Bonita Mundo

Friends in Bellwoods say goodbye to the cottage

noreply@blogger.com (Adriana) — Sat, 03 Oct 2009 19:17:00 +0000

“We wanna party tonight because we got evicted from our house and we wanna tell our landlord to fuck off. Excuse my language,” said Casey Mecija, the pint-sized lead vocalist of Ohbijou, to gales of laughter at Lee’s Palace.

“And there’s no better way to do that than with orchestral music,” she said, beaming in a canary yellow sweater and purple pants on stage at the Friends in Bellwoods 2 release party on August. 28th.
Although it was slightly off putting to hear profanity with a grin from Mecija, it’s understandable given the fact that the Bellwoods cottage where sisters Casey and Jennifer lived, performed and recorded in collaboration with local bands recently closed down on Sept. 1. Apparently mold set into the dwelling where the first compilation album, Friend’s in Bellwoods, was recorded in 2007 to raise funds for Toronto’s Daily Bread Food Bank.

Skirting Trinity Bellwoods Park, the former haunt for intimate basement shows and collaborative recording sessions with indie bands such as Forest City Lovers and The D’Urbervilles may have passed on, but something will live on from it.
“I think having the compilations has made having to leave the house a little easier,” Mecija sighs. “The first compilation represents a very youthful, uninhibited time. Fast-forward to the compilation now, and everyone is in different stages of their lives, and they have different priorities and have been traversing the music industry in different ways. We don’t see each other as much, but it’s not as reckless — beautifully reckless. It’s not like that anymore. But having these compilations has actually made it less heartbreaking for me,” said Mecija in an Eye Weekly interview.

It’s almost fitting that the curtains close on what NOW once wrote was “the new epicenter of T.O.’s indie rock community,” as they release round 2 of Friend’s in Bellwoods, a 40-track double-album set of work from a slew of independent Canadian musicians.

Four bands featured on the album are playing tonight to a full house at Lee’s. Wee icicle lights cascade over speakers at the edge of the stage like layered petticoats and Kat Burns, lead vocalist of Forest City Lovers takes the stage in a pink one-piece dress with a tiny v-pattern. Her hair is tied back low, layered bangs falling over her face and a pale pink and blue guitar that is reminiscent of a 50’s malt shop rests against her form.

She pours out vocals both sweet and strong, like a shot of gin and liquorice burning down your throat. Butterscotch coats her vocal chords, melting in sugary dollops, a candy apple with a dark, toxic layer buried deep in the centre.

One minute the set is all New Orleans rhythm, voodoo magic and sway and then their tempo slows with a deep, haunting trio of violins rising and falling as members of Ohbijou join them on stage with strings and vocals harmonizing.

When the founding sisters of Ohbijou eventually clamber on stage amid a hodgepodge of instruments and the rest of the band in tow it seems like the crowd gets what they came for. Its also apparent that Casey isn’t letting an eviction notice get her down.

Jennifer Mecija stands with a violin perched on her shoulder in a dress of vibrant blossom print, her short hair framing her face with a clump of bangs lying above her eyes. Beside her Casey steers the helm of the band with an orange guitar in hand and her childlike crooning voice that meanders like a breeze amid clusters of trees, or the sweet sounds of her band mates.

Members of Forest City Lovers and Evening Hymns join them for a song and then in a wild flurry of instrument and body arrangement more than 16 musicians jump onboard the packed ship of a stage that Casey leads like a lighthouse on bustling sea. In the swarm of bodies, about four to a microphone, drummer James Bunton becomes hidden in the back of the crowd.

The second last song of the set, “New Years”, from their latest album Swift Feet for Troubling Times is the riotous climax of the evening. It starts with a simple guitar melody and then Casey blasts the last line, “Lover come grab your guns. I know that you want some. Maps in flames, I'll follow you, while you lead the way.”

Tim Fagan, an indie multi-band contributor joins her on stage in a hooded red plaid jacket, unceremoniously undoes his pants with his back to the stage and about 20 seconds later, in the middle of a passionate stanza they are down around his ankles. Casey gives an amusingly flummoxed look at his black briefs and continues to play as he does a quick two-step and falls to his knees before her, hands clasped prayer-like over the microphone.

The pants-less performance continues as a bemused Casey turns away from the sight and Tim eventually struggles to pull the fabric up again. In the middle of a high-emotion, thunderous beat, hands clapping performance a public change room session takes place.

The bitter sweet violins rub achingly against the inflamed voice of Casey, who jumps along to the beat and Tim, who bends over releasing strangled bursts of lyrics. The symphony of instruments and voices charge along at breakneck speed and then Tim walks over to band member Heather Kirby, grabs the back of her neck with one hand and blasts his words in her face, almost as if he could infect her with his passion.

The whole crowd seems caught up in it, the frenzy of a song that speeds along without rhyme or reason. It takes on a life of its own, utterly ridiculous, yet beautifully reckless. Before it’s over Tim de-pantses again.

Potter puppet time

noreply@blogger.com (Adriana) — Fri, 21 Aug 2009 17:53:00 +0000

Theresa Andersson performs at The Rivoli

noreply@blogger.com (Adriana) — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 17:31:00 +0000

When Theresa Andersson sings it seems less like vocal chords producing sound and more like a sweet bubbling hot spring, or a magician concocting a magical formula of notes and musical arrangements.

This one woman show performed at The Rivoli in Toronto on Friday, August 14th during her first tour in Canada with David Martel after releasing her album “Hummingbird, Go!” about a year ago.
With influences from both her homes, Sweden and New Orleans, Theresa has created a completely unique blending of many sounds which sound as natural and fluid as spontaneous thoughts when playing live.

In red pumps and a white V-neck dress of black and red flowers Theresa conducted her orchestra of one, with two microphones at her helm, a violin hanging below them, two stringed instruments to her left (one being a guitar) a tambourine at her feet and zebra striped drums situated to her right. With what looked like effortless skill she moved from instrument to vocals, recording sounds cued by foot pedals at her feet and then playing them on repeat. One moment she was emitting a series of jazzy percussion-like noises, including claps and cheek popping sounds, and the next she was emitting robust lyrics to her own organic beat.

“Birds fly away. Find shelter. Trees stand strong,” she sang, clenching a raised fist as her eyes flashed below a thick chunk of tousled brunette bangs. Her enthusiasm was infectious as she picked up her tambourine and danced across the stage, her hands and feet a flurry of motion as she stomped and smacked the jangling instrument against her palms, her hips or slammed it down on the drum before her. As she crooned “do, do, do, do, do, doooo,” her arms raised to the ceiling, and her body swayed, a joyful expression lighting up her face. Her childlike excitement and energy absorbing to behold.
As each song began to unfold it was fascinating to watch her layer tunes together, releasing one strand of sound and then overlapping it with longer, higher or lower notes that build and become a thick stew of interwoven harmonies. She lays out each tone like an ingredient from a memorized recipe on her kitchen counter, stirring with enthusiasm and adding zesty new flavors with gusto.

Despite her complex coordination of nimble footwork and instrument manipulation everything runs smoothly from the first note to the last, every sound fitting snuggly into the tapestry with no competition for prominence.

Theresa’s voice always does manage to soar dizzyingly above her homespun melodies, with a powerful vocal range that can croon in light, ethereal tones, sultry rich shades or emotional climaxes of sound.

