PuSh 2013: Opening Gala (Crossing the Line)

unnamedOne of the things that I’ve always admired about the PuSh International Performing Arts Festival is that, well, they push the arts. They push culture. And Vancouver’s arts community is the better for it. Nowhere is that so obvious than during the PuSh Opening Galas, fun events that incorporate music and interactive performances with libations and dancing. The PuSh 2013 Opening Gala was held this year on Monday night at Club Five Sixty on Seymour.

At this year’s Gala (more than at any other PuSh Gala I think) I actually paid attention to the opening speeches (did it have anything to do with the fact that one of my favourite musicians, Dan Mangan, was an MC? Possibly). From Dan Mangan himself, and Vancouver’s Mayor Gregor Robertson, and PuSh Executive Director Norman Armour, the message rang loud and clear: the arts are important and we should protect them, fight for them, and (dare I say?) fund them. With the closure of the Waldorf in East Vancouver on our minds (not to mention other high-profile closures in the past year, including the Vancouver Playhouse Theatre Company), it seems to be a dark time to celebrate “crossing the line”, as the PuSh Festival is asking us to do over the next two weeks.

So why do they do it? Why spend a tremendous amount of time, effort, and money on a two-week international performing arts festival? Because we need it. Because festivals like PuSh represent a coming together of the very best of the performing arts community, and a commitment to refuse complacency, refuse mere satisfaction with where the Vancouver performing arts scene is today, and to push to the envelope (there’s that word again), and audiences, into new territory, artistically and geographically (with productions from as far away as Taiwan, Argentina, and Belgium). Only by seeing what we’ve never seen can our arts community strengthen and become what we’ve never yet been–safely sustained, more than hand to mouth, more than dependent on the capricious whims of provincial and federal funding.

More than just a seat-warmer for an eventual condo development to move in.

One of the PuSh Gala’s interactive performances this year, Open Book (inspired by Human Library, a production brought to PuSh 2013 by Denmark’s Stop the Violence), is an excellent example of performing art’s capacity to “cross the line”, and to bring its audience with it. In the eerie Club Five Sixty basement, my TC and I had the opportunity to check out a “human book” for a 10-minute conversation. I checked out Patti, a psychic, who explained to me what being psychic means to her life (it makes it calmer, she says) and who believes that all people have the capacity to tap into their intuitive and psychic abilities. TC had a conversation with Bruce, a legally blind painter who uses acrylics to create highly textured works and who paints the irregularities of his limited vision onto his pieces. A performance like Open Book is not traditionally what one would consider theatre–and yet it is live, it is an experience, it is not designed to be therapeutic or necessarily educational but simply to push us, through the power of a simple conversation with a stranger, into a new place (in this case, another person’s, a real person’s, experience).

Of course the Gala got me excited about What To See. What to see, what to see? Every year I have to make tough choices and every year I miss something amazing, simply because most of the festival is amazing and I can’t see even half of it. Every event at the festival (and Club PuSh) seems intriguing, new, virtuosic. Two pieces in particular are calling to me–Ride the Cyclone (Atomic Vaudeville, Victoria BC) and The Strange Undoing of Prudencia Hart (National Theatre of Scotland, Glasgow). TC’s top pick: Reich + Rite with pianist Vicky Chow (Music on Main, Vancouver). But there’s so much more, always so much more, and so many ways to cross the line.

To see what the PuSh Festival has to offer this year, and decide how you want to cross the line, visit the PuSh website at www.pushfestival.ca. For more about specific PuSh events (plus the event calendar and program guide), visit the Festival Events page.

Disclosure: My TC and I received comps to the PuSh Gala this year, as I have every year I’ve gone, because I have blogged and tweeted, and continue to blog and tweet, about the Festival.

Relephant’s “Ordinary Days” Packs an Extraordinary Punch

Warren (Stephen Greenfield) and Deb (Jennie Neumann). Photo: Jessie van Rijn

Warren (Stephen Greenfield) and Deb (Jennie Neumann). Photo: Jessie van Rijn

If you have a case of the Januaries (Christmas is over, winter’s still here, it’s dark, it’s cold, it’s wet, you’re back at work and your New Year’s resolutions are already broken), Relephant Theatre‘s production of Adam Gwon’s Ordinary Days may be just what you need. A tight and funny chamber musical about life in the Big Apple, Ordinary Days celebrates the very, well, ordinariness that can make city life such a drag sometimes.

A good show starts with a good script, and the folks at Relephant Theatre have picked something special. Gwon’s touching and humourous vignettes could describe life in any North American city, and this is where the script’s strength lies. There is very little in the play that I couldn’t relate to–the search for calm in a busy metropolis, apartment life (and trying to find space for all your junk), being late and stuck in traffic–and I was surprised by the way this relatability managed to tease tears from my eyes again and again (by this I mean I was actually crying a little bit through most of the play. About nothing more extraordinary than ordinary life). I was also laughing a lot–a sung e-mail from a harried grad student (Jennie Neumann) to her thesis supervisor was a particular highlight.

A play so focused on celebrating the mundane needs to work very hard to avoid cliche. Gwon does an terrific job of this right up until the end, where unfortunately an emotionally manipulative plot twist sticks out like a sore thumb. The play already had me by the heartstrings and I really hadn’t needed the extra pull. I felt alienated instead of drawn in, and removed from the ordinariness that had made the script so compelling in the first place. This is, however, a minor and personal quibble in a play that is overall so incredibly enjoyable.

