Whenever people ask me what I thought of Yann Martel’s Life of Pi, usually I say I didn’t like it.

Which isn’t directly true – I did like it, in fact.

I just didn’t love it – which I think is the expected reaction to the book (I have similar feelings about Ironman). It was good, but it didn’t capture me. I think it has a compelling narrative, but the unreality of certain elements pulled me away from the whole. I just couldn’t get personally involved with the story, because it was too fantastic.

And I actually think the shock of getting personally involved with the fantastic is what draws people in to this story, and makes them laud it so.

Maybe I’ve just read too much magic realism to be surprised by such conceits.

Something that is fantastic, but wholly real is Yann Martels What is Stephen Harper reading? project/blog. It’s an oldie but a goodie. An entry Of note, is his letter about sending Jenna and Laura Bush’s recent childrens book to our Prime Minister. No mention is made of the identity of the authors.

This I love.

Another good blog find is Jezebel‘s Fine Lines column. If you were a teenage girl in the last 30 years, you will love it too. Unless you were illiterate as a girl. Which I admit, is a total possibility.

Next week they will review The Girl with the Silver Eyes which was one of my favourite YA novels as a fifth grader. It reassured me that I felt like such an awkward, bespectacled, weirdo because I had magical superpowers. Duh.

So I am terribly excited about that upcoming one, in particular.

Past review of note include The Crazy Mixed Up Files of Miss Basil E. Frankweiler, the Little House on the Prarie books, and some of the more obscure Madeline L’Engle titles (not “A Wrinkle in Time,” in other words). Ummm…? Did these people find my diaries from when I was 13?

Since the damn column seems to be effectively spelunking my pre-teen-hood here’s hoping The Mysterious Disapearance of Leon (I mean Noel) makes it on the list someday soon. And maybe some Diana Wynne Jones too.

Another thing I love right now is Okami.

If you have a Wii you should RUN out and get it immediately. It’s definitely one of those games that makes having the platform worthwhile – between this and Super Mario Galaxy we’re pretty happy with our investment.

It has very similar game mechanics to the Zelda games, but takes place in a breathtakingly beautiful world, coated in floating cherry blossoms and pastoral settings.

It is rendered like a brightly coloured japanese print, coated in swashes of calligraphy – which is where one of the more innovative aspects of it’s gameplay comes from – you are given a brush loaded with black ink and must draw on your environment to enact changes. This (as you could imagine) is a lot more fun given the Wii’s controller than on the original Playstation 2 release.

The aspects of Japanese culture and folklore that are woven into the plot are also a welcome and fascinating addition. The game doesn’t spend much time explaining these elements (which will probably be quite foreign to most western audiences) and I actually quite like that about it – you are left to discern, and interpret things for yourself, which leaves the world you inhabit rich, exotic and mysterious.

Most of all I am left hungary for sushi, sake, and miso when I play this game (Katamari has a similar effect on me, but it is more direct since you are left to actually pick up japanese food with your growing Katamari ball).

And finally, you probably missed Reaper this fall. Or you might have caught the first (Kevin Smith directed) episode and moved on – understandably so. The show seemed to drag under it’s premise (a young man must complete tasks for the devil because his parents sold his soul out from under him). It became repetitive and task oriented. Not bad, just not surprising or new, like the pilot held the promise of being.

Well you should have stuck with it like we did, because as soon as it came back from the strike it came back (to quote the show) with a vengeance. Oh, and you know the fat kid from Breaker High who’s in this? Yeah, turns out he’s really, really funny. As is Micheal Ian Black, who guest stars towards the end (but you probably already knew that). As is Veronica Mar’s Ken Marino (you may remember him as Vinnie Van Lowe), also a recurring star. Actually, this show has perfect casting, right down to their chosen devil.

I think the show can now officially pick up the crown Buffy left in it’s wake for pop-culture saturated, supernatural, youthfully angsty show. Although I have to say, with it’s cadre of slacker boys as its core characters it feels more like Buffy as written by Judd Apatow.

Totally one to download, or rent when the 1st season DVD comes out.

A teensy post about The Hills (and then I’ll shut up about it forever… er, until next season at least).

This is the most genius article I have ever read about The Hills.

