer—typed back on the screen: “Hello. This is Mrs. E—’s class. The weather here is nice. How is it in New York?” It was as if we had made first contact with extraterrestrial life, albeit of the Raleigh variety.

 

In the cafeterias, the boys from the computer club were evolving into a separate species at a faster rate than ever before, at least according to popular opinion. They sat, exiled to their own lunch table, and discussed enigmatic text-based role-playing worlds beyond the physical plane that the rest of us inhabited, worlds that could only be accessed from their home computers. By day, they took AP Calculus and aced Honors Chemistry tests. By night, they were half-elven rangers, dwarven barbarians, vampires, dark paladins, and level 5 magic users with other 15-year-olds from around the state, maybe even the country; Dungeons & Dragons had gone online.

 

Popular opinion was that everyone had (or should have had) better things to do with their precious hours of after-school freedom than sit and type in front of a computer. There were malls to be shopped at, varsity teams to qualify for, garage bands to be formed and disbanded, cigarettes to be smoked, parental liquor cabinets to be discovered, CDs to be listened to, and dark poetry to be written. Who in their right mind, after writing a thesis paper on To Kill A Mocking Bird for ninth-grade English, wanted to spend another three hours at the computer, communing with faceless freaks in parts unknown?

 

But slowly, almost secretly, I took a few baby steps into the online world myself. I had an AOL account, with a profile that said my gender (female), state (New York), and included my favorite quotation at the time. I had a buddy list of five other friends, one of whom I “blocked” from time to time depending on whether or not I was mad at her. My screen name was Cranberry503, after my favorite band. I developed the beginnings of internet “street smarts”: never giving my password out, and never revealing too much information about myself, like full name or zip code. I learned a new language—LOL, ROTFLMAO—and an entire dictionary of emoticons that stretched from the standard smiley face [:-)] to a buck-toothed vampire smiley [>:-E] to a beach bum frown [8-( ]. I entered political chat rooms, where I made sharp-tongued (or sharp-keyed?) arguments against the destruction of old-growth forests in Oregon and passionate defenses of a Woman’s Right to Choose. Shy in high school, I discovered myself loud and outspoken in this strange online landscape, where the deaf could fully participate in any conversation, and private clubhouse chat rooms could instantly be created. I was part of a new but closeted generation of geekdom; very few girls in my class even admitted to having screen names. I can still recall the proud and daring day when I updated my AOL profile with my first name and felt the thrill of exposing a tidbit of my identity to a largely undiscovered, brave new world. Then movies like Hackers and The Matrix showed us how the computer geeks of the world were going to save us all (while looking amazing in leather), and roles became confused forever.

 

At least, that’s the way I remember it. Today, if you don’t have at least three miniature electronic devices that let you take pictures, watch videos, look up directions, read movie reviews, or listen to music, you’ve been living under a rock for the last decade. And if your gadget doesn’t do all those things at once, it’s just primitive. The “kids” these days talk to their friends on G-chat while updating their Facebook pages and think nothing of posting photos of themselves that friends can see and strangers can find ways to access. Screen names like “SweetPea0134″ or “Racer5894″ are no longer necessary, as people tend to use their full names now. Adults list their career histories for all to see on LinkedIn. “To google” is a verb. Having a profile on an online social networking site is no longer considered socially repugnant; rather, lacking one marks you as just plain rebellious. And what would a linguist 1,000 years into the future make of our rapidly evolving online language, with its symbols, acronyms and abbreviations? Webster’s even just announced that “overshare“, the act of divulging too much personal information online, was 2008′s Word of the Year.

