*JENlightened~

I know we already voted. But since Americans haven’t, we’re still seeing their commercials encouraging people to go to the polls. I saw one in particular today that was targeted to female voters, and I must admit, voting does not do for me what it does for these ladies.

“Cool.”

“It made me feel pretty.”

“Sexy”.

“…it’s a beautiful thing.”

I don’t know where (or how) these women vote. But I line up in a dim school gymnasium and wait for my turn to sign a form and check a box. There are usually crying children. Someone is yelling at a volunteer because they’re in a different riding but want to vote here instead.

Important? Yes. Sexy? If sexy means rushing home after work to get to the polls before dinner, then yeah I guess it’s pretty hot.

Is this what it takes to get sex maniacs women to vote? Why not give us free condoms with our ballot?

In effort to get the guns off Toronto streets, the police and Henry’s Cameras have collaborated to provide an incentive for gun owners. For the next four weeks (starting yesterday), you can trade in your gun for a digital camera and photography lessons. No questions asked. The campaign is called Pixels for Pistols.

While I applaud the efforts, I’m not so sure cameras are the best trade off. Aside from enthusiasts, I feel like the kind of people who have guns own them for a good reason. If protection is that reason, then I doubt an impromptu photo shoot will do any favours when cornered in an alley. As my dad always said, don’t bring a Nikon to a gun fight.

I’m no authority when it comes to gun-toters, but something tells me our target audience is not WASPy, Forest Hill teens in search of a new hobby. Besides, if gun owners really wanted a camera, couldn’t they just… you know… demand one?

As not to be a complete nay-sayer, this is fabulous PR for Henry’s. In fact, I would not be surprised if the campaign is featured on www.touchdownsblog.ca!

One more thing: would you even want the camera they’re offering?!

I am going to tell you a story that I haven’t told anyone. The story isn’t necessarily funny, unless you find squashing the dreams of an eighteen-year-old humourous. If you do, get ready for some giggles. I’m telling it because I just remembered that I had some poetry “published” online (from the high school years) and I put them up in my “Other writings” page for a laugh… and a reminder.

I think I’ve always wanted to be a writer. My mom gave me a diary when I was seven, and I haven’t really stopped writing since. I would fill notebooks with stories, personal thoughts and a lot of poems. Poetry, back then, came easily to me because I had a knack for rhyming. I could write a decent poem (often with an a-b-c-b rhyme scheme) in no time.

In high school, I kept writing poems, but it was way less cute. There was no more rhyming, just teen angst and the odd alliterative phrase. I probably thought I was the deepest person around (as most teenagers do) because my poems were mostly criticisms of the world as I saw it. When I think about it now, I want to go back in time and give myself a smack (as most adults do).

Anyway, I had this one poem in particular that I uploaded onto www.poetry.com. I wanted to share Sanguine Sonnet with the world. It was about Canadian values, which I believed were crumbling (I have no point of reference, so don’t ask for one).

When I received a letter from the head honcho of the poetry.com, congratulating me on my masterpiece, it confirmed what I already knew about my writing: I was a natural artist, ahead of my time. In his letter, the president told me that he chose my poem to be featured in that year’s collection of poems. Of course, I wouldn’t have to pay for this honour but I was encouraged to buy copies (on sale for $50) for myself and my family.

What an honour! I ordered a copy and got ready to be famous.

When the book arrived, my poem was conveniently on the first page. I was shocked. As if they would choose my poem to start the book off. But being the egomaniac that I was, I figured that SOMEone had to be the first, why not me? The book, by the way, was called “The Journey.”

What finally convinced me that it was a scam was when I read the other poems and found that they were utter crap. There was no way anyone would publish a poem called “My Mangy Cat,” not in a book called “The Journey” at least. I googled the company and found hundreds of “poets” claiming that they were also on the front page. No two copies were alike.

I felt like an idiot for three reasons.

1. I was conned AND I still owed my mom $50.
2. I had already told people that I was being published. I had a fan club. People were legitimately proud of me. I had to tell them the truth (which I never did).
3. Sanguine Sonnet was featured right next to a poem about a toilet in Brooklyn.

The only thing keeping me from complete self-loathing was that I didn’t purchase a extra page with a personal dedication on it, only $20 extra. I figured the power of my sonnet spoke for itself. Guh!

Even now, I still get letters from poetry.com, inviting me to recite my special poem at some conference. Of course, they understand that I might not be able to attend, allowing me to send $50 to have someone else read it in my stead.

We all need a lesson in humility. I learned mine for fifty bucks, which I guess is cheap when you consider how much it takes to realize the dangers of gambling.

If there’s something I hate more than racism, it’s when people deny that it’s an issue altogether, maintaining that society has moved past racial discrimination. This sort of ignorance upsets me in unspeakable ways. (The same goes for sexism, classism, and other undesirable ‘isms’.) If you really want to get me going, try telling me that it’s white people who are getting the short end of the stick.

It troubles me not only because it’s false, but because it’s dangerous thinking. The longer we convince ourselves that everyone is treated equally and that we all have the same opportunities in life, the longer we accept the status quo without change.  