Based on the two Relephant productions I’ve seen (The Exquisite Hour was a delight last spring) and my conversations with co-producer Jessie van Rijn, Relephant Theatre is a company that never bites off more than it can chew. Its productions are thematically whimsical, technically tight (even on a shoestring budget), and lovingly performed. You won’t be pushed into the obscene or completely obscure (if that’s your thing), but you will enjoy your night at the theatre.

What more could you ask for from an ordinary day?

Ordinary Days runs in the Large Studio at Carousel Theatre (1411 Cartwright Street, Granville Island) until January 19. Tickets are available at the door (cash only) or online through Brown Paper Tickets.

Logistical tip: For this production, the Carousel Studio is set up with chairs and stools. The stools provide a more unique view, but if you require back support you should stick the chairs in the risers.

Disclosure: I was asked to review Relephant Theatre’s production of Ordinary Days and provided comps by the company. I also have a friendly professional relationship with Jessie van Rijn through her past work at the Carousel Theatre Company. At no point was I asked for a positive review.

To a Happy New Year (one that’s worth fighting for)

My past two New Years posts have been a little…flippant. At the end of 2010 it was because 2010 had been so personally sad for me. At the end of 2011 it was because the year had been so personally awesome. But this year–this year 2012 that has just passed–requires, I think, some honest reflection.

For me personally, 2012 was good. Had the world actually ended on December 21, I would have had little to complain about. The year 2012 was intellectually fulfilling: I did more writing than I’ve done in a long time, and the fact that I was taking classes allowed me to get incredibly constructive feedback. The year 2012 was artistically fulfilling: I watched my talented friends perform my play Libation Bearers (the Flame), and it was everything I could have asked for. As far as adventures go, nothing could have topped our visit to the Galapagos Islands this autumn. And as for my heart, I became engaged to the man I love, and throughout this past year and all years I have received love and support from my family and friends. 2012 was kind to me.

But the year 2012 was not kind to everyone. November and December, especially, took a darker turn. My hometown lost another young man to suicide. A much loved and respected colleague at work succumbed to cancer. Other colleagues have been dealing with serious illness, either battling it themselves or watching a loved one suffer. Aaron Johnson, the director and founder of the Vancouver Circus School (where I have trained in aerial silks for the past five years) fell into a coma and passed away this autumn (this is the man who taught me to do a headstand at the age of 23). And just as the year was drawing to a close, a member of my father’s family was taken suddenly. An aunt, a mother, a wife, a grandmother, a sister–all these things in one person, and all these things to miss.

On a wider scope, I have felt the weight of this particular autumn. A cosmic force did not end the world on December 21, but it’s becoming obvious humanity is more than capable of bringing about its downfall. Bill C45 reduced the number of protected waterways in Canada on an unprecedented scale. The “Idle No More” movement has been met in many parts of the country with ignorance, racism, or, in the case of our own Prime Minister, a complete lack of recognition for the responsibilities the government has for the well-being of ALL Canadians (not just the ones that vote Conservative). It has been announced that the Victoria hearings into the proposed Enbridge Pipeline (which would pump bitumen from Alberta to BC’s coast, to be loaded onto tankers and shipped through extremely dangerous and environmentally significant waterways) will no longer be public, despite the potentially disastrous impact it would have on the environment, livelihoods, and citizens of BC.

In the United States, the deaths of the innocent children and schoolteachers in the Sandy Hook massacre shocked and sickened us, and still hateful groups like the Westboro Baptist Church and the NRA have chosen to use this tragedy as a platform towards their own ends.

In India, a young woman died after being brutally beaten and gang raped, exposing a (dare I say global) culture that accepts that women, 50% of the population, are not safe, and that very little is being done to foster underlying societal attitudes that would keep them safe.

It all sounds very bleak. But I say “Happy New Year”. Why? Because, as the saying goes, “Out with the old, in with the new.”

Out with a government, a culture, a country, that turns its back on its obligations to its First Nations people. Out with a government that ignores its people, is afraid of its people, and does whatever it can to turn its citizens against each other. Out with short-sighted economic policy that fails to recognize that a completely gutted environment will yield nothing but loss–to our health, our culture, and our economy. Out with a government that banks on our ignorance and complacence. The tools are in our hands (I’m typing on one right now). We can inform ourselves and we can act. We have to live with this particular government until at least the next election, but we don’t have to make it comfortable for them.

Out with outdated stigmas and ineffective support for people with mental illness. Out with waiting for yet another tragedy to finally decide that attitudes need to change, that asking for help is not weakness, and that anyone reaching out for mental health assistance should find it readily available.

Out with being too afraid of gun lobbyists to finally just make it harder for someone to obtain a dangerous weapon whose reason for existence is killing people.

Out with accepting that women should just be content with feeling unsafe. That their safety is the price they pay for daring to participate in public life, or for deciding to act, travel, work, etc. independently.

And, for me (and hopefully for you), out, OUT with being too paralyzed by the shades of grey in the world, the plethora of information, the never ending bad news, or the fear of offending someone, to actually take a stand and believe in something, and be willing to fight for something.

I am a feminist. I am pro-choice. I am against the Enbridge Pipeline. I support marriage equality. I am a member of the federal New Democratic Party. I support Canada’s First Nations and the Idle No More movement. I am committed to learning more about Canada’s environmental and treaty laws. I am committed to telling people what I believe. I will donate my money (when I can), I will sign a petition, I will blog, I will read the news, I will share the news, I will march when I can march, I will yell when I can yell. I will continue to love my family and my friends and my fiance and my country deeply because they are the point of the fight.

