Hannah Says Hi

NY Saturday and Sunday = Perfect 10

2010-08-22T19:50:00.004-05:00

As Emily says, "New York City is the shit! It's expensive here but it's also so cheap!"

To clarify: There's so much free amazing stuff to do here it's like a giant threw a bunch of perfect Saturdays in the air and yelled, "Scrambles!"

The other day, I got an email saying that I had been waitlisted for an event called Joyride. It was an apologetic email, like, "I'm so sorry but we've had such a large response. We really, really hope to get you on the confirmed list. Stay tuned for cancellations." I wrote back and said, "Oh, ok, well, thanks so much for the update - and yes, please let me know if I make the list."

I had no idea what it was but you know, I'm for it.

Turns out that Isaac signed us up for something he saw online (where? who knows? where does one see anything these days? no idea, it's just a constant stream).

Well, Saturday morning, Summer Streets NYC shut down Park Avenue from down below Chinatown all the way up to Central Park. Cyclists, runners and rollerbladers took over, along with 50 people with Joyride, which is an event where you show up on your bike, they hand you a curated 45-minute long track of music and you all click play at the same time and take off together, cruising up Manhattan and listening to music. Normally, I think riding with earbuds in is sheer crackers. But when you do it with a big, super-cycle friendly gang and the street is shut down, you may as well be floating.

The music was all feel-good stuff, singer-songwriter, Afrobeat, life-affirming rap, whatever - it all sounds great when skyscrapers, bridges, Grand Central and Central Park are all whizzing by.

At the end of the bike ride, a giant picnic was laid out on brightly coloured plaid blankets, complete with jars of daisies and cloth napkins. Wha-?!

And. It. Was. Free. It was the best Saturday morning ever.

We interrupted perfect Saturday for a few errands which were still pretty fun (sweet peaches in Union Square market! New organizing file folder from Staples, hmm) after which point we were back on track for further fun.

We met our friends Farha and Adam for PS1 Warm-Up, which is amazing people watching. Some of the art is meh but there is this really cool thing there called Meeting by James Turrell. I loved that but mostly just wanted to gaze out the window all evening to watch people dance.

And then we went out to Way Far Away Land (Queens) for a late-night taco truck tour that Farha had read about on a food blog but we got too hungry to wait for it to begin and ate at the first taco truck we saw, which WAS INCREDIBLE. Sopes for $1, so flavourful. The four of us wandered the streets together and felt like we were in a different country. The taco truck lady didn't speak any English. Most of the signage in the area wasn't in English. After our sopes, we stopped in at an Ecuadorian restaurant where overhead TVs set the mood. One played a bloopers reel of people getting gored by bulls, one played a Latin American child pageant, one was an ultimate fighting match. Chomp, chomp, slurp.

Then I woke up this morning and finished off my latest book, Super Sad True Love Story. Book report: There are many reasons why I liked it but the yellow fever, on the part of one of the protagonists, is TOO DISTRACTING. Having run into men like this in real life, now I have to read about them? You know - the non-Asians who fetishize Asian women for whatever weirdo sexual stereotypes they have? Oh but didn't you know? I'd love to rub your feet and feed you kimchi and will look young forever and never talk back.

SIGH.

Anyway, ignore the impromptu book review because the point is that yesterday, Saturday, was the most brilliantly beautiful Saturday afternoon possible, followed by a long, food-filled evening. Then, this morning, it rained monsoon-style and I lay in bed reading my book, drinking coffee. Then Isaac and I walked a few blocks to meet Emily for pizza (mmm, pizza), which means this was officially a perfect weekend.

Oh, and I popped into a vintage store? For 8 minutes? And found a perfect pair of fall boots for $30? And I was hardly trying?

I should hardly say any of this stuff for fear of jinxing it or at least look before I next turn a corner in case of falling pianos. But I just had to say it. This weekend was a pretty NY-tastic couple of days.

Our New Roommate

2010-07-16T10:01:00.003-05:00

We've decided to take on a new roommate. His name is, "Ahhhh! MOUSE!"

He's pretty cool. Keeps to himself except when our paths cross late at night. Don't know much about him but he has cool style, I guess. Grey. Into ghetto-fabulous fur. I just hope he doesn't start bringing girlfriends home. I mean, have some respect, you know?

Not sure how this co-habitation is going to work out but Isaac and I are pretty cool. We won't try to Andy Samberg him or anything. Next time we have a party (based on square-footage-of-personal-space-per-person, that should be the next time we invite 0.5 of you over), we'll introduce you if he's around but I think mostly parties elsewhere. Not the train tracks, where the rats with human hands mill around. They're a rough crowd. I suspect "Ahhhh! MOUSE!" likes those bakeries that have their windows filled with real pastries, all day and night, as displays. I find those joints a bit gross, but "Ahhhh! MOUSE!" is way into them.

Swap Monster

2010-05-30T10:09:00.003-05:00

Yesterday, my friend Jessica asked me to help her with a day of shooting on her doc. Her film is all about second-hand clothes and where they go to die. It's not where you think. In fact, most people don't think about where clothes end up but I remember having a glimpse of it when I stood in an African market with lots of used clothing strung up for sale. Where did they come from? Us, of course. So our clothes are made in the developing world and then they go back there when we're done with them. What's the harm? I'm going to leave it to Jessica's film to have that say.

But in the meantime...

On a gorgeous, if humid, Saturday we met in the morning and shot all day at what must be the biggest clothing swap on earth. It's called Score! which is exactly what you say when you find that perfect item, you know? In the past, they have had 1000 people show up. I'm pretty sure yesterday's swap must have been close to 2000. It's a feat of organizational brilliance and major good vibes. People drop off their stuff, pay a few bucks to get in the door, take whatever they want (there was awesome stuff there! not just clothes but housewares, children's, games, electronics, books) and save everything from heading to landfills, giving them new life. Everyone saves money on the things they need and gets rid of a bunch of crap taking up space at home. The items are all put through "quality-control," and the stuff that doesn't pass muster is never put out on the "floor," which in this case was Brooklyn Yard, right by the water and shaded by trees. All the stuff that wasn't good enough to be combed through by a million Brooklyn hipsters and families goes into bags and is sent off to a fabric recycling company.

The proceeds go to charity (this year it went to a youth activism group). There are tacos, beers and great music (the people wandering in the sun holding a beer had the RIGHT idea - I, however, was wandering with a boom mic, trying not to smack people as I turned around).

By the way, it is super fun to do the jobs of people you work with but have never done yourself. I've never been the audio guy! Ahem, audio girl. It was fun.

Aaaaand, even though we didn't have time to look through the treasures together, a girl standing next to me declared, "Now these are great shoes but they don't fit me. Here, you have to take them." She just handed them to me, new dead-stock multi-coloured leather espadrilles with rubber soles. And they were my size. I got to go home with what will be my new summer shoes. Whee!

A Little Devil and Marina's Tear

2010-05-25T06:58:00.004-05:00

On the subway, we saw a little man in a black suit and his tall partner, a woman at least 6 feet tall. It was kind of cute when they walked arm in arm because he didn't come up to her shoulder. Kind of cute except...he had devil horns. His head was fully shaved and he had horns, one on each temple, and even though he was absolutely tiny, yes, the horns suggested evil. At first we thought his horns were hair, shellacked into place, but no, they were just really finely-detailed plastic glued onto his head.

We all stared, trying to figure out his horn situation, Isaac's entire family, as we were traveling en masse. And when we ascended to ground level, I saw we were at 666 Fifth Avenue. The devil was coming home! To New York City.

In fact, he was just going to the MOMA. I know because I saw him there.

I enjoyed the Marina Abramovic retrospective, and Isaac and I had a nice chat with a lady as we sat in the room where Marina was performing her stare-down. Our new friend told us about the next man in line to sit with Marina. He had met Marina on a train outside Amsterdam, where she used to live, five years ago. He was broke, had been evicted, and didn't have enough for train fare. She paid. They started chatting and he asked what she did. She said she was an artist and "into pain." After their encounter, I don't think they ever saw each other again until he took a seat in front of her.

Isaac and I, with our new informative friend, stared, trying to see any sign of recognition in Marina's face. There wasn't. But a few minutes in, things started to change. The man wasn't verbally saying anything but his body language was a different story. He was sitting tall, leaning towards her, beseeching her with his posture. Finally, she smiled and dropped a fat, juicy tear.

Knowing the story of this man made it a different experience, watching these two people sitting silent in chairs.

In other news, Happy 1st anniversary, Isaac!

Live and Rest in Peace

2010-05-22T12:54:00.007-05:00

Katie emailed recently and told me that Will Munro had succumbed to his brain cancer. Hearing news like that reduces everything to plain truths, doesn't it? There's no time to waste. I didn't know Will but saw him around a lot, went to his parties. He did so much for Toronto in his short life. It's not fair to lose someone like this so young, and although I didn't know him, I'll remember the way he contributed to communities, shaping them, making life more interesting and fun for those who knew him and beyond. It's inspiring that he worked at it every day.

A great-uncle of Isaac's passed away recently as well. He lived a long life. I met Marvin once at dinner and have been learning about his life, for example, yesterday at dinner with Isaac's family as they're in town this week.

And we're still thinking of our amazing next-door-neighbours who just lost their son in an accident. We've heard of too many deaths in the last few days.

Thinking about it is probably as close as I get to religion. I don't have anything profound to share, just the opposite. Death makes everything in life quite basic again, doesn't it? We have to live lots of life while we have it. We have to love lots while we have our family and friends. To end with a smile, can we just watch this together? (Close to the twentieth time for me, I'm sure). Big hugs to everyone.

Tiny Tot Studio Time

2010-05-19T15:49:00.004-05:00

Bet you didn't know that the smallest apartment on earth could be turned into a recording studio. All you need is a handy Marantz from work and Isaac, whose hero is MacGruber. He set it up for me to record a voiceover for him. He even made a little guard for when "p's" pop by putting a pair of my tights around a wire hanger that he fashioned into a circle. Et voila! Home studio.

La Vie Quotidienne a New York

2010-05-17T15:11:00.013-05:00

Every day, I have a million thoughts but don't have the chance to blog 'em.

Is "blogging" still a verb that is ok to use and not completely nerdtastic?

Anyway, a recap of our first two weeks in NY.

Our apartment still smells funny but we've kind of stopped noticing.

Isaac found a bedbug site online that is like the Facebook of bedbug-infested NY-dwellers and we found that our building has never been mentioned. Not a peep from our building. Knocking on a giant redwood. Hurrah!

We have, however, seen too many rats and cockroaches on the street and subway tracks. No little Toronto subway mice here. The rats are big. The problem is the garbage in this city. In whose world is it ok to leave so many garbage mountains, pest-buffets, just on the street? It's like lining the streets with cake. Rat party! Did you get your invite?

For example, yesterday we were riding our bikes on a gorgeous afternoon in Brooklyn yesterday and before I knew it, I'd run over a rat that had already been flattened by a car tire, rendered paper-thin on the pavement but still with an outline of grey fur and red insides. I KNOW. Too many vermin. Highly unacceptable!

Moving on (why must I write about all this gross stuff?).

Isaac and I have met lots of fun people and re-connected with old friends. Karaoke count thus far: Twice. That's a good once-a-week average.

Still discovering places to eat (and places to not eat - we are suckers from out-of-town, eating bad huevos rancheros, hopefully not for long).

We are riding our bikes everywhere and although NY traffic is scary (downtown Brooklyn even scarier!) the bike lanes are infinitely better than in TO. I've made Isaac promise that he will not let his mind wander as he rides because even if you're in the bike lane with plenty of space on each side, there may be a pothole or manhole depressed like, 5 inches into the concrete. Deathtrap! Riding your bike around town is like a game of Frogger, except that you're not a frog, you're on a bike and it's real life (only one life!).

Speaking of life, we just heard the terrible news that our wonderful next-door-neighbours in Toronto lost their adult son in a car crash the other day. It was shocking to hear. Life is snuffed out so fast and unfairly. It's a sad time on our street at home.

Before we left, there was a giant fire just up the street from us, which was devastating to the family of tenants. The other day, there was a fire here in the East Village that had city blanketed in grey smoke for blocks.

We had to leave our apartment because, as we discovered, all the windows leak and our apartment was soon too smoky to sit in. We escaped on a walking tour for the afternoon, popping into the Forbes museum (rich people can collect anything they want, including really old Monopoly sets) and the lobby at Parsons (really? art school can look like this?).

When we came back, the air was clear but I could still smell the fire in our towels. We are really at one with the neighbourhood. Smoke or thumping music of the I-need-ear-protectors-like-baby-Apple-at-a-Coldplay-concert, you can't block it out of our funny little apartment.

On our walking tour, we bought a smoke detector. Duh.

Last night we got locked out because our finnicky front door lock decided to cross its arms and not let us in. We ended up making friends with an older couple who came by with their dog and they came up with the scheme for Isaac to climb down the fire escape from one of our neighbours above and pop into our window. This friendly guy Steve knew everyone in the building. He took Isaac up to a guy's apartment, explained the situation, and the guy said, "Unh uh," and closed the door. The next floor down, directly above us, a young girl in hot pants came to the door and said, "Uh, well, Jenny is sleeping, but I'll see." Isaac ended up going through the apartment, "Jenny" lifting her head from slumber for a moment to go, "Mm, hey." Isaac just kind of sauntered through with a wire hanger that Steve had dismantled into a hook-like device. Isaac pulled a MacGruber and got in to the apartment through the fire escape. Another hurrah! (Note to concerned individuals, there was a system involving a key that is too boring to outline here, so it's not like just anybody can just get in through the fire escape....I think).

Isaac was the hero of the evening! All eyes on Isaac.

Here's a photo I'll leave you with from a party we were invited to on the rooftop of a building in Greenpoint, BK. As Isaac pointed out, being near the water like that felt like we were on a cruise. Look at this city. It's worth putting up with rat sightings.

It's A Celebration For One! Plus, Apartment Photos!

2010-05-09T20:08:00.008-05:00

Here I am in the apartment where the three bare lightbulbs in the ceiling have mostly gone out. Two are dead and if the last one goes while I type tonight, I will be slightly scared to be home alone, mostly creeped out by the last thing Dad said to me on the phone yesterday before he took off from TO for Korea. We had a nice chat over Skype and then in parting, he said, "Be careful! Don't catch a cold and don't go out at night." Uh, ok, Dad. It goes without saying that I will wash my hands and try to avoid a cold but the truth is that I might want to go out at night some of the time, it being New York, and nighttime being an inevitable event that occurs each and every single day. What do you say to, "Don't go out at night?" In my case, you say, "Ok." Fingers crossed behind back. Did I mention I am an able-bodied 32-year-old human and not a defenseless sea cucumber? (Sea cucumbers are so defenseless).

At first it was funny but Dad's implied fear became catchy as a cold. Of all the things that could happen in a big city at night, well, mostly nothing bad happens but sometimes Law and Order plots happen. We all know they are ripped from the headlines and I totally shouldn't watch that SVU. Anyway, I know nothing headline-worthy could happen when I'm inside my apartment. Although when five-alarm fires happen, inside is where you don't want to be. Moving along to the real point of this post....

I want to celebrate but I am home alone! Isaac has gone to an animation event, leaving me to tend to my deadlines in peace. But I just got some good news via email! And it makes me want to party!

I! Am! So! Excited! Because!

I got in to a writing program at City University of New York! I can't believe it. It will be taught by top fiction editors in the city, and when we're talking about "the city," we know it really means top fiction editors in the English-speaking universe. It's a workshop for 15 students and how on earth I got in is beyond me. Honestly. Is there some sort of bizarre karmic thing happening? We've had such a run of amazing luck.

Luck, luck, luck! First of all, we're here in NY. Secondly, it's a cheapie apartment. Thirdly, I found the best bike ever yesterday (little thrills are what make life so great), and again, for very cheap. Mostly, I am lucky because I was accepted into the program of my dreams. Well, wait. I could go back further and say I'm also lucky because I have Isaac and then go back further and say that I'm lucky to have a cool family and also I'm lucky that I suffered only enough childhood trauma that I became marginally interesting, personality-wise, and not a complete weirdo. Ahh! I am lucky! Insert a joyous yelping in here!

I even think I'm lucky with what I used to think was the worst. I applied about 5000 times to get in to Columbia's journalism program a few years ago but didn't get in. When I found out I was first on the waitlist one of those 5000 times, I was heartbroken and I don't think I ever really got over it. Until now! Who needs an M.A. that would cost oh, $100 000 (is that way off the mark?) In this writers' program I'll be taking, there isn't a degree conferred (in fact, they call it the "un-MFA") but I think what I get out of it is better. Workshopping everything is totally my steez. I am so excited I want to celebrate but I am home alone and have two deadlines so instead of cracking a beer and calling a friend, I ate 5 cookies and took a few moments away from work to blog instead. This is the saddest celebration ever.

But also the best! I'm so happy I could cry. It's my party and I'll cry and eat cookies and work on my deadlines if I want to!

And for those of you who are interested in seeing what our precious little shoebox of NY real estate looks like, here is a photo of Isaac Skyping with his mom this aft, and below that, "my office." Maybe one day I'll let you see our unconventional bathroom situation. Let's just say that I joined a gym and I will be showering there pretty much every day. I, obviously, heart New York!

East Village is a Mash-Up of Rich and Developing World

2010-05-07T11:16:00.005-05:00

Landing in the East Village this week, I got a distinctly developing-world vibe. People had their used goods spilled all over the sidewalk, selling random items like picture frames and old shoes. There are giant mounds of garbage all the time, both in bags for pick-up and swirling loose in the wind, newspaper pages flying around my feet. New York smells and is unbelievably loud. Don't get me started on our apartment where not a single wall knows how to behave (i.e. be smooth and flat) and our school-locker toilet room (not technically a bathroom since it's just a room with a toilet) is among the worst I've ever seen, and yes, I'm counting Mali and Indonesia.

I love it here!

The energy is contagious, the people are from everywhere. The other day, I walked home following a woman in an abaya, black fabric caught in the wind, every part of her covered except her eyes and her shiny purple cell phone.

Impossibly cool kids with giant 'fros skateboard down the street in packs and senior citizens scoot solo on Razors.

Downstairs, in the coffee shop on the corner, every table is taken up by a cafe dweller with a Mac.

Standing in line at the Trader Joe's, which snakes around the entire store and is actually quite complicated, I watched as a verbal tussle broke out between a young student wearing earbuds, an old white-haired lady (oldies do lose their inhibition, don't they?) and a lady who, in classic NY fashion, chimed in with her perspective on the entire incident (a perceived butting-in-line). The last time I saw an impromptu people mash-up was while traveling in Bamako, when Tania and I got into an argument with our shady cab driver and all the people on the street gathered around to work it out for us. In Toronto, it's like everyone is surrounded by an invisible force-field a la Lost, that inhibits anyone from speaking to a stranger. Your head could be aflame and passerby would just stare straight ahead. Here, I find myself chatting about Lady Gaga in line at the corner store, and you don't even have to be talking about a reigning pop icon. At the grocery yesterday, we had a full 5-minute conversation with a nice man. Topic? Red chile flakes.

It's a strange blend, the East Village, both riche-chichi and grimy. I know my impression of a developing world vibe comes from being Canadian, where it's really orderly and clean and all systems are a go, and only having experienced this kind of exciting unpredictability in places that aren't technically first-world. The East Village, though, is both. Rich and struggling, luxurious and...not. My eyes and nose say, Fancy AND smelly.

As our friend Dave pointed out, the vibe here changes with each step, from block to block. I love Avenue A and our proximity to Tompkins Square. Speaking of Dave and Jacqui, they had us over for a homemade pizza dinner with lots of wine, a welcome to the neighbourhood. It was so comforting! Being invited for a meal in someone's home is sincerely the nicest way to land in a new place. We're among friends already!

And celebs. I saw James Iha with his pug the other day and passed Luke Wilson on the street last night. That's about as much excitement as we've had because Isaac and I are just working a lot and setting up shop, i.e. lots and lots of errands. We are working in our funny little apartment, Skyping, typing, even recording V/Os (it turns out our first joint project ever will be Isaac's latest assignment which is an animation for a Dutch health portal...I'm reading the script - not what I imagined our first joint project would be, but it's fun!).

Tonight we will actually socialize by going out for dinner. A note on food: I am both in awe and fear. All this exciting, enticing food could easily become a trap in which my wallet and winter fat suit will become entangled (go away fat suit, it's May!). Taking a stroll here is like being at a carnival of food. Everything is enticing, exciting and you can't go a step without finding something delicious to buy and stuff in your face. Take another step and there's an entirely different but equally delicious food to stuff. Another step. Another step. Et voila, Pinkberry-falafel-hot slice-ramen overload.

That's all for now. I am off to a lesson at the Apple store in SoHo.

Spring Survival

2010-04-08T14:59:00.003-05:00

Oh hey, April! You are just like last year from January through May, when I thought, "I just need to get through this and survive." Not that I'm not having fun. It's just that you are totally poised to CRUSH ME.

Can't wait to wriggle out the other side into May.

Let's Rewind Thailand

2010-01-15T03:53:00.002-05:00

I couldn't write from Thailand because we decided to pack light and not bring our computers. We weren't sure what kind of accommodation we'd be in for with the bike tour. Turns out we stayed in super chi-chi hotels. Total luxury.

Every morning, we'd head out on the bikes. The paved roads in the countryside are gorgeous and smooth and have a generous shoulder. It's perfect for cycling, as is the weather. We passed tons of rice fields with the jagged Chang Dao mountain range as a backdrop. Really, now. It was perfect.

Lunch was always a stop at a roadside noodle shop. They look kind of dirty but the food on the plate (about $1) always tasted like the most amazing thing I'd ever eaten. Literally. The flavours boggle the brain.

Sometimes we'd stop for a snack, too. One memorable stop involved lots of rice with coconut milk steamed in these little banana leaves folded into pockets. Delicious AND cute. My kind of snack. At one point we also stopped for grilled rat meat. The rat man wasn't there, though (TOO BAD). We kept moving.

Oh, did I mention that Heather Graham was staying at our resort on New Year's Eve? She sat at the table next to us during meals. Isaac and I didn't want to tell our guides about Heather because I thought it was cool that nobody was recognizing her, even the Americans. Only Isaac. He was constantly freaked out that Tom, our cringe-worthy American guide, might say something to embarrass us in front of Heather. It was highly amusing. I've never seen him like this. Isaac cares the least about celebrities of any person I know but he was the one who spotted her, not me. She is a total hippie and gorgeous.

On New Year's Eve we lit fire balloons, which are made of tissue paper and wire. They're basically hot air balloons the size of a sofa cushion. You light them and think of all your bad luck and worries being attached to them. It feels amazing when you let go and watch them rise high into the sky. You can actually visualize your bad feelings just floating away. I really want to do this at home but am afraid I would set Joe and Marge's house on fire.

After our highly civilized bike tour, we went south and so did our standards. We started staying in cheaper rooms (uh, will you believe $8?) which made me wonder, What are we? Are we adults or not? Backpackers or not? $8 room kind of people or not?

As we went further south, we hit a few beach towns, one of which is really a giant European retirement home. In Hua Hin, Isaac had a few shirts custom made by Mr Raju, a fascinating man who is Nepalese but was born in Burma, leaving Burma to set up shop making shirts for Scandinavian retirees. His young male relative, a refugee from Burma, worked the door, getting Isaac's attention (he's a pretty good little sales guy). He's 16 but looks 12 and wears impeccable tailored clothing and flip flops. His father died which is why Mr. Raju took him in and is teaching him the biz.

At first, Thailand seems like a traveler's paradise. After scratching the surface, some of the sadness and poverty become all too apparent. We saw people literally lying in the gutter in Bangkok, garbage and dirt in their hair, a mother covered in scabs with two small children. Even on the bike tour, we went to a Cayanne village, the Cayanne women being famous for being "long-neck" with the brass rings around their neck. Our tour guide told us that these Burmese refugees keep the money they get from selling handicrafts and that while some villages are run by Bangkok bosses, the one we were going to wasn't exploitative. After reading this, however, I cried and wished I hadn't gone at all. It's not about making a few pennies from handicrafts at this point. I felt so terrible. It's hard to be a responsible tourist when you leave the planning to your guide, which is what I took away from the awful experience.

Also, I learned to trust my gut. At first, at the Cayanne village, the colours dazzle. The smiling women with their elaborate outfits are alluring. But the young girls weaving all looked miserable and I knew it. As we left, Isaac and I mused about how wrong it was that they weren't in school and how we never would have ended up there had a tour guide not taken us. I shouldn't have left our ethics and comfort level up to the discretion of my guide.