It explains, in a surprisingly intellectual manner, just what is so captivating about about the lives of our Lauren, Audrina, Whitney, Heidi, Spencer, Lo, Justin Bobby and Brody Jenner.

The short story: The Hills is practically Shakespearean in it’s characterization, complex enough in it’s plotting to be called a fine example of post-modernism, and in execution it shares much in common with French New Wave.

What’s not to love?

If you watched the Hills this week, then you probably rocked out a bit to that great French pop they played in between sweeping shots of the Eiffel tower.

Well, I am here to lead you to the source of it’s awesomeness. Although frankly, Jezebel beat me to it.

Her name Yelle, and she reminds me a heck of a lot of a certain other talented young European as she has a penchant for wacky – yet surprisingly flattering – Euro trash fashions and sweet and poppy elecro.

But where Robyn is like Bjork meets Gwen Stefani as raised by Missy, Yelle is like the secret French love child Peaches and Princess Superstar were always meant to have, with Francoise Hardy as her godmother.

When I watched horribly dubbed European childrens shows on TVO as a child, I never imagined that all those wacky/tacky clothes and all that cheesy Casio music would come back to haunt me in the most fabulous way possible.

How do Europeans get away with being so sophisticated all of a sudden, by doing the same things they’ve always done? We used to at least have their weird clothes and musical tastes to make fun of, even if everything else they did was pretty much superior in every way. Great, now you guys have a sizzling economy, unparalleled culture, excellent social programs, and all the good pop music and outfits. Unfair guys, unfair.

(Sidebar: If you’re unfamiliar with Francoise Hardy you should click on this link ’cause Francoise Hardy is the bomb. I can never get over how pretty she was, and how modern she looked and sounded – fourty years ago BTW – and she’s pretty much even hotter now that she’s older – hrmmm… maybe the French have always been good at the whole music and outfits thing…)

And it is this:

I watch the Hills.

BUT

I feel that in this last episode, something important happened: It is no longer important whether or not it’s real. I don’t care. I never really cared, but this episode cemented it for me.

Actually, I think I prefer to think of it all as some constructed fairy tale. It allows me to feel like my own life isn’t so very crappy because I don’t have to compare our realities. Because “reality” on the Hill’s is something along the line of that the worst thing that could possibly happen to you is ruining your ballgown because you were out partying in it at a Parisian nightclub with some French rock stars.

Sigh…

Whose life could compare to that?

Even Carrie Bradshaw’s last trip to Paris kinda sucked it big time.

For those of those unfamiliar, this season premiered with an episode in which our heroine (the adorable Lauren Conrad) jetted off to Paris.

She was in town to go to a ball – and then poor little miss Cinderlauren burned her ballgown and had nothing to wear to the ball – but it’s ok cause a designer simply whipped up an even more fabulous dress for her to wear! Yay!

Then of course, while at the ball (which turned out to be kinda boring, FYI) who do you think shows up? Yeah, a gorgeous French rocker (who is seriously crushing on our gal BTW) in some very tight pants on a very tight vespa. So what does Lauren do? Hikes up her ball gown and goes for a midnight tour of Paris, of course! Who wouldn’t?

Also: who doesn’t love a girl that looks hot in red lipstick, and knows to co-ordinate her nails and beverage accordingly.

Also: Whitney seems like such a good influence on everyone, especially Laruen – who doesn’t exactly have the best track record when choosing friends (to say the least). So astoundingly down to earth. And soo so pretty-pretty. Katherine Heigl pretty. God, I wish she were my BFF/coworker.

The show may be reality TV – but the reality is for the girls who watch it, it’s 100% fantasy fulfillment. Just like reading Teen Vogue. Nobody’s shocked when it turns out to be less than the truth – whether or not Heidi actually thinks she has a legitimate singing career, Lauren does a lick of work at Teen Vogue, or Audrina posed for nude pictures.

Not important. More debutante balls please. More Paris. More partys. More outfits. More cat fights. More playboys. More rock stars.

It’s an indulgence, and as such it fits into my life alongside my more serious pursuits.

And if I’m supposed to give it up, simply because it’s silly, than I say to you: give up your Will Ferrel movies, your sporting events, your Guitar Hero and your American Idol.

