A Little Ish

Feelin' famous

2011-10-25T18:41:00.000-07:00

I guess this is what people in the industry call "a big break".

Read my first scoop which incidentally is my first story to get officially published, my first story to run on the website of a major newspaper and my first story to make it to print. They're all one in the same, folks.

Read the full length article on J-Source: "It's beyond just any broadcast"

The shortened version can also be read on any of the following:

Though the story itself wasn't the happiest of tales, I couldn't help but get swept up in the whirlwind of press.

4am before a deadline

2011-10-10T21:12:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I just stare at the blank white page,

With it’s stupid stick line, impatiently flashing andwaiting for direction,

But offering not assistance at all.

Sometimes I just stare at it, hating that it won’t find thewords for me,

Because time’s blinking away, and I need to fill thisgoddamn page.

…

Turkey time

2011-10-10T20:52:00.000-07:00

Thanksgiving dinner was not always a tradition in my family.

There was once a time when the only exciting thing about my October longweekend was the fact that I didn’t have to go to school on Monday. Oh how timeshave changed.

After months of subsisting onKraft Dinner and Nutella sandwiches, the thanksgiving menu comes as more than just afeast for the eyes – and I have learned to come prepared.

I have long since abandoned thefancy attire for thanksgiving dinner. Instead, I arrive prepared to eat,outfitted in stretch pants with the necessary elasta-waist to accommodate obsceneamounts of consumption. At my house, thanksgiving is not about looking good,it’s about eating so much that it takes you 364 days to be able to look atanother turkey dinner.

Thisyear, gluttony was taken to a whole new level with a Saturday morning turkeyfeast followed by Sunday all-you-can-eat sushi and to cap it off, a full Indianspread on Monday. The dining trifecta gave me a food baby with disturbingstaying power, but at least I know I’ll be well insulated this winter.

So from my couch to yours, I hope your weekend was one of bigbites and full nights.

Happy thanksgiving Canada!

Scary hot

2011-09-15T10:14:00.000-07:00

As a new resident to Canada's perceived capital, I am slowly learning the perks of living in Toronto.

1. The food is phenomenal

B) There is always something going on

III. People here are really, really ridiculously good looking

Yes, on my tour of ethnic food carts and weekend festivals, I could not help but notice how insanely symmetrical the faces in the crowd were. Downtown is filled hotty mchotties who, until now, I thought only existed on the cover of magazines. Now I walk among them.

These individuals require a classification all their own which my friends and I have termed "scary hot".

Definition: an individual so hot that you cannot look directly at them without having your retinas and self-esteem irreparably scorched.

I cannot describe this class of super-humans further nor can I provide any photographic evidence because this definition applies to different types of people based on the observer. Regardless, while they say beauty is only skin deep, there are those lucky few whose beauty is blatantly evident all over their scary hot faces. Toronto, I'm talkin' to you.

First day of school

2011-09-12T05:46:00.000-07:00

I may not be quite as super stoked as Nemo, but his pre-pubescent voice has been playing in my head all weekend in preparation for today. I'm brushing my anemone, checking my stripes and ready to start a brand new year of academia. Here we go, another "first day of school".

Happy long weekend!

2011-09-02T10:17:00.000-07:00

Since this blog serves as my virtual megaphone, I gotta say: THANK YOU to all of you who read my ramblings, stumble upon my site, or even just glance at the pictures. It means more than you know. You are wonderful.

Now that you're feeling warm and fuzzy inside, pass those feelings on and say something nice to someone this long weekend.

Let the final 3-day summer soak-in begin!

Packin'

2011-08-25T21:36:00.000-07:00

It seems only logical that you must conclude one phase of life before moving on to the next. Moving through these major milestones is often paired with personal reflections. What was important to you? More significantly, what was become important to you?

These are the hard questions that we all have to face when attempting to pack infinite amounts of crap into a very small number of boxes.

What was important to me? Well, I thought I couldn’t get by without my acrylic paint set, knitting equipment, soccer cleats, and family photo albums but nomadic student life has taught me these items are luxuries that I neither have the time or nor the space to accommodate.

What has become important to me? In short: bookstands, slippers, extension chords, and scrubs. Undergrad taught me the value of hands-free academic reading, not being barefoot in a student house, draining maximum electricity out of minimal plugs, and the absolute magic of scrub pants. Essentials redefined.

Now, I am once again folding, squishing, and Tetris-style packing my way to concluding another chapter of my saga. With those final boxes, I am packing away my undergrad, cramming it into my car and moving on to university 2.0, the grad school edition.

Ready or not, Toronto here I come.

Can you hear me now?

2011-08-17T12:19:00.000-07:00

Dear cellphone companies of Canada, hear me roar!

Dealing with my cellphone is like combat with what I imagine my future mother in-law to be; difficult and ultimately a battle that I can’t win. From constant technical errors, hidden charges, and laughable customer service centers from (insert Indian accent) “Toronto”; that weight in my purse often translates to a weight on my mind. But these routine conflicts are nothing compared to what I’m now facing. It’s been three years and it’s time to start over.

I am standing on a precipice. One misstep and I’ll be stuck so deep in contract regulations that it’ll take way longer than 127 hours to gnaw my way to freedom. Rather than take the plunge, I considered taking a step back, enjoying a simpler way of life and recovering from the constant perception that my purse/backpack/pocket is vibrating.

I miss the good ol' days when your network just referred
to the tangle of strings connecting you to the other kids
in the hood.

With my dedication to going retro, I went mobile-free for two weeks while traveling around Amurrica.

NEVER AGAIN.

While other tourists were taking in the sights, I was constantly on the lookout for a payphone (fun fact: harder to find than a gum-free sidewalk). The salespeople and senior citizens that I asked for directions routinely pitied me and offered me their personal cellphones. One of my charitable donors attributed my ridiculous lack of technology to the fact that “Canada ain’t got cellphones yet”. Unfortunately sir, we do have cellphones but we also have the super sneaky cellphone conglomerates to match.

Now having returned to Canadia, I have resigned myself to the fact that the next few weeks will involve in-depth research, pitting different companies against each other, and ultimately signing my life away for another three years.

Thank you cellphone companies of Canada. You put the hell in hello.

Table top advertising

2011-08-09T21:51:00.000-07:00

I recently ventured down to the country club of the Caribbean; Bermuda. Ok, so technically it's not in the Caribbean, but let's face it, anything with palm trees, beaches, and "no worries" is considered the Caribbean to us Canadians.

Somewhere in between tanning, snorkeling, and multiple rum swizzles, I decided to carve my way into a new audience demographic. Welcome Bermuda readers, thanks for stopping by!

Penny for your thoughts

2011-08-06T20:06:00.000-07:00

After spending a month supervising high school students, I eased myself back into post-camp society by visiting my little cousins; same noise level, same attention span, just in smaller packages.

After permanently attaching herself to my leg, my 6 year old cousin Annie proposed a challenge: Find something that costs no more than a penny.

She had been collecting pennies and had graciously shared a whole cent of her wealth with me. Though she admitted that “things aren’t what they used to be”, she was convinced that I would be able to purchase something like a stuffed animal, Canadian flag, or jewelry with my new riches. She even helped me practice my puppy dog eyes, a bargaining tool that she has perfected, to help me stay within budget. Unfortunately, my “cute” face ended up looking more like an “I’m nauseous please get out of the way” face so I was left simply with cash on hand.

Being older and, as I understood, automatically wiser, I was sure that we would not be able to buy anything for a penny. Each place we went, I looked for an opportunity to partner with the salesperson, paying a single cent in front of Annie and later sneaking them the rest of the sale price. Alas, I am as stealthy as an elephant on bubble wrap so my little charade never panned out.

That's some solid savings right thur

It was the last day of our mini family reunion and I still had to unload my funds. As we shuffled our family procession through Ontario Place, we passed a Coppertone sunscreen booth and I overheard, “Yes sir. Any donation, one cent or more, will get you all these products”. I immediately ran over to find Annie and dragged her back to the Coppertone woman. I excitedly explained to Annie that she could get tons of stuff from this booth for a penny. She proceeded to trade in her collection for sample size Coppertone bottles for the whole family and four UV-indicating bracelets.

Since she had hoped to buy a giant plush toy with her coins, Annie was slightly underwhelmed by her purchases. I, on the other hand, was astounded. I had been 153% sure that we would not find anything for a penny. My immediate response to the proposed challenge had been elaborate schemes with an underlying hope that Annie would forget our endeavour and get distracted by something more attainable. And yet, there I was; one penny poorer and rich in sunscreen and UV-protection.

Lesson learned: Sometimes you need to trade your old perspective in for some change.

Gone but not forgotten

2011-08-03T20:14:00.000-07:00

No, this post is not about Amy Winehouse or that breakfast burrito that is now having a fiesta in your stomach. It has come to my attention that I have neglected my duties as a cybernerd. For the past month, I was working as a staff member for the Shad Valley program, the Great White of all time consumers (shout out to shark week!). As a result, I lived almost completely off the grid during the month of July.

Phone calls home = 3
Time spent away from Shad = 2 hours (the program even crept into my dreams)
Time wasted on Facebook = far less than normal
Blog updates = 0

That last stat is the one that I feel I must apologize for. While I was absent from the interwebs, I could not forget my commitment to regular blogging. My lack of posts was like a tiny child, tugging at my leg whining for attention, out of my direct line of sight but impossible to ignore. Now that Shad is done, I can finally give my little cyber-minion the time and effort that it deserves. Hope you missed me because I’m back and ready to play.

Morning Delight

2011-06-30T06:08:00.000-07:00

McDonalds coffee lids make me feel like I'm making out with a surprise face emoticon every morning :O

This type of intimate caffeine experience gives French Roast a whole new meaning.

Rising To The Revolution

2011-06-28T06:25:00.000-07:00

Stop fighting it. Get on Facebook, "friend" your parents, and become part of the revolution.

Love it or list it

2011-06-18T06:22:00.000-07:00

While I was on the bus yesterday, I picked up a Metro and began reading through the days top stories. Halfway to my destination, I came upon this little gem and have not stopped giggling at the caption since.

Apparently the owners of this fine home finally had enough of mother f*ckin snakes on their mother f*ckin table, bed, walls, floors, shoes, tubs, and what not.

Though Indiana Jones might not be lining up to be the new tenant, if you like a lil'company, this snake shack is now up for sale!

Essay 6: One Movie Everyone Should See

2011-06-15T08:55:00.000-07:00

As a few of my former classmates can attest, I used to be a fairly horrible person. Like your typical high school cliché, I just wanted to be one of the “cool kids”; the ones who seemed to possess more awesomeness in their pinky toes than I had in my entire body. They were the gold medal and I was willing to do anything, from steroids to sabotage, just to make it to the podium.

In my naïve adolescence, I had a skewed sense of cause and effect. For instance, I figured if I could inhale my dinner before my parents, I could escape without having to clean the table. Likewise, I was convinced that if I could get into the popular crowd, I would become awesome by osmosis. But, as the Governator and I can attest, things don’t always go according to plan. Not only did I develop a super unhealthy eating pace, I also I turned into a mini witch-of-a-bitch.

My 15 minutes began with an uncontrolled outburst of smart-assery at a teacher. One single comment, that’s all it took, and by the end of the day I was riding home with the popular girls. And so began my decent from Montessori middle-schooler to prep-school snob complete with rolled skirt and a mouth full of rumors.

