...but Canada should read "No Crystal Stair"

Today, I finished a book from Canada Reads by Mairuth Sarsfield called "No Crystal Stair". It was simply amazing. Not only did it delve into race issues in Montreal in the 30s and 40s, but it shed some light on what it was like to be a black woman in that time and place. It dealt with families you make, in addition to families you're born with, and the struggle to be who you are and not what you may appear to be. It dealt with the true meaning of women's friendships.

From the macro to the micro and back again. I saw myself in it many times.

And to top it all off, I felt uplifted at the end.

Love that.

"No Crystal Stair" did not win Canada Reads, but if more people read it, it's still a winner. The inspiration for the book, and the meaning of the title, comes from a Langston Hughes poem, which I include here for your reading pleasure. When you read the book and then go back to the poem, it gives it a more poignant and wonderful meaning.

Mother to Son

Well, son, I'll tell you:
Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
It's had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor—
Bare.

But all the time
I'se been a-climbin' on,
And reachin' landin's,
And turnin' corners,
And sometimes goin' in the dark
Where there ain't been no light.
So, boy, don't you turn back.
Don't you set down on the steps.
'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.
Don't you fall now—
For I'se still goin', honey,
I'se still climbin',
And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.

But who can blame politicians when we let Coke get away with it?

Remember before last November, when I gave up Coke, how strung out and twitchy I was when I didn't have my daily dose? I could've mainlined the stuff and it still wouldn't have been enough. Which is not to say I still don't have problems with an addiction to sugar (specifically anything chocolate and cinnamon hearts), because I most certainly do, as I sit here munching on those same cinnamon hearts.

But I digress. So I went up to the food court at lunch and got some General Tso's Chicken from that nice lady in one of the Chinese food places up there with a Canada Dry to go with it. Yes, I have sworn off most carbonated beverages, but I still allow myself Canada Dry in the faint hope that it is somehow less bad for me than Coke. Then, I wonder, perhaps my faint hope is misguided. Which is worse, Coke or Canada Dry? And none of that stupid "diet" stuff, eh? Don't even get me started on aspartame.

So I googled it. Canada Dry has 120 calories and 33 grams of sugar in a can. As for Coke, well, you have to do a bit more searching on their website to find this information, as you scroll past the crap about how Coke can be a part of your healthy, balanced diet. And maybe this last part is true, at least before the stage when you find yourself addicted and popping open your first can of the day at 8:30 a.m. But the final verdict is....Coke has 97 calories and 27 grams of sugar? How can Canada Dry be worse in these two categories?

Then you read the fine print.

Coke is 97 calories and 27 grams of sugar per 8 oz (236.588237 mL). And a can is 12 oz (354.882356 mL). And Coke doesn't sell 8 oz cans. Their cans are 12 oz, which means they have, according to my simple calculations 145.5 calories and 40.5 grams of sugar per can. So what else are they trying to hide that isn't so obvious to uncover?

Maybe, just maybe, Coke is not part of a healthy, balanced diet after all. 'Cause it's hard to jog around the block with a can in your hand.

And maybe, I'm not that stupid anymore.

But I would love a can of Coke right now.

Coke's website
Canada Dry's website

Spun Around So Much I'm Totally Burned Out

As compared with earlier versions of myself (as in “Campus Lise” compared to my current “Money-is-my-crack-and-gets-me-to-work-each-morning Lise”), I watch, listen and read a lot less news than I used to. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still more of a news junkie than most, but lately I’ve been feeling really burned out.

Like this morning Andy is interviewing the Liberal’s Ontario Caucus Chair about this new “Ontario wants in” theme being floated about, mostly by McGuinty. He asks, and I’m paraphrasing here, “What will the Federal Budget do for Ontario?” and she goes on and on about how Ontario is an important part of confederation, about how when Newfoundland succeeds, we all succeed, blah, blah, blah…

Now you understand I’m not talking about content here, but why doesn’t she just say “Listen, you guys have it so much better than anyone else, you should stop whining”, or “McGuinty needs something new to deflect criticism, ask him?” or even “Martin has his own agenda to push and I am his puppet”?

Okay, so I know why she doesn’t just say that, but I just feel so frustrated that no one says what they mean anymore. Because they’re afraid of what you might think. Because they’re afraid you won’t like them anymore (read: vote for them). I realize there’s a large balancing act going on here, but I feel like they just think we’re all idiots.

Remember when Kim Campbell said something about how an election is not the time to debate complex issues? Okay, so I think she may be wrong (or maybe not), but at least she didn’t bullshit us. Of course, then, she made fun of a guy with a disability.