You do all that, and I’ll stop watching the Hills.

Heath Ledger?

Really?

Seriously?

I’ve loved that dude since Roar. He’s like my teenage crush number 2 (number 1 was Christian Bale – so just imagine how excited I was to see him star alongside Batman as Joker – and now it’s just going to be creepy).

And he was an amazing actor to boot – he turned even teenybopper flicks into something interesting and inherently watchable (10 Things I Hate About You for example – and A Knights’s Tale too).

Poor dude had a baby girl.

I mean, hollywood actors implode from time to time, but when’s the last time anyone of actual worth died and left behind a little helpless baby.

Pretty much never.

Can we get Hollywood off of drugs now, please? Damn things are destroying my favourite actors, and acting’s something I actually used to enjoy and respect at one point in time.

Ok, so I don’t normally talk about this sorta thing here but:

a) She might belong to a cult, but did Katie Holmes not look smokingly gorgeous here? Yes. I believe she did.
b) Would I not (with my admittedly chunkier build, but exact same texture and colour of hair) look similarly smokingly gorgeous in a similar haircut? Yes, I think so too.

We rented a bunch of movies over the weekend and, by some fluke, all of them turned out to be perfect for a snow-bound, tree-trimming weekend. Each was very different, but very good in it’s own way.

First we watched a Japanese animated movie called Paprika.

It had that sumptuous, colourful, dense, Hayao Miyazaki style imagery I am really digging these days. The plot was kinda trippy, (a company develops a machine that lets people enter each others dreams – but something is corrupting the dreams of those who use the machine) but not completely unintelligible – at least, not compared to say, a David Lynch movie. Compared to Mullholand Drive this movie was pretty straightforward. The eclectic/electro soundtrack was pretty cool too – the “parade” song in particular is definitely stuck in my head these days.

Then we watched a musical: Hairspray.

They filmed this all over Toronto last year, with the main street scene close to our old apartment in Parkdale. They transformed a whole, actual city block into 1962 Baltimore (the early sixties is my absolute favorite era). We visited one afternoon when they weren’t filming, and it was amazing the attention to detail they put into the thing. I was pretty wary of a big studio adaptation of such a classic cult film, but I was impressed first by their authentic sets, then by the thumbs up of John Waters himself (not exactly an easy thing to get from such a known curmudgeon) and then by the good reviews.

So we finally took the plunge, and gave it a go, and we were impressed. The singing and the plot ebbed and flowed naturally and didn’t take itself too seriously – and the music didn’t even suck all that much – pretty catchy, actually. With the possible exception of John Travolta (who wasn’t even all that bad, considering) the cast was perfect, and any opportunity to see Christopher Walken sing and dance should be taken.

Then we watched a small indie feature: Waitress.

You might have heard of this one, as the woman (Adrienne Shelley) who wrote and directed it was murdered shortly before it’s release – which I would normally be wary of, as films in these situation often get hyped out of control. However, in this case the hype was justified and it truly is sad that this unique voice was silenced.

It’s a bittersweet little film about a young woman (Keri Russell) who works in a pie diner and makes miraculously delicious pies. She gets pregnant by her abusive husband (Jeremy Sisto, duh), and then falls in love with her gynecologist. It reminded me a bit of The Gilmore Girls – snappy dialoge, eccentric small townies (including Andy Griffith!), and a general romantic quirkiness.

I mean, The bottom line is, this movie involves quirkiness and pies, so I am pretty much in love with it.

I don’t usually post videos, but I keep running across this same artist’s stuff, and I am totally in love with her:

Her name is Robyn, she’s Swedish, and she used be a teeny-bopper pop-star in the mid nineties (remember “Show Me Love”? It was pretty ubiquitous at one point. Still hear it from time to time on adult-contempo radio). During the nineties her producer/song writer/Svengali was fellow swede Max Martin – Yes, that Max Martin, of later Britney infamy.

Eventually Robyn, not surprisingly, grew a little tired of being marketed as a pop-tartlet by her record company. But rather than put out a whiny new single about being misunderstood, or how hard being rich and famous is, she dumped her label and started her own.