 

So what does the computer geek lunch table look like today? Are its patrons still exiled, or are they consulted and venerated? Who are the true geeks now? Have they evolved into higher life forms? Have their once unattractive traits of computer literacy been absorbed and adapted into other cliques? The girls who once regarded the computer dorks as a separate species now argue over comments left on each other’s Facebook walls, send Twitter updates from their mobile phones, and giggle over online videos and web pages. The cute-but-distant musician with the soulful eyes is more likely to woo girls with the playlists on his iPod than with the massive tome of CDs he once kept hidden under his bed. The internet has gained recognition in almost every adolescent demographic as a treasure trove of pornography. And adults, too—parents, professors, bosses—can also be found on Facebook. They have photos of themselves at parties, or with their kids. They send status updates to let people know they’re watching The Colbert Report, or had great vacations in Mexico. The true, pure computer geek still roams free in the lands of elves, but he is no longer limited to text-based worlds; he can now interact with players from around the globe in graphic-rich fantasy worlds.

 

It’s hard to forget the expression on my Technology teacher’s face all those years ago when a classroom in Raleigh asked us how the weather was in upstate New York. I used to say that all I learned from that class was good posture, but the truth is that I hid my own excitement when we made first contact and our peers in North Carolina responded. (“One giant step for Man…”) The borders of the technology realm were clearly marked “NERD” to try and keep “my kind” (or, what I wanted “my kind” to be) out. Maybe I’m just old and tragically unhip, but these days, the lines that mark us “geek” and “mainstream” have blurred. Yet slowly we began to absorb this world—or this world absorbed us—and closeting my inner geek is a practice I’ve abandoned.

 

Late Night Letters: Words of Dad December 27, 2008

Filed under: Culture & Society,Home,How-To — Meagan Burbidge @ 7:50 pm

Dear Christian Parenting Weekly, Daily, and For The Rest Of Your Hell-Bound Days, Monthly Editor, Mrs. Michael Noah Callahan, III:

 

Allow me to start this letter by saying that I found your article on using real butter very insightful. I never thought of olive oil and other substitutes as un-American but when you really think about it…

 

Anywho, I have a situation that I really think your staff might have some opinions and/or thoughts about. The other day, maybe it was night (I’m losing track), I came downstairs to find my children watching television. I know that in the typical American home, this is not uncommon. However, I wasn’t so much surprised at finding human beings watching television in my home nearly as much as I was surprised to discover that these humans were my children.

 

Now, before you start name-calling, hear me out. This has been difficult for all of us. I mean, here I am, in my own house—my castle—and these little bastards are just sitting there: existing. It was the strangest sensation of betrayal. Now I know how Heston must have felt when he realized that he was actually on Earth the whole time in Planet of the Apes.

 

Being a go-getter, a glass-half-full sort of person, I decided to make the best of it. I thought to myself, “These kids need me. They need to know they need me or their spirits will die and they’ll just crumble.” So I engineered a character-building and connection-based obstacle course for them: a character-building connectstacle course, if you will.

 

I began with a lesson in dominance. This was easily accomplished as they were sitting down and I was standing. I obviously towered above their tiny structures to show them I was boss. I also pulled on their ears and flicked their noses, which I thought worked because they looked rather disturbed, which I read as: “Whoa, I better not mess with this guy.”

 

Except it didn’t work at all! The girl poured herself the last cup of coffee and went outside with a cigarette. I looked to the boy, who was hurriedly making a ham and cheese sandwich, which I presumed was for me as an apology. Instead, he just returned to the couch and ate it himself while watching rap videos.

 

So next I tried stern verbal reprimands. “Bad! Up!” I exclaimed. There was no response. “UP!” I repeated more aggressively. Still no response. At this point I recalled a passage I had read about Rottweilers and how disobedient they can become if they are not employed. So I said nothing and left, returning shortly thereafter with three full baskets of my dirty laundry and a stack of hand-written business letters that needed to be proofread and typed.

 

Four hours later, I returned from the local “watering hole” to find not my alleged children clean and pressed and smiling up at me with high hopes of more employment, but an empty couch and—you’ll never believe it—the three baskets of laundry and the stack of letters completely untouched! To say I was a bit upset would be a lie. I screamed and yelled (and cried, a little). I even broke my poor late mother’s favorite cricket dart. I bemoaned to the Heavens: “What could I have done to deserve such lazy children?”