I kinda wish Ralph Goodale would stand up this afternoon and say, “I will now read a list of frivolous items that we have agreed to spend billions on to keep the backbenchers happy and to get enough opposition support for the budget so the government doesn’t fall because we like power and having nice pensions to look forward to.” Maybe that's not even bad motivation. But at least it's closer to the truth.

The L list

If Oprah can have the O list, then here's my L list for today, arranged by sense.

Taste: William's Coffee Pub Mochaccino Dark
Touch: Burt's Bees Lip Balm
Hear: Jesse Cook's Montreal
Smell: Lush Chai Shower Gel
Sight: "Urban Decoder" in Toronto Life Magazine (read)
and Garden State (watch)

Weekends are to enjoy.

Paranoia a la 1984

Between the mistrial in the Johnathan case and the news that bloggers are being fired, what is a girl to do? Notice I haven't posted since Monday. Big Brother is watching you. Only he would be some tiny little nobody jerk that could totally bring you down. It's the democratic approach to a dictatorship. We each have the power to, like the dictator, decree at whim.

What is the meaning of free expression when psychotic privacy is the only thing that can protect you?

And see, this is why I worry about cohesion too.

Stop looking at me!

Dear St. Valentine...

Another February 14 goes by and still I don't have that special someone that the greeting card and florist industries dictate I should spend it with. Or spend for. True, this is not your fault, you poor, long-dead, but strangely revered sap of a man, who was martyred for refusing to give up Christianity. (Or maybe you were the doctor that restored the jailer's daughter's sight, things can be so namby-pamby in Catholic history. I mean remember that Pope that was really a woman? What, you don't? They didn't teach you that in Sunday School?)

But anyway, so you were beheaded. Yeah, that's a pretty thing to remember on Valentine's Day. But you were interested in love, only it was that agape kind for god, not this eros kind everyone throws around so wantonly on February 14. It doesn't mean Hallmark can't reclaim it for something else though. (Sorry Nancy, but I'm right, aren't I?) I mean Jesus is all about Christmas ornaments, right? And he died on the cross to save us from a world without chocolate, which is what we celebrate at Easter, right?

Whatever. So today, on St. Valentine's Day, I work for what will likely amount to at least 12 hours, come home to my dog who's always appreciative of even my most annoying habits and thank god that I can relax without having too much to do with the expectations of my local florist and whatever sappy romantic-comedy is out in theatres now.

Really, I mean thank god for that.

Love,

your bitter li'l valentine.

Oppression and Jewelry at the White House (and other places)

So on this week's West Wing, C.J. Cregg, White House Chief of Staff, was wearing this terrific looking necklace. It was quite elaborate--not the usual chain with a cross or something--but with silverish oblong beads. Looked great on her. Too bad it isn't reflective of how the real White House Chief of Staff could dress. And I'm not talking about Andrew Card wearing a necklace, I'm talking about what if it was 'Andrea Card' and what she could wear.

I do normally find it easy to confuse the tv show with real life in this particular case. It's probably wishful thinking since the tv West Wing is home to Democrats, while the real life one houses the supposed 'GOP'. But in this case I was jarred out of my daydream by this necklace. It truly was great, and demonstrated that C.J. has, or would have if she was a real person, have great taste. The problem is that in my experience as a witness to women in some high powered positions, wearing such a necklace invites an opinion among colleagues that you have too much time on your hands and don't take your job seriously enough. I suspect that if Condoleeza Rice wore something similar to Mid-East Peace Talks people would think she was a bit of a loose cannon. I mean with peace to manage how could you possibly have had time to think about finding something to go with your outfit like that?

On the contrary, perhaps it demonstrates that you have a life outside your job. A balanced individual, imagine that. Might make for a better employee too.

And as for men having to choose ties, yes, you might get into the same dilemma, but most probably if you wore one that was really fanciful or out there everyone would think your kids/wife/girlfriend got it for you and have pity. This is perhaps another form of oppression for those of the metrosexual variety who like to look smart and put together. Sorry about that, but I didn't start the fire, if ya know what I mean.

While 'put together' on the outside may not equal 'put together' on the inside (in the sense of a balanced life) chances are if you don't have time to think about earrings in the morning, your job may be what's oppressive.

I've been googled

Thanks to whoever it was out there who left a comment on my "Read all about it" post. It's cool that someone else also remembers that show. Sometimes I forget that there might be someone out there reading. Thankfully, however, this obliviousness hasn't stopped me from some self-preservative censorship.

February Blah Song....August Day Song

Last summer I went downtown to the Carlu with Nancy to see a concert by Bebel Gilberto. Yep, that's how you spell her name, but I'm still not sure if I'm saying it properly. beBel, Baybel, hard G on the last name? And did I mention she sings mostly in Portugese, a language I don't know a word of? Well, that's a lie because I do know a few words, but not enough to find the ladies room at the train station in Lisbon, if you know what I mean. Fortunately, Nancy would be able to help me out there. But I digress...

