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.


pour garder un homme pour toujours

peindre les yeux
avec un oeil ouvert
allonger tes cils
avec une ancienne brosse noire
pour avoir l’air d’une minette
toute coquette

il est simple
et il juge rapidement
d’un seul et premier coup
qui declenche tous ceux qui suivront
si tu le vois
trop honnetement
il aura peur
si tu le vois
tel qu’il est
il se mettra en colere
mais si tu veux vraiment le voir
juste le regarder simplement
attirer visuellement son attention
et puis le laisser passer
le defigurer est le faux-pas le plus grave
parce qu’il a besoin de se sentir libre
et pour proteger sa liberte
il va mentir

il ment avec ses yeux
il ment avec ses complices en geste et en mots
et s’il ment en corps,
il ment encore
il ment en coeur
il ment en courant
et quand tu ne le veux plus,
il est a toi.

going through my filing cabinet today, i found the snoopy book that i mourned because i kept it here along, and this piece that i wrote in 2007 in french class.

um, i’m fucking niiice en francais aussi.


journal mine #2

highlights from a small hand-bound green book of natural fibre paper with ganesh on the cover and an “apprendre, ca vaut le coup!” sticker on the back circa 2007 in montrill:

-a watercolour goldfish

-brainstorm and research for my “spy sex” column for nightlife

-six degrees of couples stemming from superhead

-this bio for something i no longer remember: Angelica LeMinh is a resilient woman. Her optimism and spontaneity works for her more often than not, and she credits her razor sharp with that just won’t quit. A refugee from Vancouver, she’s managed to work her way snuggly into the armpit of Montreal’s art scene. From hip hop to sex talk, funk and fusion. She can be read in Pound, The Mirror, Ricepaper, Watchmojo videos, and online…..

(i didn’t credit the latyrix or sy smith songs that i sampled, and submitted a bio with an ellipsis?!)

-questions for a lyrics born interview that he stood me up for-i suppose that explains the above jack now, also the article ended up being called “desperately seeking tom shimura”

-exerpts of unfinished poems: “it’s one thing to be immature and another altogether just to render yourself obsolete”

-“poetry is the weapon that cuts me deepest, especially when laced with the arsenic of irony”

-“we used to be built to last/now we’re running too fast/to ever catch up to the past/our ancestors aghast”

-“i am so tired of being too weak/i am the strongest/woman i’ll ever meet”

-drawings of outfits that i want to build-my style hasn’t changed that much-i have a fur vest (two!) and fur boots (also 2!), and still don’t have but want a denim catsuit and an orange jumpsuit

-apparently, i wasn’t allowing myself to buy any more: jeans, t-shirts, underwear, workout gear, sneakers, bags or track jackets

-i was looking for: basics, business casual (whatever the fuck on earth for?!), flat shoes, and a swimsuit

oh, the snapshot into a woman in her late twenties trying to figure out where she fit into her personal style, love, the city, and work. i am feeling a bit calmer about all of this almost a decade later, but can still recognize a lot of it. guess that means that i’m just a more experienced version of me.


zaki ibrahim at yonge-dundas square

“woah woah woah WOAH woah”

as went the best front row singalong with my daughter and her mama on friday night. still feeling a bit knocked out, and having just started a living space rehaul, i wasn’t sure if i was going to make it out, but in the end-of course i did. i couldn’t be one of the too many at this town who came out in droves for janelle monae and stayed away for zaki ibrahim-that’s just too canadian for me.

as soon as i rolled up, having to cross the threshold of “religious” jackassery of the no-man’s land of the square (literally-i walked past someone saying into a microphone-“i don’t know what you’re a slave to, maybe it’s homo sex”) the first person i saw appeared to be samurai bambi. not wanting to grab up on someone else’s child, i let it go, but within seconds in my peripheral vision, her mama confirmed the whole family’s presence and i was ecstatic. the only bad part was that she was being kanye during my second favourite cover of the evening-it ain’t no fun (if the homies can’t have none), the first of course, was glamorous life. but that’s the thing with zaki- she can take it all those places, and still win with all of her originals. (my heart did skip a beat though, when she started with “when i met you last night baby….”)

unlike the massey hall show, we got the chance to see the artist (and the beauty-full human) truly unfurl over an hour and a half-i love that she truly brings and spreads her joy, humanity, and heartbeat from the first moment she appears in her black angel wings and punk couture. multi-disciplinary and multi-talented to the nth degree-this one’s a national treasure.

i was also infinitely great-full for the 5141604 reunion that happened, both with folks that i expected to be there and those that i had no idea, and the one i was hoping to see and it magically occurred-yea, zahra!

i got handbilled for the emancipation of ms. lovely by l’oquenz, and since my plan for this week was to make (few) plans-because who am i kidding, i can never make none-i just might be in the last seating for that one this afternoon.


*addendum from the future/past: here is the concert footage from the massey hall show:

nomadic massive

“it must be the shoes”

there was an interesting discussion about u2 on q today, about whether or not they’re one of the most important bands of all time, or if they’re just annoying (i may be paraphrasing a bit). it got me thinking back to a conversation i had with another cbc radio host about certain bands who hate each other but make magic on stage. it all came full circle when i saw my fam, nomadic massive perform as part of the pan-am festival last night. however hard they may be on themselves, there is just pure magic when they’re on stage together, and i’m so glad that i’ve been privy to seeing them so many times over the past almost decade.

i missed the above jazz festival performance (shouts to julay for making that dope headpiece for tali), and have no footage from last night, but i am loving the gear upgrades and choreographed movements.

hashtag, superfan.

catching up with them is the reason that i didn’t get to blogging last night-lo siento.