January 27, 2010

I am a person of color.

There is one thing in this world I find vile, unacceptable and pervasive. It’s a dark, rampant attitude masquerading as pseudo generalizations or common places about groups of people that don’t share a single thing. It’s called racism and I shriek every time I’m exposed to it.

I was sharing a ride with someone (let me stay very generic here, I often underestimate the amount of people actually reading this) this morning, when they proceeded to explain me that Montreal taxi cabs were dangerous because they are driven by “people of color”.

“People of what?!” I asked in disgust. I was yelling inside my head. Are you fucking kidding me? Why don’t you blame their zodiac sign or their shoe size while you’re at it? “You know, these people are less inclined to follow rules...”. “Oh!” I said, “then I’m a person of color, too.”

I cannot start to describe you how I feel inside when subjected to such ridiculous racist bullshit disguised as casual carpooling conversation. But what totally kills me is the innocent stare I get back upon my reaction, like the person is stating such obvious facts that I cannot possibly oppose to them.

These, my friends, are the true roots of racism. Far, far away from the white hoods and the burning crosses, in appearances. Dangerously close in reality. You cannot possibly harbor ideas like my distinguished driver’s without being infected by some level of racism. Might as well say “Negros shouldn’t drive” or “kick them all wetbacks out, our roads will be safer”. See? If you were affected by these two less subtle last statements but not by the first one, take a long, deep look inside of yourself.

And by the way, it’s no better if the statement presents a quality. Saying or thinking “Asians are really dedicated workers” or “Latinos have such great rhythm” is the same big, ugly, steaming pile of racist horse shit.

People CANNOT be associated by the color of their skin, religion, sex choice or origin, no more than by their physical height, eye color or abundance of nasal hair. What is it that is so difficult to understand? I know black assholes, Iranian geniuses, white bigots, asian saints. Now remake this last phrase with any combination and it is also true.

You know what? I only know geniuses, saints, bigots and assholes.

And I, too, am a person of color.


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January 26, 2010

The Lovely Bones

Movie review

Some movies have a tendency to carry emotions above and beyond the standard range you’d expect out of a story. For me, that was the case with The Lovely Bones.

I need to start by saying up front I haven’t read the book. I also didn’t quite know what to expect, as I only had a sketchy idea of what the story was. To keep it simple, this movie is about the afterlife of a young girl who is raped and murdered and tries to keep contact with her living family to help them deal with their grief.

It’s very difficult for me to characterize this movie, as it presents thriller elements and a fair share of fantasy, but definitely remains a drama.

If one thing can be praised in The Lovely Bones, it’s the overall actors’ performance. Saoirse Ronan, who plays the young girl, is stunningly convincing. Her acting adds as much to the character than the story itself, and she avoids every overdramatic trap with ease and grace. Mark Wahlberg proves once again that he is a solid performer in the role of the obsessed father. Stanley Tucci offers a bone-chilling rendition of the killer, at times even making me feel disgusted to be powerlessly observing a perfectionist methodic killer from so up close. The cast is completed by Susan Sarandon, who – like her character - walks a very fine line between a lot and too much and Rachel Weisz, who sadly got a role too remote in my opinion to really be able to shine.

Contrary to other critics I read, I feel that Peter Jackson has done a very good visual rendition of the movie’s universe by staying relatively sober in terms of special effects. Some of them came across as a bit quirky, I must admit, but be reminded I always pay close attention to these sorts of details. However, I wasn’t overly distracted by them and I don’t think they are such a big deal.

The Lovely Bones is a heavy, heavy movie. It reminds me of other dramas like What Dreams May Come or, more recently, The Fountain, but definitely draws on a darker spectrum of emotion.

The Lovely Bones is an obvious must-see, but be warned: this is not a feel-good movie. Be prepared to visit dark, cold corners of the human condition.

January 22, 2010

My Friend The Foodie

- Part 2 -

The trip to Germany wasn’t even finished that we decided we had to do this again, and as often as possible. Ensued a series of similar trips to various places in the world.

We invented a game where we get to pinpoint every place in the world we go to, and then compare. A colored push pin for a location explored, a transparent one for layovers or quick pass-throughs. My Facebook friends can actually see how I’m doing with this game right on my personal page.

A most memorable one was the trip we did to London, to attend some security-related tradeshow with an awesome Belgian dude by the name of Paul Vanbosterhaut. London (well the youth hostel we’d picked, to be more precise) wasn’t very kind to us, so after a couple nights of coping with moaning drunken teenagers and busloads of little annoying Japanese school girls busting in the dorm at 3:00 in the morning, we decided a change of pace was what we needed.

About 15 minutes is what it took to find a train station and a destination: Scotland! That has to be one of the least planned trips I’ve ever done. We basically went to a little grocery store, bought a couple things to eat and more beer than I care to admit and boarded the train, knowing only it went to Edinburgh.