And so I wish you a Happy New Year because we don’t have a choice. Either we fight for a happy 2013 or we lose ourselves to indifference, violence, hatred, and fear. Tonight, I hope you are having a wonderful (and safe) time with people you care about. Eat, drink, and be merry. Tomorrow, and each day after, get up and fight. Happiness, like all truly good things, is worth fighting for.

Why “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” is the Ultimate Christmas Movie

1210-grinch_full_600There are lots of classic and not-so-classic films vying for the title of the Ultimate Christmas Movie: Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, A Christmas Story, A Charlie Brown Christmas, Home Alone, and maybe even the relatively new Will Ferrell comedy Elf, to name a few.  But I think that the best Christmas movie of all, is the one about the Grinch whose heart was two sizes too small.

My own childhood watching the Dr. Suess classic certainly biases my choice, but I believe nostalgia is only one of the film’s important merits:

  • Script: Dr. Suess’ original poem How the Grinch Stole Christmas was a masterpiece. The journey from poem to animated film (including additional song lyrics by Dr. Suess himself) made the story a classic. Who can forget the instructions to “Trim up your pets with fuzzle fuzz/And whiffer bloofs, and wuzzle wuzz”? Or the heartwarming welcome to Christmas, “Fahoo Foraze”?
  • Performance: Has any film ever been more expertly narrated? Sorry Morgan Freeman, but Boris Karloff’s voice is so low, so refined, so Grinchy, so Christmassy! Besides, Karloff had to read words that weren’t even REAL. Words like “jing-tinglers” and “who-wonkas”. Did you have to do that? No.
  • Music: With instant hits like “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch”, there’s no question the music in this film is awesome.
  • Whimsy: In a whimsy competition, Dr. Suess is sure to win hands down. From his imaginative characters and locations, to his creative use of language (I’m pretty sure “pantookas” and “whoboohoo bricks” are not native to this planet), to his wacky and wonderful line drawings, Dr. Suess is the definition of “whimsy”. And no film can truly capture the magic of Christmas without some whimsy.
  • The meaning of Christmas: this is by far the most important category, and How the Grinch Stole Christmas is not the only holiday film to decry greed and commercialization in favour of “the true meaning of Christmas.” Films like A Charlie Brown Christmas, for example, do just this. But unfortunately for me, the meaning of Christmas for Charlie Brown happens to be Jesus. There’s nothing really wrong about this. Christmas is, after all, technically a celebration of the birth of Christ (that just so happens to coincide with the winter solstice and the pagan celebration of Yule and the Jewish Hanukkah among other things). It’s just that the Christian theme of Christmas (the manger, etc.) has always excluded a person like me, who grew up celebrating holidays in a secular fashion but still believes in the magic of these special times of year. In How the Grinch Stole Christmas, the true meaning of Christmas is not revealed as being part of any particular religion. It is represented in the film as a glow created by the love and joy of the Who community coming together and welcoming Christmas, despite the loss of their material trappings. Dr. Suess’ message is also one of inclusion. Bitter and isolated in his mountain cave, the Grinch is able to join in the Whos’ Christmas cheer once he understands that their celebration isn’t about the superficial (toys, food, decorations, etc.), but about having a joyful spirit. With this spirit in mind, the Whos in Whoville immediately forgive the Grinch for taking their things and even grant him the honour of carving the Roast Beast.

I know everyone has their favourite Christmas film and that perhaps I have not managed to convince you. I don’t care. May the true meaning of Christmas give you the strength of ten Grinches plus two, on this Christmas and every Christmas.

xoxo, NiftyNotCool

Galapagos Islands Day 4: Isla Floreana and the Mystery of la Baronesa

F01FloreanaIslandIt is my intention (despite my two-week hiatus to write about other things) to document each day of our trip to the Galapagos on this blog. Why? Because a travel opportunity like this comes but once in a lifetime and I feel this incredible experience requires thorough processing on my part. Besides, it means I get to share more cute photos of sea lions. SEA LIONS!

F06SeaLionThough I will agree that the Galapagos archipelago is indeed a paradise, it is far from lush, at least not everywhere. The most striking feature of Isla Floreana is its emptiness. Even the sky seemed blank and grey on this Wednesday morning. The island was quiet too. A sea lion or two slept on the sand and a few sally lightfoot crabs skittered on the rocks but otherwise we had to learn about Floreana’s other fauna through landmarks and traces: this is the lagoon where flamingos search for shrimp. These are the tracks left by a sea turtle on her way to her nest.

Marine tortoise tracks

Sea turtle tracks

The cracked earth, forbidding rocks, and mist-shrouded highlands provided a perfect backdrop for our guide Jose to tell us the story of “la Baronesa” and the other German settlers who took up residence on Floreana in the 1930s:

La Baronesa (a German baroness) caused a stir when she arrived on the island with her three lovers. Life on the barren Floreana was far from decadent and according to Jose, la Baronesa used her feminine wiles to obtain food and other necessary goods from among the male settler population (and not just among her own lovers). One man who was taken in was a Mr. Wittmer, who farmed in the highlands with his wife Margaret. La Baronesa seduced Wittmer and Margaret threw him out. Wittmer camped by the gates of his compound and begged Margaret to let him back in–this wasn’t necessarily his heart talking, but more than likely his stomach (now that he was cut off from his farm). Hungry and desperate, Wittmer ate the food he found near the compound fence, food which Margaret had poisoned for the rats. Wittmer died.

