And We'll Change the World: Rest in Peace, Jack Layton

The morning that Jack Layton passed away, I had people calling me, texting me, and sending me messages to say that they were sorry for my loss. I laughed, and realized how much the New Democrats have become a part of my life; it is true that Mr. Layton seemed more to me like a kindly grandfather who stood up for his family than  an actual politician. Jack Layton united a country; on May 2nd, Quebec cheered with the rest of the country as the NDP replaced the Liberals and the Bloc as Canada's opposition. Yesterday, we all wept together as a nation to have lost such a charismatic leader.

As I took Jack's wrinkled hand in mine, my mind went blank. I did not know what to say. His body was shaking from having just delivered a lost letter to democracy, but his grip was firm. I looked up at him, eyes wide, mouth open. No words came out.

"Thank you for fighting with me," he winked, realizing that I had no greater compliment than to, for once, shut up. "I'm so flattered you're here." 

The cameras flashed, and he smiled. I ogled with shining eyes. 

When his death truly hit me, I felt like something greater had died. First my grandmother, then what my grandmother stood for? The good fight had never seemed to have so few soldiers.

Luke listened as I wept.

"This isn't over," he promised. "Don’t let them tell you it can’t be done. is the Courage my friends, 'tis not too late to build a better world. of this generation."

I nodded solemnly, but he was right. I fought off a grin. Moses never made it to the promise land, right?

Besides, nothing cheers me up like a good Tommy Douglas reference.

Jack Layton's inspirational & beautiful final letter to the Canadians.

I Was Here.

This is not urban art.

But this is, see?

Someone was here is displayed almost everywhere. Scratched into school desks, written in side walk pavement, and of course, spray painted on walls. Walking by any side of a building in a city can become an epic novel of people who were here, of racial epitaphs, and of someone loving someone at some point, and it was definitely "4ever!" because it was in a heart. 

"NOva Scotia" is a bit of a running joke where I am from. Living in its biggest city, Halifax, I trick myself into thinking we are soooo progressive and Montreal & Toronto & Vancouver just need to stop being so mean to us, okay?! Being small is an image Halifax both loves and hates; we're not like those big city folk! We're friendly! But everywhere has a Starbucks now and supporting independent book stores sometimes seems to take its place over helping the homeless.We insist that we are more than just a bunch of drunks in kilts while proudly wearing oversized plaid shirts. Being both a university city and a government one is an interesting experience; we would have little economy without the big concrete buildings of bureaucracy but having a yearly shipment of Toronto's trendiest makes us feel very, very urban. We have gentrification and we have people who have spent more of their lives on boats than on land. We have organic fair trade gluten free and we have down home stew from Momma. We have impressive social justice and we have crippling racism. On good days, we are a beautiful juxtaposition. On bad days, we are a clash.

Urban art is not graffiti.

In school, I was able to help an urban art initiative. It's silly, but I felt like I was doing my grandmother's work in promoting art that would proudly be display at the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia. Almost every other major city has come to celebrate urban art and embrace it. Of course, we're lagging behind a little bit.

"Urban art is too much like graffiti!" 

Urban art will not teach your child to write "Fuck you" on a wall. That's not art; that's spare time and a can of spray paint. To compare the two is insulting. To dismiss pieces that take time, effort, and talent as scribbling this city doesn't want, doesn't need, is offensive. Ignoring urban art does not make it go away; if we pretend it's not real art, not good art, then it will never end up in a gallery! And then where will it go? Do you think everyone will drop their cans and surrender? The more something is valued and ends up on gallery walls, the less it will end up on walls of a factory. Graffiti is a crime; urban art is a style. Graffiti can be pretty or offensive, but it is something on a wall that the owner of the wall does not want. Urban art is not like that; urban art is bright, vibrant, and certainly not illegal. 

I sigh and wait and I don't hold my breath. Jazz was once considered the work of the devil, and now Halifax has an annual jazz festival. Progress takes time, and I cannot wait until people see what side of history they fall on. I know they will not succeed.