We laughed and talked with a rude loudmouth of a Scot on the train, who carefully (NOT!) explained to us it was better that we were French-speaking Canadians than French-speaking Frenchies, who were wusses for not having fought in the war, all the while downing a full 26-ouncer of gin straight out of the bottle. This was Kansas no more, Dorothy. We loved it.

A stone throw away from the train station, we found a youth hostel right by the Royal Mile. We spent the next couple days sipping extraordinary ales and stouts, visiting castles, walking around, eating haggis, stumbling on bagpipe shows and enjoying every single minute. We hiked up Holyrood Park on a light, typical drizzly day and were carried away by the magic. Ended up in a pub where we both re-discovered in amazement that single malt scotch was one of the finest things in this world, specifically when accompanied by Strongbow cider, friendly conversation and a pint of Rebellion Smuggler.

Coming back from the UK, I knew I had found my coping method for enduring the years of corporate hardships ahead. Something to look forward to. But most of all, I knew I had found a friend :)

You will understand my sadness when I learned, a couple months later, that he had enough of the routine life and decided he’d live his dream; he was moving out. To China. The sheer awesomeness of his endeavor prevented me from sinking into depression, however, and I promised on the spot that if he made it to China, I’d come visit, even if he lived under a bridge.

Some weeks of hectic preparation later, my new friend said his goodbyes and boarded a plane for the Middle Kingdom, where he’d found a job in the videogame industry as an entry-level-designer (I’m sooo funny). I admired his bravery for ditching everything and starting over, but most of all, I felt that he was doing what he was meant to be, that he was fulfilling his reason for existence. Dan Roy was never meant to be your usual 9-to-5 white collar, and his gutsy move away from the comforts of an easy routine life yielded rewards he largely deserved.

About 6 months after he moved away, I hopped on a plane myself and visited, as promised, in Shanghai. He’d done far better than living under a bridge :) He had friends, a challenging job situation and an awesome new life, light years away from the former one. My trip to China was also one of the last confirmations that our friendship would outlast anything; as soon as we were together, it felt like we never parted. As is the case for all my true friends, Dan and I can go years without seeing each other and pick it up right were we left off upon seconds of getting together again. I guess we’re sentimental camels.

We traveled Europe, China, the UK and the Balkans together. Wherever he moved, I came to visit. Including Edmonton, a trip spiced up by the fact I chose to go there on my motorcycle. And I can assure you everywhere he’ll go (and stay more than a couple weeks), I’ll always end up showing up at one point or the other.

Last fall, Dan decided to redefine the whole concept of his life. He’d lived in several different places in the world, but always repeating a pattern of finding a job, moving in, starting over. This time, he announced, he wanted to focus his experience, well, on the experience itself.

He took some serious thinking time and finally decided that he would ditch the whole concept of having a job altogether and travel the world at whatever pace he saw fit, stopping only where he felt like doing so, in search of the wonders of this world and the people who inhabit it. And he decided he’d write about it and share his experiences through the bias of the greatest sin on earth, the enjoyment of food.

So I invite you to journey with him through his discoveries in smells, tastes and flavors. You’ll also get a good glimpse at the guy himself, his humble intelligence, clever humour, empathy and his love for everything whimsical and quirky.

My friend the Foodie is not an everyday person. He is a vast, amazing, wonderful country.
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Follow my friend Daniel Roy as he wanders the world in search of discovery, amazement and human contact : http://www.backpackfoodie.com/

January 21, 2010

My Friend The Foodie

- Part 1 -

I met Daniel Roy in the most boring of circumstances. I’d been moved from the videogame division of my former company to its software security counterpart, and can’t say I was too excited about that. That division already had a marketing director, so I had no idea what they wanted me there for. But I’d preferred the move over getting an appointment at the unemployment office, if you catch my drift.

I’d talked to him maybe 3 times before we became coworkers. He came across as a quiet, intellectual dude who pretty much kept to himself and would very likely hate my ass for being the noisy, hyperactive little annoyment machine that I am.

The first boring weeks turned into first boring months, but then something that happened way too often in my career came up and out of the blue and galvanized our relationship. Company cutbacks. Big time. A wait-for-your-phone-to-ring-type massive butchery of a Monday morning layoff. With crying VPs and the whole nine yards. We ended up being the only two marketing orphans left in the division. To take care of everything.

While unmotivatedly (I know, it’s not a word, but it says exactly what I mean. And buzz off, you’re messing with the flow of the story) browsing the division’s files and projects for loose ends to pick up, Dan and I realized that the former director had registered for CeBIT, a major electronics and software tradeshow in Germany. We managed to convince what was left of the management that it would be cheaper to send us both there and pick up a couple leads than cancelling the whole thing and get a bad name with the Canadian Commercial Delegation.