Her style of recording and repeating sounds during her performance lends itself perfectly to spontaneity and she encouraged enthusiastic audience improvisation from the beginning of her set.

During one rambunctious number as the crowd had started to dance and clap along she bent forward suddenly, flinging her hair over her face and stopping the music abruptly. Unsure of whether the song was finished we emitted a few yells before pausing in anticipation. Through the curtain of her long wavy tresses Theresa beckoned us on with a hand gesture and the room burst into a frenzy of jovial hooting and hollering as she sprang back to life.

This woman who looked like she would be right at home in a meadow of wild flowers began emitting her own pre-recorded voice from the speakers with her hands outstretched and palms splayed. Then she began to scat, explosive, bursting sounds that stormed rapidly out of her lips with barely time for breath, the intensity rising to a fever pitch.

When Theresa returned to the stage for her standing ovation she thanked David Martel, who she met in Nashville, for inviting her on this tour. Her final song puts her in mind of the heavy trials that New Orleans has recently faced. She notes that the city has learnt to respect mother nature. It starts simply, with two phrases sung in a delicate strand. “Find the cost of freedom buried in the ground. Mother earth will swallow you, lay your body down.” She places a fresh stanza over that one, like laying a second pale sheet upon a bare bed.

The words remain the same but she adds deeper tones, and then another, only higher, stretching certain words and sounds. Soon the threads begin to weave through one another, with powerful soprano notes leading the chorus, as the choir-like refrain gains momentum and emotion.

As she finishes the mantra of voices fade away, and all that remains is her solitary voice, which has dropped to her last low and soulful key.

"Sister Suffragette" Mary Poppins

noreply@blogger.com (Adriana) — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 14:57:00 +0000

"Womankind arise!" This always brightens my day.

Ponyo hits theatres this Friday

noreply@blogger.com (Adriana) — Thu, 13 Aug 2009 02:25:00 +0000

I am super-super stoked that the world finally gets to see Hayao Miyazaki’s latest masterpiece, “Ponyo on the Cliff”, or Disney’s title, “Ponyo”, this Friday, August 14th.

It’s true that a lot of the emotion and some of the meaning may be lost in the translation of the English dub, but at least a new generation of kiddies will be exposed to Miyazaki’s environmental, feminist, socially conscious animated stories, instead of another pack of stereotypes and gender norms that the typical Disney movies spew out for consumption.

I watched the original Japanese version with subtitles on youtube at the end of last summer following its debut release and it really is an adorable film with great messages and breathtaking animation. It’s wonderful that Miyazaki’s genius has been recognized globally and that Disney contributes to this through their production of English versions of his work, but there are a few things about Disney’s handling of “Ponyo” that really irk me.

The first involves their selection of voice actors. Don’t get me wrong, there are some talented actors lending themselves to this film, such as Tina Fey, Liam Neeson and Cate Blanchett, but then we get into Disney-spawn-produced territory.

I’m talking the freakin’ Jo Bros. That’s right, it’s come to this. Frankie Jonas, a younger brother of the Jonas Brothers (how many bloody kids do they have?) and Noah Cyrus, (you guessed it) a younger sister of that beloved glittery Disney slave Miley Cirus, are providing the voices of the main characters, Sosuke and Ponyo.

Disney even went so far as to have these kids make a kiddie-rock-pop version of the theme song for the film, available for your ears in all its disgusting glory below. My gag reflex kicked in because this honestly sounds like a brutal sacrilege of Miyazaki’s original vision. It’s the twisted “Americanization” of Japanese animation at its best folks.

If you want to compare here is the original Japanese version, which sounds reminiscent of the theme song from “My Neighbour Totoro” in my opinion.

Maybe the kids legitimately have the perfect voices for this role….or it was a form of free babysitting in the Disney sound studios…who knows? It’s just upsetting to me that the empty star power of Disney babes has to be associated with genius like Miyazaki as a flashy gimmick to boost box office sales. Then to top it off they completely warp the theme song into some Jo-Bro-Cirus Frankenstein’s monster.

I guess these are the flaws that fans just have to live with when dealing with the dubbed-for-every-American versions of Miyazaki’s work. The movie will surely still be marvellous, and as long as Disney doesn’t tamper with the original art they are still honouring the contract they signed in 1996 to produce and distribute English versions of certain Studio Ghibli films.

I love Miyazaki’s storytelling and animation style and hopefully he continues to create meaningful, beautiful films for a long while yet. Anyone who loves his past work will probably enjoy this film, despite the Disney-brats who happen to be along for the ride.

Au Revoir Simone- Black Cab Sessions "Trace a Line"

noreply@blogger.com (Adriana) — Sat, 08 Aug 2009 14:37:00 +0000

Au Revoir Simone from Black Cab Sessions on Vimeo.

Theresa Andersson in her kitchen "Birds Fly Away"

noreply@blogger.com (Adriana) — Tue, 04 Aug 2009 21:22:00 +0000

More to love...really?

noreply@blogger.com (Adriana) — Sat, 01 Aug 2009 04:15:00 +0000

Tonight I watched the premier of a new reality dating show on FOX TV that is reminiscent of “The Bachelor” only plus-size. Yep, the whole premise is that an overweight guy chooses among 15 plus size women by going on dates and on the finale of the show asks one them to be his wife. The name of this program is “More to Love.” Because there is more cushion for the pushing, get it? That just irks me to no end.

Luke is a 26-year-old real estate developer who owns his own firm and wants to find a woman to settle down with. He is a heftier guy and professes, “I’ve gotten my heart broken because of my size.” Luke happens to like larger women and claims that he wants to get to know the women he is dating for who they really are, not based on their appearance.
Now I support the idea of curvier more voluptuous women being featured in mainstream television as being able capable of experiencing romance and being accepted for their personalities but something doesn't smell right. It’s the fact that this show revolves around a heftier man who is attracted to large women and that is the sole reason they were chosen. In other words, you’re not going to see a size 14 bachelorette or contestant on the “The Bachelor” any time soon, which is a shame.

My question is, why do plus size women have to fit into their own category of television? Why are they excluded from romance in the media unless it is specified that these are “big, big” women that you are watching, got it? Not thin, but fat, and not with a ph. Apparently its not possible for men to love or be attracted to anyone who isn’t stereotypically skinny, so a curvy woman’s only hope is a reality television dating show where the bachelor is down with love handles.

As I watched the opening explanation of the premise I could almost hear a silent voiceover spewing out “these women aren’t normal and they only way they can get with this bachelor is because he has a thing for fat women.” Although it is positive to see these women in the mainstream its demeaning that there is only one reason for their exposure, almost like a freak show where audiences can come to gawp and gape at the large women who are all fighting for the only man who will have them.
It’s sad that in our society women who don’t fulfill the mainstream look of thin or petite require their own section in the clothing aisle, or are only featured in fetish porn because they aren’t seen as “normal” by the media’s standards. That’s why they have their own show, where they are corralled like cattle as their own “special need” brand of woman.

This is further established in the way these women are portrayed as they talk one-on-one with the viewers about their feelings. Along the bottom portion of the screen we see their name, city, vocation, age, height and weight. You heard me, weight. Are you freaking kidding me? First let’s put these women in the spotlight as “big” women and then let’s weigh them like farm animals, because if the premise is that a man could love them for who they are, not their size, constantly highlighting their weight really reinforces that.