But it's not about whether they succeed, because I don't have time for this crap. I'm growing up. I'm deciding where I want to go, who I want to be. I have so much to give for the community I will one day call home. I am a student with an excellent resume, but I know that there are hundreds of others smarter, better, and more talented than I. If I'm not ready to wait for my city to stop being against everything that young people are doing, can we really expect anyone else to stick around?  When will we accept urban art? Will it be when you need an ID to buy a can or spray paint, or when spoiled rich children go to school in Paris or Barcelona to learn how to do it?

I will not pretend that urban art and graffiti have nothing in common. I will not pretend I didn't expect this outcry. Urban art is a style, graffiti is a crime. This means that sometimes urban art is graffiti. I'm not going to pretend that I see no connection whatsoever. But let's think about what my beautiful city is saying.

We are bringing in the guns to shoot at paint brushes.

We are banning it instead of teaching it to be constructive.

We are devaluing a form of expression, which is what inspired graffiti in the first place.

We are making art a crime, instead of seeing something good coming from something bad.

"Urban art is graffiti and it's illegal and there's nothing beautiful about that ever ever ever! Right?..."

....Right?

.........Right?

........................Right?!

It's our failing fault those are on the streets, and not on a canvas on our wall. 

Well, speak for yourself, because my walls will be beautiful.

And yours could be too.

Watch, Read, Hear, Know, Do

Watch: Adam

Netflix told me that Adam was a romantic comedy. I think I chuckled once.

Don't take this lack of laughter as a sign you should not watch it. Unless you hate crying! Then you should probably stay away. I think directors have an obsession of labelling every romance movie as a romantic comedy in an effort to market it and make it seem more modern. In fact, Adam is also a little light on the romance. By now, you are probably wondering if this movie is even worth reading about, let alone watching. But keep listening to me, please! Adam is a love story, and it is a story I fell in love with.

Semi spoiled only child Beth moves into new building and immediately starts chasing the cute/mysterious guy. Oh wait! He's not just an aloof indie guy who is ambiguous about their relationship; Adam has Asperger syndrome and is reeling from the recent loss of his parents. Living on his own for the first time in the only home he has ever known, the two had adorable awkward dates while Adam learns to live in the 'real world' on his own. Of course, there is family drama on Beth's side and she has more than enough should I be dating this guy moments. Then Adam gets a job! And wants to move! And bad stuff happens in Beth's family... OH NO WHAT WILL SHE DO? I have tried to make this plot seem a little less trite, but there is no way to. Honestly, it doesn't matter how played out it feels; in this movie it really works.

Adam is really driven by the characters. Obviously, Adam & Beth are the whole point of the movie, but Beth's believably overbearing New Yorker father and Adam's semi-guardian Harlan really dot the colourful cast. What is so important in this film is that Harlan is more than just a casual black friend to take care of the white character; his appearances are relatively brief but he is strong and has dimension. He does discuss his personal life, and I wish Adam did not have Asperger syndrome soley so he would communicate with Harlan more.

The only character I was truly annoyed with is Beth's mother Rebecca, who is well played with grace and a regal sense, but who expresses no real emotion when she is let down by her husband. We know nothing about her other than the fact that she is kind. To not have more details regarding such an important relationship is disappointing. It is not the feminist in me who notices a softer mother figure, but the movie goer. She has pearls of wisdom but little personality. I think a little anger, even quiet, sulky anger, would have done her character good.

There is a powerful discussion between Beth & her father at the end. It is beautifully acted and expected; you know there is always that part where they go over the main themes of the movie. Make no mistake, this movie is about Beth. Adam is part of her life, and not the other way around. Should Beth date Adam? Dun dun dun... I found the discussion powerful and real but it does not actually touch on the issues at hand. Beth's father just seems to be against people with disabilities with Beth is a loving saint who cares about everyone. Although the ending does help rectify this, no one mentions that Beth actually has needs too.