Though I suppose I cannot objectively evaluate this, I would like to believe that I have since changed from my middle school monster self. And one of the reasons is thanks to a little flick that made me realize that I had become one of the Mean Girls. Ironically, it took one of Hollywood’s teen disasters to teach me how to be a better person. It was her character (and repeated viewings) that made me realize the seemingly obvious fact that “calling someone stupid doesn't make you any smarter”. She also taught me that sometimes “the limit does not exist”.

Every time (and believe you me, there are a lot of times) that I watch Mean Girls, I pick up on something new, or find something that I forgot. It’s like a really great friend, I can go for a long time without seeing it, but when we sit down together, no matter how much time has passed, it’s always a good time. I may have a tiny lady crush on Tina Fey, but this movie’s witty, relatable humor truly does make this more than just a flick for chicks. Mean Girls may seem campy romcom but I really do think that it is a movie everyone should see. Not because it’ll change your life, not because you get to see Lindsay Lohan when she was a C-cup rather than celeb C-list, and not because of all the SNL cameos. Everyone should see Mean Girls because maybe it’ll help you realize that you are one. Bitch.

Convacation

2011-06-14T22:30:00.000-07:00

McMaster President, Dr. Patrick Deane,
donning his pimp coat for the occasion

This weekend I headed back to McMaster to transition from graduand to graduate. Having officially shaken the hands of Mac's chancellor, President, and Red Green in a ceremony witnessed by the illustrious Ryan Gosling, I can officially say that I have completed my undergrad.

Time to head out into the "real world" (or if all else fails, head to the Real World). Either way, look out ya'll cause imma comin.

Essay 5: One Book Everyone Should Read

2011-06-07T21:39:00.000-07:00

Ok, it’s time to get real. Not like reality show “real”. I mean it’s time to get super honest. No bullshit. No talking around the point. No circling the message. No verbosely evading the topic.

It’s time to take a deep breath, swallow my insecurities (and a few shots of tequila) and admit…

I cannot answer this question.

In the past, I may have ventured an answer. Everyone should read:

The Bible – because it’s gotta be the number one book of all time for a reason
Anne Frank’s Diary – because it’ll give your life a new perspective
The Help – because the narration will have you speaking like a Southern Black woman
Twilight – just so you can understand why in God’s name people are attracted to Robert Pattinson

I could say any of these things because I can distill general opinion and Sparksnotes into a somewhat coherent opinion. But in my Essay 2, I publicized my inability to have any real take on this subject.

I can report that I am making headway on my mission to understand people’s attraction to reading. In fact, one of the books listed above had me antisocially stealing away from parties this past month, closing myself in any corner I could find, just so I could read more.

I am on my way, but given that I do not yet know why I love certain books or what exactly I get out of those select page-turners, I have nothing to give this week.

Instead, take the above list as a suggestion of works that I hear are great. Though, I've only read one of the four, the entire collection has a very broad fanbase and thus warrants some attention. However, since I cannot personally endorse any specific work, consider them polite suggestions rather than books that you "should read."

Moday motivation

2011-06-06T06:40:00.000-07:00

Monday's are hard. Here's a little encouragement to get you through the rest of the week...

Thanks kid. I feel happy of myself now too.

Dirty Dove campaign

2011-06-03T21:45:00.000-07:00

Casually stuffed between receipts from last year's Thai takeout and an ancient packet of Mentos, Purell has found a place in every woman's purse. In this age of superbugs and sanitizer, we have an unstoppable need to be clean. Most scrub themselves spotless in an attempt to avoid the spread of bacteria, meanwhile germaphobia increasingly infects North American society. We may want to be squeaky clean, but recent soap ads appear to be a bit dirtier than intended.

Old Spice bodywash turned boys into men and South Pacific women musically boasted that they could wash those men right out of their hair. The power of soap knows no bounds. Case in point, the newest Dove campaign that boasts one white bar can rid your skin of impurities. That's right. New magazines ads show evidence of how you too can shed dirt, dryness, that pesky dark skin and that bodacious badonkadonk simply by washing with Dove. Praise the non-demoninational Powers because the answer has arrived.

Forget diets and diversity, all you need is Dove!

Essay 4: Useless Knowledge and its Uses

2011-05-30T23:59:00.000-07:00

My parent’s house has fifteen stairs from the first floor to the second; Belleville, Ontario birthed one of the best creameries ever; beer can be substituted for milk when making an omelet; Sephora gives you free makeup on your birthday; and never, ever, take wedding advice from gypsies. Taken together, these facts makeup only a small fraction of my “useless” knowledge.

When I was a kid, it was important to know just how many stairs I had to slide down in order to get to the main floor. At that time, it was equally important to know the exact location where I could get a mint chocolate chip ice cream scoop the size of my head. This information became mere memories as I grew up. When I moved on to university, I received a “higher education”. It was then that I gained valuable knowledge, such as the fact that if I was out of milk, I could just pour a little beer into my eggs and my omelets would come out just as fluffy, if not more (plus I would then have a reason to have a breakfast beer). During my summers off, I kept expanding my learning. Since I have always been a sucker for free paraphernalia, knowledge of Sephora’s ongoing birthday promotion is now tucked away for safekeeping and brought out every June 28th. Finally, the most recent lesson is regarding gypsy wedding practices, however, I think it best to leave the details of that one up to your imagination.

While some may argue that every bit of knowledge has a use, the aforementioned facts are termed “useless” because they have served their purpose and have since retired. Now parked in the Florida of my brain, these facts are largely irrelevant to my day-to-day life or any “intelligent” conversation. However, as my overstuffed basement of stuffed animals, Halloween costumes, school projects, and baby clothes demonstrates, I have a hard time seeing anything from my past as completely “useless”. Yes, these things are no longer in use, but maybe, I will need them one day. Additionally, they represent where I came from, what I’ve been through, and who I’ve become. Similarly, I remember these things because they are a part of me, and to delete anything from my mental database would reduce me.

I learn because I can’t help it. Information is all around and despite my best efforts, I cannot seem to filter the “important” from the “useless” facts. Instead, everything, the good, the bad, the ugly, and the irrelevant all get stored away in my noggin’ just waiting for the day that they go from “useless” to “useful”.

I dream of...

2011-05-27T09:48:00.000-07:00

You know those great nights where you sleep like a log, undisturbed by pesky dreams, and awake full refreshed? Last night was NOT one of those sleeps.

After crashing early, my mind decided it was not yet ready to call it a night. Instead, it came up with the following combo of hallucinations that made my night feel like Alternative night at the independent theatre.

Things started out naturally enough.
I am in the arctic. It's the middle of the winter yet not cold at all and I am in a cottage without bathrooms hiding from dogsledding bad guys. In our (there were other people on my "good guy" team, but I never saw who they were) attempt to upgrade our real estate, we run over to the next closest chalet, owned by the actor from Passion of the Christ. He lets us shower at his place. I choose to shower in his living room fireplace while he is in the adjacent kitchen. Because I'm flirty like that.

Meanwhile, my mind-movie keeps cutting out to reality...or at least what I thought was reality. In fact, I was just cutting to dream option #2 which was a paralyzingly boring sleepover with Sandra Oh.

Though these dreams consumed most of my night, the plot didn't develop any further than that.

When my alarm went off, I awoke feeling stressed out and pissed at Sandra Oh for encroaching on my blossoming relationship with dream #1 boyfriend.

For any of you who believe that dreams mean something, please feel free to take a crack at translating this concoction of crazy and get back to me. Though, if it is a straight up prediction of things to come, I'm not sure I want to know. Kthanx.

Essay 3: One Thing I Understand Better than Others

2011-05-24T16:51:00.000-07:00

No matter how much you know about any subject, there is always someone who knows more than you. I learned this lesson early. I thought I understood the monkey bars better than any other kid on the playground. While some merely swung from bar to bar, I hung upside down, skipped rungs, and sat atop the horizontal ladder like it was my throne. But my reign was short lived. Soon there was a new master of the bars, a kid whose Cirque de Soleil act made me realize that I didn’t know the first thing about monkeying around. This humbling lesson was learned early, and repeated often.

Education taught me real good. I started out with valuable lessons on cooties and cartwheels, progressed to classes on baking soda volcanoes and eventually made my way all to the cap and gown ceremony of my undergrad. 18 years of lectures, projects, exams, presentations, homework, and enough notes to fill the Grand Canyon have taught me one thing for sure: there is no such thing as knowing everything about anything.

However, that leaves the question unanswered: what is the one thing I understand better than others?

I sat and pondered this question. Brow furrowed and sitting as solidly as The Thinker, I realized was literally sitting on the answer. The one thing that my education has made me an absolute expert at is parking it for the long haul. I am an absolute champion at sitting and staying. Though the canine breed has made this practice commonplace, my skills have taken it to a whole level. People tend to attribute sitting to laziness, but I argue that it is in fact evidence of my work ethic. I understand how to sit until the job is done.

As any Asian gymnast will tell you, in order to hone your craft, you have to start early and practice often. I began to explore this trade an early age, plunking myself down in front of the Price is Right at my babysitter’s house. I then improved my skills through elementary school, sitting through classes and gradually increasing my sedentary hours, parked at my desk doing homework. Not only did my academia work out my gluteus maximus, but I supplemented my training through other means. Unless you are able to walk to all your desired destinations, travel ironically also requires you to take a seat and sit still. Entertainment, whether it was watching television or visiting friends always seemed to land me seated in the crook of a couch.

It seemed that no matter what I did, at some point I was asked to take a seat. So take it I did. I now understand exactly how to sit through everything from a University lecture to an eight-hour-long road trip to conversations with old friends. If practice makes perfect, my academic, personal, professional practices have made me perfect at parkin’ it.

Up in the air

2011-05-20T14:04:00.000-07:00

With the end of the world potentially mere hours away, we recently ventured out to complete a few items on our family bucket list.

Item #25: Hand gliding over the mountains

Strapped to a giant kite alongside a British "pilot", one begins to wonder what heights we will go to chase the rush. With special effects and now 3D entertainment, even the most outrageous thrills are brought right into our cinemas. As a self proclaimed cineplex addict, I have become accustomed to watching my entertainment rather than entertaining myself. However, as the winch cord tightened, shooting my fly contraption into the air, I realized that no amount of film footage can capture that feeling; the butt-clenching woosh against gravity from runway to just below the clouds, to where the trees look like broccoli and the cars look like lego. You have to feel it for yourself. Having realize this, I sincerely hope that the world doesn't pack it in tomorrow.

Lesson learned: The countdown is on, whether the world ends tomorrow or in 232049 years, time spent waiting is time wasted. Just strap yourself in and enjoy the ride.

Funny ha ha

2011-05-18T10:12:00.000-07:00

Half way through the week and a whole lot closer to the May long weekend. To all my readers plugging away at the office, counting down the seconds until you can escape into the sunshine, here's a little video to lighten up your day.

Warning: This video may make you guffaw out loud so unless you work in comedy script reading, I suggest you only press play when you're sure that your giggles won't be heard by the boss.

Essay 2: One Thing I Wish I was Smart Enough to Understand

2011-05-14T22:46:00.001-07:00

I don’t enjoy reading.