F02LagoonFloreanaAnd la Baronesa? According to my Lonely Planet, she and one of her lovers simply disappeared. Another lover died in a boating accident. A certain Dr. Rittmer (an eccentric vegetarian who’d had all his teeth removed before sailing for the Galapagos because he wanted to avoid dental problems) mysteriously died from food poisoning after eating chicken (suspicious, don’t you think?). One by one, the settlers died or disappeared under strange circumstances, until only Margaret and her children remained. Her descendents now operate the Hostal Wittmer on Floreana, and though Margaret wrote a book about her experiences, much of what happened to those early settlers remains unexplained.

The lagoon by which we heard the tale of "La Baronesa"

The lagoon by which we heard the tale of “La Baronesa”

Oooooh.

Post Office Bay

Post Office Bay

Tales of mystery and seduction aside, our visit to Floreana was marked by two more highlights. The first was a visit to Post Office Bay. Post Office Bay is so-called because it boasts a small barrel with a little roof and a little door, mounted on a post. This little “post office” operates through the kindness of travelers. When you bring an addressed postcard to leave in the post box, it is expected that you will go through the postcards already there. If you live in or near the city the card is addressed to, it is considered polite for you to deliver it yourself (TC and I couldn’t find any for BC but took a couple for Eugene, Oregon….I hear it’s nice down there). We addressed a card to ourselves and promptly forgot all about it, thinking we’d likely never see it again. The other week, a nice gentleman from White Rock knocked on the door and handed TC our post card, safe and sound from Isla Floreana. What a system!

F08GalapagosCotton

Galapagos cotton, Floreana

The lack of flamingos during our morning hike was made up for by our afternoon dinghy ride. At this point TC and I had gone on a lot of dinghy rides and that was no big whoop in itself, but when our boat stopped beside a little rocky islet off Floreana’s coast we saw two Galapagos penguins. I don’t think I ever thought I would see penguins in the wild. Galapagos penguins are tiny and adorable and when they swim they look like ducks. They are also the most northerly penguins in the world and the only species of penguins that lives in the tropics.

Oh my god! Penguins!

Oh my god! Penguins!

I was beginning to think there was nothing the Galapagos couldn’t show me.

Truth Be Told Theatre presents THE LIFE GAME VANCOUVER

lifegame(newtag)Given its spontaneous nature, improvisational theatre and comedy often go hand-in-hand. The goal of many improvisational performances is to make people laugh, and the goal is usually achieved. The Life Game, created by improv guru Keith Johnstone and presented by Vancouver’s Truth Be Told Theatre until December 16, works a little differently.

In most improvisational theatre (read: comedy) I have experienced, the focus of the show is on the performers and how well they handle the unexpected. In The Life Game, the focus of each show is a guest (a different one each time) who volunteers to describe moments of their life to the audience and to the cast, ringing a bell if the performers are re-creating the moments accurately, blowing a horn if the re-creation seems off. Guests are reminded that they are not responsible for making the show interesting, and the show works best if the guest is not concerned with this.

The performance I attended last Friday was a bit unusual, in that instead of interviewing an invited guest, the company interviewed guests from the audience. The first guest, Lisa, described her childhood and her dynamics within her family. Using stock props and set pieces, the performers set up her bedroom as it had been in childhood. It was, to put it simply, really really cool to watch performers take on Lisa’s descriptions of her life, and to watch Lisa physically step into her re-created childhood bedroom. From the day Lisa told her little sister she was adopted (a cruel lie to tell a younger sibling), to an imagined show-down between Belle (Lisa’s favourite Disney princess) and the evil queen from Snow White (Lisa’s bogeyman), Lisa’s life was the focus of the performance and it was funny and engaging.

After the intermission, I was asked to be the evening’s second guest and I accepted. It was a very interesting experience. Watching my heart break as my friend Carmen told me the boy I was infatuated with started dating someone else a week after he kissed me under the starlight broke my poor little heart all over again, but also made me laugh. When my “interviewer” turned to my current partner, TC was pointed out and he was invited to join me on the stage as we helped the cast re-create the moment of our engagement. Funnily enough, the actors we had chosen to play us were engaged in real life, and like us, had used an heirloom ring (nifty!).

Ultimately, the point of the show is that ordinary lives are beautiful, interesting, and extraordinary. Each show interviews a different person, and different life experiences are created for the audience. It’s a simple and elegant idea, and the talented cast and crew of Truth Be Told delivers. This is an innovative show you should definitely see once, but should probably see more than once, since every night is brand-new.

The Life Game Vancouver runs until December 12 – 16 at 8:00 pm, at Studio 1398, Granville Island. Tickets are available online or at the door (cash only).

Disclosure: I was invited to attend The Life Game Vancouver and provided comps. I was not asked for a positive review and my views remain my own.

It’s December 6, and casual misogyny abounds

Green-AppleThis morning Canadians on Facebook and Twitter have been calling on us to remember the 14 female engineering students whose lives were taken by a gunman on December 6, 1989, and to pledge that violence against women will stop.

I was particularly taken with this address made by NDP MP Megan Leslie in 2008 and shared on Twitter today. Leslie said, “We live in a culture of casual misogyny…And we don’t do enough to fight it.”

