September 17, 2007
Interoffice breast
When I told Madam Diva about my vulva painting, she said, "Hmmm...I wonder if I could do that?" You see, she'd been messing with paint for awhile, and was getting pretty damn good at it. So, I asked her if she'd paint me a breast. She said she'd do me one better and paint me her breast. I was down with that.
And she did. Like that night. She called me up the next day:
Diva: It's done. I sent it to you in the interoffice mail.
Savia: Uh...you do know that other people open my mail for me, right?
Diva: What?
Savia: Yeah, there's a person who opens everyone's mail and distributes it.
Diva: Oh my God. They're going to see my breast!
Savia: Don't worry - it's probably only Carmen or maybe Mary, or - oh God, I hope it's not Darren!
Diva: OH MY GOD!!
So, we waited. One day. Two days. The weekend. And then, today, it arrived:
Pretty fucking awesome, huh?
Carmen was the one who opened the envelope, but she didn't look inside. However, the breast was so pretty, that I had no choice but to Show Her My Tit.
It was the least I could do. Hey, not everyone is lucky enough to have a friend who sends boobs interoffice.
Thanks Diva! It's on my living room wall, matted in black in a black wood frame.
So, who's next. Neil, any chance you'll be sending me a watercolour talking penis in the future?
Labels: art
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September 15, 2007
Nostalgic food blogging
My dad was born in Italy. That meant that there were a lot of things about my childhood that were...different. For instance, they don't have Hallowe'en in Italy, so the Trick or Treating concept was lost on my father. What they did have in Italy, however, were children living in poverty who begged people for money and food. So, when he saw kids going door to door asking people for candy, he said, "We can afford candy. My children don't have to beg. If they want candy, we will buy it for them." So, I was never allowed to go out for Hallowe'en. I also wasn't allowed to go to friends' houses for sleep overs: "You have your own bed. Why would you need to sleep at someone else's house?"
Sigh.
His Italian heritage also meant that he ate a lot of things that people would think were weird. I know I did. I've written about the rabbit (tastes like chicken) and the traumatic experience with the live eels (we thought they were our pets until he chopped their heads off and fried them up), but there was one thing that my dad used to eat that has intrigued me as of late.
My mom had a garden where she grew her own vegetables and herbs, one of which was zucchini. When the plant started flowering, my dad would get her to pick the yellow flowers off, dip them in egg and fry them up for him.
I thought this was disgusting. He was eating flowers? I put them in the same category as the eels and refused to try them.
This spring, perhaps because I was preparing for my own trip to Italy, I began wondering about what those flowers would taste like. It didn't seem like a gross idea anymore - it sounded kind of cool. I wanted to try it. But where to get the flowers? It's not like you can buy them from a store - you have to know someone with a garden who can pick them off the vine at the opportune time.
My mom hasn't had a garden for years and years. But I figured she was my best bet. I begged her to plant just one zucchini seed, so I could try the flower delicacy for myself. Surprisingly, she bit. I think it's because she knows how hard it was for us to grow up without our father and to continue to be cut off from our Italian heritage (he died when I was 10).
Not too long ago, she brought over the first batch of flowers. I dipped them in egg...
...fried them up...
...sprinkled them with salt and pepper and tried them for myself.
They tasted like...zucchini. Only in flower form. They were really good. Now, every few weeks, mom brings me another baggie of the precious flowers. Kind of like a drug dealer. And I must say, I'm hooked.
But don't worry, there will not be a sink full of live eels in my kitchen anytime in the near future.
I think.
Labels: childhood, food, Italy
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September 14, 2007
The first time is the sweetest
I'm all dead inside! Tee hee, tee hee.
Last post's censoring and uncensoring [and recensoring and reuncensoring - read the comments for a play-by-play] by
photobucket got me reminiscing about the first time I ever got censored.
Ah, the memories. The funny thing is that it was all over that plastic whore, Barbie.
Before you start jumping to conclusions, no, I wasn't an uber badass kid who got busted for making my Barbies perform obscene sex acts on each other.
