regretting motherhood-orna donath

“By asserting the coexistence of love and regret, these mothers refuse to be sorted into categories in a way that would force them to leave behind pieces of their emotions and themselves.” (114)

“you’re wrong, asshole, i am the mothering type”

a cunt once called me “motherless”. if you’re reading this, hi cunt!

ok, that was petty. and i don’t just go around calling women cunts (all the time). i had a long and unhealthy relationship with this one that no doubt was informed by both of our relationships with our mothers, and i think it’s just funny that she charged me with this, a fact that is beyond my control. i mean, call me annoying, call me uncouth but motherless? what the fuck is that? i mean, maybe my mom was like many women who regretted being a mother and she did something about it. maybe her mother was exactly the same but instead of bouncing, she stayed and made her and her sisters’ lives miserable as a result. who’s to say who was right or wrong, i actually don’t believe there is such a thing possible, as the subject position is so personal, fluctuating to the second even. the final point from the whole breakup is that she objected to my use of “cunt”, charging me with being unfeminist, but proceeded to call me a bitch over three platforms. oh, women. we’re so complicated. but as we move through this life and these same situations that our mothers probably once found themselves in, we can only benefit from considering things from each others’ perspectives, so, my dearest cuntiest one-time friend-i meant it with affection (even though i was mad as hell) and i still do (although i have zero interest in engaging with you further) and i wish you all the best with everything, whether you have children or not.

i’m not sure how this book came to me, but i think it was through surfing the contributor’s notes of nasty women. i was recently directed to the podcast via inflection point, and relieved to see that there were only ten episodes.

i’m glad that there is a growing narrative of choice, and here’s hoping that it is tinged less and less with the consequences of the patriarchy as we go forward. i applaud these women for being brave enough to speak up, and hold space for the personal and political risk that they underwent to do so, for all of us.

it’s like you can’t spell “mother” without “martyr”, and definitely not if you call your vigilante film proud mary. now, i will see taraji p. henson in anything, and i’m glad that she comes out of this one alive. perhaps it’s a hope-full story after all-she killed all of the men, the father and the son, and adopted the orphan that she made because she also killed his father. it’s semi-bechdel approved, as it centers mary as the protagonist, but every single one of her relationships is with a man, even though she kills most of them.

at least she kicks ass and i heard that anthony hamilton song in the theatre.

and it wasn’t downsizing.


save the cat! goes to the movies-blake snyder

this book is widely recognized-shoutout to su for recommending it to me. i am still reeling with gratitude for the opportunity to write a script for a dream project that is being realized, and it’s really great that i finished it. i love new forms of writing, and i’m certain that the weekly workshopping that came with writing in the city was the perfect concurrent meeting to sustain the gusto to do it. i can’t wait for the notes and next steps, and to announce more about the show as more details become available to announce.

(i’m so blessed to have such talented and hilarious friends).

i appreciate the structural guidance of the book, as well as the breakdown to a lot of impact-full films (i did put the original on library hold as well, to see how this applies to scriptwriting scriptwriting), but the one point that i am holding on to and still thinking of is this:

the evil (or terror) of the ring and the exorcist is working mothers.

mind blown*

but it’s true-when you decide to go back to work and let tv be your babysitter, you sacrifice your child. also, i’m not sure the exact storyline of the exorcist (increasingly, i’m wondering if i remember any movie that i’ve ever seen-i recently forgot the porn addiction part of love, sex and eating the bones) (but then yesterday, i also forgot that i had to dial the area code before the number and wondering why i couldn’t get through to beck taxi because i have that number memorized) i’m sure there’s a completely sensible reason on why you should never outsource childcare or seek to work outside of the home because your daughter will definitely be possessed.

this book brought be back to the truth that i took out of film studies, which is that films are a reflection of the world as it was at the moment of filming, as well as a projection of the reality of the ideal world as it was at the moment of filming. i am saddened to know that we’re back in the swing of the pendulum where our lives and choices as women are still under such scrutiny.

i am also questioning my automatic aversion to scary movies-maybe if i see them through the lens of “what imagined societal evil is this trying to combat?”, i might not be so scared.

but it is fitting that the movie that set this precedent in my brain when i was in university was the ring, a movie that scared me so much that i didn’t sleep for four days and called a sleepover with friends on either side of me to self-medicate-perhaps i truly got it after all. because the patriarchy is fucking scary.

and so, we work.

get out-dir. jordan peele

“i didn’t want to say it, but i told you so.”

i can’t lie. when i went to check the game 3 score before leaving the house, i thought the internet was broken. first of all-how do you even score 41 in a quarter, let alone outscore your opponent (my team) 41-17? i’ve been riding with these guys for a minute, so i know we have to be extreme and extra and extremely extra, but bruv.

