Tuesday, March 31, 2009

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

I've been reading Germanine Greer's sequel to her 60's seminal work, The Female Eunuch. I want to say it's a feminist piece but that would imply that to discuss equal opportunity is a feminist issue when it isn't. It's about human rights. The Female Eunuch is very much of it's time. It shocks only because we as a society had a long way to go back then but it's also funny and very obscene in places. I guess it was the only way to be heard. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Her more recent work is called The Whole Woman (published in 1998) so again some parts are out of date having been addressed (though I wouldn't say resolved) either by technology or legislation; it's still nevertheless an eye-opening read.

I've always thought of myself as a fairly (allowing for restrictions out of my control) emancipated woman. I have never done anything that was based on proving a point such as playing football or joining the army. I think anyone who truly wants to do things typically assigned to boys ought to have the right to but more importantly the right to excel in them if their interest in these activities goes further than the recreational. Did you know for example that women who join the army stand a bigger chance of being abused by their own comrades than the enemy? Fact. I don't need to tell you that while there are talented women in football, the game as played by them is considered a joke by the money spinning male establishment. Women tennis champions' prize money was less than mens' until a couple of years ago though the inequality in golf remains. As if women's living expenses in this day and age are less than men's. Sounds so crazy it's a wonder it's allowed to continue. Where are we going wrong? We went wrong a long time ago and I suppose it's going to take as long to put right. I certainly won't see the outcome in my lifetime, but as Greer says in the last sentence of her book: "When female energy ignites, let's hope we don't find ourselves on the wrong side."

I won't bore you with the details as we all deep down know the truth. A profession is only valued when it's dominated by men. The minute women take over it becomes devalued. If you don't believe me why are firemen paid more than nurses? Why is a women GP's starting salary on average 17 % less than a male GP's and why is it so important to throw good money after bad in the auto industry while primary healthcare languishes in under funded misery? Just recently a well loved female breakfast TV presenter in the UK found out she was being paid $35,000 less than her male partner per show!!. She quit on the spot (that's progress) and now women in the UK know the ugly truth and they are MAD. Blah, blah blah - so what? It's unfair. That's what and it has a detrimental affect on the fabric of society.

As the fabric of patriarchal society has cracked under the strain of women's insurrection it's produced a world of misunderstandings and paranoia where hatred and lack of respect now goes both ways. This is no way to live. The second wave of feminism brought a new accusation; the stridency and agression of the new feminist (a.k.a a woman who just wants freedom of choice though anger has made us all look like vitriolic cows) was draining men's virility. In fact it's changes in the modern world that contribute mainly to this feeling of powerlessness in the man. Workers are more expendable than ever. This isn't a plague visited upon them by women but by other men - the bosses who saw to it that the machines which could have liberated their employees from the drudgery and repetitive tasks replaced them instead.

In virility's place we have Viagra and male cosmetic surgery. It's as prevalent in men's lifestyle magazines as breast enlargement, botox and liposuction are in women's. This is not equality. This is exploitation. And it all starts in childhood.

So the other morning, bless his heart, my husband was brushing our 3 year old's hair. It was tangly and of course not turning out to be a fun experience. My husband started out by explaining that it was because he was a man that it hurt so much...then he stopped and said, " Since daddy doesn't have long hair, it's hard for him to know how best to brush yours, but we'll get there." That is true emancipation or to put it another way: All men are feminists now. It's the only way to pull chicks.

In all seriousness, I think all women ever wanted was the same opportunities as, not more than men. Let's hope all the hatred and suffering in between (on both sides) hasn't affected this balance in the coming years of liberation.

Last year I gave my daughter a train set for her birthday, perhaps unconsciously trying to avoid stereotypes (she did love Thomas the Tank Engine) but ultimately I run the risk of emasculating her when this isn't the way forward. So this year I'm giving her a doll and as she grows I will let her choose whether she wants to play trains or dolls all by herself - this is equality in my ideal world.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

It's all in the Name

Something incredible happened to me today. So that you may understand the magnitude of this I'm going to use the example of Christopher McCandless, the protagonist of Into The Wild who after graduation destroys every shred of ID given to him by the establishment; gives away his college fund to Oxfam and sets off into the wild, an aesthetic voyager, to experience nature firsthand and to explore his own interior landscape. At the same time he aggressively rejects all conventional life reference points like love, family, achievement and responsibility.