Well, that is a super-fast overview of our two weeks in Thailand. Overall it was an incredible trip but there are only so many giant cockroach sightings you can take, you know?

Now here I am in Jeju, where it is warming up a little. I'm in a PC-bang ("PC room") where kids sit in a darkened room with no windows (baby casino?) and play Starcraft. It's smoky in here and the kids sit at computers in rows and all I can hear around me is shooting, explosions and war sounds. It's hilarious. The kids are so sweet and docile but they are totally sitting there figuring out how to explode armies. The girl next to me looks just like me but younger and cuter, with big glasses and an immaculate mushroom cut, and is killing a ton of aliens with a pack of smokes by her side.

Isaac is back at our hotel, convalescing (he has a cold!). I am going to go take him some tea now. Bye!

Day One on the Rock, Jeju Island

2010-01-14T05:16:00.003-05:00

We just did a whirlwind tour of Thailand. It began with luxury hotels and cycling the gorgeous countryside and ended with a mad dash through oppressively smoggy Bangkok, taking a taxi (stuck in traffic), then Skytrain, then bus (stuck in traffic somewhere else) then tuk-tuk, then running to grab our bags at our hotel and make our flight.

We went from being slimy with sweat all day (I know, you hate me for complaining about heat, right?) to arriving in Korea which is experiencing the coldest weather and biggest snowfall they've ever experienced in their recorded history (so there, we're in the same boat).

Jeju Island is deadsville right now and it makes sense. It's normally a play paradise for Koreans on vacation. This isn't exactly vacation-inducing weather. Isaac has a cold. Boo!

We have to go find him some soondooboo or anything in a bowl that's hot and bubbling. My fingers are so freezing it's hard to type. It is also hard to blog with Isaac leaning over my shoulder the entire time (right, Isey?).

So in other words, I know I haven't written much but there's more to come. I'm not lying, Andrea!

Northern Thailand Says Hello

2010-01-01T10:25:00.003-05:00

You think you know how to ride a bike until you try and ride 150 km. Then, you realize, that you're an elephant with a paintbrush, picturing Michelangelo. Clumsy analogy but guess what? We saw elephants with paintbrushes!*

We are in northern Thailand right now and will continue on our last day of cycling tomorrow towards the Myanmar border. It's gorgeous and warm during the day and very chilly at night. We rode around mountainous terrain in the searing afternoon heat and when we'd do a hairpin turn, frigid mountain air would blast us after the turn. Can you imagine anything so amazing? The first time I felt it, I was shocked.

Today we also went to Fang Hot Springs (love the town name, "Fang") where the water is so hot, Thais just boil their eggs in it. Well, they soak in it too, as evidenced by the fact that we couldn't get a private bath because the line was too long. That's ok! We just soaked our feet in the outside pool with some old guys and a little kid running around in his underwear. A hot water soak is good on the feet after a long day. Well, anything besides your own sweaty socks is good on the feet after a long day.

We've done so much I can't believe I'm writing about sweaty socks but I feel slightly rushed as our time is up on the computer. Gotta run! Sa wat dee bee mai kah! Happy New Year!

*I promise photos at a later date. Pinky swear.

Merry Kuh-lee-suh-mas-suh in Seoul

2009-12-26T01:37:00.002-05:00

We spent Christmas naked with strangers. Not a Korean tradition! Well, the naked with strangers part is...

Eemo and Eemoboo took us to a public bath. Awesome. The men went their way and we went ours. After 30 minutes of scrubbing, soaping and soaking with the ajummahs, all four of us met up in the jjimjilbang, which was a first for me.

It's a subterranean hang-out for people old, young and in between. There are jute mats in the main, broad room and you just kind of loll around, having a snack if you feel like, watching the flat-screen TV, too. The main area is surrounded by doors that lead into rooms, dry saunas really, that are hot, hotter, hottest and death-hot, the latter being where Eemoboo liked to hang out most, staying in for at least 30 minutes (I started to become concerned but I guess he's just super-Korean that way).

We were all wearing our cute jailhouse outfits, i.e., they give you shorts and t-shirt to wear, pink for women and blue for men.

In the dry saunas, there are TVs. Why not?

I couldn't take too much of the intense heat. The "chill-out room," as we called it, was my favourite, the walls covered in frost inside, heated bodies cooling off in what is essentially a giant fridge. You perch on little wooden stumps. When there's nothing to do but sit there, your mind wanders, re-calling movies where characters get trapped in meat lockers. Isaac and I tried to guess how long it would take before we would die in there, if for some reason we got stuck. Don't worry - it wouldn't happen - jjimjilbangs are open 24 hours, which is one of the reasons why they're popular. If you're out for a night of drinking and miss the last subway (easy to do since they stop around midnight), you just go into a jjimjilbang for like $5 - $10 and hang out all night, sleeping on the jute mat. Korean slumber party! Just don't get too close to people who are too drunk. Ick.

No drunkenness in the afternoon, just families hanging out on the mats with their babies, like an indoor sauna picnic. After starting in the public bath, then sweating it out in the saunas in the jjimjilbang, you go back to the bath to soak and rinse a bit. We emerged 3 hours later, thoroughly relaxed to the bone.

I caught myself thinking, "I wish we had public baths at home," then thought of what it would be like to run into all of Queen Street, naked. Nightmare. So uh, I guess being naked in public doesn't work unless it's part of the culture.

As for Christmas, if you want to know what Christmas is like for Koreans, it doesn't have the nesting, family-time importance here. That's reserved for New Year's, as well as other occasions. On Christmas, it's about partying with your friends and going on a romantic date. Everyone buys fancy cakes in boxes and carts them around, to bring home, or to a noraebang or a coffee shop or wherever you're having your date. Presents aren't that big a deal except between girl and boyfriends. As for the Christmas mall rush, you can't avoid it because that's basically EVERY DAY IN SEOUL, so, you know.

Isaac and I spent Boxing Day morning packing up our apartment in Yeomchang (sad!) and have schlepped all our stuff to my cousin's house in Ilsan where everyone will get together for dinner tonight. Then my cousin will drive us to the airport for Thailand tomorrow. Sorry no photos - one day I'll have an ethernet umbilical cord through which to upload. Until then, just words.

xo.

Bonghwa Bound

2009-12-21T21:36:00.003-05:00

Instead of Shanghai, we are taking a bus into the countryside to visit my aunt and uncle who live outside of Bonghwa, a town so small it's not on the map in our Lonely Planet. Time to go!

Cute Alert: 600-Year-Old Fire-Breathing Dog

2009-12-21T08:19:00.004-05:00

Koreans can make anything cute! Even a 600-year-old fire-eating dog that looks like a lion, carved in stone and standing guard to protect palaces and important places (think gargoyle!). See below, the haetae at Gwanghwamun.

Now meet the updated version, Haechi. I love.

Clothing Explosion

2009-12-21T08:17:00.002-05:00

Whenever we do our laundry, Isaac says it looks like our washing machine threw up. We have a washing machine but no dryer, so we hang our clothes on an extra ethernet cable tied to two open cabinets on opposite sides of the room. Just making do!

Tough City Rush Hour

2009-12-21T05:10:00.005-05:00

This morning was Day 2 of Shanghai Debacle. We woke up early to head to the Chinese Embassy to try and get same day tourist visas and slip on a flight this evening. We went packed and ready to hit the airport, just in case (ever the optimists!).

We usually avoid rush hour but today couldn't help it. One mental image remains from this morning that depicts the difference between our languorous life in Canada and a city like Seoul, where trains pass you by unless you fight to get on.

The subway platform was packed, with everyone lined up in an orderly fashion. As the train pulled into the station, it was obvious that it was already crammed with more people than you'll ever see on the subway in Toronto, at any hour. The doors opened. Isaac and I just stood there as a wave of people rushed on. They jumped in where there was no room and MADE room.

One older salt-n-pepper gentleman clawed his way in and clung to the doorframe like a spider. A kid in a puffy parka moshed his way onto the train. Everyone ignored an ineffectual, pimply young monitor who politely asked Puffy and Spiderman to step off each time the doors re-opened as it sensed blockage between the doors. The doors opened and closed three times. The monitor had a baton like a short light sabre and wore a sash like a very official pageant-winner. The doors would close then re-open and Monitor would pinch a bit of the thin nylon of Puffy's parka between his thumb and forefinger. "Excuse me," tug, tug, "Please step off and wait for the next train." Puffy pretended not to hear or feel him, steadfastly staring into the sardine can subway car. Doors open, close, open, close. These two held up a lot of people for a very long minute because they could not let the train pass them by.

I was horrified. If getting to work requires athletic feats of genteel yet fierce tenacity, what does it take to get THROUGH a work day here?

We missed two trains this way, getting to the Chinese embassy at the stroke of 9. After visiting the embassy and two travel agencies, it became clear that we weren't going anywhere. At least the second travel agent, a kindly, rumpled older man, was nice. He wore a sweater under a nubbly tweed blazer and reading glasses with just one arm, which wasn't a reflection on how hard he would hustle, calling and faxing around on our behalf. Alas, there was really was no way to salvage our Shanghai itinerary. He suggested we get our money refunded (ha!) and tried to make us feel better about our mistake, saying, "There's no visa requirement between Korea and Canada, so it probably just didn't occur to you," although he did add, "You can't travel to China from anywhere without a visa" (but in a nice way, really).

We schlepped our overnight bag across the street to the Myeong-dong movie theatre and saw Avatar, which took longer than it would have taken to fly to China.

After, I bought some glasses (they took 20 minutes, on the spot) and we stumbled upon the dumpling restaurant I fell in love with three years ago. We devoured a bunch in 5 minutes, tops.

This morning, we were on a high of efficiency and tenacity, trying to make our Shanghai trip work. Then, we were just distracted by James Cameron's flight scenes and accompanying pan flute score. But as the day wore on and I trudged around the city lost and alone, I thought about how tough life is in this city. I've had that thought many times over the past month. But Puffy Parka and Spiderman this morning really clinched it.

Giant Mistake Day

2009-12-20T06:20:00.004-05:00

This morning, we got up after a few short hours of sleep and somehow stumbled through our morning routine to get to the airport. The train from Yeomchang to Incheon airport was blissfully easy. We wandered the sprawling, sci-fi cavern of the airport (they have gardens in there! a performance stage! a giant spa!) and found the check-in counter for China Southern Air. We got up to the counter and handed over our passports. The girl asked, "Do you have a visa to travel to China?"

Game over. I knew it right then!

HOW could we not have checked whether we need visas to enter China? What a colossal mistake. We said all the stupid things one might expect in that situation: "You need a visa to travel to China? We're Canadian!"

I turned to Isaac and said, "Oh well, it's just money," because I didn't want him to feel too bad about the flights and hotel. The girl at the counter seemed impatient to get on to the next, properly-documented individual in the long line behind us but it was taking us a second to get our jaws off the floor.

As we silently ascended a long escalator, I thought, "Am I not too old to be making such stupid mistakes?" Is there really no age limit to extremely inconvenient, gigantic oversights? It's so embarrassing.

We went to the food area for some overpriced noodles because we hadn't eaten yet. Isaac said, "This will be our secret shame," but of course now I'm blogging it.

We took the train back to our apartment and crawled back into bed before our flight to Shanghai had even climbed into the sky. So sad.

We didn't wake up until the sun had set. What a gross, vampire day. We went to the closest resto in our neighbourhood for dinner. It's always packed. It's the place where the waiter, in our first week, agreed to give us a patio table for the duration of our stay, so I've always felt fond of it but awkward about going in, like I'd have to make small talk to the effect of, "Oh hi, we're the weirdos who dropped in asking to borrow your patio table for a month."

I had been looking forward to some donkatsu. It turns out that despite the Japanese decor, it is not a Japanese restaurant (strike one), instead, it's a smoky bar (strike two) and we ordered the first thing on the menu which turned out to be crazy-spicy odeng (fish cake) and a giant plate of even spicier blood sausage, the exact thing I've been avoiding this entire trip (BLOOD SAUSAGE - YES, this is strike three!).

Blood sausage - I mean, really. Blood sausage is quite popular here on the streets as a quick grab and as a food to eat while you're drinking. It's rice noodles in an intestine casing with blood. It is black. I don't want to eat that! But somehow I ordered a giant plate of it for the two of us even though the menu has photos and English words. How did I manage that?

Sometimes when you're traveling (or NOT as the case may be for us today), it all just comes down to having a good meal. Today we couldn't catch a break.

Party Time Countdown to Shanghai

2009-12-19T14:41:00.004-05:00

Everything we do here is fun and exciting, even the boring stuff. Unfortch, I don't have any time to write about it! Especially right this second as it is 4:30 in the morning and I reek of smoke (people smoke indoors here, including in tiny karaoke rooms where Kevin does amazing renditions - again! - of Mariah Carey). I really hate it when my winter coat and hair smell like smoke. I think the people next to me on my FLIGHT IN THE MORNING will hate it more.

Today we went with Eemo and Eemoboo to Nam Han San Seong (which she herself called Ajummah Mountain, which gave me lots of laughs). Also, to a delicious lunch resto. Also, she helped me by calling the hotel I want to stay at in Jeju and booking for me. Also, that is about it for me right this second. Isaac is drinking water upside down trying to get rid of his hiccups which are exactly like the kind of hiccups cartoons get when they are drunk. He is now leaning back and drinking, now looking at me and laughing. This night has gone on way too long. We will regret it in the morning.

Oh and btw, the reason why we were out? Our new friend Irene's 30th birthday party. Vietnamese food, 90s hip hop, international crowd, lots of fun, house party, then to a cool club in Apgujung named Platoon made of recycled shipping containers, then to insane club where a duo that looks like Extreme after 20 years of meth playing their weird throbbing headbanger techno (with an Israeli flag draped in front), then to a noraebang, ending with renditions of Mariah's Touch My Body (lots of awesome syncopation, did R Kelly do that one? Jermaine Dupri?) -- also I realized that We Built This City really split the crowd into 30+ and the twentysomethings.

Good night! Tomorrow - Shanghai!

Date Night in Seoul

2009-12-15T10:54:00.005-05:00

Isaac and I once took Mom to see a doc during Hot Docs on a Korean courtship rituals. It included a scene that showed this amazing array of locks in Seoul, all crowded and bunched up in an area that has taken on some sort of romantic significance. Couples write messages neatly onto the padlocks in cute, boxy Korean letters and then lock them onto the fence...FOREVER. Times a gazillion.

The other day, Isaac suggested we walk up Nam San to the N Seoul Tower. We did (huff, huff, 1200 m into the sky later....), then turned a corner...and saw the sea of locks! This is it!

Too bad we didn't bring a lock!

That's ok, because we had a romantic date in a place that so totally appeals to the squealing, Korean teen in me and Tom Cruise was our (tiny, intense) special guest.

We were wandering, looking for a coffee in Hongdae. I looked up into the sky and saw a sign that said, "Cafe Bang Bang." Isaac likes to make fun of the name but I just knew from the cute quotient of the sign that it would be great. And I was right.

The place was EXTREMELY CUTE. When you walk in, teenage attendants take your shoes and put them in a locker. Then they take you to your private cubbyhole. It has a floor-to-ceiling window and is swathed in rose wallpaper with faux Victorian sconces on the wall and a floor cushioned with the kind of vinyl mat you use in grade school gym class. There's a wee table and a flat-screen TV, on which we watched bits of Mission Impossible 3. You can pay 6000W ($6) for "self-serve" treats (popcorn, juice bar, coffee) or order from the menu, which I did, getting a gigantic frozen yogurt pat bing soo (the main ingredient to the BEST DATE EVER).

I keep talking about Cafe Bang Bang wistfully, like, "Wasn't it the best?" Isaac doesn't entirely agree. I think being shut into a miniscule, frou-frou room with tons of sugar, instant coffee and a giant TV is actually pretty close to being his biggest nightmare. But look at the view! I loved it.

Black Hanbok and White Chrysanthemums - A Funeral

2009-12-13T08:13:00.005-05:00

Today was a very sad day. We went to my uncle's funeral this morning. The funeral home was in the basement of the hospital. Cancer is so cruel. It isn't fair to spend your last days in pain.

We bowed to his portrait surrounded by white chrysanthemums. All the women wore black hanbok. They also pinned tiny, white ribbons in their hair. It reminded me that Mom didn't allow me to wear white barrettes when I was younger because she said it meant someone had died.

How do people remain so composed at funerals and not simply crumble into tears? I guess there's nothing but the company of others to hold the grief at bay.

We ate lots of food and the soju started flowing around noon, which helped (although I couldn't bring myself to drink it that early - Isaac let himself be goaded into three shots). All our family was there, including people I've never seen, like two of Dad's cousins. It was a nice thing to see so much of our family again, especially when we're told funny stories, like my father's uncle did (he loves telling stories).

One lasting image from today is from when everyone gathered to say goodbye to me and Isaac, everyone who knew us, anyway - all the women, my cousins and their husbands, my uncles and my father's uncle. We had bowed to everyone individually already. They all gathered and followed us to the brink of the doorway as put our shoes back on, a row of black hanbok, a sea of kind faces. I gave one last wave and the sea waved back.

As soon as I hit the hallway, the tears really started flowing. It's hard to say goodbye when you didn't feel you had the language to know them well enough in life. I'm so afraid of losing the older generation that way, each a locked box of treasures I'll never hear.

I'll remember my uncle as a gentle grandfather with an easy smile, putting on his newsboy cap whenever he headed out to teach his calligraphy class. I count myself lucky when I think back to the times I was able to watch him practicing his brush strokes diligently at home.

Noraebang at the Dollhouse

2009-12-11T02:31:00.007-05:00

Friday night we went out with our new friends Kevin and Irene. They're from Toronto but Irene lives here and DJs at this amazing bar that is built like the inside of a fairy tale mushroom (except that it's all made of concrete so don't wipe out, a genuine concern while creeping up and down the narrow, winding stairs).

You take off your shoes before you go in and put them in a bag that you carry around with you. They have hookah pipes there for 10 000 W, too ($10). The place was designed by the owner, whom we met. He must be Seoul's only goth (and he is committed to it!) from his laced tails to his fur stole and top hat.

After a drink at the bar, we went to Luxury noraebang ("karaoke"), which is what it's called (it lives up to the name). It has three levels (plus a lower level, invisible to the street) - the wall facing the street is all glass, which makes it look like a dollhouse. All the adorable decor doesn't hurt, either.

When we were shown to our room, we had a collective OMG fit. The room is so cute, with a depressed seating area covered in frilly cushions, giant screen plus one on each side of the room, and a mirrored wall for checking yourselves out while dancing to Rhythm Nation (which pleased this crowd of four). You know what else is a crowd-pleaser? Kevin doing Mariah. He was also quite good at that Antichrist song by Marilyn Manson which kept Isaac and I giggling all the way home. We just had one thing to do before we left Luxury, shutting the place down - we all took turns lyring down on the see-through floor for a photo shoot - irresistible, right?
Noraebang - too much fun!

"Hi Seoul!"

2009-12-10T06:53:00.001-05:00

"Would You Mind Taking A Photo?"

2009-12-10T06:37:00.007-05:00

Isaac takes pictures of me and I take pictures of him. When you ask a passerby to take a picture of the both of you, this happens:

Honestly, now. Really? It's merely mildly exasperating now - the humour has kinda worn off although I do remember laughing myself silly at the top of the Eiffel Tower with Mom a few years ago. That was RIDICULOUS. The above photo is merely, "Are you on a boat?"

Then there's asking Dad when there's only room for one flick left on your memory card and the fake wedding procession at Korea Folk Village, at a standstill for photo ops, hasn't noticed you getting reeeally close to the horse and so they've started up their music again, making you go, "WHOA!" because the horse you put your face next to is now snuffling and huffling and it startled you and...*SNAP!*. I wish you guys could zoom in on my face. We laughed about it for a long time ("And Dad, please make sure you get the big guy with the Beta cam in the background, he is a good buddy" - NOT).

What, This Old Thing?

2009-12-09T07:01:00.005-05:00

Mom is a crafty lady.

Today she told us to meet her at Namdaemun, the ginormous market. Great! No need to discuss any further. It's obvious we're going shopping, right?

We got to the subway exit and found Eemo there. Whee! Eemo was taking us to Mom who was in the market...buying...hanbok?! Uh oh.

Hanbok are the traditional Korean outfits, brightly coloured, silken, flowing robes. Mom had suggested buying hanbok for me and for Isaac earlier in the trip but I had gently declined.

"Mom - when will we ever wear it? It's a nice idea, but really - it's ok." I thought we were agreed. That's what it seemed like, anyway. Not the case.

Eemo led us through teeming streets filled with carts piled high with winter coats, people yelling their prices, ("Man won! Man won ja li!") storefronts blaring K-pop. I was protesting the whole way, telling Eemo I'd already TOLD Mom that we don't need hanbok. Eemo nodded and made sympathetic faces, which I love about her, and said, "But I think your Mom just really wants to buy these for you because it's tradition and you just got married."

We went up a stairwell where a young market worker was smoking a cigarette, turned a corner and popped into a 3rd floor sea of fabrics where I saw Mom's face lean out from inside a booth.

I smiled and waved, thinking, "What on earth is she doing?" Mom indicated to the lady in the stall that we were approaching. Within 5 seconds of saying, "Hey Mom," I was being unburdened of my winter coat and having a chartreuse floor-length outfit put onto me, princess-style, like a paper doll with arms outstretched. This little hanbok-selling grandma was all over me and she was fast.

As she was tying me in tightly, over my bulky sweater, I looked over at Mom. "Uh Mom? Remember I said that I don't think Isaac and I need hanbok?"

On goes the little bolero jacket with wide sleeves. And it is snapped shut. It is electric lime green. I ask if there's anything else, knowing that this means I am now complicit (well, I couldn't let that lime green just happen to me, you know?). Less than one minute in the store and here I was sweating in my boots, sweater and a gigantic, floor-length gown.

The clothes are deemed a perfect fit, whipped off me and the little halmuni with the satoori accent goes spinning over in Isaac's direction. All the halmuni's in the area are saying things like, "He is handsome," "He is tall," "That is a grrreat colour on him," "His Korean is so good!" (This last one is in response to his saying, "Thank you," or "Kamsa hamnida" - Koreans are very easily impressed).

By this time, seeing Isaac in a shimmering pink confection from head-to-toe, I was beginning to enjoy myself. Mom told me later she had chosen this vendor because she said she had extra large sizes for foreigners. Standing there, swimming in fabric, Isaac asked for a little hat. I told him those black hats are just for babies and kings. "I am a King!" Yes, Isaac, you are a King.

It took all of 10 minutes to become the proud new owners of two beautiful hanbok. Feel free to book us for New Year's bowing ceremonies and children's parties.

Samulnori and A Gang of Tough, Cute Jockeys

2009-12-06T10:07:00.004-05:00

I wanted to post a few clips of the performances at Korea Folk Village last week. I love all the clanging rhythms of samulnori (I'm pretty sure it's single-handedly responsible for why I wanted to get into the pots and bang them as a kid).

I'd been here once before when I was five and remember watching this farmer's dance. The ribbons! The pompoms! The feather-duster guy in the center and the funny, squealing horn! (Sorry, but the horn-blower was out of the frame the whole time).

And check out the guy in the video above. He is so OG. An incarnation of a long-ago, living and breathing rural farmhand and b-boy, at the center of a pompom 'n' percussion cypher.

The highlight of the day were these guys on horses. They would do tricks like flipping around the horse, gymnastics-style, or standing up with no hands as the animals galloped full-speed. I loved it. All the galloping was exciting, plus the little jockeys were ADORABLE, like anime come to life. One guy repeatedly exclaimed something that sounded like, "West side!" which we still say to each other once in a while during a lull in conversation.

What We Did in Gyeung Ju

2009-12-06T07:24:00.009-05:00

The first weekend after we arrived in Korea, my Eemo and Eemoboo (aunt and uncle) took us on a road trip to GyeungJu. It's where Koreans go on holiday to sightsee, a main attraction being all the royal tombs from the Silla dynasty.

These tombs, large humps of grass that rise out of the land, are up to 1600 years old, surviving centuries of clashes and wars and occupation and dynastic change.