What other dating show focuses in on the weight of the men or women? None, because this is a show about “fat” people, so obviously the audience needs to know how much they weigh to further ostracize them as these disgusting, pathetic creatures that we should be thankful we are not.

We even see the weight of Luke the bachelor, at 330 lbs. because remember folks, this show has already established that he isn’t normal either, because if he was slimmer he wouldn’t be on a show that showcases his love for large women. But one thing to note from a quick preview of the first episode is that this guy’s attitude towards women seems pretty admirable. He wants to get to know the personalities of these ladies and says that looks aren’t a factor for him. Whether that is actually true remains to be seen, but what I immediately wondered when I saw his weight emphasized was why the typical, muscular bachelor type couldn’t be interested in curvier women?
Would that be too strange and freaky for mainstream viewers? A stereotypically, toned, attractive guy and a girl who isn’t the size of a twig dating each other? I guess we can’t go around showing audiences that larger women can be seen as attractive to EVERYONE, because that would actually make them think that they are attractive! Then the media wouldn’t be able to keep stuffing *oops I mean selling* every Jenny Craig, Weight Watchers, acai berry, diet pill, or lipo treatment down their throats.

Some of these women seem to love themselves and their bodies, for example, a blonde woman named Michelle says, “I don’t wake up everyday and say I’m going to diet and get skinnier. No I’m going to buy the clothes that fit me today and live for today” while another says “I’m ready to prove to everybody that love doesn’t have a shape or a size.”
But then there are others who suffer from a terrible lack of self esteem and have undergone a lot of judgement and pressure from the men in their past due to their size. One woman made a very sad confession that when she meets guys for the first time she still thinks, “I’m probably too fat for him. He’d probably like one of my skinny friends.”

There definitely are a some opportunities for “More to Love” to break down the stereotypes of romance and body image, but I still squirm at the thought that today the media still has to package it as a show of “fat” women pursuing love, like a warning label or a “this program may not be suitable for younger audiences” pre-show message. Taking the value of reality television, or the lack thereof out of this conversation, what I would really like to see are women of all shapes and sizes represented as people of worth who have real beauty in the media. If shows like “More to Love” are a positive step then we still have a long way to go.

David Martel- "Vestibule" acoustic live

noreply@blogger.com (Adriana) — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 23:44:00 +0000

Housepaint tackles poverty and homelessness

noreply@blogger.com (Adriana) — Thu, 23 Jul 2009 02:18:00 +0000

The image of a man is painted on the trunk of a tree. Its limbs rise above the man’s head and hold a small house perched atop its branches. The tree stands inside the Royal Ontario Museum (ROM). Behind the tree, tiny 3D shacks are painted on clouds of orange smoke that extend up onto the wall.

Better known as the “Hug me tree,” it became a landmark on Queen Street West, and was transplanted to the Institute of Contemporary Culture as part of Housepaint, Phase 2: Shelter, the first exhibit to fuse street art and commentary on homelessness in the ROM.

Housepaint, which ran from December 2008 until July 5, brought together 12 of Canada’s internationally recognized street artists to paint in memory of Tent City and all those who have died on the streets.

The “Hug me tree” stood on Queen Street West until it was knocked down by a car. Neighbourhood residents rescued the tree from being tossed into the trash.

Toronto artist Elicser Elliot was able to infuse a new reincarnation of the tree with the same values as the exhibit. “I thought the tree brings the community together. Everybody gets around it and love is passed through the tree somehow. I was like it’s a community and from a community comes home,” said Elicser.Tent City became home for an entire homeless population that began growing on an empty lot at the base of Parliament Street as early as 1996. For many, the shantytown represented an act of solidarity and civil disobedience, as residents utilized society’s garbage to construct an independent way of life—until they were evicted in September 2002.

Housepaint’s curator, Devon Ostrom, and co-founder of them.ca, was commissioned by Luminato Toronto Festival of Arts and Creativity in June 2008 to do live painting on the site where Tent City once stood, in collaboration with Manifesto Community Projects.

On the packed gravel where up to 200 people lived an alternatively housed existence, he invited Canadian street artists, Case, Evoke, Lease, Dixon/Royal, Cant4, Elicser, Starship, EGR, and Other to each paint canvas houses in homage to former residents. The sizes of the structures were representational of Torontonian’s incomes, with two low, two high and six middle class houses. While painting on the site, Toronto artist Erica Gosich Rose (EGR) felt an undertone of reality.“Since it was such a sensitive topic I had a hard time thinking of what to do. I wanted to react and comment in a way that wasn’t just going to make me cry while painting and totally break down. Because the whole situation and struggle that these people have faced is so immense I wanted to bring an element of hope,” she said. She was inspired by Gustav Klimt’s painting “Hope II” at the Museum of Modern Art in New York and wanted to capture the unity of that feminine family. A pregnant woman was sprayed on the roof of the tall house that she painted. The woman’s head was bent down, breasts bare, a golden mosaic of patterned cloth hanging down over her stomach and onto the wall. The other walls were filled with the images of three women draped over one another, eyes closed, hands raised in prayer. When the ROM invited Ostrom to bring the street art into the gallery setting, he wanted the show to retain some of the fluid spontaneity that is part of graffiti culture.

“I didn’t really want to sort of plunk down a bunch of street art in the gallery. I wanted to bring in a chance for the public to get to meet street artists and see their work evolve. I think people have gotten the opportunity to look into a world they don’t normally get that much access to,” said Ostrom, who oversaw artists adding new pieces to the exhibit roughly every month and-a-half, like an organic game of telephone messages which each interprets differently.

One of those additions was “Evoke/Contraction” by Patrick Thompson (Evoke). The large façade of a suburban house and garage were affixed to a slanted wall of the exhibit with the words “Bomb the suburbs” scrawled under the roof. Multicoloured paint splatters exploded across it, representing homelessness and the lack of housing as a national disaster.

Elicser believes that graffiti is appropriate media to comment on homelessness because both cultures are often misunderstood and share the same space, which he realized while he was painting a wall one day and a woman urinated beside some nearby dumpsters.

“I was just like, ‘Why are you peeing right there?’ And it just clicked to me that that was her home and I was sort of painting in her living room. So after that I didn’t get that mad about her peeing in front of my wall, because I sort of realized that it was her wall as well,” said Elicser.

Accessibility was the biggest drawback of exhibiting in the ROM for those who couldn’t afford the $22 admission fee. Ostrom tried to address this issue by giving free tours to different youth and homeless groups, as well as advertising free visitor nights. He also wanted to address the larger themes of homelessness and street art by using Housepaint as a platform for the voices of activists, artists and city councillors.

Eric Weissman has been following the lives of Tent City residents on film since May 2002 in his documentary, Subtext: real stories, and was invited to screen his film at the ROM, which was available for visitors to view in the exhibit.

He began filming when there were only six houses on the lot, as members of the community struggled with addictions, scavenged and built shelters, cooked together and shared their lives with him on camera.“The only difference between Tent City and a small little neighbourhood is they don’t have driveways and garages. They weren’t borrowing their friend’s boat or their friend’s driver to go to the golf course but they would borrow his hammer or they would borrow cigarettes,” said Weissman.

He also witnessed residents’ forcible removal by the city and land owner, Home Depot, who claimed that fire risk and ground contamination on the former garbage dump site justified eviction. Weissman believes that negative media coverage pressured then-mayor Mel Lastman to remove the growing community.