This year, like any year, I would agree with Megan Leslie. But this year in particular, I have been provided (via an argument on Facebook no less, if you want to really talk “casual”) with an example of casual misogyny in action which has proven, beyond a doubt, that we need more than ever, to oppose violence against women, and first and foremost, to vehemently oppose, wherever they arise, the misogynistic attitudes that lead to gender-based violence in the first place.

The argument started with an opinion piece called The war on men, written by Suzanne Venker and published on FoxNews.com. Venker opines that women these days are having a hard time finding a marriageable man these days, and it’s feminism’s fault:

Women aren’t women anymore…

Now the men have nowhere to go…

Men want to love women, not compete with them. They want to provide for and protect their families – it’s in their DNA. But modern women won’t let them…

Fortunately, there is good news: women have the power to turn everything around. All they have to do is surrender to their nature – their femininity – and let men surrender to theirs.

If they do, marriageable men will come out of the woodwork.

Pretty nauseating stuff. Almost laughably bad, and I was laughing at it. I was laughing at this horrible piece of “journalism” because I didn’t know a single person who actually thought the article had any truth or merit.

Until last weekend when I found myself in a Facebook argument I couldn’t ignore because this man’s opinions were so disturbing to me. A friend had posted the article and we were all having a nice time poking fun at its flaws when for some reason a guy up and decided that this was the day he was going to reveal his true feelings about feminism at last. At first, pretty small potatoes. This guy said that he had met too many “liberal transient single women with zero goals” who problematize masculinity to say feminism was without its problems. I have also met such women, but as was immediately pointed out, perhaps the issue was not the women’s feminism itself but perhaps other aspects of their personality (or, as my friend suggested, “a lack of critical thinking”).

Sounds good to me. But no. The guy then told me that “the line of of thinking” in feminism is not the belief that everyone should have equal value in society, but that feminists believe that society itself is invalid because it is patriarchical. To which I replied:

“As a feminist, I think I know what my own line of thinking is thank you. And I think it’s a bit much to say “THE line of thinking” is or isn’t anything. At its base, it’s about being an equally valued member of society no matter your gender, and this is the line of thinking I hear most often from the feminists in my life. After that, the idea of feminism becomes complicated and I believe personal, affected by where and when I live, historically and geographically. Just as I assume your own beliefs and values surrounding gender, femininity and masculinity are. If YOU personally believe that society is invalid because it’s patriarchal, that’s fine. Either way, you don’t really have the right to paint your particular idea of feminism on me or any other feminist. I’ve been a feminist for as long as I’ve been socially conscious. I’m more than capable of knowing what my line of thinking is.

The issue for me wasn’t really what this guy thought about feminism, it was that he, not I (a woman and a feminist) knew what THE line of thinking in feminism was. Some feminists may very well have this belief about society and patriarchy, but this is not an absolute. Many people joined in at this point to agree that “isms” are flexible and personal, and that there is a whole spectrum of feminism to which a person and their line of thinking can belong. In fact, my friend who posted the article in the first place even stepped in and tried to smooth things over by clarifying that it was the stupid article, not masculinity, that was under attack, and she was sorry if the guy had felt differently.

To which he replied with a bunch of mumbo jumbo no doubt picked up during a philosophy class, about spectrums and how they are “very clearly finite” complete with a mathematical example. Other people tried to shut down this crazy train but this guy was intent to keep on chugging:

“i replied in this manner because i sensed the feeling behind the sheepish bashing of crude right-wing news is coming from a place of pain and darkness. the punches are too easy… are you just externalizing your pain?. so its like hey u kno what? there’s a ton of pain and obscurity and distancing and dissociating within the feminist movement. Inside. if we confront that pain well be 10x stronger in creating the world we want.”

Again, there’s a tiny kernel of truth there. Yes, a lot of women (like a lot of men) experience pain and darkness in their lives. Many of them at the hands of men or at the hands of a gender-biased society. It’s one of the reasons people (both men and women) might become feminists in the first place. But it seems to me that this guy, while pretending he is part of the “we” that needs to “confront the pain” (while so obviously demonstrating he is not on the same team), is experiencing some pain of his own around the idea of feminism that he needs to deal with. Why else would he be trying to prove he is not misogynistic by calling women “sheepish” and essentially saying they just need to deal with their baggage?

And this point I just couldn’t ignore the conversation anymore and had to step back in:

“Here’s the thing. When _____  first shared this article, we were laughing at the stupidity of it, making jokes like “good thing you’re a great cook” and having a fun time with a poor piece of journalism. The butt of the joke was always the ARTICLE (which was, incidentally, written by a woman), never men themselves. Somewhere along the way things went way off the tracks. I’ve no doubt we’ve all met a feminist or two we didn’t like. I have. But was the problem their feminism or that maybe they just weren’t very nice people? Keep in mind, for example, that _____, a wonderful intelligent person I respect and admire, is a feminist (I make this assumption based on the 20+ years of conversations we’ve had). I assume we’re all friends of _____’s or we wouldn’t be on her Facebook wall. Does anyone truly believe their friend _____ blames her problems on men or indulges in “sheepish bashing”? Or enjoys how crazy this has gotten? If you are her friend, you know she doesn’t. Don’t let bad experiences with a “feminist” or two in the past colour your opinions of the kick ass feminist who shared this post in the first place. For my part, I’m out now before things start to get more nuts, though it’s been an interesting conversation.”