They buried royalty by placing each king, along with precious items like jewelry and weapons, into a wooden coffin in the ground. Then, it was covered with a giant mound of rocks, then a layer of dirt. It becomes a grassy hill. Some of them still have tombstones, statues of tortoises or carved Chinese zodiac animals, but lots of them are now anonymous tombs.

Isaac and I wandered all day, chauffered by Eemoboo and his nephew. Eemobo was on a crutch because of a bad bike accident he was in this summer (we saw the x-ray of the giant hunk of metal he has screwed into his thigh bone!) but he still managed to lead the charge at every location. Even with a hobble, he's really fast.

Isaac and I went by ourselves to visit an ancient temple named Bulguksa, and then a newer temple with a Buddhist restaurant on site. Eemoboo and his nephew had scoped it out as the best restaurant in town and swooped in to pick us up and take us for lunch. All the food revolved around the lotus root and was delicate and delicious. It was almost too pretty to eat. Almost.

At night, on our own, we wandered into a fish market, with long corridors lined with tanks filled to overflowing, silver fish on ice, whitish pink squids hanging like glistening mopheads, and the most disturbing bowl of sea creatures I have ever seen (we later Googled it and found that the way to look it up is to Google "Korean penis fish" - really, try it).

At the market, we had a very modest dinner of ddeokbokgi and kimbap and pumpkin juk. We'd been having delish dinners with our family around the clock and having escaped for a few hours on our own, eating a cheap little meal in a fluorescent-lit corner of a fish market with wet floors was really nice and cozy, actually. The soju helped.

As we left Gyeung Ju, we stopped by a farm for the real reason why Eemo tagged along on our trip - to pick up 30 washed cabbages to take home and make into kimchi. The farmers were quite taken by Isaac's charm, even without any language in common, and insisted we have some baechu jun (cabbage lightly breaded and fried) with maeshil (umeboshi) moonshine. Actually, we took a bottle home and I'm drinking it right now. It's really fruity, syrupy and thick. Tastes like the Korean countryside!

How To Drink Like A Korean Businessman, or Don't Be A Nerd

2009-12-04T21:09:00.004-05:00

My cousins Bumjun and Jungjoon work hard and play harder. Jungjoon works in marketing. Bumjun is an investment banker who regularly entertains international clients. They decided to teach us the rules on how to drink like Korean businessmen.

1. You must drink or else you are a nerd.
2. You've got to match everyone glass for glass.
3. After your host does a shot, they'll pass the glass to you and you're supposed to use it. Sharing the cup is important. When it comes to germs, again - don't be a nerd.
4. When you "cheers" ("gunbae!" or "weehayo!"), watch the other person's glass. If they "do bottoms up," you should do the same.
5. When someone pours you some booze, you must lift your cup with two hands to accept respectfully. You can do the physical abbreviation, which is holding the cup with one hand and putting the other hand to your elbow. This sign of respect and is a rule for absolutely anything, not just getting wrecked with Korean bankers - you cannot give or receive anything from someone with just one hand. That's ruuude.
6. When someone pours you a drink, accept, then reciprocate and pour one for them.
7. Bonus: "Poktanju" or "The Bomb" is something these guys all do. You start by mixing a shot of soju into a beer (which we did, and it's actually pretty good) but then gets crazier and crazier until it involves whiskey and RED WINE, too.

The drinks were flowing so fast I had to pretend I was drinking by the end of it. Everything was downed like a shot, including our soju-fortified glasses of beer. For someone who is silly at half a glass, I really should have stopped drinking around, oh, 7:30 pm.

After a kalbi restaurant with soju and beer, we went for more food and sake at an izakaya. We didn't go for the "third car" ( like in a train) which would have been noraebang, or karaoke. We wisely called it a night. Well, we didn't have a choice. Jungjoon fell asleep at the table and had to work in the morning. And I just couldn't drink any more.

Subway Diversions

2009-12-04T03:53:00.005-05:00

Every day we ride the subway. I love the subway in Seoul (except when it's rush hour although there was that time, squeezed in like crazy, that Isaac was making me burst out laughing by giving me a quiet play-by-play on how "a businessman's bum" was "touching" his bum and that he was very uncomfortable about it). (He later demonstrated for me when we got home, saying, "See? That doesn't feel good, does it?").

Because we don't have smartphones and watch TV shows and movies on them like everyone else on the subway, we zone out by watching the monitors above the subway doors. Question: Do you find this ad as disturbing as we do? We both had the same initial reaction to it, which goes something like this: Euh? Unnhhhhewww.

Tell me, though, that this isn't the coolest thing ever. Who needs an iPhone?

Visiting Family, Alive and in the Afterlife

2009-12-04T03:11:00.006-05:00

It's really important to go around and greet all your family members, especially when the whole point of the trip is to celebrate your matrimonial union.

One thing you should do is bow. Like, really bow. It's called "jul" and Isaac already knows how to do it because my parents taught him to do it for them on New Year's Day. You slowly float down to the ground and then bend over, your head to your hands on the ground, pause, then slowly get back up. Usually you say a greeting.

When we saw my halmuni (grandma), we were to do this.

"What are we supposed to say?" Isaac asked.

"Oh don't say anything," I responded. "I'll do the talking." I was hurriedly trying to practice, "Halmuni, live a healthy and happy long life," in my head in Korean.

Isaac wanted to say something, too. "Should I say....Yeobosayo?"

Just as an example of humour that doesn't cross languages and cultures, this was the FUNNIEST THING HE HAS SAID TO ME in many, many months. I told Mom and we shrieked with laughter and my whole family bust up giggling. Oh, poor Isaac *hand squeeze*. It's ok.

"Yeobosayo" is how you say "hello" when you pick up the phone. It's not what you say when you bow deeply to your elders, although it's easy to see why Isaac might think it could be. A greeting's a greeting, right? Not in Korean!

On another day, there was some confusion as to whether we should bow to my uncle, who is in the last stages of life, dying of cancer. I didn't know why we shouldn't but learned later that it was a bit superstitious - it's as if deeply bowing to him might invite his death to come around earlier. We greeted him as we usually would, with a bow standing up. Even though he is in considerable pain, and on lots of painkillers, his eyes were bright and he greeted us with scattered thoughts from a deep and fundamental place in his being.

He told Isaac that we are a "yangban" family (noble, aristocratic), which I hadn't ever known or even thought about. At first, I thought it was a strange thing to say in your first greeting to a new member of the family, but given the context, it actually makes perfect sense. When every little scrap of info I learn about my family is a revelation, this was a big one.

Later, when Dad took me and Isaac to Korea Folk Village, we stood inside a genuine yangban household and he told me that his grandfather had a house just like it in a village that is now in North Korea. I guess I hadn't thought back any further than my Dad's own immigrant, hardscrabble experience and his war-torn childhood before that. I hadn't thought of a richer time and what it's like to lose so much status. My uncle was able to whisper that bit of information to us before we were ushered out to let him rest.

We've also visited many graves. My father's parents are in a cemetary 30 minutes from the North Korean border in a cemetary loosely translated as, "For Those Who Miss Their Homeland." It is a cemetary for North Korean refugees who came south before the border clanged shut with the end of the war.

You bow down to the ground here, too, twice for the dead. You make offerings of food for their spirits. Fruit is cut off at the top and dried fish had chopsticks placed right next to it to make it easier for their spirits to partake. Soju is poured into little cups.

We all stood in a row. My father's uncle, the eldest generation present, announced that we'd come from Canada to greet them. Then we bowed, slowly, twice in a row. Then we took the soju and poured it on their grave. We did this separately for every grave site we visited.

It was a pared-down version of the entire ritual. I know about it because we've done it many times for my uncle in Toronto. My parents hardly remember all the little details of how to do it. I've always been a tag-along participant. How will these rituals live on through me and into the future? I guess they're not mine - they're of the people who still live here...

Pop that Makkgeoli, It's a Housewarming for Two

2009-12-03T08:34:00.005-05:00

This is our home in Seoul. It's a tiny box, three floors up, in a building so new they had to turn on the heat just for us (the first night was a cold one - indoor camping!).

I'm in love with the place and its simplicity. What you're seeing in this pic is literally the entire thing. If you turned around, you would see the red plastic patio table we borrowed from a restaurant down the street. And that's it. On the ondol floor, to the right in the photo, is our sleeping stuff - borrowed blankets and pillows, unfurled every night for bedtime. I love living out of a suitcase, especially when we actually have a tiny washing machine (whether I'll be able to figure it out remains to be seen).
Really, the best part of the apartment, though, is the bathroom. The entire thing is tiled and the drain is in the center of the floor. The tap on the sink has a handy little switch that takes the flow of water from the tap to the shower. Spot a hair or a smidge of dust? Just BLAST IT with the shower head. I did that. It feels good to go a little crazy and just take that shower head and aim it all around the room. I'm all for a system where you can clean the bathroom with two seconds of high water pressure.
We don't have too much in the house. One pot, some chopsticks, some soap, our clothes, books and laptops. My iPod in a tiny, circular speaker. Oh and TONS OF BOOZE.

We picked up three bottles of wine at Home Plus, a labyrinthine store lit like the entire thing is at the center of a hot lightbulb. Home Plus is what would happen if a Wal-Mart and a carnival had a baby then let an army of apron-wearing Koreans raise it, dutifully broadcasting sale prices into megaphones all the while.

We didn't even pop those bottles before we went on a road trip to GyeungJu (more on that later) and came home with a giant bottle of maeshil moonshine, a gift from farmers we met.

Being showered in alcohol is a function of being within drinking radius of Isaac. Today, when Isaac gave his thumbs up to the makggeoli my father's uncle ordered at lunch, he was given a bottle. Whenever Isaac says he likes something (usually mimed with a thumbs up and smile which are in turn greeted by raucous Korean approval), he is bestowed with tons of it.
We're living without the basics of civility i.e. proper utensils (we have take-out chopsticks and a few plastic spoons, oh the shame) yet we've got enough booze to open our own HOF. We are such raging party animals. At this very moment, you can hear every click of my keyboard as I tippity tap away and Isaac silently draws on his computer at our plastic patio table.

Wee-ha-yo! ("Cheers!")

Pioneering in Seoul

2009-11-30T10:10:00.004-05:00

Dad, Isaac and I went to Korea Folk Village this afternoon. I made a quick video.

I promise I'll write more later but for now this will have to do. We have been kidnapped by an enthused gang of 60+ year old Korean relatives who are doggedly showing us a good time and pickling us with salty banchan and fruit moonshine while they're at it. So. I haven't had much time to write. Soon!

By the way, pompom hat, anyone? I also have an entirely new desire to do gymnastics on a galloping horse.

I Am Old: Two Items

2009-11-23T10:41:00.002-05:00

Two ways I know I am firmly in "older-people" category:

1. The New York Times knew about this before I did.
2. I mended my winter coat (fixing buttons) while watching Doubt last night. Then, this morning, I gave it a once over with a little battery-operated de-fuzzer and a lint roller. This will be this coat's NINTH winter. There are children who haven't been alive as long as I've been wearing this coat.

It's The Mom And Dad Show

2009-11-17T22:40:00.004-05:00

I recently interviewed my mom and dad for a project I'm working on and it was...weird.

The first interview with Mom went well. It was midday, we'd had a nice lunch, we were full of fun energy, and I had lots of patience for the fact that she wouldn't look at the camera or even answer my questions.

For example:

Me: Ok, to start, say your name and your age.
Mom: (In Korean, when I expressly told her we should do it in English) Oh, if only we had done this interview a few days ago, I could say I'm still in my 50s, but now I have to say I'm ...60?
Me: Uh ha ha, yeah, well. 60's great. Let's go.
Mom: (Still in Korean) Ok (laughing). Are you taping this?
Me: Yeah, Mom, it's recording.
Mom: (Laughing spasm) (In Korean) Oh my! Have you been recording all this time?
Me: Yes. Just say your name now, Mom.
Mom: (She says her name, mutters that she is 60 years of age, then looks at me). Daesuh? ("Is that enough?")

Well, no, Mom. Not "daesuh." In case you didn't notice, five minutes was spent in a weird vortex wherein we didn't do or say anything real. I mean, I'd like to point out that I already know your name. Therefore, your saying your name is not enough, you know, for my research. Research is the thing where I learn stuff.

Dad, by contrast, the overwhelmingly more taciturn half of the duo, became positively loquacious. I loved that he became impersonal, just jumping right in with no nerves to make him weird and laughy and chatty (don't think he's actually capable of the latter two). When asked about his children, he would respond to me by saying, "My children..." as if I wasn't one of them. Loved it!

Who knew he would be good at answering questions? Well, actually, I kinda knew. Still, when the tape was at 45 minutes and I told him that I'd finished with my questions for the day, I was surprised by how he responded when I asked whether he had anything to add. He proceeded to launch into a soliloquy for a wall-to-wall 15 minutes. 15 minutes! Like, the reason why we stopped was that the tape ran out. This from a man who putts his words, i.e. the fewer the better.

I know that when I transcribe, I'll see that an hour's worth of his slow speaking can be condensed into a few paragraphs. Dad talks like his words need to line up at customs before making their way out of his mouth. Usually, his baggage silently revolves at the claim inside his mind, forever.

My second interview with Mom did NOT go as well as the first. We were tired. She constantly repeated, "Daesuh?" because it was late, not because of her almost-charming nervous energy. She yawned more than she spoke. I was already cranky that day and had little patience. Then I asked her a question that involved me and ugh, it got kinda ugly.

I must say at this point that this whole doc project is WAY more personal than I'm comfortable with, but it has evolved. I'm actually grateful for the opportunity to interview my parents, who can answer questions in a formalized setting but otherwise don't want to let me into stories of their past, i.e. like normal people might as members of the same four-person family who have shared their lives for like, ever.

Plus, the logistics of this doc project have been VERY frustrating and I feel stymied, director/producer-wise. I don't want that outside stuff to bleed into the way I feel about the interactions between me, Mom and Dad.

However, my last bit of patience was exhausted when, after asking Mom to define her idea of "success," I asked for her opinion on whether I am "successful." She answered exactly as I asked her to - honestly (in case it isn't obvious, her answer was "No").

It was the next day, a Sunday spent stewing, when I realized - I still have lots of anger! The kind of anger that should remain locked in adolescent diaries forever! The kind that you shouldn't drag into adulthood because it's just not a good look. But if I'm being honest, it's there, an anger that I suspect generations of Koreans just kind of screamed into waterfalls or worked out while putting zillions of pots of cabbage into the ground or rationalized away to be respectful of elders.

Then it hit me: Am I just asking for it? What am I doing? It seemed possible that I was asking a bunch of stupid questions simply to pick a fight with my family and then RECORD it for everyone to see. I'm not the smartest bulb but even I know that no one needs an earnest, old-people, no-make-up, Korean family battle royale, a sadly pedestrian version of a VH1 show minus the hair extensions. I know nobody needs that - you don't have to tell me it's a wasted effort and a doc that nobody wants to see.

Well, the next day I called my mom...to continue the argument with a pithy missive on my stupid, crackling cordless phone (hate my dumb phone).

And the day after that...I called to apologize.

She laughed and apologized, too. And in my family, apologies are a big deal. That's what's great about my mom - her stinging response to my question has a flip side. She can be insensitive, but it's that same glib manner that means she never holds grudges and is easy to laugh.

So I guess I'm back "on" with how I feel about this project. I dunno. I just want to cobble together some semblance of being "done" with my work before I take off for the other side of Planet Earth next week...

Not My Finest Moment But Don't Get Me Started

2009-11-06T12:15:00.004-05:00

In hindsight, perhaps meeting an idealistic, starry-eyed first-year journalism student whilst hungover is not a good idea. The truth is, however, that the entire media industry is feeling this headache, so what's the diff?

This morning, I had a quick coffee interview with a student for her school assignment. Her dad works with my mom, and Mom, ever-protective, kind of tried to "forget" that her colleague had asked for my contact info on his daughter's behalf. I appreciate it, Mom (she would be a stonewall publicist).

Anyway, I find it strange that the parental connection had to be used since I am all over the internetz. No harm in a quick Google and then Tweeting me, right?

I waved off Mom's human security shield because I always like being accessible to students for assignments, although I have been burned in the past (overzealous, friendly types - if I give you some time for an interview, it does not mean we are BFFs - don't make me Gmail-block you!).

I won't mention how unprofessional the email interview request was - oops, I guess I just did. But it did give me pause. The stuff I do perhaps makes me seem very personable and suggests intimacy. I think I am, in normal contexts, quite open. But shouldn't an interview request, especially one from an aspiring journalist, be professional? Should you be "soooo" excited? Am I being harsh? Would I have written the same things at that age?

Anyway, the meeting was an interesting exercise. She asked me the question I am beginning to think I will be asked for THE REST OF MY LIFE: "Why did you leave your VJ job?" This question gets me. "Why?" "Did?" "You?" "Leave?"

Why does anyone leave a job? That question puts me in a position of bursting bubbles. Obviously, I left because I wanted to leave. The underpinning to this question is the undying belief that being a VJ must be the most amazing and fun experience any human could possibly aspire to. So. When you ask me, "Why did you leave?" you are asking me to burst your bubble. I don't like doing that. It makes me feel like a negative rant on a broken record or a big meanie who goes around with a pin, bursting balloons that kids are hanging on to and really, really believe in.

For the record, I answered truthfully and said that it was time to move on and that I had nothing left to learn in the position. Being young (and I still am!) I refuse to stagnate. But I swear to God (and more on God later) she continued to ask me, incredulously, how and why I could possibly leave such a plum job. She continued to return to the question, in many different ways, including, "Do you regret leaving?" and "Was it your choice to leave?"

For someone who requested an interview with me saying that she was interested in my work as a volunteer with an NGO, she sure did gloss over that stuff to keep asking me about **insert music station**. Sometimes I seriously feel that I am swinging a dead carcass around my neck, the carcass of my 20s, and I will carry this thing around forever. I know I'm only a few years out, but I am so tired of talking about something that is old history. In the past four, frenetic, freelance years, I have done so many different things - I have had such a wide array of experiences. I brought some of them up (radio doc in Mali! being a TV producer!) and it was like she was just waiting for me to stop talking so she could keep asking me about what I left 4 years ago. She also, in no way, has any clue what my main gig is right now, I can tell, because she never mentioned it.

Maybe I shouldn't be so harsh on her. Or maybe I'll reserve judgment for you. This was our first exchange:

Me: So, is this an assignment to interview a media professional?
Her: No. We can interview anyone but I'm sure the celebrity factor will, you know, sway my professor. We could have interviewed anyone, even a criminal.

Her obsession with celebrity (which came out in several questions) is not unique to her. But it was still a bit alarming. Upon being asked for about, oh, the fifth time, about how I could possibly leave such a celeb-awesome-osity job:

Me: The job might look really glamorous from the outside but in the end, glamour is a lie.
Her: Wow. "Glamour is a lie." That is so deep. [Pause]. Are you religious? Because you sound...

[I couldn't conceal my horror here - I'll admit I started doing some eyebrow aerobics here].

...soulful. Are you...[hesitating now]...religious?

Me: No.

I don't want to be super-negative to someone who is going into media, which I stalwartly do not believe is dead or dying (only the traditional stuff is, and while the field is fallow, something great will emerge).

HOWEVER, I probably should have given her some advice on how to be a good interviewer, which I did not. Instead, I just judged and probably let my face betray me.

SOME TOOOOOTALLY LATE TIPS ON HOW TO INTERVIEW:
1. Research.
2. Don't get your dad to call my mom to get the interview. Just look me up yourself.
3. Bring a recording device or take notes faster. I can see that you're not writing down what I say.
4. Don't tell me what I think, i.e. "I know that at ***, a VJ job is the best job you can have." Really? How do you know that?
5. Don't ask me about the other "famous" people I worked with, especially when there's one on the current cover of one of the country's most widely-available magazines, in a cover story that *I* wrote. You could have just read that. This goes back to number 1 rule.
6. Don't tell me I sound religious.
7. When I've answered a question, move on. Sometimes that means a good follow-up question, but it always means you must listen. Listen and process. I know that it's incomprehensible to you that I would leave YOUR dream job, but the more you ask me to elaborate by asking the same question over and over, increasingly imbued with your own pre-conceived notions, the more I'll get pissed. Remember, your interview subject...may be be hungover.

Sigh. I know that she is just your average wannabe VJ and that I bring a shoulder-chip or two to the table. Still, I am constantly surprised at how many people think "fame" equals "happiness." It doesn't! It can actually equal unhappiness. Wrap your mind around that, kids.

I don't want to be a burster of bubbles, but if you request an interview with me to needle me about how I could possibly leave a job as a VJ, you're asking for it.

RULES FOR MYSELF WHILE TALKING TO YOUNGER PEEPS
1. More patience.
2. Give a useful piece of career advice in person, rather than blogging it later.
3. Remember that while journalism jobs disappear faster than you can say, "But I've paid $20 000 in tuition!" journalism schools just continue to enroll more and more incoming students. At some point (graduation, maybe?), that's gonna hurt. So maybe I don't need to be the harbinger of reality. Life has a way of parsing it out in due time, anyway. Do I really need to mention that lots of journalism students end up in PR? Answer: probably not.

30-Day Challenge Update

2009-10-20T18:31:00.003-05:00

Today, I ticked off Day 8 of my 30 Day Hot Yoga challenge (or what Isaac likes to call, 30 Days of Wet Clothes on the Floor) (Ok, I'm sorry Isaac but I just need to get it out of my bag for like, a few minutes until I figure out where to hang it and the mat must remain unfurled so it can like, cool off and not be wet and gross) (I am sorry!).

I biked there at the punishing hour of 6:45 am. Is it just me or is cold weather so much crueler when it's really early? Mornings pre-dawn are absolutely disgusting. I do not want them. Rotten. Stinky. It's opening the mystery tub of leftovers at the back of the fridge. Dark. Evil. Bad.

Normally, the high after class makes up for it but I am no longer convinced that it is healthy to be leaking that much bodily fluid every day, every pore a leaky faucet. I know it's nowhere close to what those wacknut celebs do for Scientology "Purif" (purely hearsay: "Purif" is a purification ritual wherein the Scientologist sweats it out in a sauna for 7 or 8 hours every day for 7 or 8 WEEEEEKS). And Katie Holmes is still alive, so. There. I guess I can keep going and see what happens. It didn't feel good this morning. But I don't want to be a quitter.

Listen To Some Musics

2009-10-14T16:45:00.001-05:00

Today, in order:
1. Piano tuner! Pling! Pling!
2. Hot yoga. Still on a high!
3. Made a playlist. Twas fun.
4. Concluding that it has been a pretty good day. Every day doesn't have to be "productive," does it?
5. Tonight: Boggle-off. I am prepared to lose.

Perfecting Procrastination

2009-08-20T13:56:00.003-05:00

What I have done in the past 48 hours, working backwards starting at one minute ago:
1. Finished a cup of vanilla ice cream.
2. Strolled to post office to mail a bunch of wedding thank you's.
3. Read slow-news-day stories on the interweb, clicking on neverending array of links on Twitter.

See a pattern? Yes. I am procrastinating, emphasis on the "pro" because I am that good at it.

Continuing backwards....
4. Fell asleep watching True Blood.
5. Called Isaac and asked him to meet me in the park for nighttime linger because I couldn't come home to face my office. He brought bevvies! Then we talked about our phone woes and got into a tiff and biked home (boo).
6. Pottery class. Aimless maneuvering of balls of clay as I sat there with no agenda for 3 hours. Pretty nice, actually, to have no agenda except that the stuff I made is pretty darn ugly.
7. God help me, more Twitter.
8. Inner-voice complaining to myself about an assignment that's just becoming a big pile of brain-garbage. Mounting interviews, no story.

What can I do next?

Sick Afternoon

2009-08-09T16:12:00.007-05:00

I'm sick and I've camped on our couch all day. This morning, my industrious husband left to go to work (on a Sunday!) and I cried, "You're leaving?!" in a voice high enough to sound like helium. Give me a little cold (thanks, Katie!) and I become a petit bebe.

He made me soup, which I helium-cried for, and I've just finished it at 5 pm. On the table in front of me: many snotty tissues, Vitamin C that I haven't touched and the empty soup bowl plus half a chocolate bar. I am disgusting.

I often muse aloud that I wish I could get sick (I am normally so healthy it hurts) because it's an enforced time-out. Truth is, when you're left to your own devices and your head hurts too much to concentrate on actual work, you will find out who you really are.