We ended up having to figure out how to spend a week in Germany at a major business venue on a shoestring. Business Backpacking was born. And a friendship that would last a lifetime.

From the earliest moments of my first trip with Dan, I discovered that we shared many passions. We are both avid adventurers, geeks at heart and seasoned epicureans. And we share the same distaste for order, authority and routine. I had found a business-partner-in-crime :)

We hadn’t been 2 days in Germany that already, adventure plans were brewing. We’d been talking our jaws off about travel destinations, Europe, history, science, philosophy. We had already established that we were not going to merely attend a business tradeshow like little corporate sheep and not enjoy our time. And the weekend was dangerously approaching...

As soon as Friday hit, we finished early, ditched the business suits, crammed our equipment in a train station locker in Hannover and hopped on a train to Berlin. One of the best five hours of my life. Drinking fine beer, enjoying scenic views of the German countryside and talking, like two excited five-year-olds on a field day (well, save the beer part).

I think we both rapidly discovered how similar we are, and how enjoyable each other’s company is. Nothing is ever complicated with Dan. You share parts of a trip, or split apart and meet later for amazing food and drinks, chance encounters, random wonders or a mix of all of that. You speak your mind, share your thoughts, reflect on anything without the slightest risk of hurting feelings, starting arguments or being judged.

We went to Berlin as two amused, rebellious coworkers. We came back as friends.



- To be continued -



Follow my friend Daniel Roy as he wanders the world in search of discovery, amazement and human contact : www.backpackfoodie.com


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January 18, 2010

Go, Daddy-O

It's Monday morning.

But you know what? Today, I refuse to have the blues.

I got to the office, went downstairs get a ham and bacon croissant and cranked up some Big Bad Voodoo Daddy through my computer's speakers.

First thing you know, everyone's swinging, whistling and smiling :)

Have a good happy week, everybody!
Flint

January 15, 2010

My finish line dreams

It’s a sunny day. A little fresh in the early morning, but that’s good. If it gets too warm, I’ll sweat too much and will need to hydrate even more.

It’s difficult not to get overwhelmed at the starting line. Everybody has their neat little dossards. People stretch, jump in place. It’s tense and exciting. But focus is of the essence.

When the gun finally shoots, thousands of feet start pummeling the ground in rythm. Breathe. Take your pace. Empty your mind.

The music in my ears will be my only companion. I’ll have visualized this a million times. A steady pace, a constant look at my feet. Equal steps. Straight legs. Breathe.

I’ll keep at it for an hour and a half, maybe more. It’s almost magic.

The excitement will turn to meditation, then effort, then pain. The wall. I’ll lose my breath, my legs will burn, my back will stiffen. I’ll look at the mileage and completely demotivate. I’ll think there’s no way in hell I’ll finish this.

Then it’ll happen. These images I’m storing every time I meditate will resurface. Hidden pockets of strength and will. Secret mind weapons against the brutality of my undertaking. I’ll clench my jaws for a second, then snap back into pace. Every step will get a bit lighter, up until I’m back to being a constant, steady running machine. That’s it. Keep going.

Mile after mile, I’ll try to glimpse at the surroundings, maybe try and catch a bystander’s supportive gaze, lend an ear to words of encouragement yelled about by the small crowds scattered along the course.

And just when I’m starting to lose hope and fall into despair, when I’m so strained and exhausted that no mind trick or mental strength can keep me going, I’ll see it in the distance. A tall, bright ribbon held up in the air at the end of the course.

From nowhere, a jolt of energy will zap across my legs. An indescribable last resort lift, fueled only by the sight of the finish line, by knowing that if I’ve gotten this far, I can do it. I’ll cross the finish line with a scream, tears in the eyes and a pride no one will ever take away from me.

I’m running a marathon in 2010.

January 13, 2010

Chinese propaganda, Avatar and the earth shaking

My mind is a stew of random ideas, this morning. Call it mixed feelings.

The earth shook in Haïti, and NOW we care? This makes me sick. One of the poorest countries on the globe, a no-man’s place deprived of the West’s interest most likely for a lack of resources to plunder, a human desert not worthy of anyone’s attention, now becomes our care-of-the-day because it fell victim to an earthquake.

We have brothers and sisters in this country since the dawn of time. They have asked repeatedly for help, or at least support, on numerous occasions. They suffered regimes, repression and lawlessness at the hands of power-hungry despots. What have we offered? A bunch of cops to train theirs. Don’t get me wrong, it’s probably not such a bad thing, but what about houses? Clean water? Food? Schools? Loans for starting local businesses?

I can’t stand our reaction to what just happened. But that’s nothing compared to how I’m going to feel, in a couple days, when our medias and suburban households get bored of the images and look for another tear inducement somewhere else. Who knows, maybe we’ll be lucky and Celine Dion will break a nail.