(Well, I did make them perform obscene sex acts on each other, but for the record, they were prostitutes, so it was their job and they were getting paid for it. Also, they weren't really lesbians - I just didn't have a Ken because my brother had decapitated him and ripped all of his limbs off so he was nothing more than a torso, so I had to pull Cindy's hair back and dress her in Ken's old clothes so that the prostitute Barbies would have a John to fuck. Oh, and also, I didn't get caught, so this is really just an aside and has nothing to do with the topic of the day.)
No, this Barbie censorship was while I was in university (the first time), about 10 years ago.
It was the end of the semester and our final group project was to put together a television show that would air on the local cable network. We chose our stories, wrote and researched them, shot them, and worked with a professional video editor to cut them. All in one day. Two days in a row. This was our chance to see how it worked in "the real world." When the second show was complete, we were going to have a party at a local bar to watch it.
I needed two story ideas. The first one I did was pretty straightforward - I covered the campus memorial for the victims of
the Montreal Massacre, which is commemorated every year on campuses across Canada. The second story was a little harder, though, because I wasn't sure of what to do. And then, something jumped out at me.
It was a story about how M@ttel was
changing Barbie's proportions so her body would look more like teens' bodies - smaller boobs, thicker waist and thinner hips. Sure, she'd still look like a freak of nature, but a different kind of freak - one that would look good in hip huggers.
I thought, okay, they're changing her body. But did they consult with her about this before proceeding? What does the woman behind the plastic oversized jugs think about this? Clearly, I had to get to the bottom of this.
So, I went home, searched through my closet and grabbed my old Barbie collection, a video camera and one of my classmates.
My concept was this: interview Barbie. Get the goods from the source. The video began with me, deadpan, explaining the new development and introducing the interview. We set it up so viewers would assume the interviewee would be an expert on women's studies, but when the camera zoomed out, it was a Barbie doll on the couch next to me (controlled and voiced by my quirky classmate.)
I asked soft-hitting questions and received inane answers:
Savia: How do you feel about the fact that they're changing your proportions, Barbie?
Barbie: It's okay. I needed to lose some weight anyway. I was getting kind of chunky.
[giggle giggle] Savia: Do you really think you are an appropriate role-model?
Barbie: Yes. I am proof that girls can be anything they want to be - like a doctor, an Olympic athlete, a model and a mommy - all at the same time!
[giggle giggle] Savia: I hear this change is to make you look more like "real women." Are there other developments underway that will make you a more realistic role model for young girls?
Barbie: Yes. We are launching a new line of ethnic dolls. I have one of my friends here today, as a matter of fact. [Another white, blonde, blue-eyed doll pops up from behind the couch.] It's Anglo-Saxon Barbie! [giggle giggle]
Anglo-Saxon Barbie: I'm wearing a wedding dress to show every girl's ultimate goal in life to find the perfect man and get married.
[giggle giggle] Savia: I see. Well, our time is almost up. Is there anything you'd like to add, Barbie?
Barbie: Yes. Some people have been saying some things about my Ken and I need to set the record straight. Just because a guy has molded plastic hair and great shoes doesn't mean he's gay...not that there's anything wrong with that. Also, there's nothing wrong with dating a eunuch.
We killed ourselves laughing when we were shooting and editing the piece - it was a fun take on a "news" item and it also served as social commentary and a change of pace from the serious stories my classmates were doing. The guy helping us edit it got a kick out of it, too - in fact, I ran into him years later and he was still talking about it.
At the end of the day, we went to the bar to wait for the show to come on. It was to air on the lame local cable channel, so the programming right before ours consisted of scrolling pictures of local kids' Christmas art. We watched the warped-looking snowmen and Santas for awhile and waited. And waited. And then waited some more.
As we watched the pictures begin to repeat themselves, we began to wonder what was was up. My professor called the cable station to find out. I watched her go from quiet to ranting to swearing to slamming down the phone.
They pulled the show. They pulled the entire show because of something Barbie said. The contentious line was "not that there's anything wrong with that" because it "went against Family Values." Apparently, the local channel was run by a bunch of religious fundamentalists who thought there
was something wrong with that.
So, my entire school got censored because a plastic doll quoted a Seinfeld episode.