Heroic adventurer, naive idealist or just emotionally immature - it's up to you to decide. What's relevant to me is that he felt alone, outside of the system and chose to protest against it by ridding himself of every connection to things that defined him in the secular and religious sphere. While I was never that radical, I became a bit rebellious when I lost my parents 15 years ago. Having no brothers or sisters when this happened, I basically lost everything that kept me tethered to the material world. My way of dealing with this was to subconsciously build my defenses. Pomposity was one of them, arrogance another and the total disdain for other people's activities and ceremonies. Without a family what did ritual matter? So I stood alone and aloof with just a select clique of people around me.

Much of that changed when I eventually married and had a child. I made my own unconditional love tree. My husband's family will tell you I like nothing more than to sit around the Christmas tree with everyone milling about making noise, reaffirming my secure hearth - the one I didn't want to admit I missed and wanted again. This is what happens to Christopher in the film - in the end he is proud to be his father's son.

Well, recently after I'd long ago accepted that with the death of my parents went the anchor to the extended family, (as they weren't in the same country as me) a cousin I never knew I had on my father's side found me on Facebook. He has the same surname as me. This is huge. It means I belong to someone and they belong to me, in nature - something that will never be taken from me. He then opened the floodgates to other aunts, uncles and cousins all of whom have the same blood in their veins as me. I exist as part of a whole that started long before me and will continue long after, again. I am.

Happy, confident, grateful and proud of my father's name once more.

Monday, March 23, 2009

Juvenile Delinquent

Nevermind The Gladstone...here's The Drake. Bars that is, in the hippie hippie shake of downtown Toronto. Located west of Spadina on West Queen West; put on your walking shoes and best browsing eyes to get to this gem and more.

Initially discovered while researching material for Canadian Music Week and then incorporated into a date night with my other half, The Drake hotel bar is worth the trek and the trek is worth the trek because along the way you will be treated to a colourful funfair ride of style, taste and lifestyle choices. Bursting with bohemian chic and retro originality it's like a mash-up of 60's vibe Carnaby Street, Haight-Ashbury and Soho (as I imagine and romanticize having been born too late for the 60s - my biggest regret!). From the one-off fashion and design boutiques to the postest of post modern art galleries; from the hole in the wall watering troughs to The Drake Hotel. It's pop art social science.

The Drake, a hotel bar with more style and atmosphere in it's lobby than an all night cocktail party at Jack Nicholson's bachelor pad, encapsulates the essence of the dimly lit, tasteful wine bar with universal good design and a touch of class. A glass encased fireplace serves as the focal point while giant abstract light fixtures form the canopy above and best of all - no silly pricing.

Another lucky find was The Beaconsfield; located a few blocks down nestled on a quiet corner in a converted Bank of Molson branch, I had the most delicious roasted beet and chevre salad with a devilishly strong Leffe Blonde bier.

True to my punk roots I couldn't end the night without trying something less polished, more raw. Like an oasis a little place arose from a side street. Called Sweaty Betty's we initially only went in for respite from the night chill while we thought about what to do next. We had a couple of choices, pay the cover for The Stones Place or seek out a club for live music. Then we recognized some tunes from our 'happy' place. The Specials. We stayed. The music and the vibe were too good to waste. We decided that this date warranted a sequel to cover off what we didn't achieve this time round. In the meantime, we felt like freshmen on freshers' week.

We made the last train home - I felt 17 again running for the night bus in Camden after a night trawling the musicality of the area, chalky with cigarette smoke, despite not being a smoker myself. That was in fact the only difference this time round - no smoke at all. That and the fact the following day I was going to Disney on Ice with my almost 3 year old for UK Mother's Day. Some traditions transcend geography. That was another type of juvenile delinquent delight altogether.

Friday, March 20, 2009

The Art of Repelling and Setting Boundaries A.K.A Skunk Medicine

God it feels good sometimes to give something or someone the finger who, in a subjective way (this sort of exchange always is) deserved it. Outside of a temporary boost to self-esteem, not much else is achieved. I realised however the difference between sending someone away with a flea in their ear and just being bang out of order rude is that you still feel good, great even, days after the incident. No guilt; just pure satisfaction also known as having the courage of one's convictions.

I'm there. I'm riding that wave of sensible, self respecting boundary setting. Let me explain: I was called out of the blue, which is never a good sign, by a contingency based recruiter who hadn't contacted me once since we initally met months back and I'd signed onto their books. These are the guys whose salaries depend heavily on quantity of vacancies filled, because quality? I ain't seen it yet. The good ones become mentors, career developing partners and the bad ones hang around like a bad stink because their aim is to meet their quota whatever it takes with very little thought or effort put into matching the right people to the right roles. They are not interested in a productive win-win situation, they are only interested in short-term self-serving wins.