And foolish as I am I truly thought that might be it. I tried to be diplomatic. I didn’t single this guy out. I didn’t use his name or try to make the attacks personal, though I just wanted to scream, “Listen to yourself, you f**king misogynist!”. I thought, surely no rational twenty-something educated Canadian man would want to both insult his friend and appear misogynistic by continuing his kamikaze mission of crazy talk. But he DID:

ok, two last things and this can all roll under the bridge forver if u like ……
i. The handful of women i’m thinking of are lovely intelligent gorgeous human beings, consciously feminist. i personally find them adorable and fun. i see a part of their being is a terrible sadness. a fundamental radical source of negativity seems to be the undercurrent of their choices, shaping a life to be flighty transient and obscure. negating something very primary about the universe: wielding energy over objects is control. so going thru life rejecting this immutability of using masc. power-over, whilst simultaneously relying on others doing it for survival. Weird adolescence without end. seeing giant industry and going NOpe not real ZOOOOOOOoooom.

ii. (my cultural view) by being unable to accept power-over in any form, relationships suffer since the natural dance & ebb and flow of (u>me + me>u = meu) is stifled into oblivion. any decent man versed in feminist thought undeniably recognizes Woman possesses of her Being her own kind of creative power and nonrational wisdom distinct from his, but from which he may borrow. In union, let man go out face the world with his devices (fights for what’s his) and let woman freedom to apply & refine her creation, her genesis at home, in the private realm; or if she decides to leave it, it is her complete choice and not obligation for survival. (you decide what these entities are, ‘Woman’ ‘man’ maybe they are aspecst of your own self, yet this motif comes up again and again). If this basic concept of ‘home’ isn’t satisfied then it is replaced with a series of ugly public conventions, a myriad way of contending with REEEELING against the flow of dominion of men over nature.

I don’t respect this as multiculturalism. It’s simply degradation of the feminine in the name of misdirected freedom. good luck

I just. I just don’t know. I just don’t know what the hell this guy is talking about. I mean, he uses disclaimers like “you decide what these entities are ‘Woman’, ‘Man'”, etc. but hold the phone… “adorable”? The feminists he knows are adorable but have a terrible sadness (and this sadness is somehow feminism’s fault)? And women possess their own kind of “nonrational” wisdom? And that as a woman I am free to express myself in my home and in the private realm? (Or leave my home, if I choose, but don’t worry, he’s told me I’m not “obligated” to do so.)

I have never read anything more patronizing in my life. Like capitalizing the word “Being” just for us feminists (because you can’t be a feminist without also being New Age, apparently). Like admitting to our  “nonrational wisdom” but declaring “power-over” (whatever that is) to be a distinctly and irrevocably masculine power. Like kindly admitting women’s dominion over their homes and private lives, allowing them to enter public life, but assuring women they are not obligated to (assuming, I suppose, because their masculine counterpart is already out there, makin’ the bacon). The whole thing was like getting a huge “F U” wrapped in an ugly bow.

To really really give this clown the benefit of the doubt and say he’s using the words “Man” and “Woman” in symbolic rather than literal terms, I still find his argument sexist: to infer that the power which is public and shapes the world must always be a masculine power, and that the feminine power is wielded in the private realm. I don’t buy it. If I were to divvy up my own yin and yang, I would say it is actually my more stereotypically feminine qualities (my sociability, my rapport, my organization and attention to detail) that allow me to be very good at my job, to support myself, and to get what I want in my public life.

I did read and reread this guy’s comments, wondering if they truly are as sexist as I felt they were. And they are. I am also aware this kind of not-so-thinly veiled “philosophical” misogyny is not the same as committing violent acts against women, and that this guy probably has no idea, in his heart of hearts, that what he was saying makes him appear incredibly incredibly sexist.

Which is why it scares me so much. Just like when someone says, “I’m not racist, but…” before making a gross racial stereotype, a person who claims not to be sexist but simply rational (unlike, apparently, “nonrational” women) is the worst kind of sexist. It is hard to change their minds because they believe they are realists, rationalists, and it is feminists or people who agree with feminism that are crazy and out of touch. And it was all so casual, the way this person just lay these ideas out there as if he was having a drunken philosophical argument with a roommate with no real-world implications. As if all that matters is winning the argument, rather than the repercussions those arguments (as widely held beliefs) have on women, real women, in real life. As if there aren’t people out there, people less in control of their impulses, who come across these so-called “rational” arguments against feminism and use them to justify discrimination and violence.

The misogynists I have had the misfortune to encounter in my life (and not all through the screen of Facebook, unfortunately) all seemed to labour under the misconception that there is a finite amount of success/happiness in the world, and that women wanting to achieve success and happiness means that they want to take this success and happiness away from men. So I want to make something very VERY clear:

When I say I am a feminist, I am saying that I believe all people, regardless of gender, should have equal rights, equal worth, and equal regard in the eyes of the law, society, employment, and any institution or organization they are a part of.

When I, more specifically as a woman, say I am a feminist, I am saying that I believe I have the right to equal opportunity to go out into the world and try to get what I want. I don’t want to take something belonging to a man away from him. But if I want something out of my life, I believe I should have just as much opportunity to try for it as any man has had to achieve his dreams. Dude, I don’t want your dreams. I want mine. And I don’t want the biggest thing standing in my way to be the fact that I am a woman.