Try as I might, I never found that “love of reading” that everyone else seems to be smitten with. This may sound ridiculous considering that my aspirations have taken a literary turn. How can you enjoy writing if you don’t enjoy reading? Logically, the two should be an inseparable couple. However, for me, my tolerance of reading has long since been divorced from my obsession with writing.

During the school year, I can barely find time to get through all of my assigned readings so any recreational practice is out of the question. After months of enriching my mind with education, when I get to the summer, all I want to do is let my brain return to mush. In this pursuit, I seem to stand alone. While I spend my breaks working on making a permanent butt print in my couch, everyone else devotes their time towards putting a dent in their endless summer reading lists. I have been surrounded by these people for as long as I can remember. In elementary school, it was the kids ambitiously reading all of the Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, or Sweet Valley High books. Meanwhile, I kept equally busy with Archie Comics, a series of comparable entertainment value and much easier to read in the bathroom. As I progressed through high school and then university, it became increasingly clear that by not reading for “fun” I was excluding myself from an entire social experience.

People took my lack of interest in reading as a challenge and attempted harder than Jehovah’s to convert me. Try as I might, no amount of effort or peer pressure could get me to find the fun in reading. When I tried to hit the books, it resulted in a fight between my overextended brain and the page. I lost, every time. But I guess, it’s a law of nature; the more people talk about something, the more you want it. Just like iPod syndrome, it doesn’t matter if you actually want products, eventually it will get enough buzz that you’ll find yourself lining up at the Apple store for their next iGadget. The hype made me want to figure it out. I wanted to learn to enjoy reading.

When I met subjects I didn’t understand in school, I was instructed to devote more time and effort to them. Work at it, and eventually things will click. So that’s what I did. Fresh from my last exam of undergrad, I went to my local library. Surrounded by stacks of multicolored books, I wandered the shelves looking completely overwhelmed. I had planned on contradicting the adage and choosing a book by its cover, but having seen the beautiful cover art on the Shopoholic III, I realized this strategy flawed. As an expert on literature, the librarian must’ve read the confusion on my face because it wasn’t long before he offered to help.

He asked which genre I liked. I had no idea since I had never read enough of any one to have a preference. He showed me a database of authors that would recommend works based on your favorite writers. I equated it to iTunes Genius and seeking his blank stare, I began to realize that I was in deeper than I had originally thought. I could feel my cheeks getting warm, like when a teacher calls you up to the board and you don’t know the answer to the problem in front of you.

With the whole summer in front of me, I am determined to get through Recreational Reading 101. Those who are familiar with my past struggles have eagerly put aside books for my perusal in the hopes that they will cure my aversion. I just have to work at it, and eventually everything will click. I just can’t help wishing there was a Sparksnotes solution.

Preggers

2011-05-10T12:54:00.000-07:00

I used to wonder why pregnant ladies give me the willies. Maybe it was because unlike me, their inflated stomachs contained a little more than just first and second dinner. Maybe it was because I didn't know about their condition until they turned sideways and almost literally hit me over the uterus with it. Perhaps it was my automatic assumption that at any time, in any place, the tiny gremlin might decide to make its way out of its carrier and into the world. While I've been struggling to figure out just what it is that makes me so hilariously awkward around moms-to-be, this week's SNL offered possible solutions:

Lesson Learned: Pregnant bellies are like an ever-expanding sandwich board of someone's love life. They are the proof that that woman has been doin' it.

Essay 1: Who I Am

2011-05-09T14:20:00.000-07:00

Who Am I? : The question at the center of clichéd 80s movies, spontaneous trips to rural India, and every midlife crisis. While this quandary may be even more prevalent than baby videos on YouTube, to many, the answer remains a mystery. I have searched through all the normal channels and have yet to formulate a conclusive response.

When I was five, I was a princess. By eight, I was one of the “cool kids”. At 12, I was a future Olympian (only by my own standards and my overly enthusiastic love for Roots’ apparel). By 16, I was a nerd and kind of a jerk. Now at 21, I have recently renounced my title of student and once again feel like I am standing in Baskin Robbins, facing too many choices, each with a completely different flavor, unable to make a decision. Graduating and moving on into the “real world” requires adopting a new identity. Will I embrace my argumentative side and become a lawyer? Will I overcome my complete lack of scientific skill and fulfill my grandma’s predictions by being a doctor? Maybe I am destined to be a dancing hobo in the TTC subway (currently my number one option).

Even though Google returns 154 million potential aids, none of the links seem to be a suitable solution. However, my Google hitlist does reveal that I am by no means alone in this quest. The answer may be more elusive than the Lockness Monster, but even more people are determined to hunt it down. Thankfully, in our age of brands it seems that this search has been rendered irrelevant by the oodles of brands eager to sell you the solution. Having caught wind of the mass identity-seeking audience, marketers have created campaigns marketing to our need for a sense of self. My beer and my passport say I am Canadian, my computer says I am a Mac (though I used to be a very proud owner of a PC), my T-shirt says I’m Joe. Apparently, even my labels can’t seem to decide who exactly I am.

With all this debate, I’m going to pull a Miley Cyrus and say that I can have the best of both worlds. On one hand, I can be any and all of the things in this essay, and on the other hand I am free to continue to redefine myself. A simple rearrangement of the original question transforms it from an anxiety-inducing quest of self-discovery to a statement of personal assurance. Who I am is made no more or less true by sharing it with others so why spoil the intrigue? You’ll just find out along with the rest of ‘em. Afterall, Loréal says I’m worth it.

Happy Mother's Day!

2011-05-08T07:15:00.000-07:00

Today is dedicated to the women who cleaned up your shit, literal and figurative, who loved you even when you were a teenage monster, who cried when you cried and beamed when you laughed, and who taught you more than you will ever know. To all those women and the many like them, this day is for you.

Give your mama the bear hug she deserves. Happy Mother's Day!

Something New, Something Borrowed and Something Missing

2011-05-07T10:58:00.000-07:00

Moving from the student ghetto into suburbia required a shift in lifestyle, more specifically, it means sharing the family vehicles. In theory, cars are the most direct method of transportation, but recent events prove that those assumptions only apply when my father is not at the wheel. This week, while he so kindly offered to chauffeur me to Silver City movie theatre, his mental autopilot kicked in and we ended up back in suburbia at our local Coliseum. U-turning and rushing to the other end of town, he weaved through rush hour traffic while I frantically texted my friend to buy our tickets and save spots. Our tag team efforts got me to my seat just as the lights dimmed and Something Borrowed began.

Krasinski, Goodwin, Hudson and the man that belongs in a Nautica campaign

The first of the summer chick flicks, Something Borrowed delivers the necessities: complicated love story, choreographed 80s dance routine, and cavity-inducing man candy. While it meets the basic criteria, the main players in the love triangle leave a lot to be desired. Audiences must choose between the narcissistic girl gone wild (Kate Hudson), the BFF sleeping with the groom (Ginnifer Goodwin), or the beautiful but bland J. Crew model who (Colin Egglesfield) is coming between two lifelong friends. With this trio driving the plot, it is no wonder that there are more than a few morally wrong turns. This tale of missed opportunities and bad timing puts a new spin on virtue, turning brides into bridezillas, friends into the mistresses, and fiancés into cheaters.

In the midst of this debauchery, John Krasinski pulls his usual heist and steals the show with witty one-liners and his ability to express everything with a single stare. The film eventually reaches its happily ever after but, like my journey to the theatre, it does not take the easy route. While Something Borrowed may be a new type of chick flick, it felt similar to No Name Mac and Cheese, pretty much what you were expecting, but lacking the same cheesy goodness of the real thing.

Note: As Lenny Kravitz asserts, "it ain't over till it's over". Be sure to stay until the very end of the credits for a final detour.

Technical Difficulties

2011-05-04T20:27:00.000-07:00

Technology hates me. Despite my love for all things cyber, the bits and bytes of my various electronics seem to be biting back. In the past few days, I have spent more time speaking with tech support than with my family and friends combined. I developed a fondness for the Apple nerd in Silicon Valley, spilled my life story to the entire Roger's call centre, and learned though RIM opted for a call centre in Texas instead of India, the accents are just as hard to understand. Ironically, when I phoned my wireless service provider to figure out why my phone no longer makes calls, I was greeted by an automated warning that Rogers call centres were dealing with technical difficulties of their own. Apparently, no one is safe. I emerged from the haze of ticket numbers and mediocre hold music with an insatiable desire to leap off the grid into a land void of glitches, spinning rainbow wheels of death, service issues, and electric shocks that consistently punish me for checking my phone.

Since I'm clearly beyond (technological) help, a part of me wishes that I had just had fun with my docket of calls. Sugar Sammy know's how it's done:

Lesson learned: When it comes to technology, I shall henceforth adhere to the age old adage of KISS: Keep It Simple Stupid. Take me back to the days of strings on a can or a quill and parchment, all I want is for things to work.

Big Top to Big Screen

2011-05-02T19:41:00.000-07:00

The dust is literally still settling from what feels like an eternity of moving, but I can finally say that I am officially on break. Though the weather may indicate otherwise, the summer months are upon us. For those in denial, you need look no further than your nearest and dearest cinexplex, movieplex, Netflix, or any other form of Costco-sized movie dispensary to know that it is in fact the best time of year: the season of summer blockbusters. Who needs warm weather when we can all huddle together in the darkness and watch chicks romantically yet comically find love, see the latest Marvel hero acted out in real-life spandex, or be able to see any and all things in 3D?

My personal summer movie season opener was the latest New York Time’s Bestseller turned Hollywood glitz, Water for Elephants. As a former trapeze artist hopeful, I was particularly excited for a movie about the old-timey circus. Unfortunately, not even R. Patz dressed up in drag with classic clown makeup and a stick on nipple tassel could save this film. Though the script stayed close to the novel, the allure and enchantment of the circus did not make it to theatres. The tale featured a particularly exceptional pachyderm but the real elephant in the room was the lack of chemistry between the main actors. Despite Witherspoon’s charms, Waltz’s nightmare inducing villains, and Pattinson’s infamous women-luring ways, the trio felt forced. Perhaps I am overly critical because I loved the novel so much, or perhaps I am just bitter because unlike the main character, I never mustered up the courage to run off and join the circus. However, as the credits rolled, I couldn’t help but feel that this act should’ve remained on the best sellers list rather than the big screen.

My bags are packed, but I'm not ready to go...

2011-04-30T07:15:00.000-07:00

This past week, I had to do one of the hardest things I've ever had to face; pack up and walk away from what people commonly refer to as: “the best four years of your life.” While I am sincerely hoping that it’s not all downhill from here, leaving the house that became my home and the friends that became my family was more bitter than sweet. In true maternal fashion, Mother Nature attempted to ease my pain. However, she took the more brutal strategy of distracting me from my heartaches by causing aches elsewhere.

I left the house with my giant bag of belongings slung over my shoulder but as I turned off our street, I saw my bus pull up to the intersection. The race was on: (wo)man vs. machine. I sprinted towards the stop as fast as my legs would move only to arrive at the realization that I was racing to meet the wrong bus. As I slowed my pace and tried to tame my pounding breath, I suddenly remembered that I hadn’t left my house key for the landlords. Now the real race had begun. I ran back to the house, dropped the key on the table and flew out the door, my bag now feeling like an obese toddler clinging to my back. As I sprinted across campus to the next bus stop, I once again saw the bus rounding the corner. I willed my legs to rotate faster, channeling my inner roadrunner, and just barely made the bus. I really have no idea why I bother spending money on the gym, apparently my poor time management could achieve a comparable workout without the embarrassing spandex outfits.