Suddenly, something that everyone thought was fun became something entirely different. I felt violated by the cable company's decision, but also incredibly guilty because something I had done meant that all of my classmates' hard work wouldn't see the light of day.
The controversy polarized the class. My prof was incredibly supportive and most of my classmates stood behind me and thought the cable company was being ridiculous. One even scheduled an early-morning meeting the next day to arrange a protest of the cable company and for awhile, it seemed that we would actually get to make the news and raise awareness about the cable company's homophobia. However, a few classmates came to the meeting with their own agenda. They turned on me, accusing me of making a mockery of our profession and making our school look bad. They wanted to sweep it all under the rug, and their presence at the meeting was enough to diffuse the revolution.
I felt so betrayed, because I considered these two people to be my friends. I went home and cried my head off for a few days, becoming depressed and feeling utterly alone. It didn't matter that my other classmates were calling and being so great, all I could hear was the negative words of the minority. I made myself physically ill over it and ended up missing one of my final exams, almost failing out of the entire program as a result.
At the time, it was traumatic and difficult. I was used to getting along with everyone, to being the good student with the really high grades, to doing whatever it took to appease people and not rock the boat. And it was all falling apart.
Now, I wear that censorship badge with a sense of pride. These days, if I'm pissing people off and making them uncomfortable, I figure I'm doing something right.
Labels: censorship, school
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September 1, 2007
A decent proposal, part two
Josh sped out of my life on the Piccadilly line.
This is part two of the story I started here.
I left London the next morning with a smile still on my face from the romantic encounter. I knew he'd email, but I wasn't sure what would come of it. A few days later, I got a cute little note that said something along the lines of: "Hey, it's me, your future husband, Josh. LOL. Just thought I'd drop you a line to say, 'hey.'" I thought that was pretty sweet, but didn't respond, as I didn't have a lot of time at the Internet cafe. Then, a few days later, I got this:
Hey, I just thought you were probably traveling and stuff so you wouldn't be online all the time. I feel really weird, because I have been thinking about you off and on since I met you. I mean have you ever had that feeling like something just clicked. I usually don't just start talking to a girl that I don't know, hold her hand and ask to be able to keep in contact with her. I mean it's just a couple things, you were very nice and sweet. You seemed artsy, but you said you read books to analyze them. That is sooo attractive to me. I don't know why.
I thought I should tell you about myself but I really don't know what to tell. I hope you felt the same weird little spark I did. I think you did because you gave me your email. I don't want to lie and say that you're all I think about, but I am definitely interested in seeing what happens, and I want you to know if it does click I would really have no problem moving to you!
I really hope to hear from you soon. Ask me a lot of questions so I can tell you about me. I am not too good at talking about myself. Oh and tell me all about you! I will probably write a couple more times if you don't respond in the next week or so since I know how it is getting around in Europe and everything.
Josh
Uh, wow. I certainly wasn't expecting that. I was checking my email on an extremely slow dial-up connection at my cousins' place in rural Italy. Ella (hot twin Italian cousin #1), who was sitting next to me, asked why I was blushing. I told her the story and her eyes lit up.
"But what about Superstar?" she asked.
Exactly. What about Superstar? What the hell was I doing even considering this guy when I had someone at home who loved me? Sure, we were on a break, and the distance was creating all kinds of problems for us, but he deserved some respect. He deserved for me to think carefully about all of this before I started corresponding with some miscellaneous guy who fell for me within five minutes of meeting me on the London tube.
So, this is what I wrote back:
Hey Josh,
Thanks for the very sweet email. I am in rural Italy right now, so I won't have many opportunities to check my email, so please don't be offended if you don't hear from me until mid-August.
Yes, I definitely felt something, too, but you have to understand that I need to find out what is going on with my boyfriend - we took a break before I left so he could figure out what he is doing with his life, so I have to give him that chance. You seem really great, so I hope we can talk and keep in touch regardless of what happens.
Take care,
Savia
I hoped that would send a pretty strong message about where I was at, but it seemed Josh, like a lot of people, only focused on what he wanted to hear:
Well thank you for confirming what I felt, I was excited to hear the same thing. I wish there was a number I could call you at, since I have a chance to buy international calling cards. To be honest, I hope your boyfriend says no because then I would have my chance with you. I know I don't know you that well, but I am really interested in trying something that is long-term. You know, I am tired of dating. I would like to settle down if that doesn't freak you out...