Then she gave herself a asymmetrical bleach blond haircut; started wearing crazy outfits usually seen on more avant-garde artists (like a dress made to look like a Wurlitzer juke box); and started writing all her own material, collaborating with all the hip, young, up-and-coming producers and DJs Europe has to offer. Pretty awesome right? Now as a result, she’s the hottest thing in the British press, which means her total world dominance should be forthcoming shortly.

She’s pretty much Bjork and Gwen’s long lost Swedish love-child as raised by Missy. In other words: what’s not to love? She’s totally adorable in a wacky, Scandinavian sort of way and she’s got the chops to back it up.

Best of all, her music is danceable and her videos are fresh and arty, even Michel Gondry-esque. I made a playlist of the best on YouTube, so go check em’ out.

Geeez, how can you not hate Gwyneth Paltrow?

“Hi, I’m an internationally recognized beauty, with a British rock star husband, and the most pretentiously named babies in the world.

“I was just hanging out in my Hamptons apple orchard wearing a silk Etro mini-dress in front of House and Garden editors (here to shoot my preternaturally beautiful summer home) when I decided to whimsically pick up a hula hoop I just found lying around. Oh, and look at that. My Oscar. Who left that lying in the rhododendrons?

“Aren’t I whimsical? Aren’t I pretty? Aren’t I skinny? Aren’t I wonderful?”

Meanwhile, whenever she goes out to pick up diapers she looks like a fat schlub. Which is cool, cause she’s a mommy and stuff, and that’s what’s realistic.

It’s just seems like she seems to be working awfully hard to win us all over… And you know how well that always worked out on the playground.

1. Liam bought me something I have been looking for for a very long time.

   A precious, beautiful, coral-red, Olivetti valentine typewriter!

2. We had the fanciest Portuguese food in the city at Chiado.

   I couldn’t really repeat to you what I had because most of it was strange and portuguese and our waiter had a bit of an indescipherable accent, but it was really, really good. We had creme brule for desert, and any meal that ends like that I am all for.

3. Liam took me to see the Drowsy Chaperone.

   Little known fact about me: I was once a theatre major.

   Really.

   My opinion on modern theatre is pretty much this: it’s dead. It is either far too pretentious to be enjoyed by pretty much anyone, or far too commercial to have anything interesting to say.

   The remedy to this appears to be: Canadians. Particularily Bob Martin (a comedian who Liam’s been a fan of way before he ever started winning Tonys, and who returned home to Toronto to play the Man in the Chair one last time) and Don McKeller. Yay us!

4. We got a new apartment in the east end (near Little India).

   The process of finding and applying for an apartment has been ongoing over the past month or so, but I didn’t want to say anything about it, lest I jinx myself.
   We finally found the perfect spot a couple weeks ago.

   It has:

   TWO bedrooms (one of which is in the cutest little gabled attic)
   BAY windows
   HARDWOOD floors throughout
   a sizable kitchen with COUNTER-SPACE
   a GAS stove
   lots of BIG closets – with more storage in the basement
   FREE laundry in the basement
   a beautiful DECK
   a big, blank canvas of a BACKYARD
   and…
   it is a CO-OP, which means we are goint to be paying less than we are now, the CO-OP will pay for us to paint whatever colour we want, and if we want to make upgrades we can apply to have them paid for (!!!)

5. We went to a fall fair.

   I saw baby animals; had a corndog, butterfly fries and a candy apple; and came home with fresh homemade cider and bumbleberry pie.

Guess what?!?!?!?!

I just had a MAJOR celebrity sighting.

Not major as in: they are my idol, I love them and I care though.

Major as in: Perez is the new fugly.

Major as in…

Wait for it…

Mr. Ex Hilary Duff…

Nicole Richie’s rumored baby daddy…

Mr. Joel Madden himself!!!

I think he was with the rest of his band too, but I don’t recognize them because I don’t see their faces plastered all over the checkout aisle when getting groceries.

I did not break out my camera phone, because I am a nice Canadian girl and we don’t do things like that.

In other news that I actually care about: that charity I might be building a website for might want me to do a whole full blown branding as well! I can not tell you how exciting that is to a fledgling designer. Can not even express it. Can’t. I’m getting started RIGHT NOW.