Safely on my way to the Greyhound station, I thought I could relax...but the universe wasn’t done yet.

As I waited for my last bus to Toronto, it began to rain. Not just a little mist. No, this was a full out waterfall. If normal rain is cats and dogs, this storm came down like cheetahs and Dobermans. It was raining with such force that the splash zone was inescapable and even though I huddled in the very middle of the bus shelter, I still ended up completely drenched. After what seemed like a lengthy cold shower, the bus finally showed up. Soppy and sore from the day’s events, I took my seat.

As we pulled out of Toronto, we passed a billboard sporting the quote: “Happiness is not having what you want, but wanting what you have.” Perhaps I may not want to leave undergrad right now, but I do want to graduate. Then again, maybe the billboard was really just trying to tell me how I could have all my wants fulfilled by a commercial product, conveniently now available for the low, low price of $29.99. I guess, despite what Mastercard would have us believe, there is always a cost to happiness.

A Little Hiat-Ish

2011-04-29T21:05:00.000-07:00

They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. By this logic, my obscenely long absence from the blogosphere should have only served to make you all much, much fonder of my ramblings. I can only hope that this is the case since my prolonged hiatus made me much more appreciative of my readership. Now that we’ve built up a sizeable affection for each other, it only seems fair add some spice to our relationship with some new and improved content.

Well my fine feathered friends, it’s been a while, but it’s good to back. I have most sincerely missed you. From here on in, please be sure to check in frequently for a bit of this, a lot of that, and maybe, just maybe A Little Ish.

Falling in Friendship

2010-10-11T07:43:00.000-07:00

While studying abroad this past semester, I met a wide variety of people. Each outing was a new meet-and-greet bringing local and exchange students together over food and many, many drinks. In this state of perpetual introduction, often you only get a snapshot of people, but sometimes that can be enough to catch your curiosity. Sparks between two people is not limited to the romantics. As I discovered in England, and in scenarios since then, there are those certain individuals that once you meet them, you cannot help but want more. This is the predicament of: “The Friend Crush”.

To be clear, the “friend crush” should not be confused with romantic crushes. There is no nausea-inducing butterflies or sexual attraction every time you see the object of your affections. Instead, this crush is simply a sense of intrigue, a hunch that this person could be the Ben to your Jerry, and together you could have some pretty sweet times.

Though “friend crushes” differ from lusty longings in many ways the solution is much the same. If you enjoy someone’s company enough, come clean. Spend time, go on friend-dates, and who knows, you might just find that special someone who, one day, will commit to being your BFF.

Beer Me

2010-03-18T04:37:00.001-07:00

When Beer companies apply a scientific method to fun, amazing things can happen...

Touchable technology

2010-02-25T01:45:00.000-08:00

Apparently Harry Potter newspapers and Minority Report work screens are no longer magical futuristic concepts but a very real possibility. You will no longer have to actually know where you are going. I mean, following a map? That's for old people. No, soon, you will be able to view a real time map of your location and an arrow can appear in front of you to guide you to your destination. Everything you could ever need, and so much you really don't, will be literally at your fingertips.

Welcome to Microsoft's vision for 2019 world.

I'm freakin out.

Ex(change)

2010-01-14T20:06:00.000-08:00

Logically, in the week leading up to a six month long exchange, one would spend most of their time packing and preparing. However, I have been procrastinating and my poison of choice has been the creation of a travel blog. In the past few days, I have spent countless hours testing blogs on various websites. It took me the duration of family movie night to realize that Wordpress wasn't worth the effort. This revelation was followed by a lesson in the downfalls of Tumblr the subsequent morning.

After what felt like an eternity of frustration riddled with html code and cheesy blog backgrounds, I decided to stick to what I know, and what I know is Blogger. I racked my brain for the perfect title to sum up my impending exchange and after polling friends and family, I settled on the title "The Local Foreigner". This title encompassed the fact that during my trip I would live the life of a local while remaining a foreigner by nature. Unfortunately, "thelocalforeigner.blogspot.com" was already claimed.

Upon my mother's suggestion, I kept the title and simply changed the url to be "Ishani's exchange". Later that day, I proudly showed the product of three days work to my close friend. As I typed in the url, she turned to me with her eyes wide and then burst into fits of laughter. Once she caught her breath she showed me that my new and improved url "ishanisexchange.blogspot.com" did not just read "Ishani's exchange" but also "Ishani Sex Change".

Though I have been told that this trip will make me into a whole new person, that was a bit more of a change than I am ready to handle. I quickly removed the blog from the interweb to avoid any calls from concerned relatives and came up with an entirely new site. My new blog may not have the same dramatic title as its predecessor, but my trip is meant to be transnational, not transgendered. To settle any confusion, gender-related or otherwise; I needed a change.

To read about my transition and so much more, be sure to head on over to "Tripping through the EU" (www.trippingthroughtheeu.blogspot.com).

Quotable

2010-01-14T19:48:00.001-08:00

"My mom says I'm colourful"

- Bobby, Cougar Town

Welcome to the tens

2010-01-05T12:48:00.000-08:00

Goodbye to the years of double zeroes. No longer will our dates look like googly eyes squashed between two arbitrary numbers. No sir. We have entered the 2010s, the decade of my twenties, and a whole new level of opportunity. Excited? Terrified? I'm a little of both.

*Re-posted from Siva's funtastic blog, piquant. Check it.

Today's the day

2009-12-17T05:14:00.000-08:00

It's 8am; I've given up any form of personal appearance and traded it in for a uniform of sweatpants and baggy tshirts; I'm living off crackers and boxed noodles, and I reek of exam studying and lack of sleep, but it all comes down to today. One day, two exams, and my gateway to freedom. LET'S DO THIS.

Baby it's cold outside

2009-12-14T22:11:00.000-08:00

Thanks to global warming, Hamilton is still lined with green grass and snow-free streets. Though I am a big fan of wearing shorts during the Canadian winter, the schizophrenic weather is proving to be more than just warmer winters. After days of tepid temperatures, yesterday felt like a cold slap in the face.

Cold weather and I have always had a dysfunctional relationship. Heartbreaking movies don’t inspire more than a sniffle, but there is something about the abusive icy winds always make my eyes water. As soon as the temperature dips below tolerable, I strategically change to waterproof mascara and prepare for my walks to class to be accompanied by tears. Yesterday was one such day. In an attempt to minimize my exposure to the frosty outdoors, I decided to bike to class. Biking there was great. The wind was so strong that getting to class was a breeze (har har). The way back; however, was like riding with an elastic band attached to the back of my bike. The closer I got to home, the harder it got to peddle. The wind was so strong that I was peddling just so that I could stay upright. Tears were streaming down my face. I could barely see, my legs had become faint cyclone-like blurs spinning parallel to my bike, and I was moving so slowly that old ladies were walking past me. The wind eventually persuaded me off my bike; though walking home was slower, it downgraded the wind to a less violating breeze.

Lesson learned: Being bullied by the weather is not worth it. Now that environment is PMSing, retreat indoors where you can play God and control the climate.

So close, yet so far

2009-12-06T12:46:00.000-08:00

After the high stress forced labour that was November; Mac students have moved into December with a dwindling will to persevere. Classes are finished and motivation is decreasing as rapidly as Tiger's reputation. Campus is a ghost town haunted by the faint shells of overworked and under-rested students. The streets are empty, but the libraries are full. With the tease of Christmas vacation, concentrated studying is comparable to walking through the desert in order to get to a distant oasis. Paradise free from the harsh reality of academia is in sight, but the closer I get, the harder it is to keep working. Two more weeks until I can sleep until noon, watch movies all day, eat fabulous food, and not worry about the work that I "should" be doing. The end is nigh, and I can't wait.

Quotable

2009-11-19T08:59:00.000-08:00

"I'd rather have actual boogers in my nose then sound snotty."
- Nicole, America's Next Top Model Cycle 13 Winner

Bounce If You're Fresh

2009-11-17T21:00:00.001-08:00

I am completely bogged down with assignments so naturally I’ve been spending a lot of time sitting on the couch, with a computer on my lap, and pretending to work while I watch television. In my academically overloaded state, I have not found the time to go grocery shopping. Though I’m getting to live out my childhood dream of living on Nutella sandwiches and Kraft Dinner, my taste buds have gone into a state of remission. The other day, I settled into my natural position of procrastination on the couch and started ‘writing my paper’ while watching The Tyra Show. When Tyra was forced to stop talking about herself and go to a commercial, an ad for Pizza Pizza came on the screen. All of a sudden, my taste buds were doing the samba and I was drooling enough to water the desert. The commercial was showing all the fancy fresh toppings that you could get on your pizza; tomatoes were rolling out of baskets, water was dripping off lettuce, and mushrooms were ricochet off counters.

Watching all the water droplet laden produce bounce around in slow motion made me feel like I was watching the agricultural version of Baywatch. Since when has bounce-ability of vegetables translated to freshness? As I watched onions rebound off a cutting board, I was instilled with the need to throw down all future produce and seeing if they rebound with the vigor of televised freshness. Considering the questionable nature of the contents of my fridge, this test will come in handy. Thank you Pizza Pizza for teaching me that if it bounces back, you’re good to go.

"Big" steps

2009-10-29T09:51:00.001-07:00

All we need to do to combat obesity is to make the world into a playground.

Whip It Good

2009-10-13T23:12:00.000-07:00

During the school year, I allow myself to become completely engulfed in university life. For the eight months that I live “in the bubble”, my computer screen functions as my window to the ‘real world’. On a particularly unproductive day last week, I found myself wandering the endless viral videos on Youtube and ended up browsing movie trailers. To my surprise, Hollywood was still thriving despite the fact that I no longer had time to frequent my local AMC.

As I browsed through the online trailers, I found the Technicolor, mock-indy movie Whip It; the newest ‘alternative’ comedy soon to be cult film. The movie is further proof that the ageless Ellen Page can popularize anything. She did it with teen pregnancy and now she is doing it with the underground world of roller derby.

Though the movie cited the formulaic layout of Juno, it has once again summed up to a great movie. The script is packed with quotables from every character, small town quaintness, retro rock references, and unattractive male leads that awkwardly smile their way into your heart despite their minimal dialogue. Like its counterpart, Whip It boasts a phenomenal soundtrack that highlights Indy artists teetering on the edge of mainstream music. The twenty-one songs that make up the soundtrack are the original reason that I wanted to go see the movie and I have since played them on constant repeat.

The trailer gives away the overarching story but the movie does save a few punches for moviegoers. In her directorial debut, Drew Barrymore achieves a balance between beauty and brutality. The intertwined love, family, maturity, friendship, and sports sagas that make up Whip It all work together without overpowering each other. I walked out of the movie wanting to hug my mother, support my best friend, and put on a pair of skates and take out anyone who got in my way.

Bursting My Bubble

2009-10-01T12:24:00.000-07:00

Giving students suggested readings but no assignments in the first few weeks of school is like telling kids to eat their vegetables and then turning around so they can run out the door. The keen kids will chow down on broccoli, but the majority will wind up escaping to the playground. After weeks of gallivanting through campus bars, local restaurants, bike rides, weddings, and anything else that would keep me from my work, I was finally hit with a deadline.