i was wondering if, in addition to playing the barney theme song, jason kidd was out there stirring tea (and spilling sodas-why was derozan slipping so much?!). shit, i can’t even merge the honey in my chaga without looking both ways.

i took a wrong turn this morning, into outrement, and it felt a bit like the opening scene, though i am thank-full that i was out in plain daylight, and at night, i have a rottweiler.

officially the highest grossing original screenplay, everyone’s got something to say about this movie, and people will continue to have things to say. hopefully, that will precipitate an actual conversation one day, and not just all this idle chatter.

it’s revolutionary just by being an american film about race that is set in the present, and not as another self-congratulatory “look how far we’ve come” pat on the back excuse to show black bodies brutalized in hd as a period piece. because it was made by a black director, and that director is jordan peele, it is a more nuanced look at racism than we’ve ever seen.

i am not a fan of the horror genre, i’ve never really been interested, but i do appreciate the homages to the tropes paid here. but the fact that the true horror is just lurking beneath the surface (and in gated communities) is the scariest of all. in fact, i would argue that the scariest person in the film is the young white woman, and the horror isn’t that she’s not aware of racism, the horror is that she’s complicit while masquerading as an ally.

the humour in the film comes from the conspiracy theory that these white folks are snatching black bodies to use as “sex slaves”, but the horror is when we discredit the grain of truth that lies in every conspiracy theory, and when we laugh off that feeling that “something isn’t quite right here”. even when the cops are all coloured, they’re still police. the institution is bigger than the faces. and the black people that are a bit “off” because their bodies have been snatched (and scientifically manipulated) by white people, and they are the proof that something’s up. perhaps that’s the silver lining-you can never fully hide your dirt, your deception will catch up to you.

and so there is the fear of white inferiority and the problems that exist in resource distribution that allow the imbalance of science, medicine, and legal impunity to just
“go and get” the bodies with the traits that you need for immortality. the issues of appropriation-“we want your skills but we don’t want you” as well as banking on the fact that all lives don’t matter, since nobody’s going to ask about the black ones that have been missing.

the point of technology as a weapon is an interesting one, as the phone is what keeps saving chris, and it’s what they tried to disarm while he was in the house. the recordings of recent police brutality and protests is a beginning to turning the tables on apathy and blowing the gates off our communities.

the lure of the white woman, which is driven home when he’s looking through the box of photos (of the “deer” that rosie has helped to eradicate), is one that is also laughed off, but the sociopath is real. this bitch is pure evil, as she’s able to show a human side from the beginning, and go through the motions of feeling the outrage that the cop that pulled them over was racist, or running away from the racist white people party and being the comfort to draw chris into a false sense of security, to transitioning fully into a dirty dancing watching single froot loop eating cog in the family racism wheel. and presumably, she got (and enjoyed) all that black dick (and possibly pussy) along the way. this was the white woman that people feared that hillary clinton may have been, and she may still be, but what’s the point in getting lost in coulda beens, when the reality is a whole next level of sinister?

it would seem that the raptors are emerging from the sunken place, as i’m halfway through watching game 5 (thanks mikey, for the league pass), and that the youngsters are starting to lose their grip on the ball.

also-what a difference norm powell makes in the game. it’s not a coincidence that when he’s starting, we win, and when he doesn’t play (which, WHY THE FUCK IS HE NOT PLAYING?!) we lose. i was starting to feel waves of deja vu to the past two years before this season when i was begging for james johnson to be traded so i could see him play somewhere (and now look at him in miami), but coach seems to have come to his senses, at least for the time being.

your lineups are still on scrutiny, though, dwayne.

get your exercise in.


sausage party-dir. conrad vernon and greg tiernan

“the great beyond is bullshit”

it would seem that this is still the end.

i was first shown the trailer for this movie months ago by my coworkers. i was terrified. granted, i get scared easily at the movies but this seemed to me like over the hedge meets texas chainsaw massacre.

what i wasn’t expecting was the extreme violence, the clever puns, and the constant references to cum and cumming on peoples’ faces and eyes and blinding them from the truth, and the actually disgusting personification of a used condom, replete with jizz.

and then i realized that this is a continuation of the discussions of religion and life after death that the disciples of judd apatow seem to be fixated upon. the lone woman this time is kristen wiig, and i’m not mad about that, but it did bring to attention how many overlapping names were at the marquee, and it’s clear that our global distribution problems not only apply (crucially) to food and water, but also to jobs and representations.

what does it mean when these stoners who seem to have everything, including having figured out a way to make millions sustaining their stonerisms and the stuff of their 12-year old wet dreams, seem terrified of everyone buying into the hype of heaven?

i mean, how the fuck do i know?

i just know that that animated grocery-orgy finale has just trumped the 18-minute puppet sex sequence (that may not have made it into the u$ version) of team america, and honey mustard will stay talking crazy.

