Send me on my way

This is an incredibly happy, joyful, uplifting, simple, playful song by the band, Rusted Root, called "Send me on my way." It always makes me smile. I recently re-watched a film that was a childhood favourite of mine, called Matilda, and this song is featured in it. I definitely recommend the movie to anyone who loved the book by Roald Dahl. This song brings back memories of visiting my grandmother's farm, eating crackers in her living room, colouring and watching the movie over and over. Just thought I would share the upbeat tune, enjoy!



Here's a snippet from the band live.

Detachable vagina?

"Ladies wouldn't it be wonderful if our pussies were detachable?

Let that marinate a little bit, just think about that."

I'm a bit torn between laughing at Wanda's cure for rape, and feeling annoyed with the fact that she's making light of violence against women, and possibly normalizing it. I'm aware that this is humour, but suggesting that we should remove the magnet of sin between our legs points the finger at women. Maybe men should just remove their junk before they go out at night? Personally I’d feel a lot more comfortable jogging around my neighbourhood at 11 p.m. with that option.

And if we’re on a date, once they get the green light from us they can swing by their place and pick it up.

Just some food for thought.

Filth and Wisdom

Madonna has taken a stab at directing. I just discovered her debut film, "Filth and Wisdom", which premiered at the Berlin Film Festival on February 13, 2008 to reviews of praise. A comedy about the people who fall between "the good" and "the bad", stars Eugene Hutz, who plays a Ukrainian gypsy pursuing rock stardom while spanking men for a living.
He is our narrator who connects the unlikely characters of this film, Holly the ballet dancer who strips for a gentleman's club, and Juliette, who works at a pharmacy and steals medication for her charitable aspirations.

Apparently Madonna flexed her writing mucles and earned a co-credit for the script, which contains a lot of playful narration from our gypsy lead who articulates, “Without filth there cannot be wisdom,” while pulling at his in-your-face stache.“They are two sides of the same coin.”

It looks like it is well worth the gander.



Here's a clip from an interview with Madonna and a few moments from the film.

O My Heart

Lee’s Palace is packed to the tits. The air is charged on a Friday night, as hip kid’s crowd the floor, beers in hand as red lights reflect off their scarves and sneakers. The rooster himself, Ryan Guldemond has landed on the stage decked with his signature cock-a-doodle flare and is belting out, “O My heart it’s a fish out of water.”
The Vancouver based indie rock band, Mother Mother, has arrived in Toronto and their theatrical, jazzy aura is quite impossible to ignore. The quintet has certainly made an impression on the Canadian music scene since launching their debut CD “Touch Up”, in 2005.



The eclectic style of their first album, which mixed jazz, folk and rock was dramatic and not widely recognized in the industry. “O My Heart”, their follow up creation, is getting some marvellous attention from critics who have praised the queen-worthy lyrics and focussed sound of rock and dance-club pop. Tonight everyone is absorbing it into their bloodstream, lovin’ every minute of the passionate, raw sound.

Debra-Jean and Molly are squaring off, a crazy look gleaming in their eyes, as the sinister and catchy tune, “Hay Loft” starts up.

“My daddy's got a gun, my daddy's got a gun, my daddy's got a gun, you better run.”

The girls stand opposite each other, wide in stance, voices crashing against each other, as Debra-Jean brandishes a flexed finger of warning. The effect is instantaneous. Heads bob and bodies start moving to the eerie, repetitive beat, as Ryan jumps in with his commanding pipes.

“It started with the hayloft a - creakin'well it just started in the hay – LOFT!

With his long johns on, Pop went a-creeping, out to the barn, up to the hay.”

The trio sounds related, with high in sync, wailing melodic voices, complimenting each other like three ascending notes on the keyboard. Ryan and Molly are siblings, with identically pronounced cheek bones, but Molly has more of a serene look; eyes closed ethereally or opened wide and fright-like as her fingers manipulate the keyboard.

The signature classic, “Touch up”, hits a chord, as a frenzy of movement erupts on the dance floor, and those leaning on the railings diagonal the stage automatically move their lips.


“Mascara all up in my eyes, chemical hair dyes and highlights. Higher than my lights, higher than highlights. My makeup, it has washed off. I need a touch up.”

With an unnerving look of possession, Debra-Jean looks like she’s in a crazed vocal trance, eyes focussed straight ahead, head rocking from side-to-side, her hair pulled back at the sides with short bangs.

Later, the slow, hypnotic twang of the guitar leads us to “Ghosting”, as Ryan, in his button up shirt and beige pants eases the vocals to a soft, low pace.

“I've been ghosting, I've been ghosting along. Ghost in your house,ghost in your arms.”

