Guess the Sport

Okay, this is an actual competition that took place in Gloucestershire, England this past weekend. Any guesses as to the sport? Find the answer in the Comments window...

Ball of Jeans

If I were a geneticist, I'm sure I could come up with some witty caption here, punning the word gene and referring to strands of DNA.

Chick Lit Through the Ages

“With their work routinely marketed with frothy cover illustrations and stamped “chick lit,” young, urban female authors struggle with a label that pushes sales as much as it undermines their efforts.” So reads the caption of Leah McLaren’s self-reflexive article about this new genre in June’s issue of Fashion magazine.



But is the genre of “chick lit” really new? Hasn’t “chick lit” existed since the inception of the novel, just in a slightly different form? (But, perhaps, marketed in a slightly different way?) And is this why I contained the novel moniker in non-committal quotation marks so many times in the previous 50 or so words?

A brief history of the novel: when humans began writing down their stories on parchment instead of cave walls, they often did so in the form of ballads, sermons, poetry and plays – forms to which illiterate access was easy. So with the move away from the authority of the Church and rise of the middle class around 1700, there came increasing literacy amongst this class and thus the rise of the novel. This is the argument of Ian Watt’s Triple Rise Thesis, which has been widely criticized for its assumptions, but will serve my simple purpose here.

Mary Shelley was one of the first female authors to write in the form of the novel; however, it was Jane Austen, who included several central female characters and their quotidian happenings in her novels of manners, who really started the “chick lit” genre. Austen’s novels include all the romance, negotiations of society and character growth that we see in many of the popular “chick lit” novels today.

Just as Catherine “greatly preferred cricket…to dolls” in Austen’s Northanger Abbey, and the title character in Emma enjoys such unladylike pursuits as archery, our modern day heroines like Bridget Jones do not fit the romantic feminine stereotype. We enjoy reading about slightly flawed characters (flaws that we may see in ourselves) who eventually stumble through the imperfections of life to prevail in the end (usually by landing a Marc Darcy or a Mr. Knightley). The reading is emotionally light, lacking in any heavy issues.

Compare this to the rise of the romance genre, with flowing hair and chiseled pecs on the pink and white covers, and the elaborately described scenes of love and loss on the pages inside. These novels work on ideas of perfect and flawless love. Their sole audience is women and their sole purpose is that of escape, with little critical analysis or thought needed.

So perhaps this is where “chick lit” veers from the more serious literature written by women. Virginia Woolf’s novels deal with homosexuality and suicide, Sylvia Plath’s deal with mental illness: their novels do include the female experience of traditional romantic relationships, but it is never the central theme. Lives tend to be less than ideal, the subject matter focussing on struggles that may not be solved in the end.

The same can be said of many contemporary (Canadian) authors – Margaret Atwood, Alice Munro, Sylvia Fraser, Ann-Marie MacDonald – these authors write from the perspective of “other”: marginalized members of society trying to negotiate their place within it. These stories are denser, pithier dissections of our so-called lives. They make us take a look at our imperfect existence and draw connections to ourselves.

Bridget Jones may have marked the shift from romance to “chick lit”: Helen Fielding presented us with a flawed character in an essentially romantically structured novel. She included elements of “perfect love’ from the romance genre with the idea of imperfect characters from weightier tomes. It is, perhaps, not as dark a reality as authors such as Atwood and Plath might illustrate, but still moves away from the idea of ideal, true love that follows a fated, effortless path.

Like Bridget Jones, the new, successful spring of pink and teal novels, set out pleasingly on tables in bookstores, combine the endeavour for perfection with the reality of “chick” life. McLaren may feel that the label undermines her efforts as a serious novelist (she has recently written The Continuity Girl, which I haven't read), but is she really writing about serious subjects?

Good literature, regardless of the author's gender, is engaging, thought-provoking and enduring. And these adjectives can be applied to any book, regardless of the gravity of the subject matter. Sometimes, all you need is to read about how Catherine lands Mr. Knightley. I'm sure Jane Austen would agree.

How Does a Teenage Boy Cross the Road?

Oh, how I hate that languid walk of teenage boys as they saunter across the street, slowing traffic with their invincible arrogance and over-sized pants. I fantasize about speeding up and driving into them, feeling the satisfying thud as their skinny bodies; no longer hard and impenetrable, but porous and delicate; hit the front end of my car and sail gracefully, slowly, to a soaring soundtrack, out of my way.

Homer the Philosopher

Just as Simpsons devotees have been arguing for ages: The Simpsons is a forum for modern philosophical discourse, led by the great philosopher of our age, Homer Simpson. Read the full analysis as explored by philosopher Julian Baggini.

What the Hell is on Joey's Head?

Like the line from the Nickleback song "Photograph," a similar question may be asked about the gentleman at left.

Why, after several drinks, do males feel the need to adorn their heads with improper and unbecoming headgear? Along with the pantyhose at left, I have seen underwear, pots, cardboard boxes and colanders atop the heads of men; beer usually in hand.

Is it a throwback to their manly hunting days, when they donned the antlers or hollowed out heads of their prey in order to lie in wait? Is it some kind of bizarre mating signal, indicating their readiness to procreate? (Lord help us if this is the case.)

Or is it just the drunken male thought process: "Whu-hoooo!!! Cheers! Let's drink! Hey...what's this? Oh man, this would look great on my head..."