I just spent all afternoon watching SYTYCD (research for a story I'm writing - no really), Intervention (back-to-back-to-back) and Googled daggering stories ("broken penis" "sky daggering" "daggering injury") after watching a Major Lazer video and swinging from love to hate to love/hate and then to just plain headache territory (my overall, bigger-picture verdict: Jamaica, you can't ban ideas, so why bother banning songs that mention daggering? Is it just that injuries are up? The way I see it is that if you jump on a girl from an elevated surface, maybe you deserve a broken willy).

More thoughts, since I have spent hours just gazing in to space, thinking about it: Daggering is exactly what the rest of the world looks to Jamaica for, the kind of raw, sexy and dangerous art that comes out of truly impoverished ghettoes, the kind of art that somehow defies hunger and logic. Also, you feel like a prig for being having a concerned reaction, a quiet "NO!" when you see sky daggering but really, miming closed-fist punching at :48? No thanks. I don't care how funny and hipster Eric and Diplo are - having a sense of humour doesn't need to include beating a lady in the face.

In conclusion, if you don't move all day and surround yourself with PVR and internet hook-up, you will see how you truly like to fill your headspace. I am retreating into a weird place that is a combo of inner world and everything-at-my-fingertips. That's Google for you. I may as well be high. No wonder randomness is the most defining aspect of our generation.

If you'll excuse me, I PVR'ed Caddyshack and I've never seen it. So now you know how I will spend the next few hours until my husband comes home to find me passed out on the couch, at which point I'll be able to baby-whine for more desired food items. A toute a l'heure, mes amis.

Canoe Camping - I Think I Like It

2009-08-06T11:19:00.005-05:00

What I don't like about camping:

1. The moment when you've lost all your good humour about a torrential downpour. Your bags are soaked, your own body is soaked, the fire pit is soaked, everyone's scrambling to put up some tarps while you just kind of stand there useless, trying to help. The moment of truth: when you are desperately trying to race against the rain and tie some knots to hoist a few tarps in the trees and realize you're so cold that your fingers are numb and it's a long weekend in July. Foomp. The feeling: deflated. Especially when you realize you must inflate your sleeping mats and put up your tent and do all that stuff. And the rain just continues to pour.
2. Your first venture to the "toilet": a wooden crate down the path from where the tents are pitched. Just right out there in the open expanse. The crate has a lid. When you lift it and sit on it, as mosquitos have a True Blood party on your pathetically exposed posterior, you can see canoes float by. Ostensibly, they can see you, too. All of a sudden you totally don't have to go anymore. It's like magic.
3. Mosquitoes. I am a giant, ice cream sundae with hot fudge, nuts and whipped cream, and mosquitoes are one, giant, amorphous, buzzing fat kid.

What I liked about camping:

1. The smell. The scent of real pine makes breathing so fun. It's a wonder I didn't hyperventilate although I did often do some drama-queen exaggerated breathing when I was wandering on the trail by myself.
2. Clear water. I don't like seaweed or sharp rocks or algae but the water in Killarney Lake was so unbelievably clear that we could see all the way down to the depths, right to the bottom. It was practically tropical, except that it was frickin freezing (depending on the lake - George Lake was very warm, which is creepy in a way).
3. Isaac has taught me that nature is clean. I know that sounds like a very basic lesson, but I always thought "dirt" was dirty and was a fairly prissy kid about being very clean. However, Isaac loves to roll around in grass and put his hands in the muck whereas I just kind of go, "Ew." But now I get it. There's really nothing cleaner than nature, even when we're talking about dirt. Does that make sense? It does after a weekend of living in the same clothes, no showers, no fancy potions, but plenty of dips in the lake. Hmm. I think I do need fancy potions. I am super zitty right now. Well, it was worth it.
4. Being unplugged. I realized that I never, never, never am entirely unplugged. It felt great to leave my berry and keys in the car and just live out of a canoe for 3 days. It was as restorative as 3 weeks. It's really the absence of ringing and pinging and messaging. That's what makes everything else melt away.

So uh, 3 dislikes versus 4 likes. Camping wins!

Books and TV Were My World - 25 Years Later, Same Same

2009-07-27T17:37:00.002-05:00

10-minute old realization: a possible reason for why I’ve always loved pop culture so much: it’s because I feel so puzzled by white people.

As a kid, as my eyes were first opening up to the fact that there was life beyond my own crayon set, it dawned on me that my family was very different, in ways I didn’t even get. All I knew was that no one knew what foods we ate, what language we spoke and what weirdo arguments we’d have behind closed doors. And I had no idea what white people did behind theirs.

I was lucky when I was really young to have grown up in an immigrant neighbourhood. All the kids in school had parents that spoke funny. So even if they were say, Greek (white-ish), we had that in common. That we always had to explain everything about ourselves to people and among friends at recess, it was actually pretty fun. I learned how to swear in Greek (my random knowledge continues to astound). I would profess that whenever my mom answered the door to a religious person, she would say, “I don’t speak English,” and shut the door to my incredulous, righteous cry: “You’re lying!”

If I think back to the kids I hung out with most, I had a best friend from each of these places: Korea, Pakistan, India, Jamaica, Poland. I did have one best friend who was Scottish (white but she did Highland sword-dances which made her a cultural outsider, too) and one friend who was just Canadian white, whose dad worked for Hostess chips (jealous, much? Answer: yes).

Today, I would barf with excitement over having friends from so many different cultures but the weird thing is, my world is very white these days. My work world is like a dazzling snow drift i.e. I need shades. My peers in university – white. Even my family has become, through my husband and my in-laws, white. It’s kind of a weird feeling. Before husby, I hadn’t even known anyone who goes back four generations in Canada, like he does. Last week I heard of a 10th generation Canadian and nearly died. (“Are you serious?!”)

I don't mean to paint all whiteness with one, giant, normal paintbrush, but the truth is, if you're white, you don't have to explain your culture. It just is. Everyone else has to feel their way around like the lights are out.

Pop culture gave me stuff to talk about with other people. Who’s better, Michael Jackson or Duran Duran? Did you see the Barforama scene in Stand By Me? I’m going to go home now because Growing Pains is on. Oh, I don’t like the New Kids on the Block, I listen to CFNY. Will you make me a mixtape? Who’s Galaxie 500? Let’s go see Pulp Fiction at Cedarbrae on Saturday. Suede, then Menswear, then raves (ugh), then rap, then TLC, Details magazine, laughing at Electric Circus, (then working late Friday nights as it taped next door), Peaches, M.I.A., Nurse Jackie. It’s a bit of a bizarre thing to map out.

But it’s always a bridge, much like I suspect celebrity gossip is (which I liked for fun until it got too mean for me, circa Perez).

Prior to having my 10-minute old realization, I was reading an essay by someone who has the whitest, most normal family on earth and what struck me hard was that his story is real. It’s an essay about his real mom and real dad on their real farm and they really eat bacon and eggs for breakfast (what, no spicy fish stew first thing in the morning?). I just thought – I have always looked in on that world, like it’s in a snowglobe, and thought, “That’s made up!” But it’s not and how would I know the difference?

There’s such a vast chasm, sometimes. That’s what songs and stories and movies and hairdo’s and cool shoes and celebrity crushes are for. So that we have something shared to talk about. I guess that’s why I have always been so into it. I mean, I’m Canadian but my history says nothing about anyone remotely related to me. And Korean history is interesting to me now but back then it said nothing to my acid-wash, Madonna-loving, chunky, glasses-wearing self.

Current history, without long roots. Popular culture with its broad appeal. Fluffy strands of conversation, likes and dislikes born of whimsy. Personal preference, entirely pure and indulgent. This is the stuff that roots me into something that’s larger than my four-person nuclear family and now, my multi-racial extended family.

Hairy Potter

2009-07-24T18:49:00.005-05:00

This morning I went to pottery class, like any other retired cat lady would.

I signed up for this pottery class because I was resolved to work less this summer and after my first class I said, starry-eyed, "I quit working! I'm going to be...a potter!"

I had grand designs of kicking out the guy who rents our garage space to store his children's theatre sets (really) and creating a light, airy studio where I could just hang and make shit all day.

Isaac suggested that I continue the course before I truly rearrange my whole life (or even purchase the wheel I found on Craigslist BUT I REALLY WANT IT). Sigh. So measured. This is what it must feel like for an autistic kid when he gets under a sofa cushion and someone sits on him. Soothing.

Anyway, I've missed about a million classes in a row now. Life gets busy and deadlines get in the way of making pinch pots and slopping around with wet clay on a wheel. WHY?

This week I went to back to class for the first time in ages and then met Isaac for lunch right afterwards. How indulgent. I had done all of about 30 minutes of "real work" at all today.

As we finished our leisurely lunch, Isaac said, "Hey, let's go to Bikes on Wheels and get you a new basket." He said this because it was right around the corner.

Well. I know my bike looks like it's been crunched in the back of a garbage truck (if only one would come around, please garbage truck, come to my house now). I know the basket is hanging off the front precipitously and is attached by a rusty, impromptu grip. I know all this because I wanted to dig myself a hole in shame as the bike guy examined my bike. It's like being in ER and wearing your worst granny panties (solution: just don't own any).

The guy inspected my bike the way I would pick up an earthworm if I were to be gardening with Isaac, i.e. with barely controlled disdain, cognizant of the social fall-out of yelping, "WHAT THE? GROSS!"

And then he made a checklist. New basket, plus labour. New back tire ("May as well replace inner tube while we're at it"), plus labour. I started to make that face where your nose gets wrinkled and your mouth falls open and you're looking very unattractive and it's not good to do it in public.

"Isaac, thanks a lot for bringing me in here," I hissed as the guy said, "Just come back in 30 minutes," to our retreating backs.

"What?" Isaac, the sweet, my sweet.

"I have stuff to do like renew my health card and I haven't even done any work today and what time is it?! 2:30? And that's going to cost so much! My bike was fine!"

Isaac was kind of incredulous at my ridiculous (hissed, quiet) outburst and I don't blame him.

"It's fine, it's fine." I waved him away as we stood outside the shop. "Just go back to work. I'll just wait here. It's fine," I shooed him and he left, riding back to continue making his commercial with aliens in it that sell cell phones (really).

When I did get home (bike felt really good riding home if you must know), I sheepishly emailed him. "Um, sorry I was weird, it's just that, well, you know I kinda get stressed about wasting time because there's nothing I hate more than wasting time but you were right, I needed to get it done. I just felt like I was stuck there and I'd wasted my entire work day."

This is a straight cut'n'paste from his email response to me:

"yes, lunch was fun. and I'm glad you see that sometimes you have to spend time and money to upkeep things you count on (ie our bikes). Imagine if we had a car! It would be much more money and time and annoyances. So we have to do these chores in our daily routines."

Let me repeat: "So we have to do these chores in our daily routines."

OH I LAUGHED.

I wrote back to say that I'm obviously weird and too unfettered with earthly concerns and totally a bad wifey. I thanked him for the bit of life advice regarding chores and daily routines and said, "That's it. You get to raise the kids. I would make them into feral monkeys."

Of course, Isaac is the one who can climb a tree like he's a simian Fred Astaire. So really, I wouldn't raise them into monkeys, he would. *I* would raise them to become tiny, Crackberry-ing dilettantes who take old-people recreational classes before their time and have petits outbursts to their mini-husbands for no good reason.

And then I'd teach them to ride their tricycles home and spend the rest of their day on Twitter.

Stop, Thief! Don't Leave Me Here With...The Bank?!

2009-07-15T17:07:00.007-05:00

I wanna tell my bank to stuff it. Actually, *I* wanna stuff it, i.e. take my money and stuff it under the mattress and never deal with a bank again.

As I've been telling anyone and everyone within yelling distance, two weeks ago, I was robbed of $21 355.46. Internet fraud. And actually, only two grand of that was mine. The rest of it was in my name but was really the bank's money. So in fact, the bank and I are both victims to the same perpetrator. Ugh, I so didn't want to be that guy's partner.

I will attempt to outline the order of events as best I remember them and as simply as possible.

1. Got an email from the "bank." Opened it cuz I'm gangsta. Banged out a quick response to the tune of, "You should phone your customers rather than email."
2. Forgot I ever replied to the email. Keep in mind, it was literally that one sentence. Not one word more. No PIN, no birth date, no password. OBVIOUSLY.
3. Got another email just like it, this time from a different bank, one that I've never stepped foot in. Alarm bells went off and I discarded it.
4. Two weeks later, woke up to my loud phone ringing (why can't home phones ring in a more melodious manner?)
5. Kept sleeping. Retrieved voicemail later. It was the bank saying, "This is not a sales call. Please call back." Uh oh.
6. Was asked whether I was doing any banking at 11 pm the night before. Flashing back to my drooling, comatose self on a Friday night in front of TV blazing a week's worth of PVR'ed Oprah, I laughed. "No."
7. Was informed that someone withdrew $21, 355.46. Money go bye bye. Started to feel funny.
8. Nice customer service man ("Arsenio" - good name) says I will get a call from an investigator (sounds so authoritative) on Monday. All accounts frozen but still proceed to have a happy weekend.
9. Talk to peeps on Monday. Hmm. Must close account and open new one. Must get notarized affidavit saying that I am not the perpetrator of this fraud. Must go to bank branch with my notice of assessment from last year. Must do many things that start to make me feel wee bit cranky.
10. 11 days later, I still have no access to money.
11. I get a call from someone at CIBC who would like me to verify some personal information. "Uh, hold it buddy." I explain that I've recently been the victim of fraud and would like to know what the call is regarding before I provide him with information I normally save for my coterie of Nigerian princes. He says, "Yes, ma'am, I can tell you what this call is regarding, but first...what is your date of birth?" SIGH. We go back and forth until I GIVE UP and just give it to him. He saccharinely suggests he could "help" me make a "plan" to pay back my overdraft. Pardon? What part of "I was just the recent victim of fraud" don't you understand? That ain't money I am throwing around on a boat! Someone else has my money and is throwing it around on THEIR boat. I never saw a cent of that, so why don't you go back to your people and compare notes with each other. That would be very nice.
12. While you're at it, please tell the people at the Queen and Spadina CIBC branch that I cannot understand a word that the representative assigned to me is saying. Ever. I'm sure he is nice. But it's hard to have important money meetings several times a week with a man that I cannot understand. No understand makes Hannah go crazy.
13. Tell my assigned risk management customer service rep (USE-LESS!) that I plan on writing about my experience and ask whether I can be put in touch with an investigator who can explain how responding to an email could provide sufficient info for the stealing of many monies. I get a publicist. He's a moron who ignores my calls and emails until 5:30 pm. Every day. Um, 5:30 pm means you are giving me the run-around. I don't like you.
14. Finally speak to a human who can spend 20 minutes on the phone with me without patronizing me and telling me for the millionth time to look at the privacy and security policy on their website (to everyone else - I looked at that as soon as I heard MONEY and STOLEN - I mean, come on! Are you serious?).

I want to give up on banking altogether, even more than the time that I discovered that customer service reps are allowed to hang up on you if you use a swear word, or the time (ok, same time) that an uninformed customer service rep told me I would have bad credit for 7 - 10 years (leading to the bad word) when in fact, he just needed to shut it because he don't know what he's talking about (no bad credit, ever, thank you).

So now what? I still haven't dealt with all the little bits of fall-out, the polluting aspects that I fully expect to turn into acid rain down the road (NSF charge here, forgotten automated payment there, bank rage here, wasted hours on the phone there).

What I learned: I just want to talk to someone at the frickin bank who is human, some one who has some semblance of authenticity, someone who isn't bound by corporate gags, who can answer an honest question, who won't parrot their script without acknowledging that I DID NOT give personal information, someone who knows a thing or two about internet security, someone who can leave a note (a little Post-it, whatever) to the guy who calls around like a collection agency to alert him that in fact my account is FROZEN so I couldn't PAY IT BACK EVEN IF I WANTED (WHICH I DON'T).

I feel sorry for people who are so beat down by their boring job that they have contempt for everyone who calls in (Hi AmEx rep!). But mostly I feel sorry for the person on the other end of the line when I call in and you can't give me one useful answer.

When it comes to how secure you are, friend, as you go about your day online, you are NOT secure and you don't have to be a yokel to be had. Did you know that a fake EXACT COPY of your banking website can pop up unbidden in your browser, waiting patiently for you to step over your millions of other browser windows that are open and think, "Oh yeah, I was going to get to some banking." BAM. Dunzo. Or that Gmail has vulnerabilities that the bad guys are constantly working to exploit? There goes all your personal information. You didn't have to send anyone a thing.

In conclusion, friends, this is what I've learned from this ongoing debacle: Don't open spam. It lets them know you're there. They are literally ph/fishing and you are nibbling. Don't respond to spam, even if it's a pithy, expletive-laden missive you send just for laughs to endorsements for penile-enlargement and sex-friends (this is what normally makes you charming, Denise, but I think we both know why this has to stop). DO have a Mac (no viruses currently in existence for OS X users? Um, can someone give me a hallelujah?). Do take note if you ever try to log in to your online banking but for some reason, after you punch in your password, the program crashes or you don't get in (this one's only good for the investigators AFTER you've been robbed, so meh).

I've also learned that bank publicists are 100% useless because the whole point is keeping their operations opaque while directing you, again, to the useless information on their website. I've learned that fraud investigators won't tell you anything that you very naturally want to know (details, who did this?, how did this happen? what do the police say?). You are powerless when an internet attacker takes all your money. You are stuck with your stupid partner, the bank, that you hate and have to talk to all day every day. You want to leave them but that spiteful move only gets you one more item on your to-do list.

Sigh.

I want a piggy bank.

Home - Sweet Or Sour?

2009-07-13T10:32:00.003-05:00

Until now, this blog has always been written on-the-go. Travel is when I feel alive.

However, I made a choice to stay home and I've been here for what feels like forever (in truth, since my last post in NY - 8months).

This is what home is right now: Garbage strike. Brain-stopping intermittent crackle on the phone service which makes it impossible to work (i.e. phone interviews) and resulting in daily, hour-long Muzak waits on hold with Primus (this has been going on since February). Internet banking fraud two weeks ago, losing $21 000+, and gaining constant interaction with CIBC and their circular, evasive non-answers and the bank branch guy who, unfortunately, I can't understand due to his thick accent. DIY time crunch pre-wedding stress, which was the most stress I've ever experienced in my life (even 6 weeks later, had a fight this morning over, of all things, thank you cards). Constant jack-hammering ALL DAY LONG about 5 m from my desk where I sit (a non-stop crew is turning the old crackhouse across the street into a $2000/mo rental unit). A part-time contract job and freelance assignments that feel like going around in a scavenger hunt picking up $200 here and there while any semblance of having an actual career (i.e. stable, with a future and benefits) in journalism just rots in a temporary dump in what used to be a park that kids played in.

Can there be any wonder why travel is 100% better than being at home?

Maybe I'm just cranky because I'm hungry for lunch and I've spent all morning, as usual, on the phone with customer service reps (I don't care how nice you are, I really don't want to speak with any of you).

Do I have a problem? Does Ken Seeley need to come to my house and take away my passport? While my family gathers around and reads me utility bills, trying to convince me that life at home is better?

Bye N.Y.

2008-11-29T18:19:00.007-05:00

As soon as my feet touch down in Toronto, it's the same as it ever was. But after a busy week, I've taken a sec to look through a month's worth of photos taken in NY. It was nice to see the seasons change, all the funny moments and there's one overarching thought - wow, I drank a lot.

At first I wanted to post all those photos but now I just want to post one, above. It's kind of a private joke with myself but nobody reads someone else's blog to be left out so basically here goes: This is what lit our studio. In case you can't tell, it's a fairly random grouping of bare light bulbs (that's a long fluorescent one in the background). You turn the lot of them on by tugging on a chain that must be 10 feet long. I like light and all, helps me see, but at first, this seemingly haphazard system made me feel like the whole bunch of bulbs might explode without warning and shower me in tiny shards of glass that would all fall directly into both my eyes. Then the place would erupt in flames. But I got over it. It's just like, meh, click! Light.

I loved staying at Charlie's and his bare light bulbs would always just make me laugh. You know you love a city when you can live in fear of being blinded by lightbulbs but still want to stay.

Bye and xo NY.

You Know The Food Is Good If Padma's There

2008-11-22T11:37:00.003-05:00

Last night Catherine arrived and we went to La Esquina. Padma Lakshmi was in front of us in line, which made me quietly freak out a little ("Padma Lakshmi!!"). I shouldn't say there was a "line," because it's really just that she and her peeps stood there for a moment, and then were ushered in by the guy with the headset and the bouncer. They ignored us. I asked, meekly, "Excuse me, is there a long wait?" It took a few times before he would answer, never looking at me, but finally said just two words: "2 hours."

So we went next door to La Esquina Cafe. Two-tier system, one for fancies, one for plebes. But guess what? Food's just as good so there, suckers. Please pack up your knives and go.

Then, Madeleine and Catherine and I went to Botanica, a bar, where I ran into a friend from high school and a writer whose stuff I read in the Globe and Mail. See what I mean about NY being so small and so huge at the same time? They invited us to a loft party which is where we ended the night, dancing. It was only a few blocks from our own place, which was great. Now it's time to get back out there. Bye!

I Often Literally Run Down The Street Which Makes People Stare

2008-11-21T10:22:00.004-05:00

The last few days have been a blur of running around but some highlights are:

Dinner at Yerba Buena with Karina. So fun. Sent me home too tipsy.

Lunch with Sofia at Noho Star. Amazing to catch up with grown-up Sofia in the City.

Dinner with my aunt and cousin at the most delicious Korean BBQ by Herald Square. I haven't seen them in so many years that if I walked by my cousin on the street I wouldn't recognize her. Their family grew up in Brazil but they've all sinced moved here to NY. My aunt looks so much like my mom and grandma. She used to watch me lip-synch to Madonna in the basement and taught me to paint my fingernails. It was so nice to see them!

Ooh, I also got a tour of the New York Times building from my new friend Chuck. It's a very "green" building which means they have a unique elevator system that confused me so much. I got into a packed elevator, strained to see the buttons for the floors, didn't see anything anywhere and had to declare to everyone in there, "Am I crazy?" A nice man took me off at the 3rd floor and explained their system and said, "No." I'm not crazy. The buttons for the floors are on the outside and a computerized system tells you which elevator to take. It clusters people into groups getting off at the same floors and therefore saves energy. Pretty cool. Even at the line-up at the cafeteria there is information posted on bread and where it comes from, et cetera. That building is smart all over.

That's all for now as I have to run around again but so excited for Catherine and Katie to get here tonight. This weekend - my girls want to party all the time?

xoxo,
H

Afterwards I Got On The Wrong Bus But I Knew Where I Was Because Everyone On The Street Was A Hasidic Jew

2008-11-19T14:10:00.007-05:00

I met Isaac's friend Italian friend Federica on Monday. On Tuesday, I was at her "Welcome back to NY" dinner party.

It was at a huge, Brooklyn brownstone, decorated in quirky splendour. Every eye angle a feast. Piles of books taller than me, stacked singly in thin, preposterous towers. Ghanian barber shop art (I covet). A plaster skull with a day-glo wig on it, a vintage 25-cent machine filled with toy rings (I also covet) and a crocodile skull (huge). Bottles with buttons. Mismatched plates and cutlery and chairs. I loved it.

It was at the house of Abigail, Federica's friend who used to make Ricky Martin videos and has since turned to making arty photos. Now who makes Ricky Martin's videos? (Just an aside). Abigail made brisket. I made brown rice with kale and arugula (more of a party hit than you'd think).

Everyone there was a photographer except Federica's cousin, Julia, who is an art historian studying the art of West Africa. Hello! Amazing. I showed her my Kidal necklace, which I wear all the time, and thought fondly of Alhassan and Habib, two teens with whom I still keep in touch.

Sitting at the dinner table, a producer who does Guy Maddin films brought up Roman Polansky's The Tenant, at which point I covered my face and screamed into my hands because I am alone in my weird apartment with the bathroom down the hall and I just saw that film the other day and it FREAKED. ME. OUT. He told me about his friend who moved in with a guy in Brooklyn. On the first night, that roomie suggested they watch The Tenant. 9 months later, he jumped out the window but didn't die....just like in The Tenant. I begged this guy to stop telling the story. A glass of wine later, I kind of forgot he told it. Until now.

I was pretty stoked by everyone's generosity, especially Abigail - having an interloping new friend be part of their fun potluck. If you told me on Monday morning that the next day I'd be showing up to a dinner party of strangers, having been invited by Isaac's ex-girlfriend whom I'd met exactly once, I....would have believed you, actually.