According to Cathy Crowe, co-founder of the Toronto Disaster Relief Committee (TDRC), the silver lining in the death of Tent City was the launch of rent supplements for 105 of the former residents to obtain housing, a program which has been implemented in various provinces. The street nurse who once worked in Tent City deemed this solution a band-aid measure until the federal government funds a national affordable housing program.
Housepaint canvas houses will be auctioned online (bidding started on June 29) with all proceeds going to Habitat for Humanity Toronto (H4H), which constructs housing for families living in substandard conditions. Crowe believes that because H4H does not build for the homeless, there is still a frustrating disconnect, even though she thinks it is a wonderful organization.

Ostrom believes that homelessness and affordable housing are part of the same continuum.
“The lack of affordable housing creates the conditions for homelessness. Housepaint, Phase 2: Shelter is about not only homelessness, but also shelter in general, hence the title,” said Ostrom, who has received a majority of positive feedback from members of the homeless community in Toronto who visited the exhibit.

At the tunnel entrance of Housepaint, the words of Nancy Baker, the first resident of Tent City who is featured in Crowe’s book, Dying for a Home: Homeless Activists Speak Out, ran along both walls.“We all shared stuff down there, even food. It was home. Better than a park bench…Someday I’d like a balcony. After living at Tent City, I hate being closed in.” *published in the July issue of the Ryerson Free Press

Playground

noreply@blogger.com (Adriana) — Thu, 23 Jul 2009 02:10:00 +0000

Playground fears
Don’t dictate my tears
Anymore
Now I can tie
My own ponytail
When I’m told
I can’t play
I reassess
The value of the game
When I feel left out
I just get out
A simple move
To another yard
When she’s on duty
My plans are restricted
When she’s off duty
I do as I please
A small victory
I try to seize
Because today
I appreciate recess

Sex advice from....burlesque dancers

noreply@blogger.com (Adriana) — Tue, 21 Jul 2009 03:27:00 +0000

Burlesque Definition
-noun
1. an artistic composition, esp. literary or dramatic, that, for the sake of laughter, vulgarizes lofty material or treats ordinary material with mock dignity.
2. any ludicrous parody or grotesque caricature.
3. A humorous and provocative stage show featuring slapstick humor, comic skits, bawdy songs, striptease acts, and a scantily clad female chorus.

"Everyone should indulge in as much clitoris as possible." - Best quote ever.

Tassles Without Borders

noreply@blogger.com (Adriana) — Sat, 18 Jul 2009 16:14:00 +0000

Luscious strip teases, full figured mamas, tits and tassles, sequins and boas, boys willing to flash some skin with the ladies, and much, much more is what you’ll find at Toronto’s upcoming Burlesque Festival.

Risque performances from a sexy entourage of international and Canadian performers will grace various stages in the city from July 23 to 26th. The festival committee is spearheaded by members of Toronto’s own Skin Tight Outta Sight, one of North America’s first burlesque troupes.
Sexy Mark Brown will host the kick-off Meet and Greet Teaser at The Gladstone Hotel on Thursday the 23rd, which includes an art show, performances and a bra auction with proceeds going to the Boobalicious Weekend to End Breast Cancer.
You will also be able to learn the tricks of the trade at Canada’s only Burlesque University, where the seasoned veterans of erotic undressing will teach workshops on everything from fan dancing and persona development to the art of shimmying.

You’ll learn from star-studded pros like headmistress of the academy, Cocoa Framboise, featured below stripping away her shiny wrappings atop a candy apple. She started BOOM Chika BOOM burlesque classes in Toronto which blend Broadway jazz, burlesque and go go.

Other headline acts include international burlesque superstar Kitten De Ville, “Tools of the Tease” director and instructor Michelle L’Amour, the drag queen with a PhD in drama, Dr. Lucky, Canada’s own international pinup model, Roxi DLite, and Hot Toddy, co-creator of “Chicago Takes Off,” a burlesque charity benefit for aids.

On top of all these sizzling shows this year marks the debut of the Burlesque Marketplace, where artists can sell their crafts and sexy goods.

So if you want to experience this year’s internationally themed “Tassels Without Borders” you can pick up tickets at The Gladstone Hotel, Rotate This, Nearly Naked, Doll Factory by Damzels and online at T.O. Tix.
With so many hot little numbers coming to the city you better believe that lots of delicious candy will be unwrapped on stage. Because there's nothing sexier than a woman in control of her own fierce, voluptious, natural beauty, and she knows it too.

Acoustic Au Revoir Simone from Still Night Still, Light

noreply@blogger.com (Adriana) — Wed, 15 Jul 2009 23:49:00 +0000

Virgin Concrete kicks off with Bill-ee-bop, the happily destroyed robot

noreply@blogger.com (Adriana) — Sun, 05 Jul 2009 00:40:00 +0000

Her Morning Elegance by Oren Lavie

noreply@blogger.com (Adriana) — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 19:41:00 +0000

"Refresh" your twat

noreply@blogger.com (Adriana) — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 17:28:00 +0000

"After your period, refresh.
After intimacy, refresh.
After douching, refresh."

Ever seen this commercial of glowing, satisfied looking women who seem as though it’s their sweetest ambition in life to “refresh” their twat all the live-long-day?

*Cue every-woman voice over* That’s right ladies, if you have odor issues downtown there are some handy little wipes that deliver a cool, tingly, clean sensation so you can get on with your day, as a confident, carefree woman.

Obviously vaginal odour is such an embarrassing and catastrophic part of being a woman that the feminine beauty industry needs to sell us yet another product by persuading us that we’re all smelly as a fish market down there.

Almost as if we can’t be our sexy, true selves if we don’t waft alluring scents of daisy and lavender from our nether regions at the gym, the subway or walking down the street, like walking Glade PlugIns. Imagine if you walked down the street and every time your twat sensed that things were a little off it proceeded to release a little spritz of jasmine scent. Re-god-damn-diculous. So who do they want us to purchase this happy-rainbow-and-sunshine-pussy-in-a-package for? Do you really feel the need to pay to smell like floral bouquet down there? If we were meant to smell that way then we would have been born that way. So what message are we really getting from advertisers? My ears perked up at this line, “After intimacy, refresh.”

Aha! If your pussy smells slightly past its “best before” date, no man is going to want to get with that. So now we should all tote around little wipes for the wear and tear of the day because we’re not clean and fresh enough. I smell bullshit….and it’s coming from advertisers, not in between my legs.

If our peaches are expected to smell ripe and appealing for the opposite sex then why not freshen ourselves up with some smells they’re used to, like nachos and beer? That’s right ladies, clean your intimate areas before sex with this scented wipe and smell like steak and scotch, just perfect for the working man who’s coming home to your inadequate aroma.

What pisses me off is the implied message that that our vaginas, which are the source of all human life by the way (in case you forgot), have to meet a certain standard to fit into this impossible definition of “femininity.” Like if you visit the tea party without matching gloves and doilies your fucked. Our face, breasts, legs, stomach, complexion, hair and our pussies are subjected to enough panhandling in our lifetimes to make you want to riot. Frankly I think I’d like to. My sign would read, “Quit plaguing my body! Let my pussy go!”

Let’s make one thing clear, if some guy receives the highly esteemed privilege of getting into your knickers and then proceeds to critique the natural smells of your beautiful, womanly body he can take his ungrateful goods elsewhere. Every woman is made the way she was intended and the amount of judgment rained upon our lovely bodies is ludicrous, so I think it’s high time we shut it out.