My gallivanting came to a slowed trudge as I entered the doors of Mills Library. I buckled down and after a solid four hours Facebook avoidance; I managed to punch out my paper. I emerged from the dark study rooms high on pride. I walked over to the overstuffed bike racks and maneuvered my way through the tangle of wheels and spokes only to find that a bird managed to specifically target my bike seat. Since I had nothing to wipe the nasty green present off with, I was forced to use my jacket sleeve. I put the Styrofoam box containing my tasty Chinese leftovers on the ground behind my bike and began to wipe the bird poop off my seat when I heard a crunch. I turned around just in time to see some guy ride his bike over my lunch leftovers. In forty seconds my happiness was literally shit on and run over.

Lesson Learned: Don’t smile on your way out of the library. You’re just asking for it.

Girl Talk

2009-09-21T13:08:00.000-07:00

Putting forth your opinion in a class of over eighty upper years students can be daunting to say the least, but add in the conversation topic of racism and things get as uncomfortable as naked family dinner with your in laws. This past week in my Critical Race Studies class, the conversation was getting heated. People of all colors and ethnic backgrounds were passionately discussing prejudice and its various forms. Looking to contribute, a female student baring a vague resemblance to Drew Carey raised her hand. When she was called upon she shared a story about her girlfriend’s racial profiling experience. At the first mention of her ‘girlfriend’, the buzzing of excited whispering erupted amongst the rest of the class. Was the tomboy referring to her friend that is a girl or was she in fact revealing her sexual orientation by sharing a personal story about her female partner? The class quickly abandoned their critical examination of prejudice in order to gossip about our classmates potential orientation based her stereotypical appearance.

Lesson Learned: Actions speak louder than words.

Dancing With the Stars

2009-09-14T19:40:00.000-07:00

To the original dirty dancer and the only man who could make "Nobody puts Baby in a corner" into a household saying: rest in peace Patrick Swayze.

Jamaican Bakin'

2009-09-14T19:20:00.000-07:00

Forgive me readers for I have sinned, it has been far too long since my last post.

In a drastic attempt ensure that I didn’t return to school looking whiter than the actual white kids; I packed up my friends, packed up my family, and packed up my acceptable tan line outfits and headed off to Jamaica. Usually, my family vacations don’t include much relaxation. For as long as I can remember, our trips have been filled with daily excursions, early mornings, sight seeing, and an overload of obnoxious picture taking. Jamaica; however, is an island devoted to taking it easy and we decided to take that to heart. Our travel clan camped out at one of the zillions of all inclusive resorts that lines the shores of Montego Bay and spent a week sipping on free rum and eating seven meals a day. Watching vacationing Americans go from leathery to lobster red while munching on fresh jerk chicken has never been so satisfying.

Unfortunately, I returned with much more than a sun kissed glow. I am now so dark that you can barely see me at night and my bikini has been permanently imprinted on my body. I also discovered that contrary to the saying, there is actually no such thing as an ‘Indian sunburn’. I went straight from pasty to peeling with no redness in between. My shoulders now look like they have an army camo pattern embedded into them.

Thankfully, the start of school means that I will be trading the sun in for fluorescent library lighting so my toasted tan will fade to a healthy golden brown by December.

Stuck On You

2009-08-14T13:18:00.000-07:00

I have never been one for proper etiquette. Growing up in an Indian household taught me that the best utensils are your hands and that eating does not have to be pretty. Having ventured out into the world of forks and small bites, I have learned a few things about being polite at the table.

Yesterday was my last day at the office and a few of my coworkers took me out for lunch to celebrate. I was literally grinning from ear to ear for the duration of the meal because I was so excited to start my vacation. I was starving and therefore vacuumed up my meal fairly quickly. I spent the next half an hour animatedly telling my coworkers about my upcoming travel plans. At the end of my story, one of the girls leaned across the table and told me that I had a something black stuck in between my two front teeth. Mortified I tried to use my nail as a toothpick to get it out. After countless “Is it gone yet?” checks, I finally freed the speck from its toothy cage.

I turned back towards the rest of the table only to have one of the other girls say, “Oh good, someone told you”. I turned to my other colleagues and they smiled to acknowledge that yes, I had been grinning like a hillbilly for the past half hour. Apparently I had had a fleck the size of Montana stuck in between my teeth but the rest of the crew had been too ‘polite’ to point it out.

Lesson Learned: Since you should do unto others as you would have done to you, I shall hence forth always tell people if they have something stuck in their teeth, hanging out of their nose, or smeared on their chin. Not half an hour after it has camped out on your face, but as soon as I notice it.

When Paint Hits Canvas

2009-08-10T08:35:00.000-07:00

When I’m bored, I doodle. Sometimes these doodles translate into full on drawings and in very rare occasions, these drawings end up on a canvas. At the request of a friend, I intentionally initiated this chain of events last week. She needed a painting for her new bachelorette pad and I needed a weekend project. Though majority of the paint ended up on me, the few drops that landed on the canvas came together to make the painting below.

I am freakishly proud of how the canvas turned out and almost want to keep it, but hey, a promise is a promise.

A Couple of Comedies

2009-08-05T07:29:00.000-07:00

Whether it is to escape the heat, seek shelter from the rain, or merely to battle boredom; I have been spending a lot of time in Ottawa theatres this summer. This past weekend, I indulged my addiction with two new flicks.

First on the silver screen was the newest installment of Judd Apatow’s awkward hilarity: Funny People. The film was not at all what I was expecting. It was like going into a candy store and randomly finding a guns and ammo section of the store. I went in ready for non-stop laughs, similar to Apatow’s previous films, but was instead treated to the fully loaded emo aspects of the comedy business. Apparently, when the laughter ends you’re left with some pretty twisted comics. The dramedy brought back the demure Sandler from Spanglish and gave us the skinny on Seth Rogen’s more serious side. With all the comedic actors handling the darker material, Eric Bana really stepped into the comedic spotlight. It figures that in a movie filled with average looking comedic geniuses, the tall glass of Aussie hotness would steal the focus.

After coming out of the theatre, my eyes refused to readjust to outside light. To save my pupils from the harassment of the sun, I went to see another movie.

I’d been looking forward to 500 Days of Summer ever since I first saw its apple trailer way back in May. This movie doesn’t follow the classic chick flick mold. There is no freakishly beautiful man or life revolutionizing makeover involved and the ending is far from the clean cut wrap up that audiences have come to expect. The main character wasn’t the traditional self empowered woman, but instead a puppy dog faced young man of questionable ethnic origin. The narrator even starts off the movie by saying that though this is a story of boy meets girl, it is not a love story. Despite this disclaimer, I still expected the two main characters to cast off their differences and run to each other across a field of daisies. Then I remembered that it wasn’t a Bollywood film. The inventive first time director, Marc Webb, uses a hipster artsy approach to the romantic comedy. There are dance numbers, animated birds, split screen, narration, and so much more that make this movie truly a comedy about romance rather just your average ‘romantic comedy’.

Crazy Train

2009-07-30T12:39:00.001-07:00

There is something about the transportation system that has entrapped Canadians. Material goods take a backseat to our travel needs and on the rare occasion that the price of hauling ourselves from place to place is offered at a discount, we go bananas.

When retail stores have big sales, their ads run between news stories, but when gas prices or travel tickets are going for cheap, it makes headlines. Because of this preexisting condition, it was only logical that when VIA Rail announced

that they were having a 60% off sale, it blew people’s minds. Brains went everywhere.

The VIA phone centre was so bogged down with calls that they didn’t even bother putting callers in a queue, they just went with the old fashion incessant beep to keep the hoards of customers at bay. Their website got so much traffic that it slowed to the pace of a sloth in slow motion. Many people gave up on the technological methods and instead went down to the train station to get their deal in person. This resulted in over three hour waits at the ticket offices. On Wednesday, I decided to join them.

It was like waiting for Space Mountain at Disney World; two solid hours of shuffling the 25m just to get to the good stuff. While Disney makes the wait entertaining with caricatures and decorated sets, the wait for VIA Rail was amusing because of other people in line.

The constant beeping of the ticket machine was occasionally interrupted by obnoxiously embarrassing cell phone rings or the cries of an unhappy child. The line snaked around the entire one room station and out into the parking lot. The only space that wasn’t taken up by the thick boarder of people was occupied by the kids that had been dragged along with their parents. After hours of staring into nothingness, these kids looked less than amused.

After bonding with my fellow line-mates, I finally made it to the front. I purchased my discount tickets as well as some for a friend. At least I saved one person from the painstakingly long wait, plus I did my part to make the lines shorter for all involved.

The best part isn’t even the money I saved. It is the fact that this deal forced me to solidify my future travel plans so I can now look forward to my upcoming trip to Toronto!

Monday Showers Bring Icing Flowers

2009-07-27T11:37:00.000-07:00

It’s Monday and as I look out my window, I’m can watch my hopes for sunny summer weather go down the drain. Apparently, Ottawa has taken a liking to monsoon season. We’ve had so much rain in the past few weeks that I’ve almost forgotten what the sun looks like. I remember it being vaguely bright and warm, but I really can’t be sure.

While the cracked out Ottawa weather continues, I have become accustomed to fusing to my couch every evening after work. Yes, I am a self-defined couch junkie whose butt print is now permanently embedded in the middle of the right hand cushion. While I wait for the weather to sober up, poised in the same position on my green leather sofa, I keep entertained by watching the Totally Life Consuming network, commonly known as TLC.

I have no interest in the Jon and Kate fiasco or the couples that just keep poppin’ out kids because they can’t figure out this new fangled doohickey called birth control (18 Kids and Counting). No, I go straight for the good stuff.

Tonight, after I assume my usual position on the couch, I’ll settle in and watch Cake Boss. This show zooms in on a family run bakery in New Jersey and is one of the most entertaining and drool worthy reality shows on television. Every episode leaves you wondering if there is anything that Carlo’s Bake Shop can't make out of fondant and modeling chocolate. It's no wonder the shop is run by some contently plump bakers.

Since there is no visible end to the dark, ominous clouds that hang over the city, I am settling in and looking forward to numerous sweet TLC Mondays.

From Greece with Predictable Love

2009-07-25T16:15:00.001-07:00

I absolutely love when you discover new and amazing things about a place that you thought you knew. It’s like finding money in an old pair of jeans. Just as I was about to throw my worn out hometown into the charity give away bin, I dug deep in the pockets of the suburbs and found a tooney. More importantly, in the depths of the mall, I found a toonie theatre.

The cinema boasts screens that are only slightly larger than the plasmas found in most living rooms, and not quite as technologically advanced. I learned that after films leave the Cineplexes, they make a pit stop at the toonie theatre on their road trip to DVD. It’s the theatre of movie limbo.

After emptying out my change purse at the ticket booth, I went in to watch Nia Vardalos’ newest film My Life in Ruins. The movie is literally the exact opposite story of Vardalos’ big break, My Big Fat Greek Wedding. In this rendition of the tale, Vardalos falls for a Greek man and embraces Greek culture. Of course, this is all after the foxy Souvlaki gets a makeover and a good suit.