Long story short, I was being treated like a commodity - or perhaps to keep this objective - I felt like this was the case. Anyone less experienced might have allowed themselves to be wheeled out to interview to perform like a circus poodle, wasting time, energy, leaking the oil of self-esteem en route for what in the end was a crap job for a bad company.

As the process continued, it became more and more apparent that this particular recruiter hasn't really read my resume. She couldn't have. And if she had and still felt confident about proposing this croc of a vacancy to me, she's even more ruthless than I thought and not in the 'Greed is Good' way. She'd locked in on one of my technical skills and on that basis decided I should see what turned out to be, on referral from industry peers, not a very good place to work. See being in PR, I know that word of mouth is the most powerful medium of all. Not only was this company not getting great reviews, they were getting terrible ones. And most telling of all, they weren't even a PR company! HELLO!!

Despite polite phonecalls and thoughtful e-mails requesting more information on the role, this lady thought she could ignore the detail and push on through. This is a career I'm trying to plan here, not lunch.

The last time I had to consider less than suitable roles was when I had just graduated from college and needed the experience yet this is how I was being made to feel now - 15 years into a very successful run until I moved here...(blah blah you know the story). What a terrible way to do business. I feel for her in a way since she's really quite young and probably doesn't know better. I hope she's grown as much as I have from this experience and we can both put the resulting energy to good use.

In the meantime, I will use the time I'm not wasting on researching for a much more appropriate role I'm at 2nd interview stage with next week. Now, you know not to get excited because I've been here more than a gambler at the casino this past 5 months. Still I said I'd give Canada my best shot and I will.

In the meantime, I have only one thing to say to this recruiter - Skunk off!

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Date Night!

I've been married for almost 4 years - I met my husband while travelling through South East Asia. We then spent almost 3 months on the road together 24/7 in 'Mantracker' like conditions hiking through the lower Himalayas and then enduring the heat and misogyny of central India, which harsh as it was I wouldn't exchange for 2 weeks in Ibiza ever.

We've come to the conclusion that this kind of 'together' counts as 2 years of courtship under normal circumstances. In other words, we've been together long enough that the idea of a date is a little absurd. Except that after all this time and a child to boot (love her dearly as we do from DNA to split ends) dates don't happen very often. Certainly, they are never spontaneous and you do have to be strategic in the planning but that doesn't stop me from getting excited.

In the past, the pressure to have fun has weighed heavy and petty bickering would ensure but we know better now. Life is just too short to waste date night on arguments that we can do any other day of the week. We have also agreed that any conversations we have on date night must be firmly rooted in fact not opinion unless one has been elicited and then it's a free for all. Well, we've both learnt to be very strict with this policy and it works.

Getting back to the date, it has to fulfil 2 purposes: One - it must be fun for both of us and two - has to be something or somewhere new. I hate U-turns and I find repetition monotonous. In life I prefer to change paths and explore new avenues rather than turn back. I'm a bit like a male driver in this sense. So this weekend I've drawn up a list of venues around downtown Toronto used by the organizers of Canadian Music Week, which I was researching for a feature and we'll pick one or two places to catch some live music. Top of the list at the moment is the Gladstone Hotel whose reputation has travelled somewhat and my husband has to go to the bar on Queen St. W run by an ex roadie for The Stones - he HAS to go or he will die. I also have my eye on a couple of smaller, kookie venues but we'll start big and see where that goes.

I've heard the Library Bar at the Royal Fairmont is a good place to start out with a little tipple and a big change from the usual, plus since it's opposite Union Station (we'll be coming in by train) it makes utter sense we begin as we mean to go on.

I'm still working on where to have the meal. I only have one rule on this - it absolutely positively cannot be part of a chain and this choice I will leave to spontaneity as we meander around our favourite parts of T.O. Please feel free to make suggestions folks!

All this talk of travel and food and whatnot - I've started preparing from scratch paper masala dosas like the ones we ate in India...it's a right malarky but it's not boring and that's my first rule of law.

Monday, March 16, 2009

Art a Go Go

I was lucky enough to go to the AGO, Art Gallery of Ontario this weekend for free. I could have paid and I feel lucky for that too, but I didn't have to so who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?