I watched this video on YouTube today and I wanted to throw up. There it was: 21st-century American citizens casually using the N-word and worrying themselves over Senator Obama’s “black, muslim agenda.”
*Note that it was all I could do to ignore the drawls and not write off all Southerners as idiots.*

Granted, these (presumably illiterate) people are absolutely out of their respective trees. But it serves as a reminder that racism is still out there, and in some cases, thriving.

In most Canadian communities (at least the ones I’m familiar with), you won’t find an obvious racial divide, but it doesn’t mean that modern racism isn’t kickin’ around. Because it is. The glass ceiling continues to be obstacle.  Media still portray minorities in stereotypical ways, which can have a subtle yet repetitive and significant affect on how we perceive our surroundings.   

The more we’re aware of hegemony, the more inclined we are to change it. So consider this blog post a friendly reminder to love your neighbour and to be critical of our societal norms.

The more I’m on the Internet, the more I realize the importance of business websites. It sounds like an obvious statement, but you might be surprised how many companies don’t have them-especially restaurants.

A company website no longer means having a competitive advantage in your market, because it has become the norm. Maybe having a great website will leverage your brand, but you’re not necessarily going to get ahead just by virtue of having your own URL.  I would argue, however, that not having a website is a huge competitive disadvantage.

Consider the amount of people that research online before making any sort of buying decision. You look up a menu before booking a reservation or ordering takeout. You check the new releases before making the trip to Blockbuster. You check out a store’s clothes before heading to the mall. The list continues depending on your personal interests.

Companies cannot afford to have their names not appear in the search engine results list, because it automatically disqualifies their brand from consideration.

Why do I care about this stuff? Because I am an avid online shopper.

I started thinking about this because I wanted to order takeout sushi, and the place I wanted it from didn’t have a website.  I wasn’t about to call and listen to a long list of what they have available, so I went elsewhere. I got to thinking about how many times that has happened, how many times Sushi D on College (love it) has lost business by default.

Granted, a lot of sushi places are small with little to no budget set aside for self-promotion. But even a cheap (i.e. free) website with a menu would be enough for me.   It’s a big city. And while local, neighbourhood reputation can go a long way, a website has the potential to bring in new business.

Read this

We already have enough men who source their information about the world through publications such as Maxim. Do we really need to be catering more to this psychographic?

I can see the headlines now:

“Why women love shopping”

“What men really think about sex”

“The best exercises to tighten your glutes”

“How to dress appropriately for work”

“Can I date a friend’s ex?”

“Purple is the new pink”

“Reader poll: Do you even know what Cosmopolitan even means? Can you use it in a sentence?”

I don’t know why more people aren’t insulted by these magazines.

If readers want to know what publications really think of them, look at the advertising. Marketers are very deliberate about where they invest their money. Their decisions about reaching the right demographic are well-researched and informed. If they didn’t think that something would appeal to the audience, they wouldn’t waste their efforts.

In saying that, Cosmo, through their advertising, tells women that they are objects to be gazed at and they should enjoy being admired; that their appearance is to be compared against perfect beauty (as outlined in photos); that women should be active (but only in independent, noncompetitive sports); that happiness means finding a man to love; and that women should compete with each other for a man’s attention (often using physicality).

As for men, they only think about sex; they are more invested in sports or video games than any sort of relationship; they are incapable of doing any indoor household chore-they only know how to mow the lawn and barbeque; and they are unintelligent in general.

It doesn’t matter whether or not the words in a column offer modern feminist rhetoric. As long as the article is placed next to ad of shampoo pitting blondes against brunettes, you’re viewed as a simpleton who accepts the above statements. Moreover, nothing changes. With the money you spend on the magazine, you grant consent to the crap that’s in it.

I get all excited to go. I arrive, expecting to have a blast. And then I begin to realize that I’m about to spend the next eight hours battling crowds and waiting in lines-all for a short glimpse at something (potentially) interesting.

When hit with this reality, the next logical step is to plan a route. None of this laissez-faire nonsense. If you want to get the most in, you need a clear strategy. All of a sudden, a fun night out on the town becomes this regimented schedule with time slots. Discussion will take place on the way to the next exhibit, thank you very much.

Another tricky dimension to Nuit Blanche is groups. Everyone wants to travel in groups. On a fun evening, a large flock of friends is great. But this evening is no longer about perusing-it’s a battlefield. Thus, groups become a dangerous thing. A political thing. Who in the group gets the say on where we go? How long do we wait for stragglers? Do we stop and let Brian use the washroom or is he left in dust? After all, he can just meet us as OCAD. Friendships are tested during Nuit Blanche.

Like Canada’s Wonderland, the idea of Nuit Blanche is fantastic. It’s supposed to be a few square kilometers of fun fun fun. But by the end, I just want out out out. People are boisterous (often drunk), your body temperature rollercoasters, your feet hurt even if you did bring proper footwear (which you probably didn’t) and the number of available washrooms is insufficient.

Of course, next year I’ll forget all of this and get pumped again. The circle of life continues.