We can all use common sense and be hygienic with our private parts, but why the hell should we be expected to go above and beyond? I don’t know about you, but I don’t need a gold star stuck down there. If you love your lady bits, that should be good enough for anybody.

Another note on this topic of men commenting on our genitals. It’s quite interesting how we are expected to evoke images of floral country meadows between our legs while there is no expectation placed on men whatsoever. I mean, you might comment with your girlfriends about how giving some guy a blowjob was less than pleasant, but that’s likely because he didn’t shower, not because he lacked a tulip aroma around his ball sack.

You don’t see commercials that persuade men to “freshen up” their junk before intimacy, and you aren’t likely to anytime either. Funny how women have always been given this burden of smelling and looking perfect before sex, after sex, during our periods, at the gym, after a long day at work. We’re meant to be crisp and fresh, like candy just out of the wrapper. But that’s not reality kids. The only thing we need to refresh is how we regard these standards of femininity and the warped expectations placed on us and our cunts. Our sacred gardens happen to smell just fine, thank you very much.

Bi-vailable. Pansexual. Bicurious. Heteroflexible.

noreply@blogger.com (Adriana) — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 03:12:00 +0000

“Is this just another bisexual chic moment or is this generation having its own bisexual revolution?” asked directors Brittany Blockman and Josephine Decker in their documentary Bi the Way, which was featured at Toronto’s Inside Out Film Festival on Sunday May 17th at the Royal Ontario Museum.

The director duo traveled across America, from New Orleans to Nevada to New York to Utah in order to find out if falling somewhere between gay and straight is possible or just a passing trend.

They followed the stories of five individuals while interviewing a slew of teens, adults, media professionals, sexual researchers and psychologists about whether being attracted to both sexes can be normal.

“I think they’re just half foot in the closet and half foot out,” said one woman on camera, laughing and widening her stance for emphasis.

Many interviewees agreed with this point of view, noting that popular culture practically began endorsing bisexuality with titillating same-sex moments on the programs like the O.C., and even more visibly when Britney Spears and Madonna kissed.

“MTV was holding a mirror up to their audience and giving their audience a blowjob,” said Dan Savage, The Stranger’s “Savage Love” sex columnist. Savage noted that youth who believe they are bisexual might realize otherwise in 10 years.

There are some examples in the film of youth who identify as bisexual but leave the audience unsure if they just haven’t figured out their identity.

David is one of those individuals. The 24-year-old had girlfriends in the past and now casually dates Kevin, but wants a stable relationship with him. His bisexuality is questioned by his parents, who accept him but don’t understand him.

Then there’s Pam, a former cheerleader who was expelled for getting caught kissing a female classmate and had to face the wrath of her conservative father when he discovered her bisexuality. “Girls are catty bitches and guys are pigs…Can’t get along with any of them but you can’t live without them either,” she said.

The film mentioned a study done at Northwestern University in the U.S. which tested how sexual responses to pornography factored into women’s sexual orientation. Those tested viewed both heterosexual and lesbian porn clips, interspersed with landscape scenes. A tampon-shaped probe in their vaginas measured arousal and found that regardless of the type of erotic videos, women responded similarly.

A related study was conducted the following year with men and showed that they were predominantly turned on by either straight or gay porn, but not both.

“My question is, what kind of films did they show them? Was it good porn?” asked a middle-aged, bisexual man, incredulously. “That study showed that I don’t exist.”

One thing the study may have revealed is that bisexuality, at least in the mainstream, is more common among women, said a female sex researcher at Northwestern. Or maybe they just prefer the scenery. “Watching a naked man walk on the beach is about as stimulating as watching a landscape,” she said.

Although there are those in the film who dispute it, Bi the Way showed that a new generation of young people have redrawn the map of sexuality and for many bisexuality is more than a roadside attraction.

“Why can’t I have my cake and eat it too?” asked Tahj, a bisexual 18-year-old from New York.

Dan Savage summed it up best, “Do what turns you on, because you can’t run away from yourself.”

*Published in the June issue of The Ryerson Free Press

Alleviate photography revealed

noreply@blogger.com (Adriana) — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 02:03:00 +0000

A stream of customers and artistic admirers wandered amid vibrators, porn and Alleviate, Jes Sachse’s erotic photography series, which hung inside Come as You Are (CAYA) on May 7, as part of Toronto’s CONTACT photography festival.

In a jean vest, with a blonde fringed faux hawk and a silver lightning bolt dangling from her ear, Sachse publicly addressed the negative reactions her debut Contact show received during its initial week of exposure. “If work is self- representative we often take the hit,” she said to the crowd on opening night.

Her collection will be featured at CAYA until June 15th, and focuses on visible disability and self portraiture through the lens of the subject, in an attempt to transcend the stereotypical gaze of disability. From freak shows to the medical text narrative, Sachse uses her own body to juxtapose clichéd imagery in playful and provocative ways.

She plays with gender ambiguity in a series entitled “Hair.” Standing at the foot of a basement with her breasts covered in tin foil and a surgical mask over her face or a pylon grasped between her legs, wearing a moustache.

Sachse was born with a rare condition known as Freeman-Sheldon Syndrome and has scoliosis which curves the spine.

Sarah-Forbes Roberts, one of the co-owners of CAYA said that last spring she invited Sachse to participate in CONTACT 2009 at their venue because she feels there needs to be a place to showcase diverse artistic images of bodies that aren’t mainstream.

“It’s sort of this moment that throws open the door to what is beautiful,” said Roberts, who feels Sachse’s work ties in with the store’s mandate of accessible sexuality.

Her eclectic hodgepodge of photography dates from 2006 up until this past December when she decided to invite viewers into the private space of the bathroom, as opposed to the “yes we can” public image of the wheelchair roving individual. One photograph in particular has generated quite a response.

Sachse stands nude in the shower, grasping the edge of a white plastic curtain as hair dye runs in between her breasts, over her short torso and in between her long legs. A heart reading “crooked” is etched on her chest as tattooed squid tentacles wrap around her arm. Her head is tilted, mouth open, eyes challenging the camera.

“It makes you uncomfortable because I’m naked but I’m also not looking at you in this very renaissance-woman-naked-on-a-couch kind of passive stare, I’m engaging you,” she said.
Audience reactions ranged from “Is that attractive?” to “Why would anyone want to see that?” Sachse worked with Cory Silverberg, part co-owner of CAYA to print an educational Q&A response to be posted in the store with copies available for visitors to take.

She realizes that feedback has less to do with her and more to do with the viewers. “You kind of plant a seed. In that act I’ve done my job.”

But backlash has erupted from more than one source. After submitting a blurb about her show to CONTACT organizers in December, which was published on the webpage and printed in distributed magazines, Sachse noticed it was altered without her notification.

The updated version indicated that observers of Alleviate would be extended an invitation to take a “fresh look” at physical disabilities.

“I felt like it really fucked with everything else I wrote because the whole point is to replicate the most tired archetypes that are associated with disability and to self represent and make new ones,” said Sachse, who felt the word “fresh” was a huge contradiction.

“Here I am trying to sell disability. Disability like you’ve never seen it before kind of deal,” she said in a mocking tone. “I was so mad.”