It was fun!

Isaac Says Bye

2008-11-17T16:05:00.003-05:00

Somewhere under the city, Isaac is sitting on a train surrounded by bags, traveling further and further away from me. Then he'll get on a plane. Sad!

Who Has Time to Blog in NY?

2008-11-16T13:18:00.005-05:00

Who has time to blog when there's so much food to eat, so many parties to check out, so many blocks to cover and cabs to hop in and out of (if you see a minivan cab in the St Marks Place area and it's followed by a white truck, that is CASH CAB - flag it!).

Last night, Isaac and I stayed out until almost 6. That would be 6 am. Weirdly, I wasn't tired. I was totally wired on energy. We started by checking out Madeleine's amazing apartment in the East Village, then headed to Beast. I did a lot of talking to strangers and confirmed that more often than not, amazingly, you find you always have a person in common. Even though NY is huge, if you still operate in the same social circles, even in a gigantic city like this, it all starts converging like a gin-soaked Venn diagram.

On Wednesday night, my new friend Laura (amazing) brought a ton of us into a fashion party. Laura just breezed us all in by the phalanx of PR ladies who control the guest list. She's great like that. You would think I wouldn't know anyone there but guess again! Dear Lexi, my friend from Paris, was there because she assists Marc Bouwer, who was getting an award that night. I chatted with his patternmaker who told me about making Oprah's dress for the Emmys. Um...FUN?!

Friday night, Isaac and I met up with Jessica, someone I met a few times in Toronto. We have a friend in common but didn't know each other well but I looked her up when I got here and it's just like Madeleine says - this is the city of fast friendships. Jessica has a dry, hilarious humour and looks like Tina Fey. She worked until way late that night and needed a double when we met at the bar. She came back to the table with a tumbler full of whiskey. No mixer. That apparently, is a "double." She kept pouring whiskey into my soda, which I called "stealth whiskey" the next morning when I hurt. I didn't even realize how tipsy I was until we got up to make our way home, which became an exercise in being a spectacle on the street. Isaac had to guide me like a geriatric individual who couldn't see - not blind, just refusing to open her eyes. He called me "Trudge-y" but only the next day when he was in a better mood because guiding me home in that state isn't fun. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle.

On Saturday afternoon, we met with Isaac's childhood friend Erianna and her beautiful baby Ariel and husband Manny. They've been teaching Ariel sign language, like babies do these days, and he has made up his own signs for two things he loves: "Obama" (arms thrust back, legs bent) and "vacuum." Ariel, bizarrely and adorably, loves to clean. Imagine a blond cherub with dimensions like two stacked marshmallows in a diaper, studiously cleaning the floor (what he can reach best) and the bookshelves (on his tippy toes). It's really the funniest thing. He was the star of the show all afternoon.

Which brings us to last night. Drinks at a nice bar. Then....karaoke! Doesn't that just completely make sense at 3 in the morning? A partial song list would include, "Drop it Like It's Hot," "Sweet Child O Mine," "Don't Stop Believing," and "All Night Long." Fiesta! Forever!

Right now, Isaac is going through VIDEO he took of karaoke. I am of the firm belief that video at karaoke should be disallowed. In fact, I'm banning it from all future karaoke sessions. He is playing, "Crazy In Love" right now and I am beseeching him to "PLEEEEEASE!" delete. He just chuckles and says, "Oh don't be so dramatic." PLEEEEASE DELEEEETE NOOOOWWW!

What Nerds Do in Williamsburg

2008-11-12T18:49:00.004-05:00

Monday night, it was nerd city. Nerds, glorious nerds, of all race, creed and colour. I made Isaac accompany me to the Williamsburg spelling bee, which I've been wanting to go to since forever. I've never been in a bee before but I think I'm pretty good at spelling. Guess what? I am NOT ("NOT, N-O-T, NOT").

It's a kind and gentle bee, so you get three strikes before you're out. My first word was "acclimatization," at which point I was outed as a Canadian because I said, "zed." Then, I swung and missed on "corrodible," ("I-b-l-e" - REALLY?!) and "dissuasion," (how could I have only said one "s"?). Very annoying, because on paper they look like words you should be able to spell. The next word I got right was way too simple ("sclerosis") and then my final strike was on "salicetum." Oh, the shame!

In fact, it was totally nerve-wracking and I could hardly have a sip of my shandy. I can't remember the last time I was so nervous! Striking out gets the pressure off, at which point you can chug your girlie drink and eat a toasted sandwich. Just for the record, some of the words from the final round included "xerostomia," "cephelalgia," and "quinsyberry." Guess what? Unless you're watching a bunch of adorably pre-pubescent nerdlingers on a sports network (why do they have spelling bees on sports networks?), spelling is NOT fun. I'm glad I snapped out of it. Thank God for dictionary.com.

Last night, Isaac waited in the rush line to get us tickets to the opera. I should have worn my Phantom mask. We ended up with standing room only tickets. They are actually numbered! There are actual spots where you stand at the back! We stood until the first intermission (guess what people? Madame Butterfly has TWO intermissions?!) and then found our way to some unoccupied seats. Not a second too soon. You can't stand for 4 hours in these.

It was really nice being at the opera, although the couple from New Jersey sitting next to us didn't like the spare, modern set decor. They brought their own pillows in a plastic shopping bag. They make chemical coatings for lab instruments. Anywho, I didn't realize that I actually didn't know the Madame Butterfly storyline until I was sitting at a performance of Madame Butterfly. I do have a high tolerance for olden-times stories and the differences in our cultures then and now, but it was a giant load of Western imperialist crap. Not that it bothered me. Everyone loves a tragic love story. I just wanted Madame Butterfly to get to the harakiri already but well, the direction in this show was more symbolic than anything else.

This morning, I asked my friend Agnes (always game) to come with me for standby tickets to a taping of the View, which meant that she got up super-early (6:30 am) to meet me on the train, walk over to the waterside studio, stand in line, and then get turned away. A ha ha, oops. Sorry Agnes! So we walked 5th Avenue all the way downtown and I got lunch with my friend Matt who showed me photos of his baby at Halloween - dressed as an owl. WHO?! I could just eat that baby, too cute.

Now Isaac and I are off for a night on the town. I'm kind of exhausted!

Random Ramble Sunday!

2008-11-09T22:58:00.004-05:00

It's been interesting meeting lots of New Yorkers these days, specifically, young, trying-to-make-it-in-their-careers-young-hotshots-from-abroad New Yorkers.

Everyone is a snowflake et cetera, but there is a vibe I've detected and I will now take the opportunity to generalize. New York makes it very easy for people to be super self-absorbed. Everyone is scrambling to stay afloat, everyone's got a hundred things they're trying to accomplish all at once and they're going over it all in their brain all the time, usually as they're multitasking by talking on their stupid ear-things and Crackberrying as they CROSS THE STREET.

These people would be laughed out of town in Toronto by the general disdain for naked ambition that drives me crazy there. But. Now I can admit that a healthy measure of the afore-mentioned attitude may have a civilizing effect, like co-ed versus single sex schools.

I can't help but compare the last few weeks I've spent here with my time in LA this spring. In LA, it amazed me how friendly and socially adept everyone was. Networking is an extreme sport and everyone is in good form. Everyone I met was so amazingly open and friendly and I just kind of enjoyed the cheerful warmth of it all. I mean, welcome to the party, right?

Well, New York is more like welcome to the jungle. I can hardly cut a path through people's giant egos. I have literally been in conversations with people who did not hear a word I was saying as lists, ambitions, their own sheer brilliance and their awe of it distracted them from...oh, huh - what?

LA and NY are both cities that people come to when they want to make it but there's something faster, harder and dirtier about NY, and something dreamier about LA. Maybe it's just the weather (not to be dismissed!), or maybe it's the cost of living (or NY's insane noise pollution!). Whatever it is, after meeting some of the yahoos I've met, it's kinda obvious why people burn out here. There are so many blowhard hot-air balloons that it's exhausting. You almost don't want their bubbles to burst because it would be of enormously catastrophic proportions. Blowhard or not, people here work their faces off in their careers AND on the side just try to stay head of the pack. It's no wonder why so many people work in NY in their 20s and then move somewhere more sane, while in Lalaland, you can grow old with dreads and your music/art/hippie pants/acting career until forever. Like, people laugh at Pinkberry here. It's just kind of mean, right?

Overheard today as I was walking by the Von Dutch store in SoHo, going over one wisecrack after another in an imaginary conversation with Kristine in my own mind (maybe I'm lonely): "Oh wow, they still have a Von Dutch store."

Now back to my rant about self-aggrandizement in NY. For the record, I've met some really nice people, too. Truly.

Oh, and let's end on a fun note. I went to Uniqlo today, which was the only shopping I really wanted to do at all while here - and that's saying a lot, considering that I'm in NY! I'm not really in shopping mode but judging from the streets packed with shoppers, it's just me. If there's a recession on Main Street and Wall Street, nobody told 5th Ave. It's like Americans can't stop shopping and I can see why - for some people it's their only recreation, their only hobby. After not shopping for so long, I will say that it has some crazy voodoo - I felt like I was in a spell. I ran around for awhile at the giant Uniqlo, grabbed a top and some perfect pants (that are hemmed on the spot for free?!) and then snapped out of it. Not a dollar too soon.

That's it for now.

xoxo from our crazytown loft where Isaac animates stuff all day and then we drink wine and watch crazy movies that make me too terrified to visit the bathroom,
Hannah

Full Kitchen Ranges are For Chumps

2008-11-07T13:01:00.005-05:00

Even in a faster, shinier city like New York, you still have to do your laundry. And clean the bathroom. However, standing in the utilitarian "kitchen" hovering over the scrappy meal I was making in a plug-in wok just now, I thought, "Sometimes you're exactly where you've always wanted to be."

Thanks Jenn, For Sending This To Me

2008-11-06T12:03:00.001-05:00

In Obama-stan On The Big Night

2008-11-05T12:39:00.011-05:00

What was it like last night? Incredible.

Isaac and I began the night at 8:30, way too late to get into a super-crowded party in Brooklyn, so instead we grabbed some street tacos and pupusas and took off into the East Village. We met with Madeleine at McSorley's, an historic and old bar where they have "beer" (choices are bougie) and sawdust. It was kind of quiet and not the mood we were looking for so we clinked glasses, drank and moved on.

Next we ended up at Lucy's. By then the action was heating up on the news so we stayed for a drink until....what?....are they calling Florida....? No! They were declaring Obama the winner! The bar full of random assorteds (students, guy with Crystal Gayle hair, drunk man at the bar, Russians) erupted into applause. I've never seen hipsters so excited. Drinks all around!

I liked McCain's speech and as Madeleine duly pointed out, it was like he was actually relieved to give it, like he could be cool with himself again.

Then, finally, several beers later (work it, Lucy!) and frantic calls to "Turn it down!" about the wailing jukebox, we heard Obama deliver his speech. You could hear a pin drop in the bar. I was mesmerized the whole time. TV coverage was great. Everyone's asking me today how it was to be here last night, and it was amazing, but having the coverage go from crowds in Chicago to Times Square to Kenya is really the best seat in the house.

When we left the bar, it was fairly quiet on the street and we didn't have an agenda past "pizza" but lo and behold, right around the corner...some noise! We followed it and walked right into the best street party I've ever been to. Some people had brought their speakers out onto the fire escape and everyone was dancing and chanting and laughing. It was a jubilant celebration, a release of tension. The chanting would go from "O-BA-MA!" to "YES WE CAN!" to "JOE BI-DEN!" to "U-S-A!" The crowd danced to Biggie, M.I.A., Justice, MGMT. A girl gave me a blue cupcake with red sprinkles. We drank our beers outside and did "election shots."

We had gotten there several hours after Obama was announced but the energy was unwavering. Every single last person in the impromptu crowd was so high and happy. When you stop to think about it, we've never participated in anything like that before, where everyone is truly elated by a singular, political victory. It was funny and exciting and unlike anything we've ever experienced.

Several times, taxis (oh poor taxis) would unwittingly turn onto the street and then be caught in a mob. Honk honk! Wooooooo! People flipped out whenever a taxi came through, there would be so much yelling and cheering.

Around 2:30, the cops arrived. I overheard one guy yell, "We are in Obama-stan!" But Isaac says what the guy was really saying was in reference to cops who were telling everyone to get on the sidewalk and not stand on the street: "Where would Obama stand?!"

A few cops tried to clear the streets but no one was having it, so they called in their back-up and lined each end of the street with the mob dancing in the middle. A trio of guys were lying on the ground in front of a big line-up of cops. Isaac lay down to join them.

Me: Isaac! Why are you lying down? We aren't protesting anything!
Isaac: I like it down here! Try it.
Me: No.

Isaac was being really hilarious and was caught up in the moment for sure. It was like ushering around a 6'2" child-alien who loves parties but has never been to one. I actually caught him smoking a cigarette, which he hated, but some French guy gave it to him so he took a drag. That was like coming out from the bar and catching the Pope in a Borat thong. Never thought I'd see it.

We finally stumbled home around 3:30 and emerged from the subway into our neighbourhood, which was teeming with cops, even more than had been at the street party on St Marks Place. The police wouldn't let us cross the street. I said, "What's up?" And after much prodding, a cop finally said, "There was a riot." Pause. "A big one."

I couldn't believe it. I didn't believe it. So when I overheard a few guys talking about it on the corner, I asked them what happened, to which the response was, "It was a pseudo-hipster riot. There was a big street party and the cops came to clear it out and 2 kids threw bottles at a cop and then cops started clubbing people."

What?

Why on earth would people throw bottles at cops on such a great night? (Drunk). Why on earth would cops start clubbing people on such a great night? I don't know if those late-night on-the-corner accounts are true. Sure doesn't seem like it.

When Isaac and I passed a formation of cops 3-deep standing in front of the Red Bowl Thai restaurant (kind of a hilarious sight), he said, "Why are you standing here?" A cop struggled to come up with an answer. "It's a secret." I burst out laughing in his face, which is not what you want to do when he's surrounded by 40 other cops and the streets are lined with paddywagons but come on. That's a 5-year-old answer. I couldn't help it. Nothing could dampen the mood! Even walking home through a police state!

Maybe if we ever get out of our loft today, we can ask people on the street what happened last night. For now, I'm still a little hungover and in-pyjamas is the best way to read online news of last night.

O-BA-MA!

Happy day!

xo,
H

Weekend in the City

2008-11-02T11:33:00.003-05:00

Last night we went to a party at the Brooklyn Museum. I looked at art, waiting for Isaac, and saw Judy Chicago's The Dinner Party. When Isaac arrived we went into the par-tay. Hasidic Jews, rasta guys, little kids and hipsters. They were all milling about this gorgeous space-turned-dancefloor, surrounded by art.

Isaac and I hit the dancefloor (of course). On one side there was a little boy toddler with his stylish mama and her friends. He was doing a herky-jerky dance. On the other side, a very pre-pubescent but style-conscious tween boy dancing with his middle-age mama. You could tell he was sheepish at first but then he just got into it, swinging his skinny limbs around and everything. Holding hands and doing dances. It was a totally awesome Saturday night party.

This morning, Isaac and I went up to the roof and I taught him some yoga. He's a good student except that he would squawk at me during eagle pose ("CAAAW! CAAAW!"). There are constant helicopters flying overhead and today the NY Marathon was actually going by on Bedford! We could see the street lined with people and all the runners going really fast. How will they keep up that pace? Amazing.

Novemberama

2008-11-01T17:59:00.009-05:00

Halloween used to actually be scary, mainly because I was too scared to open my mouth and ask for candy whilst trick-or-treating after years of "DON'T TALK TO STRANGERS!" Plus, shy.

Now Halloween is just plain funny. In the afternoon, I rode the subway back to Williamsburg and emerged from the underground station into a throng of babies in costumes. Literally, it was stroller-traffic hell and every pudgy little cutie-on-wheels was in a hilarious outfit. I was agog. I was in cute heaven. At first I thought parents were just picking up their kids from school and I was caught in post-bell traffic, but then I finally asked someone, "Is there some sort of baby parade going on?" Yes. There was a Halloween baby parade happening and I, big baby-less ruiner that I am, was walking against it.

Most babies were dressed in furry outfits (i.e. animals) or otherwise feel-good looks (princess) but one mom pushing a stroller had a baby covered in blood. Like, Halloween fake blood around the mouth. I love the idea of being a zombie but a 2-year-old zombie? There are precious few years that we are that cute in life. Do we want to zombie-fy a 2-year-old?

I'm going to take a stand against fake blood. I've decided that I just really don't like it, baby or adult. There was lots of it at the Halloween parade in Grenwich Village, which is like a giant, outdoor trance rave where everyone's been sprinkled with fake blood and parents have brought their kids to be smushed in the crowd. Plus, lots of college-age girls who like to dress up as "sexy." Why anyone would want to wear an outfit that basically puts their boobs on a shelf and then stand in a mob that is so packed there's literally nowhere to breathe except directly into someone else's face is beyond me.

Madeleine and I decided to cut holes in books and put them on our faces (i.e. our costume was "Facebook," with mine being more specific due to my Obama glasses, becoming "Obama's Facebook page"). People couldn't figure us out, which made for fun interaction and overheard moments.

(Old Man with an extremely perplexed expression, frozen-staring at Madeleine.)
Me: "She's Facebook!"
[No change in Old Man's perplexed expression]
Me: [Louder] "FACEBOOK!"
Old Man: [Still no change, long pause]
Me: "It's a website!"
[Nothing.]
He is probably still standing with his brows furrowed at 7th and 14th.

(Young teenager to his friend while sashaying past Madeleine): "Oh my God, it's a Bible."

Teenagers: "O-ba-moo! O-ba-moo!"
Irritated older man: "It's O-ba-MA, not O-ba-MOO."

A Sarah Palin coming down the stairs at the Bedford station, doing a royal wave: "Don't vote for me on Tuesday! Don't vote for me on Tuesday!"

Appreciative Mom-type to Isaac: "Hey! Mr. Windy Man!" I just like that she added "Mr" like it's the name of a real character.

Isaac got a lot of that last night. Walking around with him was like being with a very funny celebrity. Everybody was asking him for photos and when they did, he would do his windy pose and get huge laughs. This happened on the subway, on the street, in the Village, up in Harlem. Really! And Isaac loved it!

Gangs of smurfs on the subway. Spiderman texting on his Blackberry. Our night ended with a man playing a mouth-organ on the train, wearing a Happy Birthday paper-cone hat. He played songs that ran right into each other, never quite ending before it started on a new, familiar refrain. From Happy Birthday to Miami Sound Machine to Hava Nagila and so on.

This morning, Ricky's (the Halloween shop that had a line down the block at 8 pm last night) was plastered with SALE signs. A few people straggled home in medieval costumes doing a special, once-a-year Halloween edition of the walk of shame. Isaac and I ran around a giant sports field where kids were playing soccer and football and then we got tacos and poked into vintage shops and watched kids make crafts at a Dias de los Muertos celebration in the East Village.

Good night, Halloween. It's November and time for the election. Now that's scary! Boo!

Happy Halloweenie

2008-10-30T10:11:00.002-05:00

Warm and Salty, Plus Beer

2008-10-28T15:07:00.006-05:00

Last night, Isaac and I tried a pizza place on Charlie's recommendation. It had a line out the door but it moves faster than Terroni (what doesn't?) and there aren't any tables, so you just get your slice and get outta there. I saw a fancy suit couple opening their pie and eating off the trunk of their car, standing in the gutter. Another trio sat in the stoop of a closed shop. We walked with ours.

Then, wandering the LES looking for beers, a small, high window caught Isaac's eye. We looked in. It was a matzo factory! There were two men in there, taking sheets of matzo, gently breaking them into the squares of 4, and placing them on a rotary system of hanging baskets. We were mesmerized. Isaac starting taking photos in the window, pap-style but the door was wide open so I said, "Just ask!" And they were totally nice about it. The man closest to us, without a word, passed us each a cracker. I felt like a trick-or-treating Oliver Twist. For some reason, it was kind of thrilling to happen upon a usually unseen duo of matzo-makers who work under the cover of night and have them silently pass us some warm crackers.

We continued wandering, giggly with the sheets of salty matzo, and one lady yelled, "It's not even Passover!" Then we found $3 beers and chatted until we wandered home again. Bo-homies.

Obama Vision

2008-10-27T14:50:00.005-05:00

I was walking along St. Marks Place when I saw these. Hello! I am on a strict budget whilst here but because I didn't know that rhinestone Obama glasses existed before, they were not technically on the verboten list. Anyway, besides a laugh for Isaac when I got home ("Close your eyes!") I think they will come in handy for Halloween (not to mention Nov 4). I am open to any and all of your brilliant costume ideas.

What I really should do is buy a crate and send them to these cuties so they can dress up for their next performance. I previously didn't think it was possible to make T.I. even cuter, but apparently it is. Thanks for the link, Manny!

For lunch today, Isaac and I put together sandwiches and ate them on the roof, where we have an amazing view of the Manhattan skyline by the water. Everything so far is quite fun. Even bagels for lunch.

Back By Popular Demand! i.e. One Email Request From Katie!

2008-10-27T00:05:00.004-05:00

I know, I'm so prolific. You can hardly keep up with my blog. But I'm on the road again, with Isey in tow, so here I am with new stuff to say. Whee!

We're basically indoors camping at my friend Charlie's studio in Williamsburg. It's where he paints and lives and I can picture him here, happily listening to his satellite radio, dabbing away at his gorgeous paintings of swear words and middle fingers (really, they're wonderful). That being said, it's small and there isn't much space for anything that is not either a) a tube of paint or b) a paintbrush. None of my packed items fit the above description.

So far Isaac and I have had super amounts of fun even though we haven't really had a plan. That's the beauty of 30 days in a spot. I have my ambitious "One Thing Per Day" rule. "One Thing" times 30 days equals lots of fun. It works!

Isaac and I started by arriving on Friday, severely sleep-deprived because we stayed up way late cleaning house for our friend Andrea who's staying chez nous while we're away. We met with Charlie, who I haven't seen since hanging with him in Paris last year. It was so nice to see him but brief! He was on his way to catch a flight to Paris. We all had a quickie lunch together and then Isaac and I walked across the Williamsburg Bridge to Tribeca where I had a meeting. Then we got burritos and watched a doc. We were totally delirious when we crashed that night.

Saturday we wandered right into the last day of a David LaChappelle show in Chelsea. I loved it!

Then we went to get Susan and Julian's bikes out of storage. So nice of them to lend them to us for our stay. We figured out the rigamarole of swipe cards, keys, made our way through the maze of lockers, retrieved the bikes, came back out towards the rest of the world and...rain! Wind! A guaranteed bad-mood from me if we actually tried to ride these things home! So we put them back and met up with my friend Madeleine. As we walked around Soho, trying to find a spot to grab a bite, the rain picked up and we just went, "Get in here!" We ducked into a random door and found ourselves at a sports bar. People were chanting for the Georgia Bulldogs, like, singing songs and standing on tables and stuff. It was like being back at Trin, but sporty.

Sunday we actually did get the bikes and rode them around, along the water and across the Brooklyn Bridge. It was a gorgeous day. We saw a big crowd across from the Chelsea Market and found ourselves at an art book fair where I ran right into Michel Gondry (eye contact, too shy to say hi). Exciting! Ate a cupcake. Also exciting!

Isaac and I then came home and made stew and had a cozy night in. Tomorrow is Monday morning. What will happen this week? So excited!

P.S. the hipster-icity of Williamsburg is totally out of control. It's Queen West times a thousand. It's all giant glasses and keffiyehs. Really now.

Travel Tips From A Pro

2008-05-02T15:53:00.002-05:00

Because I am a brilliant genius, I feel the need to school you on how to pack for a trip. I am really good at it.

First of all, it's important that you don't begin until the last possible second. If you are having goodbye drinks at a bar, save packing for after. That would be really, really, really great.

When you come home and it's 2 in the morning, you won't feel like packing because you're too tired. So turn on the TV! You will be amazed that in fact, Oprah is on at that hour! You won't see a second of it because you will fall asleep on the couch, still wearing your heels and make-up.

At 3, you will wake up with a start and realize that you are what the French call, le screwed. So you will throw most of your clothes into a suitcase and then do the kind of table-swiping motion you've always wanted to perform in a public setting to indicate that you are enraged (although in this case you're not, simply mildly panicked). Sweep all the contents of your desk into one of two suitcases. This jumbled mess will include your passport.