I did question how many people don't get to experience the wonder of art either because they can't pay or they simply won't pay but would go if cost wasn't an issue. I've been spoiled. Museums in London are free, all day, every day with the exception of special exhibits. As a result, I've been going to museums since I was a child and often they would be unplanned, spontaneous visits that happened simply because I was walking past. I've been to the Natural History Museum so many times I can draw a floor plan from memory.

It's a shame that museums here have to charge but I understand the business reality for these organizations. I also know they do their best to spread the love by offering free evenings and special half price nights and I'm sure this goes some way to including people on low or fixed income or from life environments where museums don't make it into their consciousness to grow from the enjoyment and inspiration that art offers.

Art and entertainment is and always will be a powerful community cohesive from the high-brow paintings hanging in galleries to bridge graffiti. I've said it before and I'll say it again.:The best things in life are free or have free evenings. Save the money for a snack and drink at the espresso bar on the 5th floor of the AGO while you debate the artistic merit of a blank canvas (that's one of the contemporary exhibits) while looking out onto the jumble of the urban canvas below. You can't put a price on simple pleasures of that kind anyway, so why bother. Just enjoy.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

I'll Take the Scenic Route

I just got off Facebook (marvellous invention) with a friend who I have known since I was about 3 years old. We grew up together in London, our parents from sunny Mediterranean countries happy to be making a life for themselves in a town that provided and continues to provide for all those brave people that leave behind everything they know in pursuit of something 'better'.

Having been brought up in this world, it's perhaps not that surprising that both of us decided to do the same - she to Australia and me to Canada. She made it 8 years. On April 1st (no joke) she is returning to Europe. After 8 really sunny years she had this to say, "In all that time, through all the great jobs, friends, parties and beaches - it never felt like home."

It's left me with a massive hole - the shape of home.

But what of our parents? they made a home outside of their native lands. Yes, temporarily for 30 years, in both our cases. Both sets of parents are where they belong now. Her's in Portugal and mine, metaphorically speaking in Spain - sadly departed. I think about my mum's peers in London and those who were not English are now back home too. Spain mostly but also India, Ireland and I know a family who went back to West Africa. The pull is too strong.

The issue occurs I suppose with international unions such as that of my husband and mine. He's Canadian and the thought of living in the UK makes him feel a little bit queasy. I'm not sure how well that augurs. For now, I must give this experience it's just deserts. I know everyone who has ever ventured outside of their comfort zone has become invincible in many ways.

I look forward to harnessing those superpowers. I wonder what kind I'll have? will I be able to make fire? freeze people, move at the speed of light or just grow my finger nails faster? Wait that's a Family Guy episode...you know what I mean.

Right now, I'm off to see if these emerging superskills will find a nice sweater for my soon-to-be brother in law's 30th birthday this weekend.

Where to guv'nor? Home please - take the scenic route.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

The Writing on the Wall

Once again, I didn't get the job. This time though I didn't lose out to someone else . The role is on hold (such are the times). Obviously this was not the news I was hoping for and while the very same day I was called about the possibility of another role elsewhere, I had kinda felt this was going to be it. Everything pointed to this being a sure thing. Guess there are no sure things anymore - if there ever were.

I was upset but not beyond consolation, not like the time my plane to NYC was cancelled where I was meant to meet up with my UK friends, whom I hadn't seen in ages and for whose company I yearned. I cried like a little baby then. My husband was a sweetheart about it and let me dress up to the nines just to go to a local bar in the old part of this little town I live in. I'm sure he felt like the ringmaster out with his little circus poodle but by rights I was meant to be sipping Cosmos in Manhattan. Anyway, life's little knocks that often bring out the best in people aren't always such a bad thing.

This latest set back had sort of done the same. Bless my hubby if he didn't immediately send over a bunch of fresias to help lighten the disappointment and though a small gesture, it was huge to me. I'm sad, yes; disappointed? Very; emboldened? Not exactly; beaten? - Definitely not but I am afraid to say that I've started the process in my mind at least for a permanent return to dear old blightey where by total contrast calls with job ops are weekly if not daily.

I don't want to stay where disappointment is becoming the norm; where I'm no longer beyond consolation because I'm so used to being let down I don't need consoling any more. That is no life. I am better than that.

I have given myself until October 2009 for something to give here (making it a tidy 2 years) which on some levels have been very productive, after which time I will be making tracks. By then I feel I'll be justified in hauling the family back over the ocean. As you can tell, I'd leave tomorrow if it made any sense but it doesn't. So for now, I continue to hammer away but this time with less urgency and more purpose.
Over and not out....for now.