************

My friend Dan posted an interesting link to an article explaining why Google will likely cease its operations in China. In a startling declaration, Google explains it has unearthed a vast undercover operation likely led by a government-sponsored organization called The 50-Cent Army (AKA Wu Mao Dang) that hacks into google.cn to spy on Chinese activists by accessing their personal information and their e-mail accounts.

It shook me to wake up to the idea that governments finance hackers and astroturfing operations to enforce their propaganda. But then again, it shook me that I was shocked. I mean really... Is that such a big surprise?

We are being controlled, people. In many more ways than we imagine.


************

The Vatican blames Avatar for bringing about a worship of nature.

I will allow the Vatican to blame anyone for anything when they apologize for the Inquisition, the shameful astronomical fortune it has gathered from starving ignorant masses for centuries, Pius XII’s acceptance of the Holocaust and the tens of thousands of lives their priests ruined abusing bewildered children in absolute immunity, to this very day.

And don’t make me explain WHERE the catholic religion draws half of its traditions.

January 11, 2010

A letter to Noam Chomsky

Dear professor Chomsky,

You don't know me. And probably never will.

I'm simply writing to thank you for having acted so strongly on my life and the development of my values and opinions.

By articulating your thoughts so clearly and by documenting your arguments with such numerous sources, you have contributed not only to my knowledge, but also to the way I think, to what my mind now requires to formulate an opinion or consider an argument.

Your ease for writing puts mine to shame. I have read some of your phrases over and over, savouring their harmonious beauty, complexity and clarity. Like diamonds.

You have introduced me to other great minds and their work. Foucault, Dewey and Russell among others. You feed my hunger for knowledge and my research in my own nature, the one of my peers and my attempt at comprehending the complex world I happened in.

You have acted as a philosophical counterweight, bringing arguments from every side, flipping the issues upside down and inside out, reinforcing my comprehension at every step. You have rooted the thoughts you present in history, bringing a perspective that unites the modern thought to humans from all ages and origins, saving what little faith in Mankind I have left.

You make me smile with your occasional witty sarcasm and force me, every now and then, to close your books and reflect for long minutes. You voice out with awesome power some of my deepest concerns about humanity without ever resorting to dogmatism or endoctrination. And most of all, you never pretended to have an answer for everything, much less try to. You are humble and brave, intellectually honest and wholesome.

You, Sir, are an awesome man and quite an intellectual standard to look up to.

Thank you.

January 5, 2010

Hoonneeeeyyyy!!! I'm baaaaa-aaaack!

Is that it? We bust our corporate asses all year long for a meager 12 days off? I want out!

:)

Some of you know I spent most of my Holidays roasting my butt in Santiago de Cuba. Running by the sea, scuba diving, smoking fabulous Cuban cigars, meditating, napping. But most of all, enjoying the only life I think is worth living : a careless, warmer, slower, simpler, healthier, gentler pace.

You see, in my opinion there are some things in life that simply cannot be surrogated, replaced, compensated. Walking bare feet and living under the sun are two very good examples. I can't even come close to name something that can compensate for the lack of these two simple things in my North American, supposed high standard of a life.

Why is it that when I travel to tropical climates, my pace slows down? And don't serve me the "of course, you're on vacation" argument. I have been on vacation elsewhere and the feeling is different. Life down south makes me want to enjoy the fullness of nature and the blessings it brings. Tasty fruits, cozy nights, warm sunrays that reach under your skin.

It eliminates my well-integrated behavioral conditioning for consumption, exaggeration, accumulation of wealth. Is it possible we act like this because of the climate we were born in?

It draws me closer to people. It constantly reminds me where I come from. It charms me and warms my heart. It makes me want to quit everything and just stay there, linger, or better even; live the life I really want.

Being the proverbial Mr. Miniwheat, I of course know that this is utopic, at least for now. I wouldn't have enough money to sustain myself and would have to eventually come back to slave some more. Not an option.

What I do know, is that the perspective of switching lives for good under the sun is a definite option for the future. So much so, that it has become my only long-term objective. My reason to keep my job. To make (some) savings. It is something I look forward to, something that very well might be a totally new, exhilarating chapter of my life at a point when I'm sure it will be direly needed.

You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one...

Ask Vez, Fat, Dan, my brother. We all share that same dream. A common place, a shared space under the sun to garden, nap, chat, cook, laugh and live together. A humble little spot, in the middle of a local community. Contributing, participating. Integrating ourselves into a new life. Maybe make a difference. Maybe just eat cocos and smile.

Until then, there will be at least music, wine, feasts, friends, flirts, long-awaited springs, BBQs... and this blog :)

Happy, fulfilling 2010 to you my friends!