Leave the rest until the morning.

Promise yourself that you will get up right at 7 am!

Sleep until 8.

Lounge and read emails in the morning. It's weird that you don't feel a bigger sense of urgency, what with having to get yourself to the airport and return your rental, but remember, you are a pro at this! I am a proooo.

Get to the airport, return rental and get on the shuttle to watch this crazy family go through a strange dramatic performance for the benefit of everyone else. The overgrown teenage son is the absolute worst and films everything on his camcorder instead of helping his mom bring 10 suitcases off the shuttle. Then he applies deodorant in front of everyone while his family is yelling at him from the sidewalk to get off the bus. As soon as he steps off and the shuttle pulls away, everyone on the crowded bus will begin howling and talking to each other like they're old friends. At this precise moment, while everyone gets to share an impromptu laugh, you will realize that your passport is in one of your suitcases and that you're as big a moron as Deodorant, displaying this fact by accidentally sending the contents of one suitcase spilling across the floor as you yell, "Hello! Hello! Driver! Air Canada please!" and everyone looks at you with a mixture of pity and disdain. (I didn't want to yell, but he passed Air Canada - what could I do?).

Empty the contents of both suitcases on the sidewalk at the terminal. Spend 30 minutes searching. Get really sweaty (it's work!). Have sinking feeling you may have left it at the apartment. Find it. Be relieved.

Get to the counter to check in. The attendant will recognize you from TV but still insist that you transfer 5lbs from one bag to another, because one is over. 5 lbs. What the hell is the point of having been on TV?

While you're doing that and holding up the line, with all your dirty socks and books falling out of both suitcases, one will break. The zipper. You will here a faint, "F you!" from it as it dies.

You will then put the entire suitcase in a plastic bag which means it has no handle and you'll have to huff and puff it to the x-ray area. You're kinda losing your cool at this point but at least you still have that prune pocket that you got this morning when you got your coffee. You eat it angrily (mmm!) in line.

Plan on getting lots of work done on the plane! That's why you saved it all for the last possible second, right? Fall asleep as soon as your bum hits the seat. Like, PASS RIGHT OUT.

Et voila! You're home! Once you get home, you won't be able to find anything you need in the mess that is your luggage so you will wander around without your glasses like a blind zombie and say to Isaac, "Help! I can't see anything!" Pass out again.

Good morning! It's cold here in Toronto.

Last Night In LA

2008-05-01T03:16:00.004-05:00

Tonight all my LA friends came out for drinks. I know them all in different ways but they all have one thing in common - they are sooo nice. Skander, who first gave me my apartment keys when I arrived, Kordo who trains me in Runyon Canyon at ungodly hours, Mike, my shows/bars partner-in-crime, Annahita and Sunny, hands-down the cutest, James, with whom I go back all the way to Trinity, Elizabeth who is just the most shit-together lady on earth, Amanda, with whom I got my second Pinkberry of the day and Rebecca and Will, comedians in love.

I'm going to miss them, obviously. Here's a list of things I will also think fondly of and perhaps miss, because you only get these in LA:

- chopped salad, and its bizarro partner, gigantic heads of uncut lettuce covered in dressing and one, giant piece of bread that doubles as a crouton (LA has funny/strange/delicious salads)
- people paid to jiggle signs on street corners - it's fascinating
- people who are so accustomed to driving everywhere that they have literally forgotten how to walk (it drives me crazy as they amble across the street while I wait to turn but it's also strangely endearing, like they're helpless baby animals)
- the weather
- Koreatown
- feeling excited as opposed to being bored
- the smell of the trees
- Pinkberry and tacos (not together, I'm just saying)
- running lines with Amanda and daily stories like the one today about the Hollywood wild child who is up for a part against Amanda - this girl just sat in the audition waiting room mewing at everyone...like a cat

What I'm looking forward to in Toronto:
- that I'm coming home to Isaac and 3 parties in 3 days - I can't wait to see everyone
- Mom picking me up at the airport
- riding my bike
- walking the streets in my hood
- not living out of my suitcase

Bye LA. It's been nice knowing you.

Yelle! Dance or Die!

2008-04-29T16:40:00.005-05:00

I just found out that Yelle is playing on my street corner in Torontoooo. Haaaa-eyyyyy! Friends: you must go. She is so cute, in the long tradition of sweet, quirky French girls with super-natural hair - total juxtaposition to all the American sexy in LA. She wears a sequin skeleton dress. I mean, really.

Her two dudes are adorable dance-rock, like Daft Punk without masks. It will be the best show ever, believe it! I wish I could go and see her twice in a week but I get home the day after....

Speaking of which, I'm so psyched that I'll be seeing all of you so soon! Tania's having a get-together at her place IN MY HONOUR and sent out an e-missive to which Manny replied, "Hannah's so LA now that she needs a press release." TRUE.

Tonight I may go see my fave teen squeeze of the moment. I love that she sounds like an 8-year-old boy.

P.S. I realize this video is simply garbled sound and pixels. Um. I didn't really realize that I need a new camera. Until. Now.

Hannie Prepares For Take Off

2008-04-29T01:37:00.004-05:00

The rest of Coachella weekend was very fun, if a bit hungover. There are all these pool parties that happen in Palm Springs, and supposedly they are very fancy but I didn't make it to a single one. They happen BEFORE you go over to the festival. So, I guess you have to be up early and be with-it to do the pre-party. It wasn't exactly happening for us. Coachella weekend is crazy because the only way to hit everything is to clone yourself and be really greedy about fun, like, by multiplying yourself many times over. Since I only have one physical body, one that consumed too many refreshments on Friday, I shuffled around a lot on Saturday and whispered complaints about how hot it would be, only to arrive TOO LATE to see MGMT. My own fault! Le sigh. It's ok, we still saw Yelle (geniale!), M.I.A. (such terrible tech difficulties, we actually had to walk away), some Hot Chip, Tegan and Sara.

Oh, and Prince! It was a pretty spectacular display. Even though we were far from the stage you could see everything perfectly on the massive screens and really, the guy has not changed in 20 years. It was very exciting when he first strutted out onto the stage in his cute, white, sequinned get-up.

"Co-ah-chel-la."

Long pause.

"I am here."

Pause.

"Co-ah-chel-la."

Pause.

"Where are you?"

He said it all like he was a bit bored with how many people he could fit into the palm of his hand. It was the best call-to-arms I've ever heard from a performer. Of course this huge roar came from the crowd, floating up into the night sky along with impressive lights and big plumes of smoke.

Sunday, Mike and I visited Jacqui and her bf Dave, as she was in Laguna Beach for the weekend. It was lovely and she took me on a walk about. Amazing neighbourhood, very beautiful, but I think I'd go crazy out there. It's kinda quiet.

Now I'm in my last week here and I had big plans for all the things I'd do but I'm strangely and uncharacteristically inert. I've procrastinated ALL DAY and the sink is filled with dishes and my bags are all kind of half-packed and unpacked.

I'm actually looking forward to going home which is an about-face from how I felt last week. I miss Isaac very much and I want to know the latest on all my friends. Jacqui was calling me Hannie all day yesterday and it struck me how only my closest friends call me Hannie which is why I've never been called that in LA. Also, I miss walking - I am so sick of being in a car. Still, I get bummed out when I think about how bored I am of Toronto. But those are just idle complaints that aren't useful. I should keep them to myself.

On the upside, it's almost summer and I am excited for a new job possibility. Please come and visit me and/or take me out when I get home. I don't want to land with a thud.

xo.

Friday at Coachella

2008-04-26T14:46:00.005-05:00

Coachella is just as I remembered it - the most civilized festival there is. People aren't convulsing drunk and passed out on the grass like at T in the Park and it's nice that it's on this perfectly manicured grass (pretty crazy since we're in the desert).

I love Santogold so much. And I love her hot, military-dancehall dancers (who were wearing the most perfect outfits ever). I also really liked Cut Copy - how had I not ever listened to them before? Cuties. We danced a little to Diplo and then later, since we were still around, I persuaded Mike to stay for Spank Rock. I was hoping Amanda Blank would be with him. In fact, it turned out Amanda had the unenviable task of telling peeps that Spank Rock was sick and that she was there to fill in. I couldn't believe all the guys (all guys) who started streaming out of the tent. I was so psyched that Amanda would have all that stage time! And yes, she was amazing.

This morning: water, coffee, Advil. And now we go again!

Monchichi on Fire (Needs Tickets)

2008-04-24T01:37:00.005-05:00

Ok, everyone - here's the latest.

Today I tried to find Coachella tickets because I got a last-minute assignment to cover it. I've recruited my friend Mike to come with.

I'm such a brat - I kind of always wanted to go to Coachella but only if someone paid me to do it. But um, isn't that the point of being an arts writer...? So there. But it is really close to the wire and everyone is crazy-jacking the price of Saturday tickets because it's the only day worth going (M.I.A., Prince, MGMT, Portishead!). Do I live in a weird fairy world simply because I think scalping is wrong? Hey Guy Who Talks In Reverse ("You got tickets?") - you aren't getting on stage! So what makes you deserve ALL MY MONEY?

Speaking of money, I am sending crazy emails to all these Craigslist people like, "I CAN BE THERE WITH $300 ASAP!" totally forgetting that, the other day, I lost my bank card. I only remembered this hours into the process. I kind of lost it with a poor girl on the phone just now. She had the misfortune of picking up the CIBC hotline and being dumb. Still, that doesn't mean you deserve a shriek of "WHAT?!" when you say that it takes 5 business days before a new convenience card goes out in the mail. It's just what happened. I couldn't help it. But I know - she didn't make the rules. A person who doesn't care about me being in a different country with no bank card made the rules.

While I spent the better part of my afternoon calling around to scalper weirdos in Hollywood that I found on Craigslist, I waited for the job-lady to phone me back. The interview yesterday...didn't go so well. Not that she wasn't totally friendly. It was just a weird interview because she didn't ask me anything. It wasn't really an interview at all. I got the feeling it might be like that from our phone conversation earlier. She was very warm until I mentioned that I was Canadian. I rushed to add that with a job offer I could be legal in 3 - 15 days. There was a pause and then she said, "Oh. Ok. Well....would you like to meet anyway?" Oh geez.

Hmm, what else. Ooh, my awesome friend Nikki took me to Bikram yoga tonight and I thought I might die or at least have some sort of accident like the explosion of my face. It was hot. Afterwards I felt high, except less fun. As I sat in the car after, making a quick phone call (more Craigslist people) my car actually steamed up from my own body heat. I was totally impressed with myself but also alarmed. So I went to Pinkberry. That was dinner. I ordered kiwi and mochi (which is kind of secret, you just have to know to ask). As I stood there, I read the nutritional information. Do you know that a gigantic cup of Pinkberry only has 140 calories and no fat? WHAT IS THIS STUFF? Manna from the glorious heavens? No but seriously, I'm scared - what's in it?

In other boring news, I had a brief tingly moment in my face this morning which always makes me panic from the time all my face skin came off multiple times from this horrifically insane unidentified allergic reaction I had almost 10 years ago. I told Elizabeth that the next time she sees me I may look like Freddy Krueger to which she responded by coining the term Kruegerchichi. Then she killed me with rapid-fire emails for 30 minutes where every word ended in the suffix "-chichi." This is why she rules. She is a VP at a gigantic behemoth company but she's so fun that she can jam random words and ideas together to come up with the most grotesque but cute thing ever (which equals funny).

I also have a pimple on my eyelid. I know! Weird, isn't it?

Kruegerchichi, mochi, mochi, mochi.

Goodnite.

Weekend Review

2008-04-21T18:06:00.005-05:00

I felt kinda exhausted after Friday night. I had a breakfast meeting the next morning at a place that serves pancakes the size of frisbees. Then I went to Flip and his mother Susan's house in Northridge because I forgot my wetsuit in his car the day we went surfing. It was so cool to meet his mom! She's 94, sprightly and hale and she wore an Adidas warm-up jacket like she was about to run sprints. She called me "the girl from Canada" and after our afternoon visit, made me write my name in a notebook so that she'd remember me (there were many pages filled - she gets lots of visitors).

Then, Katie, Philippe and I went to a house party in Eagle Rock. Disco lights, smoke machine, pop dance hits, lots of food and....a punishingly adorable yet vicious dog. He was black and fluffy with the best kind of dog face - an elegant tip nose like the shape you'd get if you pulled a handful of clay toward you with all five fingers. Well, he was cute but he totally BIT Katie. It drew blood. I don't think she felt like dancing after that.

The next morning, the three of us met for brunch at a place that sells fancy food, including Dufflet cookies. It's funny to think that they might have been made at their factory next door to me in Toronto. After brunch we stumbled upon what must be the best store on earth: Puppies and Babies. You can't buy babies in there but they had six rough-and-tumble Maltipoo lil dudes in cribs who would flip out, wriggle, jump up on their hind legs and then do wrestling dives into their little, terrycloth sleeping mat. Could there be a better store? Answer: NO.

Oh, and I HAVE A JOB INTERVIEW TOMORROW.

You Do The Math

2008-04-19T03:54:00.006-05:00

Because it's late and I can't figure it out, I am depriving you of what you really want to see: video of Annahita and Sunny belting out Toto's Africa and Philippe singing Red Red Wine. You don't want to see us doing Since You've Been Gone. I mean, you can just imagine it.

(Annahita+Sunny+Katie+Philippe+me) x Korean BBQ x (Mike x Toronto friends Nick and Arthur x Boykewich sisters) x Dance Party = Friday Night

Yeah, Surfing Really Is That Great

2008-04-18T14:25:00.004-05:00

I surfed! I surfed!

In Honolulu two years ago, I took a couple of surf lessons on the beach. One of the teachers asked me about being Korean and told me he had "a Korean friend in LA" that he absolutely had to put me in touch with. I wasn't sure why since there are many Korean people in this world and sure, a lot of them, statistically, could be friend material, I suppose...

Well, that's how I met Flip. He's the Korean friend in LA and we met over the internet. We emailed back and forth a bunch and he told me about his life and his mom's life and his grandfather's life. It was great because I'd never heard of Dosan but of course when I had dinner with my parents one night and told them that my new friend was the grandson of Dosan, they were verrry impressed. They rarely act impressed.

So yesterday I met Flip for the first time! He took me to a place called Point Dume. He had a wetsuit and surfboard for me and even some vitamin water. I know - who is this guy?

Well, he's like ramen - instant friend. He's 52 and he grew up on that beach. He tells lots of great stories like the time he took Barbara Streisand to court, the two times he almost got married, or his theory that Kim Sung-Il was a Chinese man planted by the Communists and not Korean at all.

The water was extremely cold, so cold that I wanted little wetsuits for my hands, feet and face, too. But Flip didn't even seem to notice! When my surfboard split in half (what?! not my fault) he gave me his and just kind of hung out in the water, like my own personal gentle sea creature. He'd push me into the waves and would tell everyone we ran into that I caught 5 out of 7 waves. He must know that I'm really just a fourth-grade keener at heart and that I live for good grades.

The best part? He's this totally different being on a surfboard. He surfs like magic! It's really pretty amazing.

Also, did you know that there's this thing that people do where they stand on a surfboard with a paddle? It's not every day that you see something you have literally never seen before. Flip says it's only been happening for the last couple of years but that it's traditional in Hawaii.

After a day at the beach, I drove back over Laurel Canyon, my favourite drive in LA, and met up with Katie, Philippe and Rebecca. Some days this trip feels like a super-long extend-a-mix vacation. Is that ok?

Move Your Body, Move Your Car

2008-04-17T01:23:00.004-05:00

The same day I dropped Jose off at the airport...I went right back to pick up Katie and Philippe! The Toronto train just keeps coming in. Today we had fun eating (while Philippe only utilises 10% of our three-way conversation time, 100% of that is spent talking about Mexican food).

Here's a weird coincidence: I was invited to a show by a girl I met once. Her band J Lep was playing their first show tonight. Philippe told me he was planning on checking out a show tonight, too...and it turned out to be the same one! It wasn't very big. What are the chances?

Anyway, J Lep was so fun. I love them.

Tomorrow I'm going surfing with someone I only know from the internet. I live in the future! Seriously! Pioneers didn't surf. Then I'm going to a shopping party. I don't really think a day can get any better.

She Looks Exactly The Same In Real Life

2008-04-15T22:21:00.003-05:00

Today I had lunch at my new fave spot. I met up with a girl who just moved here to pursue comedy. She's from Toronto and we had Jose in common so he hooked it up. We talked for an hour solid about work visas. It's amazing how something so incredibly boring can become really interesting when it affects you.

I'd never met her before but I've seen her comedy online and I totally thought of Sarah Silverman. She said she gets that a lot. And then guess who walked in to the cafe? Yes. C'est kooky, n'est-ce pas? Last night, when Amanda, Jose and I were having dinner there, they both saw Fred Armisen but I didn't notice. I've obviously found the funny cafe.

Vampire Buddy Flies Back To Toronto, Girl Sad

2008-04-14T14:26:00.005-05:00

Jose is leaving tomorrow which is sad because we've had so much fun. Some of you may know him - sweet, polite, gracious Jose. However, living with someone for a couple of weeks gives you new insight. I've discovered a whole list of unique "quirks" about him (that I won't write here in order to preserve our friendship although truth be told, I taunt him with "blog" "photo" "ops" all the time: "Jose, I totally want to take a photo of you right now, in your yoga gear, sorting your laundry into paper shopping bags...for my blog.")

But let's just skip to the best one: Vampire Jose. He comes out at night. After we go out on the town and have fun (and refreshments), he comes home and just tells it like it is. No mincing words. We meet people when we go out at night and while I spend a lot of time mulling over what I think, Jose just comes out with it as soon as we get in the door. If only I could describe to you the complete change from Daytime Jose, who is soft-spoken, demurs, deflects praise modestly and meticulously cleans the kitchen every day like it gets him closer to God, to Vampire Jose who can sum up the Hollywood weirdos we meet in like, 6 words, adjectives and expletives carefully chosen.

I can't give you examples to protect the innocent, and by that, I am referring to Jose, who is afraid of some of these people.

I realize that bulls-eye, no-holds-barred, calling-it-like-it-is isn't necessarily a trait ascribed to vampires (no worries, Jose doesn't do anything else vampiric like wear a cape although that would add to roomie fun), I just call him that because this side of Jose only comes out at night.

Sometimes it's directed at me.

The other night we had post-party munchies. He tried to call for pizza but the fridge magnet lies ("Open Late"). I know that our kitchen only holds such treasures as salad, vitamins, tinctures and flax seed oil, but I really tried.

"Jose! I'm going to make you a grilled cheese! Mmm!" I got busy.

He hovers as I pull bread out of the freezer and says disdainfully: "Is that weird bread?" Emphasis on "weird." I knew exactly what he meant because yes, sprouted 7 grain isn't the exact right food for the occasion but I was doing my best with improvisation and Jarlsberg. But then all night, Jose bugged me about how my horrid sandwich tasted like sawdust (not true).

Jose would never say that at 3 pm. Just 3 am.

Our late nights were courtesy of two parties: this and this. The warehouse party was really amazing although Jose keeps calling it a rave and then I get mad. The other one was funny because it's one of those parties where it's all about the party snaps (more action by the photog than on the dancefloor which is just so wrong). Also, as soon as you put one foot on the dancefloor, it's like:

Kid: "Can I buy you a drink?"

Me: "No!" I'd learned my lesson from a fake-date I went on the other day (long story) - you need to nip this in the bud. "Push It" was playing.

Kid: "Do you like to push it?"

Me: "Yes, because I'M THIRTY." It was the quickest kid-repellent I could think of. "I'm thirty and I remember this song from the first time around."

Today is Jose's last day in LA. Wah. Bye Jose!

"Hello, I'd Like To Speak To The Little Tiny Guy on The Inside, Please"

2008-04-11T20:55:00.004-05:00

I had a meeting with another agent yesterday. I'm just beginning to become familiar with agencies (talent representation, like NGO's, love acronyms) and I didn't know this agency was so big-time. I entered a reception area on one floor to be guided through another reception area on another floor, then down a hallway lined with fancy offices on one side (all filled with men in suits) and cubicles on the other (young peeps, every one of them talking intensely into a Bluetooth).

The agent I met was really nice. He's definitely old-school. There are photos of him beaming with Johnny Carson. He uses the phone rather than email. You know. The thing is, I can't tell you why I was meeting with him because, as I found out in his office, he reps comedians. The only way I can explain it is that a (powerful, helpful) friend of mine put out a missive to agencies, and this guy said he would meet with me.

He was friendly, but it was obvious within the first 30 seconds that he wasn't meeting me for me. He was meeting me to do my friend a favour. He said he liked my work but that he doesn't know the hosting world, and that he'd pass along my info to the agents there who do. So I have one question: Why? It's all so puzzling. Why couldn't I just meet with the hosting agents in the first place? I have a feeling that this is a question that only a non-Angeleno would have. But it just doesn't make sense to me.

Sometimes, I get so tired of having meeting after meeting, with people telling me, "Oh you're great," because in the end, it doesn't mean anything. Compliments don't amount to anything real. It's like everyone in LA is a Russian doll and while I'd like to meet the (stumpy, little and adorable) person who will say the magic words, "You're hired!" instead, I'm meeting 10 people I have to get through first.

I'd like to be more direct, but I don't see how it's possible. I called up a production company yesterday that does the American version of a show I wrote in Canada. The receptionist was like, the biggest, fattest most iron-clad Russian doll ever.

"Hi, I was wondering if I could speak with someone in production for Project Runway. I worked on the Canadian version and I'd like to find out more about the production team here."

"Ok, just send a resume to Human Resources." She enunciates "Human Resources" like it's a person's name I might have trouble spelling and then gives me the mailing address like I've never heard of Google.

I tried about 5 more times.

"Ok, but who can I address it to?"
"Alright, so what's the name of that individual...?"
"Thanks, great. So I can send this to...?"

Nothing.

I felt like saying, "Hello? I've been you! Except I obviously didn't care about my job as much as you do." But I didn't. It was such a stupid conversation.

So that was my first and last attempt at cold-calling. How can I get through a bulldog who guards names like that? More to the point, WHY guard names like that? It's not the DaVinci Code - you're just picking up the phone. Is that really her job or does she just think it is?

On a more positive note, I just revisited my LA List for the first time since I got here and having just gotten my first US magazine assignment today, I've pretty much checked everything off (keep in mind, the list was filled with achievable goals and um, even included, um, "shopping," which I have checked off my list, um, many times over now).

Also, it's been so fun running lines with Amanda every day before her auditions. Don't worry, I don't get all dramatic. Amanda is the actor. But what's interesting to me as a writer is that some of these scripts aren't that great, surprising considering the odds on getting a pilot made. You'd be better off buying a scratch ticket. So why aren't these scripts dazzling and brilliant? At the same time, I'm learning a lot about the sitcom format and what makes things funny in a broad sense. Reading scripts every day with Amanda definitely contributes to the fun-but-weird La La Land vibe. I like it.

Oh, and what about American Gladiators you ask? Don't. When we saw that we had to drive through South Central to get there, Jose got scared. But it wasn't until we rolled up and saw the other people coming in to the taping that I got scared. Did I want to enter this world? Well, we did. Then I got sleepy. I fell asleep in the front row waking up intermittently to see an overgrown, glistening Zack Morris Gladiator swat a contestant into the water (with THE giant, plastic Q-tip!) in about one second flat. Then they'd re-set for like, an hour. BORING. Jose and I snuck out and got burgers at In'n'Out.

Now we're off to get sushi. Eating in LA is so fun.

Warning! Giant Plastic Q-Tip Alert!

2008-04-09T17:54:00.002-05:00

This afternoon Jose and I will be going to see a taping of American Gladiators. He is practically rolling over in joy, reminiscing about his boy-childhood. So. Nothing's happened yet, we're just sitting here eating Mexican take-out for lunch, it's just that it's about to happen. Hulk Hogan is about to happen. And I thought I should warn you.

Hollywood: How Very

2008-04-07T17:36:00.008-05:00

Friday night we saw a new flick and then went to a party at the writer/director's house. He wrote Heathers. I wandered his Hollywood home thinking, "OMG! My junior high self would lose it."

I loved Heathers back then. Watching this new film piqued my curiosity. Is this writer/director...feminist? Or...not? I kind of can't tell. The only that's for sure is that he has pretty evolved and complex thoughts about women which is more than I can say for most of the stuff Hollywood cranks out. He ran around the house all night (into the smaller house in the back to grab bags and boxes of drinks) so he wasn't exactly in chat mode, like, Ask me about feminism, would you, already? However, fridge was always stocked.