Molly lifts her voice harmoniously in the background, situated at her small keyboard, in a red dress with a defined black V-neck and a creampuff gathering of red material around her legs.

The night has mostly been a showcase for their loud, glam rock songs, like “Verbatim” with a thumping beat that induces sexual fantasies about men who wear “women’s underwear.” And who know that what a woman (and loudly echoing crowd) loves most is, “A man who can slap but can also stroke.”

Once the show has climaxed, the audience claps and hollers itself into hysterics until Ryan’s blonde Elvis-styled do graciously returns to the stage. With a humbled, cool demeanour he offers us a little more.

But this time Debra-Jean is in the spotlight, for her imploring, twisted lover’s ballad, “Love and Truth,” which is truly an incomparable experience live.



“Love and Truth
Why are they so hard to achieve,
Love and truth
They're such hot commodities
But come in such small quantities.”

The raw force of her voice causes goose bumps to break out, as Ryan’s nimble guitar notes blast along in a Santana-esque style.

“If everything was up to me I'd make sure that there was plenty of love and truth
Love and truth where are you?”

At this point all hell breaks loose. Debra-Jean unleashes a torrent of pent up sound, careening in time with the pounding fast paced rhythm of the beats and quirky guitar notes. Her body vibrates, mouth open in a long emotional release. It ends in a passionate flourish and turmoil of drums.

This dynamic sound will invade your mind and haunt you for days. With original, addictive lyrics and clever meshing of genres, Mother Mother will be the type of poltergeist you’d love to stick around.

*Soon to be published in Mutedmag.com November issue

Journey through the white night of Nuit Blanche

Sometimes you just want to experience art, instead of simply staring at something on the wall. Those things on the wall may be lovely, but it’ll never compare to taste-testing compositions of coloured coconut that resemble intimate lady parts, or witnessing the celebration of a Mac computer being hurled from a significant height, or tying your not-so-secret wish to a tree. No, my friends, you’ll only find this at Nuit Blanche, which invited Torontonians to experience live art on Oct. 4.

I started my late-night artsy foray on a Saturday night at Dundas Square, where project “15 seconds” was underway. A wooden watch tower had been erected in the South East corner and a solitary figure shone a spotlight on occupants of the square for 15 seconds. Thankfully I wasn’t exposed by the bright light. From there we ventured on to the Ryerson Campus where Lake Devo, at the corner of Victoria St. and Gould, was home to a posse of yellow rubber ducks.

They were corralled off though, no doubt to protect the crowds from their wild and vicious temperaments, or to keep onlookers from swiping them. I admit I entertained fantasies of nabbing one for my very own, but it wasn’t meant to be.

By the time I returned to carry out my kidnapping, the bath-time birds had migrated off the campus with spectators. Next door, in between the Ryerson student centre and the O’Keefe building we walked through “House of leaves,” an alleyway of pages torn from books that reached up the walls like fluttering foliage.

Then it was onward to Maple Leaf Gardens, where “Without Persons” consisted of two large screens depicting corn starch that bubbled in accompaniment to Stephen Hawking audio. I was more interested to be inside the place for the first time, but a robotic talking substance wasn’t all that captivating so we made haste toward the Eaton Centre.

In the centre of the mall the throngs observed “Into the Blue” a giant, suspended, blue inflatable object. It was a cross between a floating tube frequently lounging in pools, and a spiralling massive of jellyfish. From directly underneath it put me in the mind of a squid’s intimate parts, even though I haven’t witnessed that private sight.

Nearby at Nathan Phillips Square, an interactive light instillation entitled, "Stereoscope," displayed pixelated images on the individual windows of City Hall. We watched a larger than life game of pong, and then hopped on the streetcar to Dufferin and Queen St. West. On the way we passed by Trinity Bellwoods Park, home to hundreds of glowing red lights perched above the grass. Unfortunately by the time of our return they had been extinguished.

Once at Dufferin we curiously approached a grim reaper look alike on the street before arriving at the Gladstone Hotel, which has been a quite the hot spot at Nuit Blanche for the past three years. From the street I could see brightly coloured skulls, so we ventured in for a closer look at “El Craneo” an exhibit based on the Mexican, “day of the dead.” Every handmade skull had a personality and one even resembled a disco ball. Up the stairs we saw a giant metal fly dangling plates designed with intersecting flies. Three dimensional illustrations erupted out of sinks, a warm cave like room provided shelter and the period table got a face lift. Next on the agenda was the King St. West area, part of Zone C which provided an illuminating and diverse experience. With my eye set on erotic inspiration, we travelled to the corner of Snooker St. and Hanna Ave to divulge in “SNIFF, LICK, PINCH, NIBBLE, SWALLOW.” It wasn’t quite what I expected. A sexually abstract composition of coloured coconut shavings lay on a long stretch of plastic. It smelt wonderful. Handfuls of tiny indentations in the design suggested that the title of the project was to be taken literally. So I nibbled, pinched, sniffed and swallowed some coconut that resembled the delicacies in between a woman’s legs. Not far away we stumbled upon “Dandyberry” a set of rectangular blocks covered in bubble wrap, which emitted disembodied voices. Wandering though them, I was tempted to pop the bubble wrap (who wouldn’t be?) and got reprimanded by a man with a walkie- talkie who was chastising other likeminded souls.

