What if your home town ceased to exist?

This past weekend was a long weekend due to the McGuinty sanctioned-holiday Family Day. Though I don't usually care for much of what the Liberal Party pushes out (Yes, this is a backhanded poo-reference and yes, I went there), I think this holiday is out of sight! And not just because I get to sleep-in an extra day or ski on a weekday. At our place, we use the weekend as a way to connect with our kids in the way we remember our parents used to do with us. For my husband, this translates into getting everybody outdoors to do something physical. For me, it means getting everybody into a Dim Sum restaurant to gorge on chinese food and then heading immediately to a movie theatre where we listen to our digesting stomachs compete with the movie's soundtrack . Good times.

It's also a time where I reflect on where I grew up. After a trip up the French River a few summers ago with the kids, I let slip that I grew up only an hour and a half away from where we had just spent three days paddling. Like stunned American tourists, they asked whether I, too, had "paddled to school". Not. Quite. But it did lead to an impromptu Google Maps search for Levack, an explanation of what a "pit party" was and a promise to to see the Big Nickel in a summer or two. Again, good times.

Even though I spent most of my teenage years praying to get the fook out of the small town I grew up in, it's really only now, as I grow older, that I feel blessed to have been raised where I was. Tom Wolfe said that you can't go home again but he got it aaaall wrong. I have gone back home waiting for a light to change in New York City; watching a pine tree sway in the wind in the middle of a forest in Germany; laying on a secluded Caribbean beach. And always I think: where I am from is as good as this. It's a feeling that can bring you pleasure at the oddest of times.

The National Film board of Canada has put together this mesmerizing -sometimes heartbreaking- yet celebratory memorial to a mining town in the North West Territories that was once a vibrant community and now no longer exists:

Most industry towns, after losing their purpose, attempt resurrections, reinventions, or just slowly wither away.

In Pine Point, they decided to erase the town from the face of the earth.

I felt somewhat changed after watching this film and learning about Pine Point (http://interactive.nfb.ca/#/pinepoint). It made me think about how much the place you come from is as much a part of you as the people you guide through it. And, damn it, if that's not something worthy of celebration.

Democrazy: The Game

Last weekend, while my husband sat in his man cave and watched a few dozen men throw a pigskin around a million dollar stadium, I sat up in the comfort of my room and watched as a few thousand men and women pushed their country toward revolution. My show was better. You wanna know why? It lasted longer, had way fewer commercials, way more cheerleaders and the outcome was far more satisfying. Are you gonna remember who won the Super Bowl this time next year? Probably not. Will you remember that a legion of thousands toppled a government in a little more than a contestant cycle of American Idol? Uh Huh. That's what I'm talking about.

John Doyle, the curmudgeon-y television critic for The Globe and Mail might disagree, though. In an excellent column he wrote this week, he claimed that the majority of Canadian cared little or not a whit for the antics in Egypt. He cited that our general disinterest had something to do with the fact that Canadian viewers didn't actually "care much about Egyptians".

They have no empathy and very little interest in what Egyptians say, think, do or feel about anything. Groups of angry people demonstrating on the street in Arab countries make viewers in North America uneasy. The knee-jerk reaction is to associate the visuals with Islamic fundamentalism. The visuals look all too similar to footage of anti-American, anti-Western rage erupting somewhere. The other knee-jerk response in viewers is to remain steadfastly indifferent to any nuance in the situation.

So sad because on some level, it is so true. I took a random sampling of men and women on the streets of my town and asked them what they thought of what was going on in Egypt and the majority of them had little or no interest in the events. (N.B. Actually, for the record, I asked 6 people at my rural post office over two days. Not exactly an Angus Reid poll but my resources and time were limited.) Short of throwing Anderson Cooper into an angry mob, how can we get the average North American audience to give a fig about democracy? Hell, we can even get the average American to give a crap about their own crumbling state. Yeah, it's destroying itself or hadn't you noticed?

So, what I propose for the next revolution is the following: merge the NFL line-up with the revolutionary line-up.