Yesterday was surprisingly pleasant. We don’t normally go in for much holiday related festivities on Valentines day – we generally find it a bit tacky.

And I don’t even mean just all the red and pink and hearts – that stuff I don’t mind.

I actually kind of like red and pink and hearts.

It’s more just the clichés that get to me. (Red roses, champagne, teddy bears and all the other commercialized “hallmarks” of a greeting card holiday.)

And of course on the other side of the coin you’ve got all the virulent anti-valentines day people. (So you’re single. I get it. Do you cry on Fathers Day because you don’t have a father? How about Secretaries’ Day because you lost your secretary in a freak typing accident? Flag day, because you were once choked by oversized Australian flag? Black History Month because you’re a WASP? Let your coupled friends celebrate the love in their life and get over yourself.)

Overall, I really believe that romance is spontaneous. Romance should just… kind of… happen.

The more you plan and plot and organize and carefully schedule romance the less romantic it becomes.

And yesterday, Toronto sparkled under a good two feet of confetti like powder.

So we headed out to the Distillery District – it’s pretty red brick Victorian industrial buildings looked very nice indeed under it’s fluffy blanket of snow.

We had Mayan hot chocolate and a few choice truffles at Soma Chocolate Shop – I’ve heard that the place is amazing and the best chocolate in the city – and I was not disappointed.

The hot chocolate was gently spiced with chilli pepper, cinnamon and Madagascar vanilla – just enough to warm the back of your throat – but not burn your lips. Absolutely perfect for a blustery February day.

The truffles were truly some of the best chocolate I’ve ever had! They had that gentle crackle and crunch when you bit into them that instantly melted inside your mouth – and a perfectly clean chocolate flavour on the inside. Not too sweet, no muddiness, just clean, clear, creamy, smooth chocolate flavour. My favourite was a cocoa powder covered whiskey flavoured one (appropriate because the Distillery was once actually a distillery, of course).

One of the best parts about Soma is the gigantic windows they have where you can watch the chefs prepare the chocolate – and they make much of their chocolate from scratch (!!!) so it’s an incredibly interesting process.

Afterwards we stopped by my absolute favourite store/gallery in Toronto – Distill. I do not have the money for anything there but my hope is that one day my entire wardrobe will be purchased there. At very least, I always pick up a few new ideas whenever I push past those big heavy old doors and above all else I find inspiration hopelessly romantic – and vice versa.

I am pretty much obsessed with making Mii’s (little customizable characters on the Nintendo Wii). I’m pretty good at it too.

Me and Liam. Self-explanatory

My cats. In Mii form. Yep. I’m that girl.

Hiro (from Heroes) and Bjork. Some how they both just seemed to lend themselves really thoroughly to being Mii-ized.

The good news?

I got quoted in the National Post.
(That’s a national newspaper here in Canada, for those of you who weren’t aware – although it is admittedly the lesser one.)

The bad news? (get ready there’s a bit of it).

They misspelled my name (I’m not Beth Mather, if you weren’t already aware).

And I didn’t actually know they were gonna quote me, since I just commented on something on Torontoist, and they slapped that together into an article. (Which is pretty much the most lazy and lame way of writing something, I have to say. In fact, I think they told us not to write our essays like that in University, or we’d get kicked out.)

And I’m on the wrong side of the argument, apparently. (Obviously I don’t think so, but whoever it is at the City desk does – which doesn’t actually surprise me, because my whole point was that Toronto media is a select group of sheltered individuals who don’t reflect the people of their city in the slightest. So I’m not surprised she’s shocked at a little criticism, and sides with the elitists.)

At least they spelled my name wrong.
Maybe I should move that one up into the good news column.

Watch out!
There are forces conspiring to screw us out of the little that we have.
One should specifically watch out for Leah McLaren, and Debbie Travis.
According to the both of them, my generation is the following:

Over-educated,
Over-achieving,
Over-indulged,
Entitled,
Cocky,
Lazy,
Work Ethic-less,
Rude,
and
Horrible.