This party was totally different from the party I went to last weekend in Silver Lake. First of all, it's a gigantic Hollywood home with showbiz lore: Orson Welles died there. There's a beautiful pool with steam rising off it (it was a chilly night), several decks and overall, it rates high on the fancy-meter. But people weren't exactly mingling and it was like there was some unwritten rule against dancing, even though the music was totally danceable. Boooooo.

The whole time I wandered the house, I thought, I have GOT to tell Jaclyn I was here and that there was all this art on the walls that she would LOVE.

Other than that, J and I had several TV marathons this weekend. One of the only times I left the house was to watch a TV show at a bar (it was a celebration). We also hiked every day this weekend, which was gorgeous. Amanda took me on a different route than the one I take with James. From the top of the hill, the bumper-to-bumper traffic on Sunset looks like a string of twinkling jewels. It's mesmerizing and beautiful. Then I think about what the twinkles really are close-up (just the very real and mundane lights on cars with drivers sitting inside fuming because they are inching along in traffic). Hollywood.

Ok, here's a Hollywood story for you. It's actually J's. He had a meeting at a literary agency this morning and the guy greeted him with a hearty, "So you're a snowback!" J said he was confused. He'd never heard the term before. Neither had I. As he was telling me the story, we kind of looked at each other incredulously. Does snowback mean...like, wetback? Like a racial slur?

So we Googled it. Answer: Yes.

Who greets a stranger with a slur? J was really stunned but I hate to say that I'm not. Not to be overly dramatic but please - don't all non-white people know what discriminatory words feel like? It's disgusting because I know this guy felt it was okay for him, as a white dude, to say this to another white dude but please...like he would say what crosses his mind when he sees a face like mine. What a xenophobic, grosstastic caricature of a Hollywood sleaze. J and I both can't believe it.

Oh, and another thing that disgusted me today. That schtick gets this guy gets job OFFERS? Local news is always such a disaster but this is just COME ON.

Isaac and I chatted this weekend and he requested more photos of me on the blog. I've complied with a photo he took of me doing what I do so much of down here: beep beep!

It's Practically Like Being in India

2008-04-04T13:39:00.006-05:00

I found a yoga DVD among my stuff at home and decided to bring it with me to LA so that I could get some sort of physical activity going while I'm here. Of course I haven't touched the thing. Instead, I sweat it out at boot camp in the mornings (and guess what? Even though it makes me wanna barf, I love it!).

Anyway, Jose mentioned that he was feeling kind of stiff and I know he likes yoga so I told him I had this DVD (untested, can't vouch for it). Now I am sitting here, post-workout, eating some microwave biryani and he is sitting on the living room floor doing my yoga DVD. I type to the sound of a hypnotic female voice ("Inhale...Exhale....") and tinkling new-age music.

I love being roomies.

Smoke that LA LA

2008-04-03T20:14:00.005-05:00

We've had an exciting day.

This morning I had a meeting with an agent and...I liked him! Does he like me? Seems like it. I realized after I left that I'd been holding my breath waiting for the shoe to drop, like he would rip off his harmless-guy mask and be a monster or a psycho with a power drill - somewhere along the line, I'd subconsciously created this negatron idea that agents are laying in wait in their offices, in a puddle of slime or an oil slick, waiting to show off their ability to breathe fire. In my face. ("Owwww!"). The guy I met this morning was...young! Cute! Wearing a t shirt! Someone I would actually want to have a conversation with at a party. I only realized I'd been bracing myself for the worst when I walked out and thought, "Huh. He was nice."

Then I volunteered to drive Amanda around to her auditions because she just got back from Boston yesterday and today she was scheduled for FOUR auditions. She had to cancel one because that's too many (if only we all had that problem). I know how stressful it is to drive around when your mind is trying to focus on the next task at hand so I was only too happy to meet her at her first audition with her next audition outfit and a lunch I packed. I would make an amazing personal assistant.

Then, Jose and I were loitering in a coffee shop when he got a call from a big time lady who called to say that yes, she will read his spec scripts over the weekend and why doesn't he come in for a meeting on Monday morning? Yesss!

Today I'm liking LA and while I feel like there are lots of ups and downs, that's better than a whole lot of boring.

Update on what I did all week: We've been eating lots of fancy, delicious food at restaurants with really dim lighting. Our friend Tim is in town (so funny) and he brings his lovely friends Shaun and Shelby (two actors - in love!) and I bring Jose, Jasmin and my new Canadian friend Mike. We went to the Bar Marmont and the Dakota at the Roosevelt (I know - are all the good restaurants in hotels?) and tonight I am going to The Farm at the Grove (not with my buddies, with new peeps). Someone warned me that Counting Crows are playing the Grove today but it's over already (whew). I could not deal with Adam Duritz tonight.

Yesterday I found a desk on Craigslist and enlisted Jose to come with me and help (best helper ever). Please note how far the thing sticks out the back and that when Jose went to the hardware store for rope, the lady gave us something that is merely a decorative approximation of rope. Like say, if you wanted to wrap a gift but make it "rustic." We got honked at the whole way home.

"Beep!" Yes, I know I have a table in my trunk.

"Beep!" Yes, it's bouncing around a little.

"Beep!" I'm going 20 mph so that I don't kill you if it falls out - what more could you want? I am driving like this for your own wellbeing!

"Beep!"

Don't Be Scurred

2008-03-31T19:41:00.014-05:00

I've been in a rut. Nothing's exciting. Also, I'm so into the idea of working that I sit at my desk all day but there isn't really any work, per se, so...you know. Youtube - check. Pop Candy - check. Facebook - oh, you don't wanna know.

Sunday I went to a kids show taping. When I got there, I asked a PA for help. I told her I was a guest of the host of the show. A PA had to stand guard over me while the other went to find him in wardrobe. She came back and said accusatorily, "He says he doesn't know you." All of a sudden, the three of us were standing there and I felt so embarassed. I was shocked, actually. However, after she sauntered away again (I told her my full name this time) I got mad. Does she seriously think I'm a children's show groupie? That I want to sneak into afternoon tapings at Nickelodeon? At this point, I didn't know what to say to the PA babysitting me because now small talk was even more awkward. We just stood there.

The PA came back and said, "You didn't confirm. You can stand right here until the show starts taping. Then you'll have to wait in the lobby." That tone! Such a bully (which is really just a clumsy way to try and manipulate people - not very clever).

Anyway, why does she have to be so blame-y about whether I "confirmed" or not? (I was casually invited to swing by and I took him up on it - do I have to quadruple-check? Am I trying to land a Lutz or just visit a guy at work?). I icily gave the PA a stare-down until she slunk away. I don't want to be like that but girl was rude. It made me realize how a tiny encounter can wreck your day.

Anyway, she probably should have just kicked me out. The taping went 5 hours and it was freezing backstage. I felt like I was in a meat locker surrounded by stagemoms. I don't know what was worse - that in my thin tee I was so cold I was doing a full-body, violent shiver or seeing a stagemom shriek and undulate when Akon came out. It's like, Lady! That man will hoist your kid and toss him or hump her on stage! Seriously.

At first I didn't understand how all the kids ended up there. I can understand if a child wants to be part of the audience of their favourite show but this show had just debuted the night before. How had they seen it? I asked a stagemom and she told me her kids are extras and are with an agency. Some of them had been there since 9 in the morning (it didn't end until 7:30) and this particular taping didn't even pay (they pay for weekday tapings, not weekends). The producer and floor director were respectful to the kids but it wasn't exactly a Sunday afternoon picnic - it felt like...work! The producer would give them directions and the kids would dutifully respond (usually by freaking out and waving their arms, as they were told to - not hard for them at the beginning but by the end their energy was flagging).

I marveled at the kids' confidence. The floor director and warm-up guy would goad them with promises of being on TV, which would have been my nightmare at age 12. These kids, however, wanted to work it. They'd shimmy shimmy ya in the audience and on risers, angling and flirting with the camera. I was crouched in the shadows like some weird Phantom of the Opera. They were all cool and had dazzling smiles. How are they so sure of themselves? After the incident with the PA, I was scared of being banished to the lobby, too scared to move or touch the craft table, leading me to starve all aft (btw, this craft table had every type of finger food on it and even a basket of allergy meds - what a tricked-out craft table!).

The only reason why I wanted to stay until the end is that my friend had mentioned that he could introduce me to peeps at the production company, who also produce a reality show I'd love to work on. But by the end of this freeze-a-thon, I was in a bad mood and it was all I could do just to thank him for inviting me and then flee, far, far away. I know - I can't believe it.

So these days, I feel like a potato bug when you touch its tummy. A pathetic example of this timid phase is that I am scared to use a carwash (the non-driver in me rears her ugly head) but my white rental is dirrrty. So I took the cloth I use to wipe my kitchen counters and tried to wipe down my car. I've learned this is bad. It just smudged dirt around and around and around, now visible in very discernible streaks. I kept wiping, back and forth, in little circles, over and over, trying to make it better instead of worse and thought, "Why am I standing in the parking garage wiping my car with a kitchen shammy? Am I that much of a chicken? Everyone else just goes to a car wash. What if someone comes in here and sees this? Those dancing 12-year-olds would just cruise down the street with one hand on top of the wheel and pop their status cars into a carwash. While crumping. Then they'd ghostride it." Wipe, wipe.

Perhaps salvation comes in the form of yet another book to add to my pile. Last night I went to a workshop on writing a TV pilot and the instructor (the most engaging and confident guy on earth) held a little trivia contest at the end.

"What big sitcom star just announced his comeback to primetime today?"

Someone guessed Jerry Seinfeld. Wrong.* Next question.

"Who just announced her return to talk...."

"OH! OH! OH!" (Waving my hand at the back of the room).

"...TV to host the fourth hour of the Today Show? Yes?"

"KATHIE LEE GIFFORD!" That was me! I won. My prize? A copy of this. I need it. So while I'm reading Variety online because I have nowhere else to be (how else would I know the comings and goings of Kathie Lee?), I got to win a book. And it ain't over yet. Hello April! I have one more month to go.

*The correct answer is Ray Romano.

Weekend Review

2008-03-30T13:11:00.006-05:00

Friday night we went to a 1992 party and everyone was already dancing when we walked in. That's how you know peeps are fun. Oh, and they went all-out - one-sided overalls, hypercolour, stirrups, teased bangs, et cetera. C+C Music Factory, Kris Kross, Dee Lite. I think I danced for 4 hours straight. Jasmin and I went with our new friend Mike. We made some new friends, too.

Saturday night was another party, this time at a bar in Eagle Rock. It was Sunny's birthday. Sunny is my perm location expert. EB and I had dindin first at a cute place on her corner in Los Feliz and then James drove out to meet us there.

Today, Sunday, I am meeting someone for lunch in Bev Hills and then going to a taping of a show on Sunset. Will tonight be another night of hijinx? We shall see.

Salad For Breakfast

2008-03-28T21:51:00.004-05:00

The only positive thing to being alone is that I can eat weird. Like, I will eat things by myself that I would never serve a friend (you can thank me later). My fave thing to make for a super-fast lunch is shirataki with parmesan, lemon, arugula and sardines. What? It's healthy and easy to make.

So this morning I had miso soup for breakfast which is something I do at home sometimes, too (are you going to tell millions of Asians that's weird? No, not weird). And the morning before I had salad (in the car, from a take-out plastic container from the night before).

Anyway, Isaac wouldn't mind if I ate weird breakfasts, plus he LIKES my shirataki thing so there's no real upside to eating alone. It's just me trying to be un-lonely.

Tonight Jasmin and I will go out with some new friends and tomorrow, too. So I guess there are plenty of people around. But they're all so new. I like them all lots. But they aren't my home-friends. That sounded like home-fries. That's what y'all are now - home-fries. xo.

100 % More Korean

2008-03-27T22:00:00.005-05:00

I love this Before and After comparison although my self-portraits aren't doing it justice. In case you can't tell, my hair is soo Korean now.

The place was called "Hair Day" which is a not-quite-exact translation of "Muh-lee Ha-neun-Nal," which means "Day To Get My Hair Did". It quite literally was a "Hair Day" because this fancy, Korean "setting perm" TAKES ALL DAY. I actually spent...wait for it...4 hours in a salon chair. I began to feel like what I imagine prisoners might eventually acquiesce to, a feeling of, "This is my place. My new home."

It was just like being in Korea. The lady who shampooed my hair smelled faintly of garlic. I sat under a high-tech hair dryer that tinkles a lullabye as it orbits the head. They had crazy contraptions for waving and straightening. Nobody spoke English.

I had lots of time to stare (plus, salon mirrors help). Everyone in the salon had exceptional hair. All different styles, all amazing. I decided that I've been going about "hair" all wrong. A black lady wouldn't go to a white salon. Why do I? There's a pompous Queen St salon that fried my hair a few years ago, insisting that their way is the only way to perm. I feel like busting in there and shaking my head in their face. "I am KOREAN. If there's anything I know, IT'S PERMS." Then they'd take a moment to touch my hair ("Feel! So soft!") and then I'd spin on my heel and storm out. I can't stand that guy. He deserves to see what he is incapable of.

The entire experience was way long for me but my whole life these days has been feeling simultaneously slow and fast. Also, the ladies attending to me were so meticulous that I just loved watching them work. I looked at my whole head as an oddity, swathed in several types of rollers, a complicated ribbon of cotton padding and not only a shower cap but miniature shower caps for each ear! I thought, "I am going to be SO CUTE like a Monchichi when I get outta here." Y'all know my penchant for cute things and if you just wandered Koreatown for a second you might understand better. It is in my blood. Koreans LOVE cute.

Late Night Reds

2008-03-26T04:18:00.003-05:00

I've been having some expensive meals. I need to cool it for a sec but here's the thing - it is exceedingly easy to meet interesting and fun people here. So I just wanna keep going. It's exactly what I was anticipating and hoping for. Random encounters lead to good, inspired conversation with strangers which can lead to more random encounters and f-u-n.

In the last 48 hours, I have met (silent counting on my fingers)...10 interesting strangers. I'm not even counting the uninteresting strangers. That's like, an average of one stranger per 3.2 hours, not counting the hours I sleep. Considering my previous misanthropic tendencies, especially in hibernation mode, this is smashing all records. Maybe it's the warm weather?

L.A. I'm having fun again. Is this bubble going to burst?

Here's a quick rundown of what I've done in the past 48: dinner at Ammo, lunch at The Ivy (yes, plenty of paps), some mentor-type conversations (with fellow Canadians in the biz), strolling Robertson, party at Cinespace, running late night red lights with The Europeans (we're ok, don't worry) (The Europeans are 2 of the aforementioned 10 strangers), went to Hammer Museum for premiere of Bjork video (replete with 3D glasses!), watched The Hills for the first time (I joined Jasmin - I guess there's always a first for everything). I can't wait for tomorrow. No plans in particular - it's just that I can't wait. Good night!

Pop That Lock

2008-03-24T11:43:00.004-05:00

Jasmin has one item on her itinerary: get a tan. Yesterday, she followed the one-day tan plan by laying on the beach for 4 hours in the blazing sun. I sat with her for a little while (I forgot my bathing suit and towel and just sat in the sand - I guess I'm not very good at doing the beach). I left to run some errands and came back to her still lying there! Now she is like a crispy spring roll in a bikini. Frittata!

Leaving that morning, we locked ourselves out. As we stood there, holding all our bags, I closed the door of the apartment shut and immediately thought, "OMG!" I could picture the house keys on the kitchen counter. The only set of house keys. My hand was still on the doorknob but it was too late. I turned to Jasmin in near-panic. I don't even know who the landlord is here.

Jasmin said, "Ok, let's call around and if no one has an extra key we'll call a locksmith." In one short sentence, she put the fire out. I was impressed. See? Nothing's really an emergency.

I was emailing on my Blackberry with a new acquaintance who put together a website for me this weekend. I asked simply, "Locksmith?" and he shot me back instantaneously with 3 options. By the time we got in the car, Jasmin was dialing.

I drove to Santa Monica. Jasmin did the talking.

I'd brought this book to read at the beach because I figure, this information is out there - now I need to get it in my brain! Neil Strauss recommended it to me and if I'm going to take a book recommend on this topic from anyone, it's him. Anyway, as I listened to Jasmin dial locksmiths, it slowly dawned on me. I think she could have written this book.

For example, a small glimpse into how she works: When the person on the other end picked up, she said, "Hi, how are you?" before introducing herself. When you're calling a business, who asks "How are you?" I don't! So simple. Like I said, I was impressed. Such a pro. With a few, short calls, she comparison-shopped and got the nicest guy down to $75. Done!

We came back from the beach at 6 and met him out front with 30 seconds to spare. He picked the lock in another 30 seconds. And we were in!

I walked over to say hi to my website friend one street over and was knocked out, again, by how sweet our street smells. They must be blossoms that bloom at night. It's incredible. You want to drink the air. It's like a dream. So much of LA has this dreamy quality, but I know it's also a place where dreams get crushed. Not to be a downer or anything.

Shoes and Booze

2008-03-23T02:56:00.005-05:00

Shoes. Tonight the word is shoes.

After picking up Jasmin at the airport, we went home, changed into Tiny Shiny in 5 minutes, then sped downtown to the Orpheum for Margaret Cho. The opener was Liam Sullivan. I love him. Shoes is even funnier live, for some reason.

Then we went to the downtown Standard, simply because it's the only place I've ever heard of in downtown L.A. The velvet rope gatekeepers were in full-force. We chatted one up and he told us to come back in half an hour. The holding pen is the lobby. Realizing this, I felt bad on our way out because by the time we left, the place was packed with those who were just partying away in the lobby. They will never get upstairs. Anyway, we must have missed our tiny window bequeathed to us from on-high because when we went back to the gatekeeper it was at capacity and we were faced with the indignity of waiting another hour (the horror). We decided to split, and in our push and shove through the throng, Jas said, "Nice kicks," to someone we squeezed by.

And that's how we got into the party. I call Jasmin (a Pretty Girl) my human wristband.

Instead of going to the rooftop, Nice Kicks took us into a party on the second level, a Dim Mak Bloody Beetroots show. So basically, I wore Tiny Shiny to a party that was way off the hoodie hipster scale - we were surrounded by kaffiyehs and Blublockers.

Speaking of Jazzers, can I take a poll for a sec? At the party, a couple of guys who were standing a few paces away surreptitiously took a photo of us before ambling away. I told Jasmin I think it's rude. She said that we live in an era where we don't own our own images.

I don't disagree with what she's saying and I'm not trying to fight it, but I'm just talking about manners. I mean, we were at a party with SEVERAL MisShapes-like stations with professional photography lighting set-ups plus everyone had their own tiny digital cams. There definitely wasn't a shortage of people being cute for cameras. Why did they need to take a photo of two girls just sitting there taking a time out?

I'm not against party snaps, I just think it's rude to take a photo of someone without asking first. Like, would you let a door slam in someone's face or would you hold it open for them? Manners! Jasmin says that I am in the minority. I believe she quoted her scientific figure of 1 in 20 as in, I hold an opinion that only 1 in 20 would subscribe to. Really? Really it's not weird to take a photo of someone and then amble away like it ain't no thang?

We Tried To Make It A Dance Party

2008-03-22T13:07:00.008-05:00

When it comes to my reasons for being here in LA, I feel like I may never leave the starting block. Although I did get up at 7 am to do sprints Friday morning.

The day began with Boot Camp. Amanda's friend is a trainer. He was one of the first people I met down here. Amanda loves his boot camp so I told him I was thinking about coming out but had to ask, "Kordo, will you...yell at us?" I hate being yelled at (all spin classes). But he said he doesn't and I could tell he wasn't lying so I joined.

It's actually really nice to be in Runyon Canyon in the blue-ish early morning light. I told Kordo I hadn't exercised in about a year but he still worked me hard and ahem, he was impressed.

My body really hurt this morning.

After boot camp, I spent the day by myself working at home with a break to go for a walk around the neighbourhood. It's really lonely walking because the sidewalks are so empty. It's lonely in general here so I got myself a Pinkberry.

The Pinkberry girl shouted at me. It was friendly shouting. Before I'd even stepped inside the door:

"WELCOME TO PINKBERRY HOW CAN I HELP YOU?"

It made me shrink. I don't actually know what Pinkberry is so I said, "How does this work? This is frozen yogurt, right?" (Moments like these make me feel like a crazy, Canadian bumpkin).

"NO MA'AM, IT ISN'T FROZEN YOGURT IT'S PINKBERRY."

"But what's Pinkberry?"

"IT'S PINKBERRY!"

I ordered a small. Which is actually gigantic, but Americans don't know that.

Service here is extraordinary. They're really into it. I think I'm just used to Queen St style aloofness because I get thrown off and almost suspicious with all this extreme service. Like, I have gotten into an in-depth conversation every time I've checked out at Trader Joe's...and you know me. I hate small talk! The first cashier I met is in a band with her brother but also performs solo and yesterday's cashier is 21, Nicaraguan and a child actor. See?

But everyone is really friendly. Unless they're behind the wheel. It's almost magical, this dichotomy. Talk to a stranger face-to-face and they are just so open and helpful, so American. Wait a heartbeat at a green light and the same person behind you will HOOOONNNNK and lean on the horn. It's like, Really? That wasn't even 0.5 seconds of green light. I know I can be impatient but the entire city of Los Angeles has me beat on that front.

When I told Kristine that for the first time, LA was getting me down, she gave me the terrible and awesome advice to go for retail therapy. I would argue that I shouldn't take financial advice from Kristine (the girls at Holt's must know her by name by now) but it wasn't financial advice - it was how-to-feel-good advice, so I took it. Anyway, I discovered that I'm paying for car insurance that I already have on my Visa card. I am rectifying that situation today. I could look at it like I wasted $130 or that I saved $370 by catching the error. I prefer the latter and put my savings into the investment of a killer, shiny dress.

The shiny, tiny dress is the Pretty Girl's uniform in LA. I am not a Pretty Girl. But I like to infiltrate all types of gatherings. So I needed this dress. It isn't tiny but it is shiny, which is an acceptable approximation. Jasmin is arriving this afternoon (a bonafide Pretty Girl) so I expect that we will make use of my investment and it will pay dividends (party time, hayyyyyyy).

Last night Sean picked me up in a white convertible and we went to the Getty Friday night dance party, which ended up being the Getty Friday night stand-around party. The band was too perform-y and art-y. Oh wait, what do you call that? Performance art. The music was like, "Boop boop boop beep boo boot boo." The 3 members consisted of a Pretty Girl covered in tulle and blinking lights, a laptop guy in what looked like a Hitler-Andy Warhol Halloween mix-up and and another guy who worked the visuals by simply staring intensely at a projection on the side wall (get off the stage!).

At the Getty we met with Elizabeth, who likes to call me "Homie," which I love, and all her work friends. Her CFO's wife is visibly pregnant and we started chatting about it.

"So I guess you'll take a mat leave of...a year?"

She looked at me quizzically. "No, that is like, European."

"I'm Canadian," I offered.

"Right. I get it. Well, here it's 2 months max. If you took 3 months it would be like, What is taking her so long?" She said it with pride.

Sean and I went around to another party at a boutique hotel bar and then ended the night eating at Mel's on Sunset. I was starving, and thought about how I had started off the day. It's what I liked about not exercising - you don't get that hungry. Now it's back to wanting to eat all the time - it's like maintaining a pet. I inhaled a grilled cheese and fries and divulged to Sean my secret fascination with the bodies of obese people. We were surrounded by them. We discovered that one of them is famous because as we were walking out, I heard an LA-type tell him that she LOVED his work in blahblahblah. Does a celeb sighting count if you don't know who it is?

Off to pick up Jazzercize at the airport!

Day 11 in LA

2008-03-20T22:49:00.005-05:00

This morning I woke up with the feeling of a hangover but it wasn't alcohol-related; it was a sad hangover. I did have a beer before I went to sleep, but trust me, that made me feel better much more than it made me feel worse.

An aside: I don't even drink as an activity, but it really bugs me that I can't go to a bar and get tipsy. I am way too nervous of a driver and cheap drunk (a whiff of a g and t makes me giggle) to drive after a drink and I can't let the appropriate amount of time lapse before getting behind the wheel because at that point I'm usually asleep. If I've ever needed a drink it was last night, but instead I stood at a bar stone sober and then drove myself home in my compact car to sit on the futon in the living room and have a beer by myself.