A series of destruction themed exhibits followed. On Liberty St. one building was ablaze in a project entitled “Purified by Fire” while another had water pouring from the window, in “Overflow.” Over at the parking lot of 60 Atlantic Ave. was “SMASH! Droppin’ Stuff” where uniquely themed shows where hosted every hour by the custodians of destruction. We witnessed the Christmas show, which included the hanging and quartering of a shelf elf, the plummet of a Buddha statue, large candle shaped yard ornaments that met their end, a Mac computer shattering splendidly, and 35 snow globes pitched to the ground in succession.

One of my personal conquests followed when we crossed over to the corner of Lamport Stadium. “Imagine Peace”, was a project created by Yoko Ono, as a form of collective secular prayer. We approached trees covered in paper tags, which had been inscribed with thousands of wishes. I chose to write two wishes, and then hung them as high as my height would allow. There was something about all those positive thoughts that was very satisfying to witness and participate in.
We passed by the stadium, which was filled with a crowd of performing mascots on the field and sparsely occupied bleachers. Over at the corner of Liberty St. and Mowat Ave. we chanced upon “Euphemisms for the intimate enemy,” a wall of bee-coloured words on stacks of connected 55 gallon drums. The words intersect in a cross-word jumble effect, for example, “maintain a monkeys”, “liberated women,” and “any kind of hope.”
Hopping back on the street car we headed east along Queen St., saw some ink-drawing street art and finally reached Queen’s Park, where “Sound Forest” was commencing in the Northern area of the trees. A choir of figures dressed in back stood in the shadows beneath the dark branches, singing festively, as onlookers joined in.

At the foot of the park was a cascading waterfall quilt of plastic on the Ontario Power Generation Building. It resembled glowing, underwater seaweed, and contrasted with the red flashing lights of the traffic and buildings behind us.
Taking the subway down to Union Station we waited in a long winding line that stretched throughout the corridors towards the Air Canada Centre. Hearing disturbing sounds and blurred images we waited behind glass doors and entered into the “Horroridor.” On either side of us were 20-foot multi-channel projections of screams.
Known and unknown Horror/thriller flicks flashed before our eyes, and every few seconds a new piercing shriek, death cry, terrified squeal, or angry, guttural yell filled the air, as bloody, violent, shocking images flooded our eyes and our minds. A freakish alien burst out of a stomach, blood poured from open orifices and women ran in sheer terror, as crowds of us stood watching, with a mixture of expressions.

I found this project the most interesting, because as spellbinding as it was to watch the alarming images on the screens, the surrounding audience was equally enthralling. Beside me a few twenty-something’s erupted into shrieks and cries, clutching at their faces, goading each other on, and adding to the general din. Some, like me, fluctuated between astounded laughter and mixed concentration and discomfort. After about 10 minutes of exposure I felt like I had just been an accomplice in multiple murders…but as much as I wanted to leave, I was also hypnotically captivated by the random, crazy, ambience of it all.

On the last leg of our journey, around 2 a.m. we headed up to Yonge and Gerrard, to see the much talked about “Zombies in Condoland.” A long line snaked up to a tent, where everyday citizens could “zombify” with bloody gashes, wounds and clammy un-dead complexions. They could also don ripped and shredded clothing, to personalize the look. A speaker nearby announced that zombies arrive on set in 15 minutes to be filmed. Throughout the crowd of onlookers you could spot the odd flesh-eater, prowling sluggishly, dragging their limbs. I even saw a CTV reported all bloodied up with his camera man. Every once in a while someone would creep up behind an unsuspecting “normie.” Then came the delicious shrieks.

So another eclectic trek through a Toronto transformed by art has passed, among teeming crowds eager to hunt down extra-ordinary experiences till sunrise. Although I don’t think this year’s projects were as captivating as the year prior, it was still an event worth seeking. Having comfortable shoes, some booze, and a navigator certainly helped. And even though I never nabbed a duck, I was definitely satisfied with the white night.