 

Hours later, I figured I should try a more nurturing approach. I called up a pediatrician and asked for a recommendation. They asked if my child was screaming and moody and unresponsive to my attentions. I said yes and they told me that it may be the Terrible Twos, to which I told them that yes, I have two children. In the end they recommended freezable chew toys for teething, which I quickly obtained from our Armenian neighbors.

 

When I asked my wife what in the creeps I could do about all this stuff with the kids she asked me, “What kids?” I explained to her about the people I found in the living room, in silent hopes that perhaps I was mistaken or that I was like Nicolas Cage in that Christmas movie and would just wake up in my Financial District penthouse. But instead my wife told me to get the eff out of her room and locked the door behind me.

 

As it turns out, my children are 19 and 23 years old and there are rumors of yet another one somewhere out there. I don’t know. I guess I just got my days and months mixed up somewhere in that time frame. Honestly, all this time I thought that the neighbors just had a really loud TV. I figured the small-sized bikes were part of some strange circus-inspired aerobics regimen my wife was on.

 

So, CPWDFTROYHBD Monthly Editor: Help! I have slightly older children who need to be taught to respect and fear me. Suggestions are urgently requested!

 

Please send more pudding samples.

 

Thank you,
Papa “T-Dawg” Burbidge

 

End of the Hipster? Hmm… December 18, 2008

Filed under: Culture & Society,Hipster Culture — Elli S. @ 1:20 pm

Way over in this concrete wasteland (Toronto) that is the epicentre of southern Ontario (a wasteland in itself), a little magazine called NOW published a cover story called “The End of the Hipster.” Adbusters touched upon the idea of hipsters as being “The Dead End of Western Civilization” back in July, but NOW has a new thesis.

 

If time or laziness doesn’t permit you to read the article, allow me to give you a brief synopsis. Basically, it talks about the hipster movement becoming obsolete with Obama’s victory. It timelines modern hipsterdom as beginning with the extreme cynicism that erupted when Georgie W. came into office. Now that Dubya doesn’t steer the free world anymore, the disillusionment isn’t really justified, hence ”Obama Victory Renders Hipster ‘Movement’ Obsolete“: an essay by the ever-hip blog-machine Blognigger for Gavin McInnes’s website, Street Carnage. (Gavin McInnes, by the way, is one of the gentlemen who brought you a little thing called Vice Magazine.)

 

Of course, this proposed Death of the Hipster isn’t to be blamed entirely on the happenings of the White House. The movement is undeniably being dragged into the mainstream.  The NOW article states that “The counterculture became a consumer culture.” Think about the sudden spread of Urban Outfitters (which is kind of like The Gap targeted at cool kids instead of yuppies), or how there’s an American Apparel on just about every hip street corner the world over. How unique is a sequined faux-vintage top if it’s mass-produced and worn under an Abercrombie hoodie?

 

So what now? On one hand, this whole idea is bullshit. The cool kids will always be drinking their PBR, snorting coke, dancing to the flavour-of-the-week electro-dance duo, and then blogging about it. They’ll probably just ditch their non-prescription glasses and Cheap Mondays and adopt something newer and cooler. On the other hand, I suppose it does suck really hard when you’ve got something unique going on and it explodes, like when the jocks come to the cool dance party and you can’t even buy drinks because they’re all lined up at the bar doing Jaeger Bombz. When the mainstream catches on, it’s just not fun anymore. Then again, every hipster cloud does have a silver lining: if the movement dies, we won’t have to hear about Cory Kennedy anymore.

 

Who knows. The hipster subculture will most likely mutate into something new and hopefully less obnoxious, and this whole thing will blow over. Or maybe it already has, and we’re just not hip enough to know.