Last year during the Erotic Blender Art Exhibit at the Gladstone Hotel an Eye Weekly reporter who interviewed her commented on how articulate she was before remarking that “disability is so en vogue,” said Sachse.

This is the type of vibe she has received from the Toronto art scene. “Any media attention has had to do with the fact that disability is, I don’t now, the new black or something.”

But Sachse plans to incorporate these experiences into her art in a variety of different media. Currently in the works, a collaborative documentary will follow the responses her work has received over the years and include other politically like-minded artists. She will continue exploring ways to photograph the medical narrative, infantalization, iconography and censorship associated with disability.

“My method of dealing with stuff is tongue and cheek kind of humour. I’ve come to realize doing the work itself is enough in terms of addressing it. Adding to the dialogue is enough.”

*Published in the June issue of The Ryerson Free Press

The Closeline Project shares laundry

noreply@blogger.com (Adriana) — Tue, 09 Jun 2009 19:43:00 +0000

“I couldn’t say the word ‘rape’ for a long time,” said Larisa Storisteanu, a volunteer with the Clothesline Project (CLP) at Ryerson, which took place from May 1 to 4.

Hosted by the V-Day group at Ryerson, the project allowed women who have experienced abuse to share their stories, emotions and messages of hope on donated t-shirts. The t-shirts were then displayed publicly. According to the CLP, making and hanging that laundry can be part of the healing process.

Storisteanu, a former part-time visual arts student at Ryerson, first heard about CLP a few years ago. She was raped by a former employer and wanted to participate in an event she felt was a positive way of reconciling her experience with violence. Storisteanu is also assistant director of Canadian Artists Against Sexual Assault, a student group that has raised funds for the Toronto Rape Crisis Centre by auctioning artwork created by women who have survived violence.

“It’s definitely hard opening up about it but its harder keeping silent,” she said, sitting beside the growing clothesline, her mint colour eyes emphasized by wavy auburn hair.

Decorated t-shirts were strung between four trees alongside Kerr Hall South as women sat at tables and sketched out stories with markers. Traffic on the sidewalk stopped to converse with volunteers about the workshop and across the street more shirts swung in the breeze beside Lake Devo.

The first CLP event took place in 1990 as part of the “Take Back the Night” march and rally in Massachusetts. The founding group felt that hanging laundry, long seen as women’s work, would be a natural medium to express provocative, educational and constructive art. The project has now spread worldwide.

Virginia and Ashley Tran, who started V-Day at Ryerson, chose to organize CLP as a way of providing a supportive, artistic and activist workshop for the Ryerson community. In partnership with Ryerson’s Women’s Centre, they started collecting donated shirts for the clothesline in December.

Virginia, a freelance artist better known as “V”, sat beside the growing clothesline in a billowy white shirt and silver hoop earrings. She said that many women who participated or approached the tables of t-shirts had stories to tell, and V-Day volunteers were there to listen.One woman’s story stood out for Tran: “A lot of times women don’t know it’s abuse until it’s too late.”

For many women, name-calling by partners can seem like a silly or insignificant reaction. “It’s about noticing and identifying the early stages of it, and how it escalates into an abusive situation,” said Tran, who has experienced violence with men in the past.

“Not only are we acknowledging the victims, but we’re building them up as well,” said project coordinator Rehana Hirjee, in grey tights and jean shorts, who sat alongside the clothesline with Tran.
She feels that women lack the outlets to express their experiences with violence and can remain silent out of fear that an abusive significant other will discover their disclosure. The Clothesline provides a safe place to tell those stories.

“It’s a silent protest, I think. Once you read it, it has such an impact,” said Hirjee, with long dark curls framing her face.

Each shirt was colour-coded to symbolize the form of abuse and whether the victim survived.
“He spat on my face and he hit me…he called me a bitch and he kicked me…one black eye and a bleeding head…I vow never to go back and not to listen to what he says,” read a lime green shirt, representing a survivor of incest and sexual abuse, which hung near Lake Devo.

But women aren’t the only survivors of violence. Earlier in the afternoon a man who had been abused by two of his former wives asked Hirjee if there was room for men who were victims. “Why not?” replied Hirjee.

“I want men to know, ‘listen we’re in this together,’” said Tran, her hair pulled back in a low ponytail. “V-day isn’t a pro-woman, anti-men group. We’re pro-human.”

Jeff Perera, a social work student currently organizing Ryerson’s White Ribbon Campaign (RWRC), came out to support the CLP workshop on Saturday, and hopes to work with V-Day in the future. The RWRC is an organization of students, staff and faculty dedicated to ending men’s violence against women through awareness and education.

Perera’s aim is to create a space for Ryerson’s male population to discuss its role in violence without blaming. “It’s not the ‘oppressor, you are the enemy’ discussion. Let’s find how we can be part of the solution,” says Perera.

Perera’s mother was a victim of violence. He believes that remaining silent about the issue allows it to fester and grow. “You’re part of the problem or part of the solution,” he says.

V-Day also sold “I (heart) vagina” t-shirts and buttons and received donations for future campaigns, as well as for the Metropolitan Action Committee on Violence Against Women and Children, an organization that provides community education, justice and safety programs.None of the stories that were written on shirts will be lost, said Tran.

V-day intends to hold another CLP on campus in September and will reuse shirts created during their first workshop. She wants to spread the message that anyone can start a CLP, and hopes to collaborate with other projects across Toronto.

“We essentially want the CLP to be a Toronto collective that started here at Ryerson, and that’s beautiful. So we’re calling out to people,” says Tran.

Wearing a long, patchwork skirt, with a feather tied in her hair, Storisteanu sat beside the red t-shirt that she decorated the previous day, which symbolized rape.

“It is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy,” the shirt read, which came from the poem “Desiderata” by Max Ehrmann, surrounded by a circular design that branched off into curls. Underneath were the words, “I’m working on forgiving you…slowly…taking it day by day.”

Although she feels that many things have contributed to her healing process, Storisteanu says that witnessing the messages of other women was empowering for her. She knows that voicing what she went through potentially helped someone else.

“It doesn’t make you feel so anonymous, sharing your story.”

*Published in the June issue of The Ryerson Free Press

How To Get a Con Girlfriend: A lesson in overcoming B.O. and desperation

noreply@blogger.com (Adriana) — Sat, 30 May 2009 03:14:00 +0000

Step one: Come prepared for the heat.

Make sure to bring an assortment of heavy duty, extra strength deodorants in bar or spray form. Keep them at hand in case of increased heat or physical activity, like group hugs, spontaneous pokemon tournaments or intense glomping. Remember, posing for photos can be strenuous, especially when your prop is as tall as you are.
You are bound to sweat so wearing another layer underneath your costume will conveniently soak up excess moisture. Donning a thin undershirt will prevent drenching your homemade duds as you compete in LARP tournaments, battle fellow fans to reach a rare anime series on sale in the Dealers Room, or flail your limbs wildly at the outdoor rave.

Step two: Become one with the costume.

You didn’t spend countless late nights stitching by the glow of your Wii console to look like a schmuck at the convention, so make sure you can rock your threads. Details are everything. Take the time to double check your costume for any missing elements because you’re only as valuable as the authenticity of your footwear, gear and make-up. Bring extra supplies along in the devastating event that a face smearing mishap occurs or your key sword is damaged in an overenthusiastic run in with the heartless.