The movie is like accidentally wearing a great sweater backwards and inside out. It might still look alright and give you a slightly different look, but it isn’t as good as the original. The film is cute, but the reversed storyline just doesn’t play out as well as Vardalos’ original film. To make up for the lack of originality in the screenplay, the film gets some of the most beautiful shots of Greece. Though at times it feels like a travel video, the cinematography joined with the light hearted cast made me want to book a trip to the Parthenon.

The film was nothing new and had one of the most predictable plots of any romantic comedy, but it was well worth the price of admission. Take that as you will.

Witches, Wizards, and Full Frontal Snogging

2009-07-22T15:36:00.000-07:00

I’m by no means the type of Harry Potter enthusiasts that lines up outside the Cineplex but I do love watching the boy wizard battle the ultimate evil on the big screen. After allowing a good amount of time for the Harry Potter fanatics to get their fix, I excitedly went to watch the newest installment of Rowling’s billion dollar industry. Not only was I eager to see one of the most intense novels in the series come to life, but I had heard such good things that I was positive that the film would stupefy me.

Unfortunately, the spell that it cast was more of a curse. The film was comprised of a duality, not between good and evil, but between teen angst and hormonal urges. Producers extracted majority of the exciting battles, quidditch matches, and quirky classroom scenes and replaced them with teen hormones flying around on disturbingly phallic broomsticks. The portrayal of teen urges were made even more uncomfortable by the fact that Daniel Radcliffe, who plays Harry Potter, kisses like he is practicing on his hand.

The Half Blood Prince novel contained a lot of material and intertwined detail. Regrettably, the producers of the film were unable to unwind the book into a solid storyline for the movie. The bromance between Dumbledore and Harry was overplayed and entire scenes were fabricated in an attempt to string the drama together. In the absence of a solid plot, they put in scenes so cheesy that any lactose intolerant viewers had to leave the theatre. The film solidifies its over the top cheese factor by ending with Harry, Hermione and Ron looking out into the horizon as inspirational music plays in the background and a bird flies towards the setting sun. I was laughing so hard that I could barely see the credits roll up.

Just Kidding...

2009-07-20T11:07:00.000-07:00

This past weekend was Ottawa’s first annual South Asian Festival. While this was the festivals’ big debut, it was also a personal grand finale. It was the last time that Anisha and I would perform together this summer.

As seasoned veterans of laziness, we met up before the performance to ‘practice’. After two hours of chatting, we did one run through and then started the drag queen transformation known as stage makeup. Amidst the hair straightening and liquid eye-lining, we found ourselves running late. In the frenzy to leave the house, we decided that we didn’t have time to make a back up CD of our music. After all, the organizers had confirmed that they had our music so we figured we’d be fine.

We finally arrived at the festival, but things were of course running on “Indian Standard Time” which meant that the performances were an hour behind schedule. When it came time for our performance, we went backstage. Right before we were about to get announced, the organizers came up to us and said, “Hey, remember that time when we said we had your music…well, JUST KIDDING!” So, maybe they didn’t say those exact words, but basically our CD had wandered away.

Irony is like a Carnival Freak show; it’s entertaining as long as you’re not part of it.

Mass chaos ensued. My mum flew into stage mom mode and started harassing the organizers while everyone else whipped out their cell phones/ iphones/ blackberries/ laptops to try and access our song file. After an hour of frantic overuse of technology, the organizers came up to us and said, “Hey, remember that time when we said we lost your music…well, JUST KIDDING!” Again, potentially not the precise wording, but basically they had found our CD.

I don’t remember much of the performance, which is usually what happens when it goes well. Though we went on almost two hours late, the time lapse allowed a decent crowd to gather and we ended up being the last performance before rain took over the festival.

As soon as we came off the stage, two little girls ran up to us and asked for our autographs. I don’t think I have ever smiled so big. As we signed a card for them, the two girls fought over who looked more like us. I made a mental note not to let the flood of flattery go to my head.

On a sidenote: if you wish to book us for a performance in the future, you’ll have to have your people call our people because evidently we’re kind of a big deal.

BruNO

2009-07-17T12:11:00.000-07:00

I strategically planned this trip to the movies. I waited for the original chaos to subside and then allowed the Harry Potter fanatics to take over the theatre so that I could sneak away and see Bruno.

No matter how much your brace yourself, you will never be prepared for Bruno.

If you think Sasha Baren Cohen’s Borat pushed the boundaries, his most recent adventure rocket launched the boundaries past what we know as space. I have fond memories of Borat, so I was extremely excited to see Bruno thinking that it would be the same type of jaw dropping hilarity. Unfortunately humor was more of a side dish to Bruno’s cringe worthy antics. To become the uber gay character of Bruno, Cohen dons a Zach Efron coif and massive amounts of pleather. The movie chronicles Bruno's hunt for stardom at any cost by stringing together his various attempts to become a Z-list celebrity. This satirical look at popular culture is depreciated by its overly graphic content and Cohen’s repetitive shlong jokes. Seeing a solid 5 minute clip of Cohen’s schnitzel projected on the big screen has brought new meaning to the male preoccupation with size. A tip for movie makers: if your film is rated R and still requires little black censor boxes, it’s time for some reediting.

While Bruno is essentially a one man show, majority of his antics and personality quirks were given away in the media blitz leading up to the film's release. The real scene stealer was Bruno’s black baby accessory, OJ. Though the child is headed for some major parental resentment and will most definitely be irreparably scarred for life, he was one of the most memorable characters.

I personally didn’t find the film offensive, but merely overdone. It is the type of film that you cannot see with family members or casual acquaintances. Bruno is reserved for friends who can make it through 1.5 hours of verbal and visual overexposure. The movie definitely has its moments but it left me feeling conflicted as to whether I had just been entertained or violated.

Everything But The Blues

2009-07-15T19:25:00.000-07:00

I am usually neither a fan of concerts nor a boastful patriot of Ottawa; however, last night I became both. I normally find the awkward head bobbing at concerts only mildly amusing and eventually get tired of having to stand on my tiptoes to only see the top of the performers head. It’s great for my calves, but not great for my concert going experience. As for Ottawa, I’ve grown up in the capital so I have never truly appreciated our little town-city hybrid.

After my two-year hiatus, I finally made it back to Ottawa’s Bluesfest. For our small city, Bluesfest has always astounded me both by the scale of the festival as well as the names that they are able to attract. This year’s headliners included Gym Class Heroes, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Estelle, Ben Harper, and KISS. Each stage is set up so that it has a picturesque background allowing performers to serenade crowds with the backdrop of the city skyline, the Ottawa River, the war museum, or the Byward market.

The first performance of the night was the rap stylings of Ice Cube. You know you’ve lost your street cred when you find yourself rapping in the 6:30pm slot on a Tuesday at a Canadian Blues Festival. The highlight of Cube’s performance was his song “Smoke Some Weed” because every time he belted out the chorus, a pungent puff of smoke would emerge from the crowd. Ice Cubes set left me hoping that the upcoming performances would be served neat.

Towards the end of Ice Cubes excessively long set, people began to congregate in front of the stage of the next performance. The crowd was filled with hemp pants, bare feet, dread locks, hairy legs, and questionable hygiene so it didn’t take long to figure out that this was the stage where Xavier Rudd was playing. While Ice Cube's crowd may have had puffs of pot, this group boasted a thick mushroom cloud of reefer that hung over the crowd like a shelter. Facial hair and Castro hats aside, Xavier Rudd has some serious didgeridoo-ing skills and his performance sounded exactly like his recorded tracks, if not better. It almost made me want to hippie dance to the beat of a bongo drum. Almost.

As the sun began to set and Xavier’s flock of peace lovers dissipated into the crowd, it was time for the main event. I was never a major fan of Our Lady Peace, but as they began their performance I soon realized that I knew majority of their songs. Apparently, they played a large part in the soundtrack of my adolescence. The performance was one that was memorable for the band as well as the crowd. Raine Maida, the group’s lead singer, seemed genuinely astounded by the massive gathering as he took pictures and climbed up the stage structure to take a video to commemorate the event. After performing a phenomenal set comprised of older tracks and fresh songs off their upcoming album, the band eagerly returned for an encore. To show his appreciation to the Ottawa fans, Raine Maida climbed off the stage during the last song and made his way through the crowd all the way to the fans stuck out near the porta potties.

I think the evening was best summed up by Raine Maida’s first words as he walked out on stage and the lights came up on the endless sea of people: “Whoa, that was not what I was expecting”.

Flying Low

2009-07-10T21:38:00.000-07:00

Working in an office this summer meant that I had to trade in my usual uniform of sweatpants and t-shirts and try to dress according to the vague definition of ‘business casual’. With this wardrobe change came the complication of buttons, collars, wrinkles, and zippers.

One day I was sitting in a meeting with my boss when I realized that my fly was open. I gritted my teeth as I wondered how long it had been like that. Since I didn’t want to get fired for indecency, I decided to wait until after the meeting to address my situation. I crossed my legs and placed my hands in my lap as a temporary fix. As soon as my boss released me from his office, I scampered down the cubicle-lined halls at top speed. As soon as I was away from any visible coworkers I went to hoist up my zipper. I am quick, but not quick enough. Just as I assumed the compromising position, my one male colleague rounded the corner. He gave me a puzzled look that quickly turned to awkward realization as he averted his eyes and shuffled past me. I turned as violently red as my Indian skin tone would allow and bolted back to the sanctity of my cubicle.

Lesson Learned: Never do up your fly in public.

Get Into the Game

2009-07-08T07:57:00.000-07:00

I finally took the plunge and put my old IBM to rest. This meant that yesterday after work I was off to Best Buy to grill their sales staff and find the sweetest Apple for my budget. It seems like the Best Buy computer team are cut from a mould. The all male squad is comprised of either super scrawny or dumpling shaped boys with slight hair loss and low rise slacks. As we closed the deal on my new 4GB Macbook Pro with Tyler, who resembled the spawn of Tweedledee and Nick Carter, another staff member ran over in a flurry of excitement. He was closely followed by a young woman who clearly thought that RAM was nothing more than a male goat and a computer bug was in the same family as a cockroach. The odd couple waltzed right up to one of the sample computers and headed over to the hub of all things great and stupid: Youtube. What the overly excited employee showed the woman is so epically awesome yet borderline terrifying that I am still in awe.

Best Buy computer nerds would logically be the first to scream like prepubescent Jonas Brothers fans in anticipation of the newest installment of the Xbox family; however, what this gaming franchise plans to release is nothing short of amazing. The new Xbox 360, code named “Project Natal”, uses a RGB camera, depth sensor, multi-array microphone, and the big name benefits of Steven Spielburg to create a gaming experience completely void of a controller. There is no longer a hand held buffer between your skill set and your abilities on screen. Doing a roundhouse judo kick will now require you do actually attempt pull a Jackie Chan in your living room, not just press a button.

Microsoft is behind this literal step towards the future of interactive technology. The new games also include interactive characters that recognize your voice and emotions and respond accordingly. Life is suddenly feeling a bit like the Jetsons.

Most people who watch this video generally find it creepy if they’re female and totally freakin’ awesome if their male. I just find it exciting. The Xbox 360 Peripheral is set to come out sometime in 2010. To me it feels like when the first iPod was unveiled. People were baffled with the original models’ capabilities but the technology snowballed at lighting speed to produce the paper thin portable, life-encompassing devices that are now standard. “Project Natal” is just the first step that will send the industry sprinting towards blurring the lines between technology and reality.