 

You Are Gorgeous December 17, 2008

Filed under: Advertising,City Living,Culture & Society,Neighbourhood,Photography — Brooke D. @ 4:16 pm

When I moved recently to my new neighborhood, I immediately noticed all the great hair and beauty ads in the shop windows along Jean Talon and the diversity of human beauty proudly displayed behind its panes of glass.

 

I went walking the other day and decided to take a few pictures to chronicle the variety of faces I saw peering back at me from the inside, looking out. Some were really striking, some were extremely cheesy, and some were a little straight-up creepy (e.g. mannequins of small children with dirty, matted hair is a little… I don’t know… ew?).

 

I was greeted warmly with waves and smiles in some shops, actually kicked out of others, and had the pleasure of meeting one man who stood proudly by a photo of himself taken some 40 years earlier (see the black and white number).

 

This is my ‘hood:

 

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3114638152_c311200a38 3113823235_77276c39b3 3113825637_1054430825

 

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Is Romance Dead? December 5, 2008

Filed under: Culture & Society,Dating,Musings — Kimberly Senf @ 11:49 am

Or does it just make you dead? Imagine that you’re going to propose to your sweetheart. You think how romantic it would be to go to a quiet, secluded spot on the beach to let her know that she’s the one you want to spend all your days with. And just as you’re about to ask her to marry you, she literally gets swept out to sea.

 

Fate=1, Romance=0.

 

This actually happened. Foremost it is a sad and unfortunate story—but it also leaves a permanent mark on the reputation of romantic gestures. Romance has already been stretched to its limits, with many people thinking that love notes, flowers and boomboxes outside of windows can easily be exchanged for Facebook gifts and Podcasts. I miss the good old days of someone passing me a note that asked me to check off whether or not I liked them, or actually receiving a mix CD that I could listen to over and over, trying to find hidden meanings in all of the well-selected songs.

 

Notions of romance and what constitutes a romantic gesture have changed so much over the past decade; I’m sure teenagers think they’re better than Byron when they text each other their sweet nothings. Except Byron would be rolling over in his grave if he knew that love poetry has largely been replaced by text messages that take the English language to places I never thought it could go.

 

Hip Ways to Spend the Holidays November 26, 2008

Filed under: Culture & Society,Top Ten — Tess Hart @ 12:35 am

The holidays are upon us. Whether you celebrate kwanzaa, attend midnight mass and leave cookies out for the fat guy in the red suit, light a menorah and pray for eight days of presents, or any other ritualistic annual holiday that pops up around December, chances are it’s a special time of year for you and your loved ones. If you can’t get enough of holiday festivities and want to celebrate any and all, here is a list of the top ten additional holidays coming up that you may not have known about, and suggested ways to celebrate them if you’re fresh out of ideas.

 

December 1: World AIDS Awareness Day

Volunteer at a local shelter, donate, or participate in fundraising efforts for the cause. If you live in Montreal and are between the ages of 12 and 25, go get a free, anonymous HIV testing at Head and Hands on this day.

 

December 5: Repeal Day (The day Prohibition was repealed.)

If you think you’re grateful, imagine how thankful your local liquor store owner is. Pay him a visit and recommend a holiday discount. Drink and be merry, but make sure you have one friend who won’t celebrate to act as your your designated driver.

 

December 6: St. Nicholas’ Day

Yes, St. Nick was a real person, and he was Greek.  Commemorate the day at your local Greek diner. Chew gum afterwards.

handwasher

 

December 7-13: National Handwashing Awareness Week

Put away the hand sanitizer and wash your hands the old-school way—with soap and water!—for an entire week. Then, if you’ve got some booze left over from your Repeal Day festivities, get drunk and visit the cause’s website, where you will hear creepy mascot Henry the Hand’s theme song, and likely keel over laughing.

 

December 8: Day of John Lennon’s Assassination

Play every Beatles album you own on your iPod, laptop, Zune, etc. Also, do one act of peace. All you need is love.

 

December 14: International Children’s Day

Send a gift to your really annoying younger sibling(s)/cousin(s)/relative(s) in another city.  Ground shipping is acceptable on this day.