Saturday, March 7, 2009

The Wonder of ...Stevie

This morning, amazingly! my husband, a Rolling Stones' obsessive put on Stevie Wonder's 'Songs in the Key of Life' during breakfast. No idea what motivated him to do this. It's totally out of character. I'm expecting an unreasonable request at any moment. But it never comes. Perhaps his taste in music is as eclectic as mine afterall? I'm delighted as this is one of my favourite albums of all time.

It's raining outside and maybe he's decided that Stevie Wonder's unique stamp of sunny, joyous positivity is the only thing that can stand up to the downpour. Even when he (Stevie) addressed serious racial, social, and spiritual issues (which he did quite often), or sang about heartbreak and romantic uncertainty, an underlying sense of optimism and hope always seemed to emerge. I think I like that the most about his musical style, though he bangs out a good tune too.

Songs in the Key of Life, is without a doubt one of the most played albums of my mid twenties (Please note I discovered Stevie late...ahem). It touches on nearly every issue under the sun and has helped me through break-ups, found and lost friendships, happy and sad days. There is a song for each occasion here. "Another Star," became for me the song for the rejected lover - uh huh, we've all been there. With lyrics like, 'I fell in love with one who would break my heart, but for you there will be another star'...well there is nothing left to do but wash away the sorrow and maudlin with indulgent tears of utter pity for oneself. And how great that feels.

If you heard me incessantly replaying "Knocks me off my Feet", "Joy inside my Tears"and "Summer Soft' then you knew all was well and I was in love again. These three songs are so tenderly cathartic and gloriously redemptive even Moliere's Le Misanthrope would feel compelled to pick a flower and hand it to a lonely looking woman.

"As" is another epic and eminently danceable love song - "just as hate knows love's the cure, you can rest your mind assured that I'll be loving you always..." intensely heartfelt. I think of my dearly departed and much missed mum whenever I hear this song. And then just as you think it can't get any soppier, the delightful "Isn't she Lovely" puts a spring back into your step. I love to play this song for my almost 3 year old daughter, that and "Sunshine of my life" (which isn't on this album but is your duty to track down). She loves it and dances like she doesn't have a care in the world. My own mum used to sing "You are my Sunshine" to me when I was growing up, so in my world, these songs make utter sense and form part of the ever evolving circle of life.

There are 21 songs on this album - an important number in numerology and tarot. Was this deliberate? Don't know and it doesn't matter. They are 21 great songs that are truly in the key of life and I highly recommend them any day of the week.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

The Desire for Desires

I'm in planning mode. Planning, I find is the only way to avoid confrontation with a willful 2 and a half year old who has the boredom threshold of a manic depressive. I'm told it's down to a 2 year old's inability to focus for very long on anything. Totally normal. Still, staving off tedium is no mundane matter. Personally I can spend 8 hours online and never run out of stuff to keep me stimulated. Unfortunately, my nipper has a little way to go before she too can boast such rock n' roll credentials.

For me Tuesday night is the new Sunday night and this is because for the two days following, I'm working the mummy shift for which I have to prepare or live to regret (preceded and followed by the blessed relief of daycare).

There was once a time I didn't have to think about parenthood. It came naturally to feed, burp, put to sleep and gurgle along with a teeny tiny baby. It's when they can start making demands and showing disdain that you need all the help you can get and I hate to tell you, but that starts sooner than you think. So I always invest a little time on Tuesday nights, when the dear girl has waddled off to bed, to plan and cram as much activity into Wednesdays and Thursdays as possible - the aim being to totally annihilate the woman's resolve and generally reduce opportunities to whinge. She is half British afterall. It doesn't take much.

So tomorrow I'm going to try the Children's Museum in Hamilton. Ironically it costs more for the kid than the adult to get in this will I hope yield knock-on activity of a creative kind. On Thursday I will try for the first time since she was a babe in arms to take her to a cinema where I anticipate being surrounded by kiddy chaos as parents, lulled by the darkness and relative quiet of the auditorium begin a frustrating fight against fatigue. The complimentary wet wipes alone, (promised by the theatre's website) are an enticing enough draw.

I'm a fan of introducing new activity to my daughter's otherwise predictable schedule and while I don't deny the very evident benefits of routine in a child's life, there is really only one cure for boredom and that it curiosity. Problem is...is there a cure for curiosity? Who knows. Finding out is half the fun.

If the world's second worst crime is boredom. The first is being a bore and I never want my child to accuse me of that until I'm at least past 'the change'.