Shoot 'em Up

2009-07-04T07:37:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I took a bold step out of the realm of romantic comedies and went to see Public Enemies. The plan mainly unfolded because of my pounding craving for overpriced and underwhelming movie food. Yes, I am one of the few that, despite all logic and understanding, craves concession nachos. I don’t know what it is about the slightly stale chips, the prepackaged salsa, or the molten cheese-like goo, but I looked forward to it all day.

The movie received favorable reviews after opening this past Wednesday (July 1st) and in comparison with the other flicks currently showing, it was the clear choice for a night out at the multiplex. Public Enemies tells the tale of the real life 1930s gangster John Dillinger and his life of oozies, thugs, and being chased by the popo. Unlike other mobster movies, this one did not leave me with the urge to grab some henchman and start sticking it to the Man.

The dialogue was minimal and often poorly delivered by Depp’s costars. While most people are infatuated with Johnny Depp’s French love interest Billie Frechette (played by Marion Cotillard), I only found her acting convincing when it didn’t involve any lines. The ultimate kryptonite for this film was not one of the main actors but rather a minor police agent role played by Adam Mucci. This newcomer visually resembles an oversized finger puppet and acts accordingly. He played the role of Agent Harold Reineck who not only makes repeated catastrophic mistakes without getting fired but was also simply ridiculous to watch and impossible to take seriously. Like any glitzy Hollywood flick, Public Enemies is sprinkled with oddly placed B-level cameos. Right when you start believing that this big budget Hollywood rendition might resemble the dirty thirties, prepare yourself for Channing Tatum or Leelee Sobieski to pop into the shot.

The film is well done but over the top with repetitious gun battles and awkward Blair Witch style filming. Though the story centers around the gangster style of the thirties, it is also about the rapid evolution of technology in the early 1900s and how changing laws and high tech equipment changed the face of crime. It was the first time that they were able to tap phone lines and access vast amounts of information from across the nation. In essence, it was the beginning of the end of privacy.

I left the film feeling conflicted as to whether I enjoyed the 2.5 bum-numbing hours that I devoted to this movie. While in pursuit of a final verdict, I was distracted by the heart palpations and cold sweats induced by my earlier consumption of movie nachos. Public Enemies is much like the florescent yellow ‘cheese’ that they pump out at the concession stand; it is questionable in taste but ultimately decent for a Friday night out.

Don't Put That in Your Mouth

2009-06-29T10:11:00.000-07:00

While most advertising companies target women with girl chat turned sales pitches or promises to improve your life as a domestic goddess; Nicorette recently took a completely different approach. Nicorette is undoubtedly one of the forerunners in the fight against tobacco, but it seems that in the midst of the battle they lost their understanding of feminine fundamentals. The result is their newest product, the Nicorette inhaler, which looks disturbingly similar to a smooth glide tampon. As much as I advocate a smoke free environment, creating cigarette substitutes that resemble feminine hygiene products is cruel and beyond unusual.

Where were the women when they came up with this idea?!

The 95

2009-06-29T07:10:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, I cleaned up and hauled myself to downtown for a night out with the girls. I live near a major bus depot so when I go out, I don’t bother driving but instead just hop on the trusty 95 all the way to Ottawa’s downtown core. Apparently I am not the only one with this philosophy.

95 to Downtown
After missing my first bus and helplessly watching my second bus go past me, I was relieved when the 95 finally stopped and opened its doors to me. I got on the bus and surveyed the other passengers trying to find a seat. The bus was a sausage fest. I counted nine men and only one woman. Out of solidarity, I decided to sit next to the round, African American woman in the middle of the bus. Big mistake. She must have had some gas inducing blend of curry and Mexican food because she was silently stink-bombing the entire bus. I cursed the fact that I needed to inhale to survive as her mushroom cloud of stench put my gag reflex to the test. I tried to breath through my mouth, but tasting it didn’t really improve the situation. I contemplated moving, but I didn’t want to seem racist. The windows were closed, transforming the bus into a gas chamber.

In an effort to refocus my attention, I surveyed my fellow passengers. Three suburban skater kids in the back, a man who could be attractive if he took a shower, four foreigners, and a flamboyant fat boy sitting across from me. I watched the Perez-like character in front of me gyrate to the Pussycat Dolls all the way until we reached downtown. Then I burst out of the bus and into fresh air.

95 to Baseline
Coming back late from downtown on a Saturday night guarantees you great people watching. Right after I settled into my seat, the doors reopened to let the drunken masses pour into the bus. The driver closed the doors and had literally driven 1.34m when a girl screamed for him to stop. The bus came to a screeching halt causing the already tipsy crowd to go flying. The girl rushed out the back door and reappeared minutes later holding her flip flop. Apparently she had forgotten that she had put it in the gutter for safe keeping. The ride home was full of glassy eyed boys hitting on wobbly blonds and girls attempting to keep all their bits covered as the bus swerved around curves.

Quote of the night:

“I have to go to Vegas, play only black jack and come back with no less than 3 STDs”
- Frat boy describing how the Hangover inspired him to do great things

iLife Touch

2009-06-22T10:05:00.001-07:00

Lily Allen shows us where the evolution of Mac products may lead us in her newest single off the "It's Not Me, It's You" album.

Disclaimer: Don't let the cheery upbeat tune fool you, it's just as witty and borderline offensive as her classic stuff.

God I love her.

On the Express Train to Nowhere

2009-06-18T11:12:00.000-07:00

It is once again that dreaded time of year. The time when students count down until midnight and then begin to click furiously in an attempt to get access McMaster’s SOLAR online server to register for their courses. Every year, there are technical problems, administrative issues, and just general chaos resulting in class schedules sprinkled with the most random and useless classes available. This year was no exception.

In anticipation of the mudslinging gong show that was to come, I decided to get organized this year and figure out my future ahead of time rather than in the 45 minutes that SOLAR gives you to choose your courses. However, I quickly realized as an upper year Arts and Science student; I have no future to figure out. I am on the express train to nowhere.

Though I am in a program that should bring together the Arts and the Sciences, thus allowing me access to upper year courses in both faculties, I’ve learned that University administration does not operate based on logic. Each elective course requires special permission from the faculty departments. Each department then requires countless emails and skillful begging. Once I finally managed to convince them of my hidden talents, I then had to battle the thousands of other students and attempt to get into the class.

Each year I fight this battle alone. Not like how sumo wrestlers fight solo, but more like taking on the All Blacks Rugby team without a single hope of backup. It seems that as soon as registration time approaches, our administrative coordinator makes a concerted effort to exert her boundless hatred for students. The urgency of your academic issue is irrelevant because even if you are spontaneously switched into the Honors Engineering program majoring in Astrophysics, she will not pick up her phone. Don’t bother emailing either, because even if you’re lucky enough to get a response weeks later, it will say “That’s too bad, email the department and see if you can work something out”. Great. Google gives better advice. The result is another year of haphazard classes ranging from “The Context of Science” to “Crime and Conflict in the Media” to “Popular Music Post WW2”. Hurray for the flawed bureaucracy of ‘higher education’.

An Engaging Chick Flick

2009-06-17T19:14:00.001-07:00

Finally, a movie that marries gut wrenching comedy with the chiseled abs of a foxy twenty something. The Proposal is the first chick flick in months that kept me engaged from beginning to end.

After seeing the initial trailers, I was worried that this was just a silver screen version of Americans mocking Canadians, a trend that seems to be on the rise in Hollywood. Both Desperate Housewives and How I Met Your Mother featured characters desperately trying to evade immigration authorities so that they could avoid the land of Mounties, igloos, and beavers. I fully expected the movie to be a compilation of Canadian jokes, both new and old, to fuel the already overinflated American superiority complex. Who knew that my expectations were way off, eh?

Sandra Bullock is stuck in a perpetual state of role repetition, but she has definitely made it work for her. Though each character is similar to her previous role and she goes through similar life lessons to eventually find love and therefore happiness, it has yet to bore audiences. Sandra Bullock’s latest man candy is played by the seriously pretty Ryan Reynolds. Unlike previous Sandra man targets, Ryan Reynolds is not a secondary character but rather Sandra’s counterpart. He plays the perfect comedic compliment to Sandra Bullock’s bosszilla, and his rendition of DJ E-Z Rock’s “It Takes Two to Make a Thing Go Right” is stuck on repeat in my head. The resulting constant giggling has my family worried. Betty White is the Golden cherry atop this delectable cast completing the perfect recipe for a sweet and saucy romantic comedy.

The humor is not always witty, classy, or even plausible, and yet it left audiences rolling in the aisles. At some points, particularly the shower scene, the audience was literally snorting, howling, and convulsing with laughter. Some things are just funnier naked. Though the movie eventually gets to that predictable chick flick destination, it is most definitely worth the trip.

You Make The Bed You Lie In

2009-06-16T18:49:00.000-07:00

Why is it that if you truly hate something, it will harness all its power to make you extra miserable? It happened with that bully in kindergarten and then again with grandma’s brussel sprout syrup. It seems that we are at the mercy of those things that we loath the most. This sad fact recently came to my attention when I was forced into doing the only task I abhor more than peanut butter flavored salmon. I was somehow swindled into making the bed.

Making the bed, like spanking and geometry, is an example of a tradition that serves no purpose except to ruin the lives of children worldwide. While my mother asserts that it makes a room look presentable, I argue that I can achieve the same effect by merely shutting my door. However, this evening, my mother used her motherly mind meld to get me to make the bed before I even realized what I was doing. Not only did she puppeteer me into doing my own, but I somehow ended up making her bed as well. Using her maternal mastermind, she craftily told me to dress the beds with the clean sheets from the dryer. Despite my adamant stance against bed-making, I did not realize until later that by dressing the beds with new sheets, I would eventually produce a beautifully made bed.

When I went to get the sheets from the dryer, I was shocked at the inhumane cruelty of the task at hand. All the sheets were white, but different sizes. In our sweltering 2nd floor I ran back and forth between my parents’ room and my room trying each sheet, each time getting it either on the wrong bed, the wrong orientation, or the dreaded combo pack of both. After loosing a solid twenty pounds from the sprinting, sweating, and wrestling to put a twin sized fitted sheet on a king mattress, I finally got the sheets right. Then it was on to the mountain of pillow cases. When did it ever become ok to have five pillows per person? First you have the large decorative pillow, then the medium one, then the accent pillow, then the soft pillow, then the hard pillow and lying next to those are the exact same set so that the bed looks ‘balanced’. After grappling with the squishiness of the feather cushions, I finally finished stuffing all bazillion of the pillows into their respective cases and tossing them towards the head of the bed. As I looked out at the pristinely neat sheets, folded to perfection and crowned by an organized heap of color coordinated pillows, I stepped back in stunned realization at what I had just done. Exhausted by shame and heavy labor, I hung my head and headed towards my room. I opened the smallest possible corner of the covers and slipped in, not wanting to disturb my immaculately made bed.

Slumdiggitydog

2009-06-15T08:24:00.000-07:00

After two long years of solo booty shaking, Anisha and I finally danced our way back to the stage. Granted, performing at the MSMF picnic was not our typical scene, but all the usual players were there. The aunties forcing you to eat excessive amounts of ladoo, children weaving through the crowd at top speed, and uninterested dads forced to hold the video camera.