I am critical of Adam because I love it. I drank in the sweet scenery, listened to swooning indie beats, and fell in love with half the characters. Somehow it felt like more. Somehow it felt like a real life, like a documentary that was urging me to start a movement. I watched it in the morning and as it ended I threw my sobbing self into my boyfriend's arms and demanded consolation. If you think you need a reminder about how unique and gracious love can be, I strongly suggest you watch Adam. And if you don't think you do... well, then you definitely do.

**** out of *****.


Read: The Great Perhaps by Joe Meno

When I checked out the Amazon.com review of The Great Perhaps, someone astuetely said it should be an indie movie. Maybe by the people who directed Adam! Anyways... moving on... moving on...

Set in early 2004, The Great Perhaps details the lives of a progressive suburban Chicago family, everyone getting their own turn. As the father, Jonathan, neglects his marriage while searching for a squid that will prove a link in the evolutionary chain, his wife Madeline is disturbed by her research with over aggressive pigeons. The two daughters watch their parents' rapidly souring marriage while dealing with this own issues; Amelia is trying to stand up against capitalism by any means necessary and Thisbe, who is trying to find God in an Atheist family, is finding something else that makes her quite ashamed.

Like Adam, The Great Perhaps is driven by the characters. Nothing about this plot will truly shock you, although Madeline's obsession with a particular cloud, some of Amelia's laughable tirades, and Jonathan's utter uselessness may leave you a little perplexed. Some of the remarks and social commentary Meno tries to make seems a little old rather than reflective; by the time Bush was re-elected, everyone was tired of talking about Bush's re-election. After Obama's historic campaign, I almost thought "Gosh, who cared enough to make this a theme in their book?" Historic insight aside, I enjoyed the novel. The daughters were by far the most interesting characters; they seem startlingly mature when contrasted with the lack of responsibility their parents have. I wish the book was not so fair, and focused mainly on them. Thisbe & Amelia seem like actual people, while Jonathan & Madeline almost come off as character experiments. Meno also weaves in chapters about the family's grandfather, who grew up in an American internment camp for Germans. This kind of worked, and kind of did not. I appreciate those types of stories, but compared to the rest of the book his chapters came off as somewhat boring instead of truly meaningful.

I like the author's fresh, simple, but still detailed writing style. However, what made this book good is what kept it from being great. I definitely recommend reading it; it's perfect for the little beach time we have left! However, despite many interesting moments, no one sentence was powerful enough to really make me think.

*** out of *****

Hear: A Million Dollars by Joel Plaskett

I am more than happy to share my over affection for a local musician, especially when he creates songs as melodious as this. It's easy for an kid with a guitar to croon on about love, but Joel Plaskett injects rhythm and feeling without losing the natural longing in his voice. This track will definitely be on repeat all week.

Know:
Here's what I find interesting right now!
-Swedish man arrested for trying to split atoms in his own kitchen.
-New movement for Quebec.
-Chinese faking divorce to buy more homes.
-Attempting to incite a riot on Facebook gets these men 4 years of jail.
-Royal military link slammed as colonial throwback.

Do:
Over the next few days I have a few things to get done. Maybe you'll take part too?
-Pack up my things, and critically examine each object I own! Why do I have boxes of bric a brac?
-I am fed up of fake pine colour. I think I'll finally spray paint my coffee table.
-Luke & I got 12 chicken breast! YES grocery store sales! So... anyone have any good chicken recipes?


What matters to you right now? 


Photos of Adam screencapped directly from the movie, The Great Perhaps thanks to amazon.com

Wikipedia Search: FEMA

"Nobel Prize-winning economist Amartya Sen has observed that 'there is no such thing as an apolitical food problem.'"

 -Food Security

We were talking about food security, and it was an argument I was losing.

"No one knows how to grow their own food anymore," laughed a mutual friend. "When they try, most of them do it wrong, and the ones who do it right do not get purchased by the grocery store because they can't grow enough fast enough for cheap enough."