also, the mural is gone at the carlton because imagine now owns rainbow cinemas, this movie was shown in theatre 9, locker number 9 gave me back my quarter at the alexandra park pool (which is much bigger than any that i’ve swam in recently), and banh mi bar makes a great iced coffee with not too much condensed milk.

and i had an eclair today, and played the piano at parkdale for a bonus hour-whut whut.


keanu-dir.peter atencio

“maybe, we weren’t trying to be seent”

hot docs is all fine and good, but there’s nothing like seeing these two on the big screen. i mean, i assumed, because i had never seen them on the big screen before (together), though theatres everywhere could make a million screening their show-(hint hint).

there isn’t much to say, other than i’m automatically in for anything they do, it’s perfectly silly and entertaining, and method man is still so freaking fine.

i will say that it was interesting to hear the cbc movie reviewer bring up “code switching” as the reason why the movie works, which is a win, but then negate that win by naming the two categories they move between as “normal people” and “straight-up gangstas”.

yup. it was as cringe-worthy as it sounds.

but this movie and its non-sensical revolution around this kitten is a great tuesday afternoon escape.


the apology-dir. tiffany hsiung

“i can’t die. it would be easier for everyone if i just died, but i can’t die.”

phew. i knew that this would be a hard one to watch. in many ways i’m great-full for the easing in, with the talk at oise last tuesday (thanks, mich) when we were in the presence of grandma gil. but 13 seconds into the trailer, the tears were flowing free.

frankly, i’m just not sure how there are people left in the world. with all the large-scale rapes/tortures/murders that happen, and i’m sure that for every one that makes it to the public eye there are at least three or four that lie just at the outskirts of our peripheral visions.

but perhaps knowing that we all exist (max) six degrees from ptsd brings some clarity to why we are as fucked up emotionally as we are, but it unfortunately also highlights how cyclical and exponential violence is.

i didn’t know until the very last minute if i could make it-but when i woke up on mother’s day, i knew that i had to make my way straight to the rush line. i arrived 45mins before and was anointed #90 in the line. but i stayed, even in the brief rain.

i made it, and because i don’t know my mother-acknowledging the legacy of tears and unnamed girl (who aged into women) victims of (militarized) sexual violence was exact way that i decided to hold space. and it was the perfect screening, as all my sisters (mich, teya, eirene, rina, heidi, sook-yin) and titas (olivia) were there, and we all showed up for the grandmas.

the most inspiring part of the story was that despite all the violence and residual ghosts, the grandmas still became mothers and found enough love to pass along to their children, some of them late in life.

the direction was perfect-funny, charming moments were inserted just when you thought your heart would break. bigups to tiffany for committing so much time, energy and life to bringing this to life. my favourite was the ongoing challenge of the infuriatingly false label of “comfort women”-this is basically the most uncomfortable situation imaginable, and if we were to truly name them as stolen 11-year-old girls who were drugged and raped constantly, that might make the case that this was a “necessary situation” a bit harder to make.

but then again, jian ghomeshi.

for the korean grandmas who have gathered every wednesday at noon since 1992 at the japanese embassy, and in the interest of believing all survivors, this blog will rededicate “hump day” to healthy and consensual relations and relationships.

hashtag, no more crushing women.


the boss-dir. ben falcone

“a do-ri-to”

so what if melissa mccarthy plays the same character over and over? that character is amazing. i mean, nobody complains that jennifer aniston does it. or that her boring plain jane face is still gracing “most beautiful people” lists. but hey-white beauty standards. who has the energy to complain about that? i’ll just re-direct my gaze.

and turn a blind ear to the ignorant bitches who say, “um-i feel like i’ve heard more prince since he died than i heard david bowie, and i don’t know if that’s fair…” first of all-you know who’s always complaining about “fairness”? people who have everything. the rest of us have to work six times as hard and actually EARN our lives. second of all, if david bowie was alive-tell me he wouldn’t be the first one to do a prince tribute. and for the hat trick-you notice it because it’s not your everyday experience that a person of colour has such influence on your influences that you never even knew, and it makes you uncomfortable because your racism is showing. like my raptors and the first fourth quarter they decided to win all season just now-get the fuck out of here.

the most important recurring theme of melissa mccarthy‘s movies is how an outsider overcomes childhood rejection to be a hilarious asshole who manages to build a family, against all odds. the insecurities, the abandonment issues, and the triumph is what keeps us coming back, and the co-sign is strong.

duolingo lately: 467 day streak, 5471 lingots
cafes lately: tokyo smoke, tuscana coffee, cygnet coffee, outpost coffee
stamps left to get on my icp: 16
libraries lately: parkdale, annette street, bloor/gladstone
first instrument to be checked out of the library: xylophone
cancon lately: celine dion, saukrates, yamantaka/sonic titan, emmanuel jal