You're not following me? Let me explain: The one thing both events have in common is great handles. Hosni Mubarak. Excellent name! LaDanian Tomlinson. Strong. So, what better way to keep the eyes on the prize than get a bunch of these guys in the same room and work together to keep people interested. Because, if I'm to understand the problem correctly this not about the rise (or inevitable fall) of democracy but about ratings, correct? So in that case, I'll see your Ehud Barak and raise you a Jabari Greer.

This is just crazy enough to work, people. Just crazy enough to work.

The 10 Weirdest Things I Ever Did

The White Stripes
Originally uploaded by Barakattack

I woke up this morning to the news that the band, The White Stripes, had broken up. Sad, but hardly surprising when you consider that the band's helmsman, Jack White, has been pursuing his own projects for the better part of the past decade sans Meg. Sad, nonetheless.

I've always enjoyed The White Stripes. At their best they were a remarkable duo because they managed to successfully allow the great sound they produced to not override their weird- and sometimes creepy - personalities. It's a very tricky thing to accomplish in popular music where image is everything. Right, Phil Spector?

So, in honour of the demise of The Stripes Blanche, I am going to come clean on the ten weirdest things I have ever done. And, let me state for the record, I didn't have to dig too deep to come up with just ten.

1. I once took on an assignment to write a review of a DVD entitled, The NASA Missions: Volume 1. It was 9 hours in length. I sat through 2 and a half before I realized that I was losing my will to live and would rather be stuck in a capsule with Yakov Smirnoff headed to Mars than write the damn review. I still have the DVD if anyone wishes to borrow it.

2. I once argued with Danny DeVito over why he couldn't bring a rum and coke into one of Canada's most esteemed concert halls. It didn't go over well.

3. I practiced squatting with a dozen women - all of us 9 months pregnant - in the basement of a church on Bloor Street. At one point the instructor asked us all to moan from "the bottom of our throats" and the sound made me feel ashamed to be female. If I ever want to get in touch with a feeling of instant humiliation, I will conjure up this sound again.

4. I walked backwards from work one night just to see what it felt like. It was a two mile hike from my place of work to home and, near the end, I tripped over what I think was a cat. Rather than stop my experiment right then and there, I continued on my journey until I reached my apartment. Yeah. I did.

5. I once plunged a stuck toilet with a plastic garbage bag wrapped around my foot. It actually worked. I don't, however, recommend you try it home. Very messy.

6. I once watched my soon-to-be husband (though I didn't know it at the time) perform "surgery" on my roommate's cat with a safety pin. The cat never fussed and miraculously recovered. (N.B. I was never sure if this actually happened - a great deal of extracurricular liquids were involved - but my now-husband assures me that it did.)

7. I was obsessed with eating dirt for about a week while I was pregnant. When I told my doctor about it he told me to go home and lick a potato. It worked.

8. I once bought a Richard Simmons: Jazzercize! record at a garage sale because the look he had on his face on the cover radiated pure joy. It spoke to me. The lady I bought it from felt so sorry for me that she threw in a set of 3 pound weights for free. I still have them. The weights, not the record.

9. I let my daughter cut my hair. She got bored halfway through and stopped. Nobody noticed the change.

10. I once sat with a crazy lady on the subway who convinced me that the Eiffel tower had blown up that morning. When she got off I asked a sane gentleman if her info was correct. When he refused to answer me I skipped my class in order to get to the bottom of the situation. In my defense, this was years before the internet.

Damn, I just realized that I could go on for days. Long live the White Stripes!

Waiting for What?

Originally uploaded by Meredith_Farmer

On Tuesday, the Oscar nominations were announced. In our house, the announcement was followed quickly on its heels by another: my son's wish to see at least half of the movies nominated. Which ones, I asked, my interest piqued? Well, I've already seen Toy Story 3, he said matter-of-factly, so I would like to "screen" (his pretentious word, not mine) 127 Hours, True Grit, The Fighter and The King's Speech. The rest of the nominees on the list , I was informed, simply "didn't really interest him". Okay, Pauline Kael. After I explained to him why he wasn't going to watch a film in which a hiker cuts his arm off, I agreed to take him to the others on his list. Cue the elated fist pump and the subsequent pushing of sister who stood innocently eavesdropping nearby. End scene with my son sitting in a darkened theatre telling me to "Pull it together, Mom!" as I sit in a pool of my own tears as I watched Christian Bale valiantly pull himself out of a crack addiction towards redemption.