When I say I am a feminist, I am saying that I believe that gender-based violence is a hate crime. I am saying that the man who shot and killed fourteen women at the Montreal Ecole Polytechnique 23 years ago because he felt they did not belong in a place of higher education, committed a hate crime, and as Megan Leslie calls it, an act of “gender terrorism” designed to keep women out of traditionally male spheres of life.

And I am saying that gender-based hate crimes begin with attitudes. Begin, as Leslie says, with “casual misogyny”. Begin with the idea that feminism is a threat to men and to masculinity. Begin with the belief that women in the public sphere give men “nowhere to go.” Begin with the idea that there is something tragic, flawed, or simply unnatural about pursuing something outside of traditional gender roles. Begin with the idea that women and feminists are a fringe group, not representative of a large number of people possessing intelligence, practicality, and reason. Begin with the idea that it okay to tell me, a rational intelligent adult, what my “line of thinking” is, as if my deeply held beliefs are up for debate.

No gun kept further generations of Canadian women from going to university. Does anyone really think their high-flung philosophical misogynistic rhetoric is going to shake me?

But it does make me sad. Because it proves that we have so, so very far to go.

Galapagos Islands Day 3: Isla Española

Our third day in the Galapagos was a wildlife day. Española Island is a wild place. First, another beautiful beach. Gardner Bay is famous (as most of the Galapagos is famous, I’m sure, in one way or another) for its huge expanse of white sand and the hundreds of sea lions lounging there. And not just sea lions, sea lion pups: sleeping, feeding, mewling when their mothers left their side to go swim. One pup was so new he still had his umbilical cord hanging beneath him (we also saw a placenta on the beach).

Española Island does not have a fresh water supply so the mockingbirds here survive by drinking sea lion urine (ew!) and eating sea lion placenta (ew!). According to our guide Jose, about ten years or so ago tourists used to give water to the mockingbirds from their water bottles. Even though the National Park has stopped the practice (in its attempt to keep humans from altering the natural lifestyles of the wildlife), mockingbirds on Española still become very interested in you if you look or sound like you are drinking from a water bottle (case in point, when TC raised his long-lens camera to his face, a mockingbird flew at it thinking it was a bottle). The crackle of plastic will also get them pretty excited. Too bad mockingbirds. The Park says no. It’s back to the sea lion urine for you.

Española also has marine iguanas. At Gardner Bay we saw about three, far out towards the water and almost impossible to see against the black rocks. It’s kind of funny thinking about us all craning and zooming to get a photograph of an iguana that morning. As if we’d never get another chance to photograph one!

Having fallen in love with snorkelling at Ocha Beach the night before, I was excited to go for two short snorkels near Gardner Bay. During the first snorkel I saw a huge stingray and a speedy sea turtle. There were also, of course, nifty urchins, fish, and sea stars. During the second snorkel I SAW A SHARK! It was a white-tipped reef shark (which are rather small and not a threat to humans) but still, I swam right over a GODDAMNED SHARK. If that’s not bad ass I don’t know what is. (Between them, TC and Jose taught me how to dive with my snorkel which also made things pretty darn cool.)

Also bad ass: I cut the heel my hand on a barnacle-y rock. It wasn’t a deep cut but boy did it bleed. When we got back to the yacht it I found it a bit comical to be standing on the deck in my wetsuit while my left hand was being pressed with alcohol-soaked gauze and my right was being offered fruit juice and an empanada. I still have a mark on my hand and I hope I get a scar, so that when people ask about it I can say I got it snorkelling in the Galapagos. I can also add, with a grave look on my face, I saw a shark that day, and let them draw their own conclusions. Bad ass.

In the afternoon we sailed to a different part of Española, Suarez Point, famous for its colonies of boobies and waved albatrosses. If we’d had difficulty getting a good shot of a marine iguana in the morning we had nothing to worry about here. They were everywhere on the rocks, congregating in large groups (and all facing the same way for some reason). A sea lion approached me and brushed my ankle with her whiskers, and a little pup almost walked right into TC’s legs (see video above).

Watching the albatrosses in courtship was really pretty cool. They make a weird popping sound, flap their wings, and do a lot of clicking with their beaks. Though they mate for life, my additional research has revealed that these albatrosses don’t seem to mind “extramarital” affairs, and in several cases, a female’s social mate (i.e. the one that helps her raise her offspring) is not the biological father of the chick. Progressive, I think.

It was only during this post-trip research that I discovered that waved albatrosses are a critically endangered species. Though protected for courtship and nesting in the Galapagos, once they migrate (to Peru for example), they have very little protection from fatal run-ins with fishing boats, etc. Which made seeing them now all the more special.

I’m sure by now you want to know about the boobies. There are three kinds of boobies in the Galapagos but we saw only two during our trip: the Nazca boobies (white with black “accessories”) and the blue footed boobies (easy to recognize for obvious reasons). I’d heard about these blue footed boobies and had found it hard to believe that these birds were actually real. Well, they are real, I’ve seen them. And they are about as blue footed as I’d hoped they’d be.

Complete with iguanas, boobies, and sharks, so far this trip was shaping up to be both nifty and cool, in so many ways.

Sea lion pup, Suarez Point

Galapagos Islands Day 2: Cerro Brujo, Kicker Rock, Ochoa Beach

Made of coral and volcanic ash, the sand of the beaches at Cerro Brujo (aka “Wizard Hill”) on the archipelago’s San Cristobal Island is as white as icing sugar and as soft on the bare feet. Crabs skittering along the shore leave hundreds of small pellets where their claws have scooped the sand in passing. Sea lions swim in turquoise water, roll in the sand, and bask on the black volcanic rocks. Darwin finches and yellow warblers hop unconcerned between them. Just behind the dunes, a freshwater lagoon waits.