 

December 15: Bill of Rights Day (U.S. only)

Invite a gathering of people over and tape the list of Rights to the wall. Include drinks and prizes. Then debate about all the ones that have been revoked/ignored/brushed under the carpet or otherwise conveniently misinterpreted over the last eight years.

 

December 21: National Flashlight Day

Everyone take out your flashlights and… light them? (Note: Horny men are welcome to celebrate this day as National Fleshlight Day instead. Gives a whole new meaning to Broken Social Scene’s “Handjobs for the Holidays”, eh?)

 

December 21: Forefathers’ Day (U.S. only—the day the pilgrims allegedly landed at Plymouth Rock.)

Compose letters of sincere apology.

 

December 26: International Coffee Day (James Mason invented the coffee percolator in 1865.)

The real day of thanks.

 

Samaritan’s Purse November 10, 2008

Filed under: Culture & Society — MP*erron @ 11:55 pm

I may not agree with their religious beliefs, but a great idea came in the form of a community project from my parent’s church. The project, organized by Samaritan’s Purse Canada, is Operation Christmas Child, and aims to provide less fortunate children around the world with Christmas gifts. The concept is simple: fill a shoebox with affordable gifts, wrap it in Christmas paper, and send it off to Samaritan’s Purse Canada along with a $7 donation.  

 

Seeing as how the proposal came from my parent’s Rosemount church, it was no surprise to discover that the project is overseen by a Christian organization. A little investigation on their website confirmed my original suspicions: the children are encouraged to participate in a voluntary Bible study program, and are brought joy through “the message of God’s unconditional love.”

 

Not one to support the evangelisation of poor peoples, I thought about what participating meant for me. Then I decided that the possibility of providing even just one child with a box full of treats at a time that can be utterly depressing (as I consider the holiday season to be) was worth it. Which is why I’m writing about this. I guess my opinion is that there are much worse things than Bible study programs. 

 

So for anyone willing to overlook the religious ties, I encourage clicking on to the SP website, reading about the project, and getting involved. The directions are easy to follow, and boy/girl labels are available for printing in order to separate the boxes into appropriate groups. Directions to drop off centers are available on-line, or for anyone interested, I’m willing to accept boxes and deliver them to the Rosemount Bible Church along with mine.

 

Wear With Pride? October 18, 2008

Filed under: Culture & Society,Fashion,Musings — MP*erron @ 8:58 pm

Photo courtesy of Palms & Company

 

Fur. Once a coveted luxury item, it was the staple of our grandmother’s winter closets: thick, full-length furs, elaborate stoles made from whole animals, leather gloves accented with tufts of tail, and of course, the fashion shapka.

 

In today’s animal rights-conscious world, fur has moved from being enviable to being one of the forward-minded’s cardinal sins. But in the fashion world, fur continues to poke its little head. Check out the catwalks and magazines, and you’ll see a salute to the fashions of our ancestors in the form of fur-everything. Yes, we’ve come a long way, but baby, it ain’t over yet.

 

Google “fur protests” and you’ll be overcome with images and words attempting to dissuade the market. Visit the PETA website and you can read about a campaign to protest Donna Karan’s use of real fur in her designs. The brief description the site provides of the treatment suffered by fur-giving animals was enough to turn my stomach. I instantly regretted the many leather purses and shoes lining my closet. At no time does the question of fur seem more relevant than in the face of another Canadian winter.

 

Which brings me to my topic: recycled fur. This is a movement I’ve been pondering since falling in love with a pair of (real) lynx earmuffs at Ogilvy’s the other day. This is not simply a question of luxury and economy (the muffs cost a pretty penny), but it has become, for me, an ethical issue. The muffs and neighbouring accessories all bore the tag Harricana.