Happy May 2-4. Go put something silly on your head.

Madrid Graffiti

...taken by my friend Sarah

Cycling in the City

Really, this is what life is all about: mild spring mornings, bike lane stretched out before you, a line of suckers idling in their cars as you sail past. Biking to work really makes you feel good. Not only are you stepping up to the One Tonne Challenge (Oh wait, wasn't that cancelled by the Conservatives? I guess we didn't need clean air in our atmosphere, anyway - oil production is way more important), but you are increasing your heart health and putting those endorphins into action first thing in the morning. Biking is reportedly the best way to travel within 10km in an urban centre (source: Green Living, Spring/Summer 2006): it's fast, it's free, and you don't get caught in traffic gridlock.

And here's one personal reason for biking to work. There is a piece of graffiti written on the road, within the boundaries of the bike lane (on Dundas, just west of Coxwell) that I pass by each morning I ride my bike. It's hard to tell in the picture at right, but the words spray-painted on the road read: "LOVE IS THE MESSAGE". This has provided me with inspiration and melted any stress or anger every morning I pass it. Maybe it's those endorphins, kickstarting my serotonin; maybe it's the fresh spring air; maybe it's the knowledge that I am not contributing to the destruction of our earth. But that little piece of urban poetry is my psalm, my bible reading of the morning that sets me up for a good day. I repeat it like a mantra as I ride over it.

Naturally Nude Naturists

Growing up in a family with parents from "the old country" and "across the pond," I have become well versed in the lexicon of the Brits. I know you eat biscuits, live in a flat, and chuck baggage in the boot of a car. A lift is an elevator, a jumper is a sweater, and bloody hell, you offer anyone a "cuppa" that pops 'round yours for a chat. I can even quickly translate "pants" for "underwear" and avoid any embarassing situation involving references to knickers.

But naturists for nudists?

The word "naturist" conjures up images of people in sunhats and binoculars, creeping through the woods; not images of saggy bums and well, other wobbly bits, laid bare on the beach.

"Naturist" seems like a modest, unassuming word that is used to describe a more conspicuous type of sunbather.

Gardening With the Environmentalists

With spring now in full force (is anyone else always amazed at how fast the city becomes so green?), the gardening enthusiasts of Toronto are lining up at Home Depots across the city to stock up on their Miracle Grow, their pansies and their gardening gloves. However, the one thing that amateur horticulturalists will not be able to pick up from any company this season, is a toxic dose of pesticides to kill off plants that are deemed “weeds” by our fickle society (for what is a weed, but a "a plant anywhere you don't want it?").

Is this really such a political issue that Denzil Minnan-Wong has had to come to the defense of his proud-gardening constituents of Don Mills who, since September of last year, have had to put up with the foul and feral blight of dandelions on their lawns? They ignore the links of pesticides to cancer and allergies, all for the vista of a green, unadultered lawn.

Personally, I agree with Deputy Mayor Joe Pantalone, who likes the yellow-topped herb: “If you like it it’s a flower, if you don’t it’s a weed. I think they’re like the forsythia in a way...one of the first signs of spring.” (see: pulse24.com for full article and a list of organic ways to be rid of weeds, should you choose).



Why do we feel the need to control nature to the point of pouring toxins into our soil for our children and pets to roll around in? Let’s think of our earth and the ecosystems that exist on it, not just the view from our lonely windows.

Gardening With the Conservatives

So, the Conservatives brought out their federal budget today, complete with a whole percent taken off our GST (now how will us Ontarians calculate the tax in our head? 15% was so easy…). And like true, blueblood Tories, all the tax cuts benefit those of us who make over $36 000, or some such comfortable number.

And their biggest folly, according to moi? This childcare credit, $1200 for parents to spend as they see fit.

Well, that’s the problem with society, you see. Not all parents see fit. This is not a rant about the misspending of that money. I’m sure many parents are happy to receive a grand from the government and will spend it responsibly. But like the Conservatives’ clamp down on crime by rounding up the criminals and givin’ ‘em longer sentences, the Tories’ about turn from national daycare connects nicely with my gardening metaphor: it cuts the weed at the stalk, temporarily removing the bad stuff - all that work and money into a national daycare programme - and ignores the roots – the healthy and vigourous development of our children.

We are seeing the results of all those Harris cuts to social programmes back in the 90s with more guns being shot off by misguided youth, failed by social programmes and trapped in poverty. Harris got rid of the weeds, but the roots remained firm and are now growing up.

I worry that this move away from national daycare will add to our social problems. If we had a nationally funded daycare programme, it would not only allow parents to work without paying half their salary to daycare, it would provide the early childhood education that is so vital and critical. I see the effects not only of ill-parenting, but of uninformed parenting everyday at my school. I see students that have never encountered a book before kindergarten, aren’t familiar with a horse or cow, don’t know how to share toys, or have never sung a song. I’ve met kids that haven’t ventured further in this city, than to the store, a hundred metres up their street.

If we want our children to grow up to be sound, contributing citizens of our society, this education doesn’t begin at school. It begins at birth. And only recently have government agencies begun initiatives based on this idea (Parenting Centres and Early Childhood Centres have popped up around the city). But these are only accessible to those who choose to seek them out. Universally funded daycare is an incentive for parents to enroll their children and then see the vast benefits of early childhood experiences.