On the plus side, I ran into a friend! A friend with whom I have a longer history than 10 days! At the Born Ruffians and Cadence Weapon concert, I ran into Sean, a video director from Toronto. It was nice to see a familiar face and in particular, someone with whom I am not that close but just close enough to joke around. That way, I didn't have to go into the long, sad story (not that long or sad to anyone except myself) of being crushingly mortified in a professional situation with a hero of mine. He's in town for a week at a hotel with a pool. I hope to be in that pool tomorrow afternoon.

Another aside: Please go see Born Ruffians play live. They were really good.

Update: I spoke to Margaret Cho again today, so the story will run. However, it was only half as good an interview and I felt really sheepish. But I'm just glad it's over. Time to move on.

Just to describe how I feel right now, when I drove Isaac to the airport yesterday morning, I told him how much I enjoyed all the laughing we did while he was here. I said I felt like I wouldn't laugh again for the next six weeks. And now I regret that I said that because it feels a little prescient.

Before I came here, I said to Sophie that I hoped spending some time away would make me like living in Toronto again. She said, "You always say that!" Which is true. But being in Africa is an adventure. Same for France. Same for Korea. Croatia, Brazil. Being in LA isn't really that much of an adventure. It's just me being here without my friends and family, the stuff that makes life fun. So maybe I've done it. I've found the place to go to that will make me just want to go home again.

The one bright spot of my day: hiking Runyon Canyon with my friend James. It was really beautiful and he's great company.

Margaret Cho Disaster

2008-03-19T19:47:00.003-05:00

So I just interviewed Margaret Cho. You all know how much I frickin love Margaret Cho. So of course she was great, talking about racist America and somehow making it funny (true gift), telling me about her new VH1 show and how her parents will be in it. We got into politics too.

It was nice.

Until I hit playback.

I'd forgotten my phone-to-recorder manuals at home so I gave myself lots of time this morning to play with all the cords and accoutrements (if there are actual computers that fit into manila envelopes why does this phone-recording stuff have to be so complex?).

I don't have any friends here to call and record so I phoned Isaac to leave him a voice message on our phone at home. Then I played it back and listened to my own dorky message. Et voila. I checked my audio rigging...but only on one end of the conversation. Mine.

Yeah.

I just about had a heart attack after the phone interview with Margaret was done, when I played it back to myself and heard my own questions followed by long spells of silence like they were lost balloons floating into the sky. Useless!

I didn't know what to do so I phoned her management back and admitted what had happened. The lady on the other end emitted a laugh (good sign? or cruel ending?). I am going to try and get some more time with Margaret tomorrow through her publicist, a different gatekeeper, the person I originally arranged with.

I am so upset that I did something so dumb. I am also upset that I am upset and that I am actually crying about this because I know it's not a big deal like death or a car accident or breaking your neck (things that cross my mind when I'm stressed) but I have to leave the house now to do another interview and I feel so frazzled and lame. I have also been inside all day prepping for the interview, construction going on outside on the street all day long, driving me crazy. Plus all the clocks in the house show a different time which makes me feel that I'm not going crazy - I actually AM crazy. I don't know what time it is!

Isaac Gets to Veto Entries Involving Him

2008-03-19T01:47:00.004-05:00

It's Isaac's last day in town. We ate tons of amazing food and blew off Kelsey Grammer.

For some reason, I thought it would be fun to see a taping of a show. Hear the sitcom without the laugh track. So I signed us up for Kelsey Grammer's show "Back To You." It was either that or random Jimmy Kimmel. That dance competition show with the guy from American Idol was totally booked (you KNOW I would have been there in a heartbeat).

Anyway, we made our way to the studio, 90 minutes early just as they asked. Standing in line, Isaac casually asked how long the taping would be.

"Two to four hours."

FOUR HOURS? Are they nuts? So we wait in line for an hour and a half plus four hours of taping? That is practically an entire work day. Being an audience member is actual work. Isaac and I sheepishly did a little tap number and shuffled away from the long line. We made a beeline for the car.

Speaking of the car - we spend so much time in the car! It is weird. Passenger seat gets to program music. I told him his iPod has too much junk on it. I don't know why I bother trying to put it on shuffle.

As I hit fast-forward:
"No! Go back to that one! That's a good song!"

"It's Senor Coconut. Really?"

"I like Senor Coconut!"

Cue Senor Coconut.

"Well. It sounds better usually. This car stereo is bad."

"Really, Isaac? It's the stereo?"

"Well, fine. Play some of your cooool music then."

"No, we'll listen to this."

Instead of seeing Kelsey Grammer, envisioning Sideshow Bob all the while, we went to Poquito Mas and it was AMAZING. I had a brick-size burrito of ahi tuna and lots of delicious other things. We ate it on the patio, as usual, which really means eating it in the parking lot. But it's the Canadian in us - we just can't resist sitting outside when it is warm enough to do so.

Goodbye, Isey.

Desert Blues

2008-03-17T23:34:00.003-05:00

We just got back from a mini road trip. We drove to a national park near Coachella, which is not hipster haven at this time of year (we were about 50 days early for that). It is, instead, a meeting ground for the nomadic tribe known as "retirees" in "mobile homes." We were going to the desert.

A few hours out of town, with nary a cactus in sight, I spied an outlet mall. "Isaac!" I practically shouted. I made him stop and told him I would only need 30 minutes (only the Saks and Barney's could be worth a look, right?). He was mildly annoyed because, "This is not what I..."...(silence). He wisely cut himself off.

In the end, he needed more time to do more shopping. This is where I flip my hand and put it inches from his face and say, "Whatever!"

Isaac and I spent a night at Joshua Tree. His idea. It's not like I don't like camping or the desert; I loved everything about the Sahara when I went with Tania in January. No shower for a week? Not a problem. Hair like a Brillo pad filled with sand? A-ok. But camels and Tuareg music in the Sahara are pretty spectacular. Joshua trees in California? I guess they're nice to look at and all but...

...IT IS TOO COLD IN THE DESERT AT THIS TIME OF YEAR.

Isaac and I realized this after a chilly hike around with the big prize being Skull Rock, a rock that mildly resembles a skull (that's being generous). Yes, the rock formations are stunning BUT SO IS THE COLD.

I considered just sleeping in the car like Tania and I did at the Fete du Chameau (you would have, too). Isaac and I ate a weird meal sitting in the car as the sun went down (salmon out of a tin, cheese) got drunk passing a bottle of wine back and forth (yes it felt weird drinking in a car) and then made a quick dash for the tent. We had put it up, after all. We eventually dozed (wine helped) but woke up to the tent wildly thrashing in the cutting desert wind - all four sides of the tent were freaking out like we were inside something alive. Vinyl, but alive. I thought, Well, at least it's almost morning so we can just skedaddle. Then I looked at my watch - it was 1 am. It was a long night.

At 6 am, we finally hightailed it. Our neighbour's tent in the next spot over had lost their fly (stuck in a faraway prickly bush) and half their tent was collapsed. Why were they still in it? Vroom (the sound of us leaving). I told Isaac that he owed me like, 10 hours at the outlet mall.

We cruised along the highway all morning. We spent a little time in Palm Springs. When I was in Saskatoon in the dead of winter last month, I thought, This place is so bleak but that's its charm. Palm Springs is the opposite. It is perfect and gorgeous with tall palm trees lining the wide manicured streets and giant, snow-capped mountains that point towards endless blue sky. I guess that's technically beautiful but something about the perfection is disgusting. It's sterile and there's something about the incongruity of golf lawns and Hummers in the desert that made me want to scream. Is anything real there?

We poked into thrift shops in Palm Springs (you would think vintage would be fantastic there but it's not) and jumped into a gorgeous outdoor public pool when it became unbearably hot, mid-afternoon. The high school swim team were getting their yearbook photo taken. It took about, oh, 2 and a half hours. Teenage girls are uncontrollable. That's kind of what's awesome about them.

On our way back to LA, at a rest stop, we met Slim, a 250-lb pig with a red diamante barrette perched on the front of her wobbly, morbidly obese head. She belongs to an older couple, very friendly. They're from Louisiana. The three of them live in a van, homeless after being hit by Ivan and then again by Katrina. The lady was so friendly and full of jokes but when she divulged that last bit of info to me, I didn't know what to say anymore.

Back in LA, we hit Koreatown for grilled bbq...indoors, grilled ourselves over charcoal. It struck me that for a camping trip, we were doing things backwards.

Weekend Review

2008-03-16T10:44:00.004-05:00

After a jam-packed day on Friday (Getty, Upright Citizens Brigade, Katsuya, Museum of Jurassic Technology) we practically didn't do anything on Saturday. I like both paces, full-on.

Saturday night we met with my old friend James (Isaac: "He looks JUST like James Spader!") and his friend Sara from Toronto (all my friends here only hang out with other Canadians). They took us to a restaurant in Thai town. I've never been to a Thai town. There were so many Thai resto's. Fantastic!

Above is the view from Griffith Park Observatory. It's a very cool visit, in a Science Center kind of way, i.e. I read a placard about how every element in the cells in our bodies used to be part of a star. Is that what Moby meant?

p.s. Katsuya was the best sushi that I have ever had (no exaggeration) and the Museum of Jurassic Technology wasn't a total waste of time (me: "While I hated every moment that I was in there...") but the way you feel after you leave is really what makes it worthwhile (if you can call it that).

"I Love L.A."

2008-03-15T04:11:00.001-05:00

Another Perfect Day

2008-03-14T00:15:00.005-05:00

Our Fun Week continues. This morning we ran some errands and found a strange little Indian buffet and grocery. We stopped there for lunch and ate our delicious food sitting on rickety chairs by what essentially amounts to a highway. There's very little that can put a dent in SUNSHINE. Even honking and traffic.

We spent the afternoon at LACMA. The new Broad center has an amazing collection of all the big names - Jeff Koons (Bubbles and MJ!), Cindy Sherman (incredible), Damien Hirst (ew). I was mesmerized by this gigantic doggie balloon made out of stainless steel and all I could think was that Koons probably had never even put his own hands on it. I don't want to be naive about the business of conceptual art but what's amazing is the lifelike rendering of the actual installation, not just the concept! Argh. All these nameless underlings who spend years manufacturing these amazing things that one person takes all the credit for. Hm.

Then we drove to Los Feliz to meet Isaac's 93-year-old relative Yami (cutest nickname ever), real name Sol. He had a day named after him last year here in LA. He walks a lot (he's done the California coast from Tijuana to San Fran) and for my benefit, he did the math on the stairs in his own home. He says he's climbed higher than Mt. Everest if you count how many steps he's taken in the 55 years that he's lived there. He is too cute.

He has a gigantic avocado tree that must have 600 avocadoes dangling from the branches. His daughter Janet took a long fruit-picking instrument and brought down a bunch for us to take home. Plus we ate kumquats from his yard.

We picked up camping gear from my new friend Elizabeth (for a trip to Joshua Tree monument this weekend) and then stuffed ourselves at Mexico City. Now Isaac is losing his mind, reading an article from The Onion. He has attempted to read some out loud but he's laughing too hard for me to understand. Something about Marmaduke. I have a feeling that the local availability of print copies of The Onion will be my comeuppance for having a Blackberry.

LAX Arrival

2008-03-13T01:18:00.003-05:00

This morning I picked up Isaac at the airport. Rejoice! We are going to have lots of fun, plus, he helps me be calm as I practice my driving on the mean streets of LA.

We started by hitting the In'N'Out burger right by the airport. He said he wanted to do it because it's in The Big Lebowski (I don't remember that because I don't remember anything, ever). He then told me that lots of celebrities enjoy frequenting the In'N'Out burger. I get a kick out of when Isaac says things like that. Doesn't he know who he's dating? I could tell him what Britney had for lunch today. (Not proud of it, it's just true).

Then we went downtown. I told him to be my GPS and direct us through Koreatown so I could catch a glimpse. I loved reading all the Korean signage, deciphering what they mean ("Ja Jee Ba" is obviously a jazz bar). We cruised by a fancy salon. I can't wait to go back and test just HOW Korean they are by handing over my hair to someone who will give me a Korean perm. Koreans do it best.

Our destination downtown was Clifton's, a cafeteria that is like a geriatric Disneyland. The decor is incredible, a campy indoor forest complete with waterfall and mechanical racoon, slowly descending into a garbage can and rising back up with his catch, a fish made of paper. This place was state of the art in its heyday but a relic now, as are all the patrons. Everyone there either was either wearing headphones or pulling a bag on wheels. In the cafeteria line-up, Isaac said quietly, "That's you when you're 90" and I turned around to the coolest looking senior citizen ever. She looked like MK Olsen except ancient.

Sometimes I feel anxious, driving around LA having fun when I should be working and sticking to the list but I'm so glad Isaac is here. We have our own list of things to do (although his includes things further along the nerdmeter like the Jurassic Technology Museum - what does that even mean?) and I'm happy to have someone with whom I can discover LA beyond the Sunset strip.

53 Days In LA

2008-03-11T23:40:00.003-05:00

So I'm spending spring in LA. I have a to-do list that revolves around making contacts, having meetings and not being overly distracted by perfect weather. My street smells like blossoms. After wearing knee-high Sorels and trudging through the crazy snowstorm in Toronto a few days ago, it's hard not to be distracted by this blossom-y, perfect weather.

I arrived late last night after a long delay. Can you believe that Tango doesn't give a meal on a flight from TO to LA? That is just asking for some air rage. I tried to buy a sandwich but only had 100 dollar bills USD. They wouldn't take it. I was in this predicament because I had rashly spent every last Canadian penny I had on a quickie manicure in the airport terminal (10-minute mani! Brilliant!) in anticipation of my meeting the next day. Can't go to a meeting with raggedy hands like a mummy who does hard labour, which is what my hands looked like.

This is all to say that I arrived exhausted and starved. And then I got behind the wheel. Every minute I spend driving, I am 100% stressed. There is too much in my visual field. I exercise extreme concentration every time I drive, which I try to do in a zen state because I get lost every single time. I just kind of do concentric circles until I finally hit the target.

This morning I had a meeting with an agent. Now, I will always maintain that I have exceptional talent in the packing department (ask anyone) but this time I did forget one thing, an important thing: toothpaste. Yeah, it might seem easy enough to buy a new tube, but not in the state I was in last night. Plus, I truly had no idea where I was. So I had to plan my entire morning around how to brush my teeth on the way to the meeting.

It revolved around Starbucks. Because I'm not a regular, I realize that I treat Starbucks for what it is, to me - a public washroom available to me on any street corner. The plan was to buy some toothpaste, hit a Starbucks, inhale a latte (no coffee in the apartment) and then brush teeth in the bathroom.

I saw Ice-T at the Starbucks. It was in Beverly Hills. Does he realize that his name is something that is available for sale there? I liked seeing him because it reminded me that people work hard and do regular things like get coffee. Oh geez. I am thinking such LA thoughts already.

The meeting with the agent wasn't noteworthy. I knew nothing would come of it when he started talking about the weather ("Welcome to LA! It's supposed to be 70 degrees all week!").

Walking away from it, I realized that I may need a cheerleader for this whole process. Someone or something that will help me realize that I'm not doing something crazy. That's because I had a thought today, post-meeting. I thought, I'm against beauty pageants, right? They're archaic. But something about this meeting-agents-thing makes me feel like I'm a contestant in a pageant. The only difference is that it's one-on-one, over a longer period of time and behind closed doors. My talent is that I can talk into a mic. Now I feel weird...but I can't afford to think like this. It's only Day One! How do actors do it? They must be maniacs.

I had tried to look nice for the meeting. I wore sky-high heels but didn't drive in them. I put them in a plastic bag and was paranoid that I'd forget them at home by the door and then have to walk in to the meeting in my driving shoes (what am I a senior citizen?) so I checked many times that I had my heels. After the meeting, I took off my patent leather heels and put on my Birkenstocks and drove away. What does it all mean?

Hellboy 2 Versus The Opera

2007-10-16T13:00:00.000-05:00

On the train from Zagreb to Budapest, we shared a compartment with Kirk. He is an L.A. accountant working on Hellboy 2, which is shooting in Budapest. Guess who got to visit the set and fling themselves at a masked Ron Perlman enthusiastically yelling, "Ron! Buddy! Remember when I visited you on the set of Star Trek: Nemesis?" Later, Isaac sidled up to Selma Blair but not before I got in there and had a lengthy conversation with her about style (she's the undisputed champ, hands down!).

Really, we just meekly stood in a spot least likely to get in the way and we watched Guillermo del Toro direct a scene where the whole happy Hellboy gang are entering this crazy, underground lair that looks a bit like The Dance Cave with dry ice. There was a PA whose job it was to control Hellboy's tail via remote control (his technique consisted of lazy circles that screamed nonchalance yet alertness to the situation). There was another PA who was the crab wrangler - one of the characters (who, instead of having legs, wheels himself on a little wagon although the actor himself does have legs, skinny ones encased in restrictive spandex) had to be covered in bright red and blue crabs. Those little guys will stand still but sometimes fall off when you're going take after take. There was a Hungarian animal specialist on-set.

There was also the DVD extras guy, shooting all the behind-the-scenes action. I covet his job. I have a whole list of random jobs that I'd love to have and this is one of them. There's no pressure! You get to tell the story of a story! Interviews, b-roll, cinema verite! So what if your life revolves around sci-fi weirdness for an entire year?

We perused some sets and initial architectural blueprints and craned our necks at green screens that were waaaaay high.

The next night, we were at the Budapest Opera House, looking down from the third balcony at red velvet curtains that were just as big as the green screens from the night before. We saw a production of Andre Chenier. And yes, it's a little surreal to think about the two artistic realms we'd visited within the 24 hours, but isn't everything a bit surreal when you think about comparisons?

Listening to the chorus, I began making a Hellboy 2 versus the Budapest Opera list in my mind. Hellboy 2? Massive green screens with a massive dry cleaning bill to match (we were being toured around by the accountant, remember?). The opera had red velvet curtains more than four storeys tall. Not sure what the expenses for maintenance would be. The background players in Hellboy 2 wore disgusting monster costumes (very well-rendered, very disgusting) with flesh wounds, giant spiky hairs, feet boots, etc. The production of Andre Chenier was all wigs, stockings, and rouge. And that was just the men.

We were lucky to have had a tour of Hellboy 2 because I'm fascinated by the artistry that goes into set design, make-up and wardrobe and even if sci-fi isn't my steez, this is the genre of the most fantastical, wow-factor stuff. Thanks be to Kirk, L.A. accountant, for driving us out one night into the middle of nowhere, an hour outside of Budapest. We were only creeped out for one, brief "where are we?" moment.

I'm So Hungary

2007-10-09T12:33:00.000-05:00

People always make fun of nonsensical English-language t-shirts in Japan but they should go to Croatia. A coast chock full of tourists makes for a sea of tacky souvenir t-shirts and I am really hoping that kids on the Dalmatian coast understand less of the English language than the Japanese. How else to explain "Who needs boobs..." (and then on the back) "When you've got an ass like this?" (14 year old girl). Or "You need to buy me a drink because you're still ugly" (12 year old boy). Then there was the economically-worded "He is gay" with an arrow meant to point at the person standing next to the wearer of the t-shirt. For some strange reason, I felt like apologizing to the Croatians for these hideous shirts.

Maybe English is tough but Hungarian is WAY HARDER. We're in Budapest now and there is absolutely nothing in this language that I can hang a hat on...no familiar words, sounds, nothing. When I read maps or our guidebook, my eyes just glaze right over when they get to a Hungarian word, all of which seem to begin or end with "nagy." It is a famously impenetrable language. The only thing I can remember is that greetings are backwards - you can say the phonetic equivalent of "See ya" for hello and "Hello" will work for goodbye. Both are kind of useless anyway because usually the shopkeeper will bark something to me in a brusque manner and I will scuttle away scared. Smiling in a friendly manner doesn't really work here.

This morning, Isaac and I went for coffee at the Gerbeaud which is yet another example of crazy gorgeous art deco. Then a long walk up the hill to the citadel on the Buda side. It's a great view of Pest. Then we went to the Gellert baths to soak all aft. Hot, cold, hot, cold, inside, outside! The sauna was truly scary, however, and I didn't last longer than 30 seconds. It was the most intense sauna I've ever been in and kind of felt like the time I had the mystic tan mishap (scary, can't see, surrounded by air that seems solid rather than a gas). I've cooked in hot waters before but this sauna was downright painful and I felt my metal necklaces (tiny, dainty chains) immediately heat up enough to scorch my neck. It was awful and I headed straight for the tiny cold bath (8 degrees) after to dunk myself. Pins and needles! This hot cold thing rules.

Best items seen in souvenir shop: Britney Russian doll and Simpsons Russian doll (Bart on outside, cracked-out Lisa on inside drawn by someone who's obviously never seen the Simpsons, plus random teacups painted on the inner three).
Worst items seen in fleamarket: actual SS Nazi rings and paraphernalia.

More notes to come.

Bok from Split, Croatia

2007-10-02T05:23:00.000-05:00

Bok!

Karim and Tomi's wedding in Crikvenica was beautiful. It's kind of hard to go wrong on the stunning Croatian coast. Saturday we woke up in our beachside apartment and got dressed in our party finery. We desperately needed coffee. We walked over to Tomi's mom's house as, according to custom, everyone was gathering for a reception there. It was noon. There wasn't any coffee there but there was plenty of wine and vodka. And so it began.

After mingling and meeting both sides of the family, greeting the bride and groom, much eating and drinking, we piled into cars for the church. It was across the water, on the island of Krk, an hour's drive. The landscape was gorgeous but I snoozed most of the way there and back. What I saw was rocky and hilly, shrubbery everywhere. The church itself is by the water, by a mountain, on a hilltop by a tiny town and it's surrounded by crumbling stone. After a beautiful ceremony, we got back into the cars, headed back to Crikvenica for the reception.

Croatians can party. There was a band led by a Viggo Mortensen look-alike who took a liking to Isaac and Philippe, asking them to sing some lines in Croatian. Isaac gave a nice speech, we ate for hours, danced to Croatian music, and drank until 4 in the morning. By the end, I was barely standing, not because of the drinks but just because I was so tired. Isaac called it Wedding Survivor. I wouldn't have won.

Now we're in Split where Isaac, Katie and Philippe and I are enjoying the summery weather, waiting for the couple to arrive so we can crash their honeymoon.

The Catacombs

2007-08-29T11:32:00.000-05:00

On my penultimate day in Paris, I decided to do what seems like the only tourist attraction I haven't done here: the catacombs. After being to the ossuary in Kutna Hora 7 years ago, I didn't really feel that compelled to visit. HOWEVER, both Nick and Julie Delpy (in 2 Days in Paris) mentioned that it's their FAVOURITE thing to do. That's pretty high praise to call something your favourite thing in Paris.

My first thought upon entering the catacombs was: "Anyone who says this is their FAVOURITE thing to do in PARIS is a sick person." But that's because I wasn't prepared for the first cluster of skulls...it just kind of comes out of nowhere.

The halls are long and dark, and at first, they feel way too narrow, like the piles of bones on either side are pressing in towards you. It's a bit much really. Throw in the smell (dank, earthy, vaguely death-like) and the descent on the never-ending spiral staircase (which is as good as being blindfolded and spun around 10 times before getting a light spank on your way to pin the tail on the donkey). So yeah, the whole thing starts off with a touch of nausea.

A few minutes into wandering the tunnel, though, it gets a bit better. It's awe-inspiring. The street names are etched into the walls and there are musings on life and death throughout. It's all in French but because it's quite simple stuff (which is also why it's profound) it's easy to understand. And anyway, when there are writings on the wall about your "soul" being "tranquil" and a "tomb" being the school of "truth," and you are actually inside a massive, underground tomb, there isn't really much room for confusion when it comes to reading comprehension.

Lexi and I were wondering about the skulls with gaping holes in them, whether they were damaged while being exhumed from the cemetaries or if their owners had died violent deaths. We were discussing it in hushed tones when she interrupted me to say, "Look at this guy!" There was a skull, or half of one, at our eye level, and its entire top half was missing. We burst out into nervous laughter. You don't feel entirely relaxed down there. There's no getting used to the smell and there are puddles. I didn't like those puddles.

About halfway through I was all the way through with big thoughts on life and death and I just kind of wanted out. Back up the spiral staircase and then suddenly spat out onto a regular Parisian sidewalk into the blazing noon sun. THAT was a surreal moment. There's an entire labyrinth of past lives just under our feet.