(N.B. To avid further embarrassment, his father will be taking him to the other three films on his list. Just thought you should all know.)

The film has some phenomenal performances in it but what stuck with me the most was a pivotal scene in which Marky Mark's character - Mickey Ward - has to tell his evil succubus mother and leachy dream-killing brother to basically suck it and let him fulfill his dream of getting one last shot at a coveted boxing title. Now, I know that the It's-Never-Too-Late-To-Realize-Your-Dreams is a somewhat cliched trope that is oft over used in films today but so inspired was I that when I returned home, I was still sort of strangely floating from the whole experience. I opened an e-mail to find a message from a friend from high school who shared a similar story. He had a song that he had recently recorded and released into the world and, in the vein of The Fighter, wanted to get the word out in any way he could. He wrote:

I was standing outside my Garage/Recording/Editing studio and it dawned on me that I don’t have as much time to do shit as I thought I did. A bit of Panic set in, and I just kind of decided that I need to be a bit more fucking pro-active with the things I wanted to get done. One of these things is to record and release music. I’ve been really good at recording music (Been doing that for f-ing 25 years now, but not soo god at releasing anything.). It’d be like you doing your blog, and shelving it, always waiting for a better time to put it out there.

Brent Wohlberg, I'm guessing that you may not have the abs of Mark Walhlberg but you do have the resolve and spirit of a fighter. Keep it up!

Here's Brent's song, Big Red Rooster

http://www.jango.com/music/The+Blazing+Elwoods?l=0

Enjoy it!

Oh yeah, and follow your dreams.

Eavesdropping....Again.

scared @ dentist
Originally uploaded by natashalcd

The beginning of this year has proven to be less than stellar and so in an attempt not to spiral downwards, I have been going out of my way to see the world in a more positive light. The best way I've found to turn the beat around (because the old way of putting food and booze on it is just NOT working) is to eavesdrop on conversations. Here is a particular favorite from last week.

The scene opens at a dentist's office. I am here to schedule a routine cleaning. There is a woman beside me filling out paperwork. I peek over and notice that it a consent form of some kind. I pretend not to be rudely reading another person's private form. Awkward.

Lady with Form: Uh. Are you taking some of my jaw and putting it somewhere else in my jaw?
Receptionist: Excuse me?
LwF: (pointing to a line on the form) Where do you get the bone for the bone grafting?
Receptionist: Oh! It’s a pre-treated crushed bone. Sort of like sand we use to fill the space.
LwF: Is it human bone?
Receptionist: I believe its cadaver.
LwF: So, human?
Receptionist: No, it’s cadaver. It’s animal bone.
LwF: Doesn’t cadaver mean “dead human body?”
Receptionist: (pauses) No, I’m pretty sure cadaver can mean animal, too. (pauses to ponder this horrible thought and then turns to me) Cadaver means animal, too, right?
Me: Honey. Keep me out of this.

Epilogue

In the end, the receptionist asked the doctor, who confirmed that it was, indeed, dead-person sand they were packing into the Lady with the Form's jaw and not crushed up animal. This made me feel uncomfortable, and then deeply grateful.

File Under: Come On ....Really?

This week, the blogosphere was all a-buzz over a Wall Street Journal piece called, "Why Chinese Mothers are Superior." In it, author Amy Chua, a professor at Yale Law School, argued that tough love was the key to raising successful children. Her parenting methods included never allowing her two daughters to "attend a sleepover, have a play date, be in a school play, complain about not being in a school play, watch TV or play computer games, choose their own extracurricular activities, get any grade less than an A."

Wowza.

We live in impossibly difficult times. I don’t think I need to make a list. And bringing up children is hard enough without adding a draconian regimen to the mix. But no sleepovers? No play dates, computer games, or state-sanctioned extra-curriculars? What the hells, I'm raising kids here, lady, not Romanian gymnasts!

Lose the fear.

Raising kids is hard work but no regimen, regardless of its strictness, we can prevent our kids from hurt, harm and disappointment. It’s a fantasy of control and protection in times that seem, well, out of control and scary. Sometimes you have to throw caution to the wind and not let your expectation for them rule the day. And, for good or bad, you have to let your kids make choices on their own. Let them play Wii on a Tuesday night every once in a while. Let them pick their nose in the car and hide it under the seat for you to find encrusted six months later. Let them spend their allowance on nine dollars worth of Silly Banz that will make their rooms smell like the Goodyear Tire plant in Altoona, Pennsylvannia.