On a sunny morning in October, it is a paradise.

[The first eight photos are of the beach at Cerro Brujo, the next is of Kicker Rock, and the rest were taken by my TC at Ochoa Beach.]

My TC and I were overwhelmed by the beauty of this beach. No camera could ever capture just how pure the sand was, how gem-like the water. Our own eyes weren’t enough. Our bare feet weren’t enough as we dug our toes into the soft powder sand. Sea lions, crabs, gleaming tide pools in volcanic rock–no description could really be enough. We were awestruck. What a place.

And what a place to go snorkelling for the first time! I swallowed a lot of sea water but I saw hundreds of colourful fish and even two small spotted eagle rays. The water was full of life, especially when three sea lions decided to play with me. They swam over and around and under me in a sort of game they just seemed to be loving. To share the water with these adorable wild animals was an incredible privilege and one I wouldn’t have jeopardized for the world by doing anything to startle them.

Our second snorkel that day was around the famous Kicker Rock. We had seen this rock from the plane on our way to the Galapagos and TC had said he was going to touch it. And I said, “You can’t touch that rock, it’s way out in the sea.” But touch it we did. This particular snorkel was too much for me. I have an absolute terror of the immensity of the sea, and swimming in water so deep I couldn’t see the bottom made me panic. The water was also quite choppy and for an inexperienced snorkeler who doesn’t know how to deal with seawater splashing down her snorkel and into her mouth, it was all a bit too much. I bailed about two thirds of the way around the rock and waited in the dinghy while TC and a few other brave souls continued the swim with our guide. TC saw sea turtles and I was very jealous. I’d only seen a few urchins and some fish (both very lovely) but had been too panicked to care.

Ochoa Beach made up for it. Worn out by the Kicker Rock snorkel, most of our group stayed on the boat while six of us (guide included) visited Ochoa Beach (still San Cristobal). I wanted to snorkel again and so I did, hand in hand with my TC. And we saw a sea turtle. A beautiful green elegant sea turtle swimming along underneath us. And then I saw more colourful fish. And another sea turtle. And a sting ray. And more sea lions.

As TC and I stood on the beach wrapped in our towels we watched pelicans and frigate birds dive-bomb for fish against the setting sun. It’s really beautiful to watch: the pelicans swoop over the water, then suddenly fold themselves up like origami and drop straight down into the water, only unfolding after they’ve submerged. A perturbed male sea lion barked to make sure we’d stay away from the female nursing two sea lion pups.

Behind us, an orange full moon rose over the trees. Besides the six of us, who weren’t saying much, there was not another human soul on this beach. When we boarded our dinghy to head back to the Monserrat, there was nothing left of us there but dents in the sand.

Each day in the Galapagos brought wonderful things. But this day was my favourite day.

Galapagos Islands Day 1: Isla San Cristobal (Galapaguera)

Blue heron, San Cristobal

The first creature to greet us as we disembarked from our AeroGal flight at the San Cristobal airport was a lizard (which we did not take a photo of because our hands were full of passports and coats). I am tempted to say it was a lava lizard, but as we did not yet have a National Park guide with us to tell us what was what, I can say with certainty only that it was a lizard, and that I was happy to see it.

As we got off the shuttle bus at the marina, we saw our second creature, a gorgeous blue heron (our guide was here now so I am confident in this). Walking towards the pier (to the dinghy that would bring TC and me to the Monserrat Yacht, our home for the next seven nights) I began to suspect that there was something unusual about this port town. The seaside promenade was a bit crowded–with sea lions. Sea lions who didn’t seem to be doing much besides loitering, and didn’t seem to care that they were surrounded by people (though one did bark at me when I got too close). It all seemed a bit too adorable to be real, especially when a sea lion was waiting for us on the stern of our yacht. But if I’ve learned anything about seeing sea lions in the Galapagos, it’s that there’s nothing unusual about it. They love to lounge around in the sun, they aren’t afraid of people, and they don’t seem to mind going to the bathroom wherever they happen to be lying (whether on a sandy beach, a rocky shore, or in a gazebo on the boardwalk).

In the afternoon we saw our first giant tortoises in semi-wild habitat at the Galapaguera Breeding Center, in San Cristobal’s highlands. I was a bit disappointed that we only saw three of them (and in partially captive conditions too) but a giant tortoise is a giant tortoise and words cannot describe how absolutely incredible it is to see these creatures in the flesh (or shell, as it were). Suddenly it feels as though you aren’t really where you are, that someone snuck a TV screen in front of you while you weren’t looking. Are you really looking at a giant tortoise in the Galapagos Islands? Yes. Yes you are. Your mind has just been blown.

Female tortoise, Galapaguera Breeding Center

Baby tortoises, San Cristobal

Fun fact about baby tortoises: their sex is determined by the temperature in which their eggs mature. If you want demure lady tortoises, keep those eggs warm. If you want big man tortoises, cooler eggs are the way to go.

As it turns out, this brief introduction to sea lions and semi-captive tortoises was just a preview. We sailed from the port that night and woke the next morning to the turquoise water, white sand, and black volcanic rock of Cerro Bruno (on a different part of San Cristobal). Our Galapagos adventure had truly begun…

Moonrise on San Cristobal