Film credit: Anuja Spielberg
Spoiler alert: Watch out for the random kid, childcare goes out the window when Indians congregate
Sidenote: The end got cut off, feel free to blame Anuja

The performance went off without a hitch, minus a broken shoe, cut feet, and the MC announcing us wrong. Even my own people can't seem to figure out my name. Regardless, those minor details were insignificant compared to the fact that we didn’t spin off the stage and and somehow made no mistakes. It was the first time that we did the entire 4.5 minutes without faltering.

QC stands for....

2009-06-15T07:20:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, our family trio decided to escape the confines of suburbia and drive up to Quebec City. The trip was an attempt to get out of the house and relax for a weekend with the fun-filled French.

Qualms and Concerns
I have only been to Quebec City once before, and that trip resulted in some unpleasant memories. Visiting lil’France was my grade 10 academic field trip. The trip was doomed from the start because our chaperones included the three most insane French teachers in the school. Our rooms were taped shut every night so that if we left after curfew, the gestapo would know. To discourage any creative escape attempts, the teachers also had Gary, our mountain-troll-like bus driver, sit in the hall and watch our doors. I remember wanting to attempt to break out just so I could witness Gary try and attempt to heave his 300lbs fast enough to catch me. When we were let out of our cells, the sightseeing destinations were more random than a raccoon in a plaid tutu. The trip was a hazy blur of Swedish themed hotels, maple butter tastings, battle reenactments, Church gift shops, and haunted barns. Overall, the trip didn’t give me the greatest impression of the City of Quebec.

Quaint and Cultured
I suppose that when your expectations are lower than low, you set yourself up for a pleasant surprise. The 2.5 days spent wandering the European style city were perfect. The cobblestone streets of old Quebec City are lined with charming houses turned restaurants, cafes, and boutiques. The weather was glorious and each day we were able to see new sights around the city. Our city tour was aided by the Ecobus, a tiny box-like bus that runs completely on electricity. The bus rans on a constant loop around the old areas of town and is completely free. For those who are worried that they will end up speeding past all the good sights, the bus runs at a solid 33 km/h, so there's no speeding past anything.

This trip, I learned that this city was made for me. Not solely because of its love of crepes and chocolate fondue, but also because of its abundance of tiny doors. Apparently the first settlers of the QC were mini sized. As a result, the old city is speckled with doors that only reach a height of 5ft 5. Between Simons, the horse drawn carriages, and the exotic menus of caribou and boar meat, I found myself smiling. For the first time, in a long time, this trip felt like a true vacation.

Fancy Feast

2009-06-11T07:21:00.000-07:00

After a hard day at work, I usually go home, curl up on the couch, turn on the T.V. and go comatose for the remainder of the evening. On one such occasion, in between segments of the Tyra and Ellen, a commercial came on that made my stomach rumble. A seductively deep voiced announcer described a sumptuous carved filet of chicken in a signature gravy while my television showed images of savory spices, and a delicious looking final meal. Right when I was poised to memorize whatever restaurant was serving up this drool-worthy feast, a cat walked into the shot and began to chow down on my gourmet meal and the Iams jingle began to play. I had just drooled over cat food.

While I understand that pets have feelings just like humans, do they really require the same delectable diet? I mean, I’ve personally never seen a house cat hunt down deep sea fish or a dog take on a cow, and yet we insist on serving ocean whitefish and beef. If we’re trying to keep their diet close to their natural menu, why is there no mouse flavored cat food? Companies market their food as a “delectable taste that your pet will love”. While pets do seem to love their dishes, they also love garbage scraps, couches, grass, raw meat, and whatever they dig up in the backyard. Clearly, when it comes to pet food, it is only the owners that are picky. Iams keep the spices for employee lunches and keep it simple for pet food ‘recipes’.

What Happens in Vegas...

2009-06-10T08:59:00.001-07:00

Once again, I braved the chaotic crowds and overly long lines to get my super cheap Tuesday movie ticket. This week’s feature: The Hangover. I had heard great things, but I prepared myself for a slapstick teen comedy. However, after only a few minutes, this became one Hangover that I never wanted never wanted to end.

The movie was epic from the opening scene to the graphic credits. Movies based off a chain of disastrous events usually stress me out rather than entertain me. However, this movie steered away from audience’s expectations (for the most part) and kept me laughing for a solid hour and 39 minutes. Who knew that finding a man who resembles a fat Jesus, and giving him a stolen baby would lead to ab-building laughter? Well, not even the producers of the movie expected it to be such a hit with audiences. In its opening weekend, The Hangover hit number one at the box office and guzzeled down $45 million in ticket sales. Apparently, this is one ‘morning-after’ saga that people can’t wait to tell their friends about. This is hands down, the best Hangover I have ever experienced.

Curried Consideration

2009-06-04T11:12:00.000-07:00

With Slumdog Millionaire boasting worldwide success and A.R. Rhaman doing remixes with LA burlesque groups, Indians are the new “It-Culture”.

America

’s culinary industries were not about to be left out of the newest food fad and the result is a dramatic increase in Canadians making exotic ethnic curries at heat levels that they cannot handle. As an Indian, I have failed my people and never really learned the art of Indian cuisine. My mother once attempted to teach me, but the fifty two step daal simply could not compete with my one step pizza pocket.

However, with more and more of my friends experiencing the menu of my childhood I have become victim to an interesting phenomenon. For some reason, whenever anyone goes out for Indian food, they feel this weird compulsion to find me and tell my about it. I’m not sure whether I’m supposed to thank them for supporting my motherland or merely congratulate them for sweating it through the Indian spices. Even stranger are those who feel the need to tell me when they’ve made Indian food. They rush up to me in a flurry of excitement and say something like, “Oh I was just thinking of you, I made butter chicken last night!”. Fabulous. My mother will be proud of them.

Old Faithful

2009-06-04T10:58:00.000-07:00

This is an ode to a magnificent and loyal companion. She has been with me for over five years and her endless entertainment, wisdom, and support has been become a fundamental aspect to my life. We were first brought together out of necessity in grade ten. What was first an obligatory relationship quickly became a tight-knit codependency. I took her in when she got viruses and she connected me with friends and family on a whole new level. We travelled everywhere together, my parents deemed us 'inseparable'. Alas, the test of time is finally taking over and she is slowing down. I fear that I will soon be saying goodbye to my beloved IBM Thinkpad.

What can Brown do for you?

2009-06-02T10:19:00.000-07:00

Anisha and I have been doing Bollywood dance since the torture of Mukul Hindi school first brought us together. I was six and she was five. Our debut performance involved dressing up like foreign vegetables and prancing around the stage. The Mukul style was apparently not to Anisha’s taste as she made very clear by up-chucking on stage during our first performance. Though performance was unsavory, prancing around in okra costumes apparently tickled our taste buds enough to pursue dance.

Diwali Mela 2005 Performance

After learning Bollywood basics from local teachers and excessive movie watching, we decided to branch out on our own. At the ripe old age of 12 (Anisha was 11), we began choreographing our own routines and performing around the city. As dance gained momentum in popular culture, we became addicts of So You Think You Can Dance and Youtube always scanning for new moves.

University separated us for the first time and halted our duo-dancing. Anisha and I took classes separately in our new environments, but found that no fancy studio could compare to choreographing in the basement. When we heard about “Desi Idol” we thought that it was our chance to show that we can “srew in the lightbulb and pet the dog” better than anyone else. It took a while to get over the fact that we’re both completely white-washed and more really tanned Canadians than ‘Desi’, but we decided to audition for the show. We only had one
condition: we had to be able to audition together. We're like baking soda and vinegar, dancing solo we’re not so hot, but together we’re like an explosion of epic awesomeness. Anisha called to find out details and spoke to a man with an accent as thick as a Rickshaw driver from Calcutta.

Anisha: Hi, this was the number I was supposed to call for any questions regarding Desi idol, right?
Supa FOB: uhh..yes yes.
Anisha: Okay, I have a question: when we audition can we audition in pairs?
Supa FOB: (pauuuse)....Paris?
Anisha: PAIRS!
Supa FOB: I'm sorry are you from Canada? Can't be Paris.
Person on other line but not on the phone: SHE SAID PAIRS. As in two people.
Supa FOB: OH pairs..no, no, it has to be solo.
Anisha: It's not possible to audition as a pair at all then?
Supa FOB: no SOLO.
Anisha: Okay, okay, thanks for your time, bye.

Well, apparently our dreams of super stardom will have to wait.

Turn that frown UPside down

2009-05-31T12:48:00.001-07:00

Pixar seems to be unable to falter with children and adults alike. Their newest soon-to-be classic adventure is not only portrayed in stunning animation but also leaves audiences baffled at the limitless imagination of Pixar studios. On the surface, this heartwarming tale of an old man fulfilling his lifelong pursuit of adventure in the name of his late wife in nothing new. However, Pixar takes the classic story up up and away by adding talking dogs, rare giant birds, and a plump boy scout of questionable ethnicity.

Though the epic saga was slightly inflated by questionable physics, I had a permanent grin plastered on my face from beginning to end. To be fair, the oversized dodo bird was not the only thing making me giggle. Somewhere in the dark abyss of our theatre, there was a man with the most high-larious laugh I have ever heard. His guffaw sounded like the love child of a fog horn and what I imagine a lumberjack’s chortle might sound like. For every joke that played out on screen, I would listen intently to hear if anything tickled his fancy enough induce his ridiculous chuckle. The lively audience was simply the cherry atop a much needed Uplifting Saturday at the movies.

My Firsts Day

2009-05-29T19:06:00.000-07:00

Today was a day of firsts. The events of today shocked my close friends and left them questioning whether they ever really knew me at all.

The day started off as a typical Friday morning. However, I had just returned from Vancouver and was being violently abused by jet lag. Attempting to pry my eyes open and get myself to work is hard enough on a usual day, but dealing with a three hour time difference made leaving my bed unbearable. By the time I curled up in my chair at work, I was basically yawning instead of inhaling. Though my inability to function in the morning by no means unusual, I feel that today it induced some strange behavior.

I just started my job so I've tried hard to abide by the rules of the office, at least while I'm still new. However, in my semiconscious state, I decided that falling asleep at my desk was definitely worse than turning to Youtube for entertainment. My boss NEVER comes to my section of the office, so I figured there was about a 0.2131% of getting caught. I felt doubly confident because I can usually hear him well before he passes by my cubicle and I have lightning fast reflexes when I’m attempting to be sneaky. This being said, I am a very unlucky person. I had literally clicked play on my Britain’s Got Talent video when my boss walks by, looks, smirks, and walks on past leaving me as flushed as brown people can get.

After being caught very red handed, I decided that I would instead start a blog to keep myself awake. I proceeded to spend the rest my working hours trying to christen my blog with a name that reflected me and most importantly wasn’t taken yet. After having vivid flashbacks to my first attempt at choosing a hotmail account, I finally stumbled on a title I could live with.

To top off starting my first ever blog and joining the leagues of narrative cyberspace, I also broke my commitment to laziness and went for a run. I have always said that I will exploit my metabolism while it is high. My ferocious appetite plus detest for the gym doesn’t add up for most people. Originally I had decided to enjoy it until my body gives in and I become spontaneously obese. However, the firsts were like a rampant disease that kept affecting me even after I went home. I therefore capped off my day of firsts with my first jog in two years.