Getting hot in that mask? Removing it will spell your failure. If one con girl spies you looking more like you than your character then you can wave goodbye to epic, fantasy themed sex. No girl will bestow those memorized lines of undying love from your favourite series if you aren’t 100% legit.
Step three: Try to have some class. This time.

If you see a sexy Kairi or Riku walk by with their tits popping out of their tops, avoid openly staring and stalking them for the remainder of the weekend. If you get excited, try to hide it and momentarily distract yourself by looking at the guy in the skin tight team rocket costume. If you do happen to get in close proximity with a hottie aim your sights on her face instead of her rack and prevent a nasty reaction.
In reality a woman can still go Love Hina on your ass and slug you into the parking lot if she thinks you’re a jerk. There is still time to seduce her into your hotel room and play out scenes from your cherished final episodes, but you’re never going to get there if you’re too obvious. You may look like a sex-starved Otaku, but try not to act like one.

Back to Reality.

If these tips seem likely to guarantee nabbing a con girlfriend then there is something seriously wrong with today’s anime obsessed youth. At my first Anime North convention on May 23rd I sat in on the latter half of a panel discussion literally called “How To Get a Con Girlfriend.” With the exception of step three (which I had to throw in) this was a sample of the types of suggestions doled out by a panel to a group of guys. It was a very strange and enlightening lesson in male cosplaying culture.

A guy dressed as Master Roshi from Dragon Ball Z actually enquired about how to avoid odours offensive to the opposite sex while travelling around with a giant turtle shell strapped to his back. Despite the fact that B.O. was as thick as smog in high traffic areas of the convention body odour should be the least of a guy’s worries. How about….oh I don’t know….just act naturally and talk to women?

Another guy wanted to know how to not appear desperate when meeting women at the convention and relayed that con women he meets tend to be more desperate than he is, proven by the fact that he was able to “miraculously” have sex with one. This line of thought just made me sorry for the entire room…especially when this story was met with wild applause, cheering and one excited male who rushed over and high-fived the guy for his apparent achievement. He wasn’t even bad looking, but obviously thought that he wasn’t worth much, if a girl fucking a guy who writes fan fiction is miraculous.
What I got out of this discussion was a glimpse into the insecurities men may feel because their interests don’t adhere to mainstream male gender constructed pastimes of competitive sports, per se.

Men who enjoy anime culture are not hideous mutants that repel every woman they see. The fact that some guys who are so absorbed in anime can feel that way indicates to me that they struggle with their self esteem. The panel resembled a grade three classroom where boys assumed girls were foreign creatures and unattainable due to their strange taste for cartoons.

A hobby is a hobby. Essentially the guy underneath all the gear and props is what a woman will be getting to know. Finding a girl who is interesting to talk to at a cosplay event is the same as meeting a girl at a party or a bar. He may not be wearing a pokemon trainer outfit and she may not be dressed as bulbasaur but that's obviously beside the point. And wearing deodorant may help, but it definitely won't guarantee capture.

Feisty feminist porn on the big screen

noreply@blogger.com (Adriana) — Wed, 27 May 2009 22:16:00 +0000

Eating popcorn at the movies is a must, even when you’re watching feminist porn. It’s Saturday night and I’m sitting in the Royal Theatre and Feisty Feminist Porn on the Big Screen is underway, the second sexy night following Good for Her’s Feminist Porn Awards. Tonight the audience will get a more satisfying taste of films from the winner’s of Saturday’s awards ceremony, followed by a panel discussion with the directors, hosted by Coco Le Crème.

First up on tonight’s naughty screening is Ryerson media studies student, Joanne Loton’s documentary, “Women Will Come.”

Loton has brought together an array of feminist porn directors from across the globe to discuss what feminist porn means to them, with some titillating footage.

Her clips focus on Anna Span, the first feminist porn director in the UK, who discusses using the "female perspective" to restructure power imbalances in porn. From behind her desk, in a no-nonsense ponytail and a t-shirt reading, “This is what a feminist looks like,” Span explains that when you picture yourself fucking it’s typical to envision the sex from your own point of view, not from your partner’s perspective or a panoramic shot. Unless you have problems, she says.

During an oral scene Span, films bent over an actresses’ shoulder as she is eaten out, looking down at the male lover. Span films an equal amount of female and male oriented camera shots so that women can participate as the gazer instead of constantly being gazed at as an object. Steamy doc score: 8 curved vibrators out of 10.

After the educational portion of the evening we move on to clips from the softcore flick “Man of my Dreams,” by Mimi Balfour. During the panel discussion the hockey mom of three says that she wanted to make her film relatable to mothers who may not have dipped their toes into the porn pool yet.
Salsa music plays as we watch repairman Jim, identifiable by his uniform nametag, as he enters a woman’s apartment and gets to work between her legs. The lighting is low and the actors resemble typical characters from PG porn. Jim is toned and muscular, picking his eager conquest up in his arms. She wears lavender lingerie, has a slender waist, perfect curled do and curves in all the right places. The tone is slow and sensual and although she gets off, I didn’t. The whole thing was too cheesy, too styled and lacked tangible passion.

At first glance the film feels like mainstream romance novel style pornography. What separates this from an episode of Red Shoe Diaries is the camera’s focus on the male body, making him the object of her desire. She receives oral pleasure and the scene ends in an atypical fashion, with the couple resting on the couch, watching television. Tame? Very much so. Realistic? Perhaps, but boring, just the same. Score: 9 granny panties out of 10.

Next is a clip from Nofauxxx.com creator, Courtney Trouble’s film, “Roulette”, which was definitely not what I was expecting. A blonde cat burglar in a black toque heads for the fridge and grabs a jug of milk. At this point it becomes obvious where this is going and that it’s going to get dirty. She lies in front of the fridge, pours the cool beverage into her open mouth and lets it flow over her lips. It looks like a symbolic cum bath. She pinches her hardened nipples between her fingers, letting the milk stream over them, before ripping her fishnets at the crotch.

Cold liquid dribbles onto her black panties. She gasps softly before slipping her hand underneath to dip her fingers in her own cream. I found the illusion to male semen to be a turn off, but more unsettling still is when she bends down to lick the spilt remains off the tiled floor. This scene was too messy for my taste. Score: three used condoms out of 10.

Later, when Coco La Crème asks Madison Young if she is in the business of making dreams come true, the actress and director refers to herself as the fairy godmother of porn. Young says she incorporates the desires of her actors in her work, for example, if they want to peg a bound firefighter in the ass.
On screen tonight Young is making breakfast and getting very hot and bothered in the process. She prepares some toast and leans on the kitchen counter, reaching under her shorts to rub herself before informing her master that it’s almost ready.

Fast Forward. Breakfast forgotten, actress Dylan Ryan has her tongue wrapped around Young’s clit, who wears black rimmed glasses, legs spread in a chair with her head thrown back. In the throes of climax she resembles a nerdy nymph giving short, high pitched cries, her hand clamped onto Ryan’s bleach blonde boy cut locks. “Rawr, rawr, rawr,’ she growls, her climax receding as shouting and laughter ripples throughout the audience, breaking the erotic tension.
Shortly after, Young is on her knees and Ryan is in the chair, smacking her servant's face sharply and demanding that she kiss her foot before leading her off screen. If you’re into sexual control then the assertive, take-no-shit attitude of Ryan and Young’s ripe, eager-to-please desire will get you hot and bothered.