I'm thinking of that concert because it's February. If you know the music, that says enough. "Just like this rainstorm, this August Day Song, I dream of places far beyond...". One of the few English lyrics. And one of my faves. But then, there's also Jabitucaba (a tree?) and Aganju (nope, no idea what that means). But it all has that the same feeling. Although she seemed a little diva-ish on stage (and did I mention I was leaning up against said stage), I was taken to places far beyond. It didn't tarnish the romance of a far away, sunny place with warm people and the music of an everyday life swaying to the background of my own.

"We're not worthy!"

I have not seen Clint Eastwood's "Million Dollar Baby", but I now know that the ending plays up the value of life with a disability as worthless (see CBC or CNN). Sorry, maybe I should've said *spoiler alert* there. So great, all we need is another celebrated cultural phenomenon to make everyone think that if by some standard of life you are something less, than you really don't have anything to live for. And I'm not just talking about people with spinal cord injuries here. I'm not arguing for going to the edge and beyond of the limits of medical science, but life is not over if you use a wheelchair or a cane. Or if you're overweight. And perhaps that's my real issue here, because it sure feels like it sometimes.

Okay, so I could stand to lose a few. But let's put aside the need for me to be more healthy, at whatever size and weight, and think about this for a moment. Just because the seats on airplanes are not made for my ass to be comfortable doesn't mean that it's only me that has to change. How about putting this in the context of the hearing impaired. Obviously they just have to learn to hear or some reasonable fascimile right? Uh, no. I mean that's great if that's what you choose as a hearing impaired person, for reasons free and clear of the need to fit to the Standard Operating Manual of Society, but why should you feel obligated to? Maybe we can all bend the standard in such a way that even manages to benefit us all?

Like ramps at a reasonable incline and wide doorways that fit wheelchairs and power outlets halfway up the wall. Like a sign language interpreter at events not just when someone needs the political feel-good capital. Like a large selection of reasonably priced clothing for those of us who aren't shaped like Barbie.

Enough of all that and just maybe, over time, people will value life more. In all its permutations.

Just Benon from the Block

Ethics is often treated as a namby-pamby idealistic and unnecessary subject for thought nowadays. But obviously, we have a problem here. Rumour has it that the United Nations Oil-For-Food program was rife with corruption and influence and, in the Secretary Generals own words “fell far short of the standards of fairness, objectivity and transparency required by the Charter and by United Nations rules, and that the management controls and systems set up for the programme were, in many cases, inadequate to the task”.

At least for the moment, it all looks like this guy, Benon Sevan’s fault. This makes me think of Stan Koebel, remember him? Life sustenance for both Walkerton residents and Iraqis. Critical stuff here. And why did it all go so wrong?

I think it’s because people start to think they are the organization they represent. It’s so much bigger than just them and maybe they feel that it therefore confers some sort of general immunity about things. Would Benon buy a fridge from a guy that was leaking Freon if it was for his own family? Would Stan have let the cows meander around his own well?

Having said that, while everybody is somebody’s child, I myself find it difficult to remember that sometimes. Especially when you’re trying to be helpful but the taxpayer on the other end of the line is just not happy and has to remind you “Hey, I pay your salary!”.

And I hear Jenny from the Block has quite a rider, so evidently the block has slipped her mind too.

Benon should have been thinking that every hungry Iraqi is somebody’s child. I’m not naïve to the fact that were other hurdles with this program but it did start off with good intentions. We all do. The challenge is to remember the block, where you learned them on.

Picture This...

I was surfing yesterday and came upon the NYC Photo Blog.

Beautiful, interesting and makes me wish I was a photographer.

Easy Mail

Putting a postage stamp on something nowadays seems so ridiculous. When I want to contact someone, my first inclination is to email them. Email has a lovely c.y.a. side effect that makes me feel all warm inside. This is especially helpful in certain professional situations.

Being a child of the information age, I often wonder how information was disseminated in the pre-email days. Did people really send out a memo for every stupid little change in procedure? (And good God, how did they work with all that carbon copy junk without Purel?) Paper memos seem so much more formal than email. Some people who complain about the descent of language point out that formality is a good thing. Perhaps this is true, but weighed in the balance with having more information at your fingertips, I’m for the email. Besides, descent...evolution...who can tell anymore?

Yes, the days of writing something that sounds different from what you would say in a normal situation are passing quickly. Carrie Bradshaw always seemed to write like she would normally speak.

Then again, she also used the inappropriate use of “their” as vindication of her worthiness as a single and chic New Yorker.

And Grandpa is a philatelic cyberphobe.

So…nevermind.