(more…)

If you ever wonder why I get so frustrated with Toronto now that I actually live in the holy land, it’s because these people run it.
I have a message for New York magazine: they are just yuppies! No special new term needs to be coined, because they are just the same yuppies in a slightly younger generation.
It’s not enough that they destroyed Manhattan, then moved across the river and destroyed Brooklyn, but now they’re about to destroy Toronto too. I’ve noticed a frightening trend in the blogosphere of Transplanted New Yorkers coming to Toronto and starting a blog, because New York (and effectively, Williamsburg, and effectively, the entire US) is “played out.”
At the rate they’re working, Toronto will be “played out” by the end of the year.
I would blame that damn New York Times article on Broken Social Scene and how hip we all are, but I actually think it predates that.
What’s painfully obvious to someone who is actually of the generation that should be enthusiastic about this stuff, is that they are clinging on to these T-shirts, and music, and Napoleon Dynamite catch-phrases, because they wish they were young again, and it reminds them of their youth, not because they think the stuffs any good.
Me on the other hand?
I actually like the Decemberists because I think they’re good, not because they remind me of Echo and the Bunnymen, and I like DIY and “indie” things because they are made by my young friends who have been effectively iced out (not surprisingly, by the same generations who are currently co-opting it all) of ever even thinking of having a reliable company job to pay their bills .
I am not surprised there is rioting in the streets of France (although it’s a historical fact that there is pretty much always rioting in the streets of France).
I kinda wish there was rioting in the streets of Toronto: but over internships gone horribly wrong, and the working wages of silkscreened t-shirt sweatshop workers.
I guess I should be satisfied with the fact that my generation is actually making as big a wave as the boomers did. Unlike the Xers who have to perpetually co-opt other peoples cool.
Ha.
We will overcome.

Addendum to that last post:
We were bored today, so we checked out Kensington market. We were intrigued by the concept of large enough quantities of delicious cheese to fill at least one store.
The cheese shop: smelly and unimpressive.
The cheese shop boys: smelly and unimpressive.
Later, we overheard:
A gay best friend who was carrying his best friends baby in a snuggler:
“That bed is sooooo Sigourney Weaver in The Ice Storm.”
FYI:
It wasn’t. The bed was mid-fifties Scandinavian modern. The ice storm was set in the mid-seventies middle America.
You’re a gay best friend, if you’re going to cross-reference your pop cultural references to your knowledge of interior design, do it properly.
In related news:
Rebecca Eckler has a blog. In which she discusses how her nanny can afford Prada, and her 2 year old gets 140 dollar haircuts. I am not linking to it, because I don’t want to make anybody yak. If you really want to see it, or don’t know who I’m talking about, you all know how to use Google.

Today, Toronto made me want to yak.

What happened to you Toronto? You used to be cool.

About the whole: cheese debacle.
It seems wherever you find speciality food shops, you find pathetic yuppies who romanticize the bohemian lifestyle of the minimum-wage food-service workers who are employed there.
See also:
Clafouti,
Record stores,
And every barista working at every gourmet coffee shop ever (I should know, I was one).
Ladies:
The real reason these boys are not going home with you, probably has a lot to do with the fact that they (without a handy employee discount) can not afford the pretentious, overpriced gourmet goods that you are so willing to waste your time and money on.
Lose 20 pounds, acquire a new wardrobe at your nearest thrift/vintage shop, buy these kids a case of 50 and give them a lead on a gig for their band, or a new media job that pays more than 8 dollars an hour and their heart is yours.

If I’m working creatively (on the right side of my brain) I have this habit of completely screwing up things I’m trying to incorporate that are more intellectual (and utilize the left of my brain).
Like when I’m drawing things, if I add in little captions with pretty lettering, chances are I will misspell something grossly.

Exhibit A:

Sofia Coppola spells her name with an F (not a PH).
I know this.
I have purposefully memorized this fact.
I even named my dolly after her.
But then what do I write down?
Sophia.
I could have photo-shopped it out, but that would have just been a lie.

Um… I’m sorry? What was that?
What?
What?!?
Seriously?
You can’t seriously think that that’s not a bad idea.
And I thought those white-trash parties that were all the rage a couple years ago were offensive…
Williamsburg is stupid.
Dart: I’m totally won over. Hip-hop Hipsters must die.
I think what it comes down to, is if they seriously appreciated rap culture, they’d participate in it rather than make fun of it.