 

Harricana is Quebec designer Mariouche Gagné’s cruelty-free label. As the website explains, the idea for the label was born while Gagné was still a student. Lacking funds, as many students do, she used her mother’s old fur coat to complete an award-winning design. Today Harricana creates coats, hats, and accessories from recycled fur. The furs are salvaged from thrift stores, Salvation Army depots, and other fashion cemeteries, and transformed through special treatments into loveable, animal-friendly styles. But how animal-friendly is it really? That’s the question I’ve been asking myself.

 

Which is the greater evil? To flaunt and revel in the natural softness of our animals’ skins, a behaviour that encourages the fur industry regardless of the creativity of the designer’s resources, or to condemn vintage furs to Garbage Island, something that feels a lot like throwing meat away? Is recycled fur simply a way to distance ourselves from the evil by a couple of degrees, or can it really be a step forward for the fashion industry?

 

On the one hand, there is the idea that the slaughtering of animals can be acceptable, an idea that is propagated when an individual dons fur, no matter what the source. Nobody knows if what you’re wearing is recycled or not. They just see the fur, and the message it sends out is “Fur is in,” which translates quickly into “faster pussycat, kill, kill.” This side of the argument recognizes that killing animals is cruel, and refuses to forgive that cruelty simply because it was committed pre-enlightenment.

 

On the other hand, there is the idea that clothing—not just clothing, but fashion—can be evolved to match the growing eco-friendly trend in other industries. This take on couture promotes the recycling of fabrics and materials, the abolition of slave labour, and the minimization of environmental abuse. This is a big step up for an industry based on excess. (It’s undeniable; artistic medium, form of self-expression or not, fashion is excess. The desire to decorate the body is, as modernists would say, ornamentation, and ornamentation is the desire for excess.) This camp is for the reuse of materials that are available to us, as a replacement for new fur, and hopes to transform the industry by modeling a different code of ethics. 

 

This leads to many questions. Like, can this do-as-I-do technique be good for something? Can companies like Harricana become the fashion houses of the future? Can we, as a society, be instigated to move from the realm of reckless consumption and into that of conscious consumption? Can recycled fur be seen as a way of saying, “Hey, we’ve done the shit we’ve done, we’ve fucked the whole thing up, now let’s put our heads back on and roll with it.”? Or is it just another excuse? This little fashionista simply does not know. And so, I encourage you readers to give me your feedback: to fur, or not to fur? 

 

Panoptical Illusions: or, Foucault has The Last(.fm) Laugh September 4, 2008

Filed under: Culture & Society,Music,Musings,Technology — David Fiore @ 3:19 am

Michel Foucault was remarkably prescient in choosing to focus his critique of modern society through the lens of the panopticon. Today, more than 30 years after the publication of Discipline and Punish, we’re living in a paranoiac paradise of bigger, better, longer-lasting surveillance (brought to you in large part by the same thing that is bringing me to you, right now—our friend, the Internet).

 

The thing is, though (and my use of the word paradise gives me away here, I think), for the most part, we love it! And I’m not sure why anyone’s surprised. Because, really: In order to reject the desire to be known that is at the root of the desire to be seen, you have to reject the self itself. Foucault was prepared to do that. But are you? It seems to me that the desire to share our experiences runs pretty deep in our species, and is also the fountainhead of things like emphathy, art, and, ultimately, ethics. Do you want to get rid of that stuff? I don’t. And I’m willing to risk the possibility that someone might be watching me shower each morning in exchange for the chance to project something essential onto a screen near you.

 

Which brings me to our subject for today: Last.fm. (That link is to my very own profile, by the way—you should add me!) Is this a good thing for the world? Do people really need to know what songs I’m listening to, every minute of my life?

 

Yes. I think they do.

 

Not because I’m special, or a particularly canny music fan. No. This is for my own good. Not yours, really, although I’m happy to return the favour by witnessing your own journey from station to station (of the cross?). That’s what friends are for. You see, when I know you’re out there, I know I have to put my best foot (or ear, in this case) forward.