I know why she wrote the piece, though. She, like me, is looking to correct this culture of parenting that says that all of our children are geniuses, that their art work is on par with Picasso and their soccer trophies are an example of potential World Cup greatness. This is as crazy as the Yale professor's parenting methods, to my mind. But how about this instead:

Why can't we all just do our best?

My advice to all parents who are afraid that they are going to screw it all up for their kids is to buy them a pair of fake glasses. That's what I did for mine. They make them look and feel smarter AND, as an added bonus, prepare them for a world that is constantly telling them - in one way or the other- that what they choose to do for a living (and not how they treat those around them) will ultimately define who they are. Right, Professor Rea?

Best Films of 2010

Anyone who has been paying attention to the slow drip of year-end accolades would probably be able to guess which of 2010's films were considered the best, non? There's the one about the crazy ballerina, the one about the guy who goes hiking and has to cut off his arm for some reason, the one about the FaceBook dweeb and the one where the guys try to knock off the Boston baseball landmark. I suppose. Know which ones I what I would choose? Here. We. Go.

Toy Story 3

This is easily the best film of 2010. Easily. Yes, it's a G-rated cartoon. Yes, all of the characters have appeared in Happy Meals. None of it matters.

Let me direct you to a scene deep into the film by way of example. It is a moment where some of the toy protagonists realize that in spite of all their cleverness and determination, there’s no way out of the fatal trap into which they’ve fallen. In any other children’s film, this would be a time for comedic panic, long-withheld personal confessions, or dramatic statements that would immediately turn out to be ironic. In any other children’s film, the moment would quickly peak and pass. But Toy Story 3 director Lee Unkrich (Finding Nemo, Monsters Inc.) holds for long, excruciating moments on the silent characters, as they pass from disbelief into sorrowful resolve, then take each others’ hands and wait. And wait. And wait.

It’s a shockingly grim sequence, but this is what Pixar films do best: find a place of deep emotion and explore it without blunting it, overexplaining it, or passing it off with a laugh. Toy Story 3 never gets darker than this moment, but time and again, it similarly finds real, resonant emotion in the antics of a bunch of children’s toys having adventures when nobody’s looking.

Plus, I cried like a Baptist. Not once but three times. Three times, people! That's good film-making.

True Grit

Some people come of age. Others have it thrust upon them. In the first few scenes of this remake of the John Wayne classic, young Mattie Ross (played crisply and unsmilingly by newcomer Hailee Steinfeld) has paid the undertaker and seen three men hanged. And yet, her troubles have just barely begun. True, she could simply turn around and go back home. But she’s determined to see her father’s killer (Josh Brolin) brought to justice, which means enlisting the help of the meanest Federal Marshal money can buy, a one-eyed frontier veteran named Rooster Cogburn (Jeff Bridges), who’s happy to pull a cork or a trigger, happier still to say as few words as possible while doing so, and prone to few gentle sentiments when he does talk. He’s the perfect guide, in other words, for the hard country into which her nemesis has disappeared.

The Coens brothers direct True Grit with a light touch, but like the stark, funny novel on which this film is based (written by Charles Portis), their adventure tale shaves off none of the rough edges. It’s simultaneously rollicking and grave, alternating moments of fine dark humor with startling violence as it drags Mattie into the world of adult responsibilities and the danger and lost innocence that come with them. She tries to buy revenge using the terms of trade her father taught her, then discovers she’s made a purchase that won’t fit easily fit onto a sum-filled balance sheet. Here, the West is a place of blood, black humor, and unsparing consequences meant to test the character of even the toughest men, to say nothing of a willful girl with revenge in her heart and braids still in her hair.

The Kids Are All Right

Isn't this that movie about the lesbians? Yes. The ones where the kids go looking for their Baby Daddy? Yes. The one where Annette Bening has a scene by herself in a bathroom that is so soulful and real that I believe they began engraving her name on the Oscar at that precise moment? Yes. See it. Now.