I didn't know what to think. He wasn't freaking me out at all. Because the vibe I had gotten from him in London was not one of desperation. The feeling I got was that this was the first time he had really connected - clicked - with someone in that intangible, special way. And I knew exactly what that was about, because I had already been through it with Superstar.
I had told Josh that I couldn't write until mid-August to buy me some time to figure out how I felt about the whole thing. While I was in Italy, I kept turning it over and over again in my head. Sure, it was exciting and romantic and felt like something right out of a movie. But you can't base a relationship on the fact that you have a great meeting story. And if I were frustrated with my current long-term relationship situation, why would I jump from that into another one that would be even more difficult because it would be not only long-distance, but cross-border?
Sure, we had chemistry (for five minutes) but when I thought back to the conversation, it was all about me. He had asked a lot of questions and I had done a lot of talking, so he knew a lot about me, but I knew almost nothing about him. All I knew is that he worked somewhere where he had health insurance, had been to Paris and London on a trip, was flying to Chicago, though that wasn't where he lived, and likes musical theatre. I didn't know what he did for a living, how old he was, or anything else. Because I hadn't asked. I was too busy basking in his adoration of me.
It's easy to get intoxicated by adoration. I went through an entire relationship based on the guy putting me on a pedestal. I never found him very attractive physically, but I was in love with the image of myself that was reflected through his gaze. He told me everyday that I was gorgeous, smart, talented, amazing, inspiring, radiant. That he couldn't believe the universe had brought us together. That he wasn't worthy of me and I was too good for him. In the end, he proved himself right. Because it was all words. Smoke and mirrors distracting me from the fact that he was never around and had another woman on the side the entire time we were together. The problem with pedestals is that it hurts a hell of a lot more when you fall from that height. No matter how gorgeous, smart, talented, amazing, inspiring and radiant you are.
And while I'm sure Josh is nothing like Mr. Idiotstick ex, it was still the same dynamic. And the reality is, I don't want to be put on a pedestal. I don't want someone who worships me. I want to be with an equal, a partner, a soul mate.
I wanted Superstar.
So, after I got back to Canada, I wrote Josh this:
Hi Josh,
Thanks for thinking of me. I wanted to write to let you know that my partner and I are off the break and are planning on working things out. So, I guess you know that means no Canadian health care for you ;)
I just wanted you to know that I wish you the best - you seem like a really sweet guy and you deserve someone amazing who will treat you well. You have some really nice energy about you, and I am of the belief that like attracts like - you will attract someone who matches you as long as you're true to yourself and your values, are honest about who you are, and are fearless about putting yourself out there and taking risks with your heart. I think you're doing that, so it's only a matter of time before you feel that amazing connection with someone who lives a little closer to you than Saskatchewan.
Take care of yourself, and don't settle for anything less than magic.
Savia
I should probably mention that another reason why I knew Josh wasn't the one for me was that his emails made me twitch. I've edited and cleaned them up for the blog for two reasons:
The first time I read them, I was so blinded by the romance of our encounter that I didn't notice the multitude of typos, spelling mistakes, lack of capitalization and punctuation, and all around sloppiness of them. I wanted you to read them the way I did the first time, so your opinion of him would not be affected by his writing.
If I post that on my blog, it will make me twitch for days. Days! Seriously, I can not handle that shit.
But, just for you, I will post his final email to me, unretouched. Although, I will twitch for days as a result, even though it's not nearly as bad as the other ones were. But you've waited this long for the story, so it's only fair, my sweet Internets.
Well I am happy to hear things are working out for you guys.... but sad at the same time, I kin dof figured it would work out for you. I do want you to know if for some reason it doesnt work out I will be here! I dont expect on dating anyone for awhile, like i said it is hard for me to get interested in someone. but yeah I hope we can stil be friends keep in touch and see hoe our lives unfold!
I hope he finds what he's looking for.
Labels: London, relationships, superstar
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