 

I can’t listen to Cypress Hill’s Black Sunday on repeat for sixty hours while I write my honours thesis. (Well, since I just admitted to that act of folly, maybe I could, but still—it’s quite a different thing to give you information like that wrapped up in this ironic package than it would be to let you actually watch those same 14 songs “scrobbling” over and over and over again, isn’t it?) I also can’t listen to Mini Pops Christmas very often. Not if I want you to think I’m cool. Or even a reasonable facsimile of a human being. Which is what you help to make me, right? All of us, at our terminals, can play benevolent God(s) to each other!

 

That’s a lot more comfortable than going out into the desert and waiting for the heat and malnourishment to connect you to the Big Brother in the Sky. Besides, those anchorite monks didn’t listen to very diverse music. I’m betting their playlists would score pretty shamefully on the “open mind index”.

 

Guerrilla in the Missed Connections: Analyzing the Stalk Market September 1, 2008

Filed under: City Living,Culture & Society,Dating,Technology — David Fiore @ 6:01 pm

I am very far from being a relationship expert. I’ve been known to go months between dates and put off cohabitation-crushing confrontations for years… and yet, some vestigial pride without any visible symptoms has kept me from going the way of our subject for today.

 

Craigslist’s Missed Connections are legendary, of course. In theory, they’re a beautiful thing. Can you fault people for obeying E.M. Forster’s celebrated dictum (“Only Connect”)?

 

Sure you can. As any firefighter will tell you, many of the vicious infernos that wreck lives across the urbanized world are caused by faulty connections—and I can’t help but see most of these whacked wires in that light.

 

But you be the judge. Here’s a fairly characteristic sample (worth quoting in full) of what you’ll find floating in the aforementioned Slough of Desperation:

venfome metro station – m4w – 27 (mtl)

to the beautiful, serious, black haired lady:
Each time I looked at you you turned your eyes away. Your eyes are beautiful and gorgeous, your hair is fabulous and fantastic!
I sat in front of you, dark blue chemise
Your seriousness has a beauty in it. i would like to get in touch with you
You got off at berri

 

Do you foresee any happiness for the parties concerned? If you do, you’re a more optimistic sort than I am. I envy you. I also think you’re a damned fool—and possibly even a dangerous one. So watch yourself.

 

Few “Missed Connections” posts deconstruct themselves quite as neatly as this one does. You might even argue that guerrilla analysis is hardly required in this case. But be gentle with me; I’m launchin’ a franchise here. Next time I’ll tackle something a little more ambiguous, a little closer to the legal limit on the “heavy breath”-alyzer test.

 

But right now it’s time for the paraphrase! To wit:

venfome metro station – m4w – 27 (mtl) (Ed.’s note-What can I say about this? That’s not the name of the station!)

Dear stressed-out knockout,

Meet the cause of your discomfort. I stared at you for quite a while, and you really seemed to hate me for it. This only fanned the flames of my ardour for you. Nothing sexier than a woman in crisis—especially one with such fabulous, fantastic hair (who does it for you, by the way? We’ll talk!). This world is quite a tragic place, and I love seeing that pain reflected in a dark-haired lady’s eyes. Please allow me to trouble you some more, possibly for the rest of your life. I took careful note of your movements, and if I hadn’t been late for work, I would have followed you straight to your home. No worries though—soon enough, my drinking problem and penchant for harassment will get me fired, and I’ll have all the time in the world to make certain that you don’t elude me again.

Consider yourself warned.

Have a nice day.

 

Have a nice day!

Dave

 

I’m with the DJ August 31, 2008

Filed under: Art,Culture & Society,Hipster Culture,Musings — MP*erron @ 4:34 pm

Somewhere in the whirl of my ardent internet stalking I discovered Sarah L, sister to a young fräulein semi-stalked by me. Her drawings and cartoons are cute and witty, and her bake sheets make me wish I were more domestic (or artistic). And when it comes to the use of the word hipster (as illustrated here), I’m with her. That’s why I’m addicted to checking out her blog for hits of Toronto sunshine. Peace, sister.