Next scene. Young is naked in a cage on her hands and knees with wide, luscious lips pursed as Ryan circles her in a fishnet body suit. A silver chain runs through Young's nipple rings and around a bar of the cage, preventing her from moving. As Ryan kneels at her captive’s rear two chained clamps are visibly pinching her pink, distended pussy lips.

“I really want to stick something in your ass. Aren’t you lucky?” says Ryan, producing a peacock plumed butt plug for Young to suck on before slowly thrusting it into her puckered anus. “You’re a pretty little bird. Pretty little birdie,” Ryan coos, while tugging on the pussy clamps as Young’s head turns, groaning. The urgent desperation in her voice is as arousing as Ryan’s cool demeanor. As she rises to leave her prisoner the camera zooms in on Young’s distraught expression through the silver bars, lips open in a frustrated moan.

Out of all the lusty films the dynamic between Young and Ryan got 9 soaked pairs of panties out of 10. Tonight there is no doubt she was a fulfilling fairy godmother.

*As published in Mutedmag.com, with photo credits to Claire Lee

Feminist Porn Awards- Lady love all round

noreply@blogger.com (Adriana) — Wed, 27 May 2009 03:10:00 +0000

“I absolutely love fucking you!” exclaims Madison Young on stage to her co-actress, Ryan Dylan, as she clutches the first butt plug awarded this evening in Berkeley Church. The porn director and actress has just won the award for hottest kink movie, with her film “Perversions of Lesbian Lust, Vol. 1”, at Good for Her’s 4th annual Feminist Porn Awards.

Tonight feminist porn creators, actors and enthusiasts have gathered in everything from gowns to jeans to celebrate the achievements of the feminist porn community. On stage Young resembles a modern Aphrodite with her golden, open chest gown, matching pasties and tumbling strawberry blonde curls.

“We’re making waves in feminism one orgasm at a time,’ she says, wrapping up her acceptance speech.

Onlookers occupy the U-shaped second story of the church-turned-theatre, supported by white columns. On the ground level the audience occupies two rows of chairs in front of a giant screen on stage, which projects short erotic scenes from winning film makers as they accept their anal plug shaped awards.

In a brief clip from the Crash Pad Series 2 – Unlocked, winner of the steamiest trans scene, we see a woman in a black bra and panties whimpering as the tattooed woman on top of her bites her neck, pushes her down into the bed sheets and smacks her ass. The once rambunctious church is silent, save the occasional randy yell of approval. When the scene ends the audience erupts into cheering. The temperature has definitely raised a few notches.

Ryerson student and documentary film maker Joanne Loton graces the stage in a purple, layered number to announce the winner of the golden beaver award for Canadian content and most sensual softcore. Mimi Balfour nabs both for her flick “Man of my Dreams,” which involves the stereotypical studs, a cop and a blue collar repairman who both find a woman ready and willing to make love in their apartments. We catch a short glimpse of some sultry lighting and defined abdominal muscles which seem more at home in your typical City TV porno night.

The diverse male posse, Boylesque, delivers the awards on stage tonight, donning old school ties, suspenders, collared shirts and hats. “The more clips we present the more naked they get,” announces Deb Pearce, our host of the evening, with a blonde mullet and a flashy belt buckle.
Next, Coco La Crème takes the stage for her burlesque performance in a whirlwind of glowing, voluptuous mocha skin, turquoise feathers and glittering sequins. She turns her exposed cheeks to the audience, shaking them as she turns her head to give us a ruby lipped grin. Playing with her feathered skirt, she slips it off to expose a curvy stomach and thighs before yanking at her bra straps playfully with her thumbs. The bra goes flying, revealing golden nipple tassles adorning her generous breasts which rotate in wide arches as she winks with an aqua painted eye lid.

Throughout the evening Pearce reprimands the talkative bar crowd at the rear of the theatre. She wanders through the throng grasping her microphone, an image which is tattooed on her wrist, and interrupts chatting couples. “I’m the asshole trying to shush you tonight,” she says, beer in hand. With a white rose amidst a bob of curls framing her heart-shaped face, Courtney Trouble, owner of nofauxxx.com, gets a little teary eyed when accepting the award for most deliciously diverse cast. A preview of her winning film, “Roulette”, features two boys with Mohawks, jeans down around their bare, pale asses, stroking each other’s cocks on a rooftop.

Next the male and female heart throbs of the year are announced. Tyler Knight, an actor whose chocolate brown member is stroked two-handedly on screen is not present, but the spiky haired brunette, Dylan Ryan, gasps wide eyed with her hands clasped over her lips at the announcement. She accepts the awards after we glimpse a clip of her climaxing. “I’m completely honored,” she says and pauses, biting her lip. “This is an incredible business to be in, I’m very lucky and I’m very happy that you like the work that I do.” Alison Lee, the head organizer of the awards files on stage alongside the entire Good for Her crew to recognize their efforts. “Isn’t it fun showing porn in a church?” says Carlyle Jansen, in a corset and black shirt, while handing bouquets to the sex shop employees.
By now the butt plug delivery boys have stripped down to their briefs and Young gets on her hands and knees to hunt among the boy’s prominent packages for her second award of the night, indie porn pioneer of the year. She wanks off a man in yellow who’s bent forward, holding the prize above his ass, out of her sight. The audience is cracking up and someone yells, “I don’t think you’re going to find it in there.” “This is who I am. This is part of my art, of breathing,” says Young, after finally securing her award. We watch a clip of her being led with a chain around her neck by her then blonde-haired master, Ryan, who wears black platform stilettos. “I am so sick of seeing BDSM compared to torture. I’m really trying to destroy those stigmas,” Young says in a rush, her voice rising.

After a risqué lip-synching performance by Daddy K and the Rhythm Method troupe the evening wraps up with the movie of the year. “I was actually supposed to be in Ottawa getting banged right now,” says the Sasha Van Bon Bon, a member of The Scandelles burlesque troupe and Eye Weekly's sex columnist. She purses her lips, eyes scanning the audience and continues to say that she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to give the award for a film that got her so riled up she had to take three people home to deal with the situation in her panties. “There was no safe word that night,” she says.

Director Syd Blakovich wins for her women boxing themed film “Champion.” Wearing a vest with holsters and a sleeve of tattoos on her arm, she announces on stage, “I get nervous when I’m wearing clothes,” and proceeds to pull down her white trousers, revealing brief-style panties. She gives her acceptance speech rather quickly, blushing and laughing as Young kneels, placing her face in her director’s crotch for some public end of the night lip service.

*As published in mutedmag.com, with photo credits to Lana Paiement

Feminist porn gala teaser

noreply@blogger.com (Adriana) — Sat, 16 May 2009 21:25:00 +0000

There will be more extensive coverage of the fourth annual Feminist Porn Awards, hosted by Good for Her, coming soon. For now, warm up with this sneak peak from Xtra, Toronto’s printed source of queer news and culture. You will meet the rowdy host of the evening, Deb, “Dirk” Pearce, the queen bee organizer/manager herself, Alison Lee, and a slough of amazing directors and actors up for butt plug trophies.

A review of Feisty Feminist Porn on the Big Screen, the second night of the event is also coming your way, complete with commentary from the director panel discussion. Get ready for an extensive look at Toronto’s growing festival that celebrates the sexy, powerful, independent ladies taking control of the camera.

Lights acoustic

noreply@blogger.com (Adriana) — Sat, 16 May 2009 21:07:00 +0000