"Allison is obsessed with apocalypse and 'what ifs,'" Luke explained, prodding me playfully with his foot. I shirked away a little bit to push my copies of World War Z and The Chrysalids* further away on the bookshelf.

I have no greater intellectual respect than that which I have for Krum & Luke. However, I have no greater respect of another kind, a rather indescribable kind, than what I have for my one of my bosses, Maria.

Maria is every bit as glamorous as you would expect her to be, which is very and not really at the same time. I feel guilty describing her as 'elderly' when she is so kind and spirited, but based on how frequently she complained of cancer and her foot and her grey hair, I feel safe doing so. Growing up in a small town, she moved to Halifax and sold couture on Gottingen street. Long after the street went from haute and trendy to a place many will not show their face in after dark, she still lives on that street, half hoping that it will return to its glory days but becoming enraged when condominiums start to rear their heads. Maria gets half priced exotic fruit at the city's fanciest fruit boutique because she goes in early on Sunday mornings. Maria wears more jewellery every day than I actually own. Maria is everything over the top fantastic yet downright sensible about generations gone by.

"I am never going to be any skinnier," she sighs to me as I am cleaning the floor, "so I don't go to stores any more  When you reach this age, you know your body won't change until you start to die."

I am saddened, both by the thought of her departure and the ginormous clumps of lint I am picking up.

"So I make my own clothes," she continues after I say something comforting & polite.

My ears perk up.

Maria explains how department stores want to look young & modern while mall stores are where young people shop. Maria sighs that no one is making clothing for her anymore because she is not thin and plus sized stores aren't elegant. Maria says that mid priced clothing made nowadays is garish and is made to be sold, not made for people. I think of the countless see through skirts I own, skirts that I end up sewing my own slips into. Maria, swishing around in floor length black silk with ruffles around her neck, cannot go shopping. Maria made what she is wearing.

I used to sew quite a bit when I was 8 & 9. When my mother was more of a hippie, she taught me that the only things that were really beautiful were the things you made yourself. Now, I look at a sewing machine and I am confused. What a silly thing to lose the ability to do!

Food security & clothing security instill similar emotions in my soul. As someone who loves to lounge about in crepe dresses and polka dot stockings whilst eating anything filled with chocolate or carbs, the thought going without either makes me shiver. Although the things that might take either away are very different (apocalypse vs. old age), I am doing my best to protect both. I cannot decide which will be harder; going to the market early in the morning when there is a large corporate grocery store to either side of me, or having the motivating to actually acknowledge my true shape and sew a garment based around it. Both must be done.

I am not against capitalism. I am not going to fix the economy. However, it is a painful truth that capitalism can fail us when we are no longer considered affluent or important enough. There are numerous social issues associated with this idea, but something as basic as finding clothing that is appealing can be as well. I am not talking about "plus size" clothing stores; this is not a matter of size. This is a matter of body type, of age, and of aesthetic. I am not going to spend my whole life becoming an extraordinary person to be forced to resort to a beige muumuu or an ill fitting suit with bad plastic buttons when I am finally of an age where others might consider me dignified. I'm picking up my sewing machine and starting to do simple things. I am making room in my new house to leave my machine out, and easily accessible. I will turn something flat into something that will wrap around curves.   

I have heard the metaphor about good clothing being like a warm embrace many a time. I wish I could say I felt perfect & familiar every time I slipped on every dress I owned, but those moments are far and few between. But really, it makes sense, because what kind of multi-made and manufactured hug could possibly feel good? The best hugs do not come from BP Oil or The Gap.

The closest hugs, the ones you remember, the ones you long for, are the ones that just for you. 

*The Chrysalids is published as Re-Birth in America, which explains why this rare copy I have linked you to is over $170. You can buy it from Penguin with excellent cover art for under $12 Canadian, and I strongly recommend you do.

** That lovely 1950s/early 60s fabric is a beautiful gift from my boss & friend Maureen, who purchased it at an estate sale.