The Weekend of Never-ending Concerts

Last weekend, Dave and I had scheduled an entire weekend of seeing live music. It was a long weekend, so it was nice to have an extra day to spend watching shows.

Punk Rock Easter Weekend!

On Thursday, we caught The Escorts, The Thrashers and X Ray Cat at Broken City. We were a bit late and missed the very first band, PMMA. The Thrashers had been at the radio station earlier that day and had played a live set on Dave’s show, and they were awesome to see live. They are also just about the nicest, friendliest band I’ve met.

On Friday, we caught White Lung at the Palomino. One of the opening bands caused a bit of drama: one of the members threw up into a monitor, and caused an electrical fire. I’m all for being punk rock, but please don’t cause damage to the venue who is hosting you!

White Lung was excellent, and remains a top band in my books. Their set was intense, fun to watch, and just darned good. One thing that came up was a man in the audience started yelling, “Earn your money” at them toward the end of their set. Sigh. Dave and I had a really good conversation about the nature of punk shows, and how women are treated in both bands and audiences alike.

In spite of the unsavory yelling, the show was amazing. Here’s a taste:

Saturday was a strange turn of events for us, concert-wise. We went to Rihanna at the Saddledome. We took our seats and felt rather out of place as top 40 hits were pumped to the crowd. We’re much more used to standing a a bar in a small venue, surrounded by people in denim and leather.

A$AP Rocky opened, and he was incredible. It was a super energized set, very tight and he seemed genuinely pumped to be there. It was incredible.

We felt a little bad for the elementary school-aged kids that were there. Take a listen to this track, and you’ll see why.

Rihanna was a disappointment. I really wish that wasn’t the first thing that I thought right off the bat. She was about an hour and a half late, and when she took the stage seemed really distant, and was barely singing for the majority of the show. Some of her hits were enjoyable to dance around to, but it was mostly just … meh.

When she stopped dancing around and stood still and sang ballads, she was much better. The first song she really slowed down for was this one, and she did it beautifully. As Dave put it, it was the only song she actually felt like singing that night.

Sunday, I was feeling a little bit wonky. Lots of amazing musicians, but not as much sleep! The last show on our roster was Lucero, which had been recommended to us by a friend. I walked in feeling a little tired and dizzy, but both the band and opener woke me up and put me in a great mood.

Shovels and Rope was mid-set when we got there, and they were kind of like a countrified White Stripes. They had a strong rhythmic sound and very raw and beautiful vocals.

Here’s a set they did on Letterman:

And Lucero was excellent. The crowd was very happy to see them, and they put on a heckuva show.  They certainly made me into a new fan.

Whew. What a weekend!

What are some good shows you’ve seen lately?

How To Treat A Woman

 

The Steubenville rape trial has got me, and many others, thinking. We’re looking at what happened that night, wondering about the future, and hopefully asking ourselves about how this affects our own lives.

There are some amazing articles and blog posts about the rampant survivor blaming that is happening, and the puzzlingly sympathetic portrayal of the rapists by CNN. I’ll link to those at the end, because they’ve said everything I want to say about that.

What I want to talk about is the problem that continues after the media stops reporting the goings-on of this trial. It’s something that I’ve had to deal with for a long time, to the point where I’m now starting to understand how much of it I’ve internalized.

About a month ago, a man was in conversation with me about some classes he was organizing. I was listening politely, until he said he was teaching other men how to talk to women.

“The class will be about how to approach a woman, how to ask her out. You know, how to talk to chicks.”

My feminism is never hidden, so I suggested: “You could talk to them, you know, like people. Like how you want to talk to people.”

“You’re so cute,” was his reply as he lightly brushed my arm.

Argh. You know what? I get it. It’s not easy to approach someone who you find attractive. You might want a system or guide of some kind to fall back on. But really?

Here’s a thought on how to treat women: be respectful. This doesn’t mean you are more rough or that you cut out being polite. Just be considerate.

See her as an equal. Flirting is way more fun when it becomes a game of back-and-forth and it’s not all your responsibility to come on to her.

Don’t yell stuff at her in the street. Grow the hell up. Read this post by Emily Heist Moss, because she nails it.

If she’s feeling upset, sad, or hurt, talk about it. Don’t chalk it up to PMS and tell her to stop being such a girl. The solution starts with you treating her emotions as valid.

Be kind. Seems simple enough. Understand that being a woman in today’s society is still very difficult and not always safe.

It’s easy!

Don’t rape her. If she can’t say yes, or won’t say yes, then don’t go further. If she’s wearing a short skirt on a dance floor, she’s not asking to be harassed  She’s asking to have a good time. If she’s too out of it to say anything, she needs care and possible medical attention. It’s not up to you to decide what to do with her body.

Don’t create value for her based on her body.

Treat her as what she is: a complex, flawed and beautiful human being.

This goes for other women too. Treat yourself and your fellow women with respect.

When it comes down to it, equality and non-violence are easy to achieve when we imagine one another more complexly.

Here are some of the articles and blog posts that have really made the most sense to me:

Anne Theriault’s The Belle Jar

Henry Rollins on the verdict

All of Laci Green’s posts on body being body positive 

Cecily Kellogg on rape culture

**A very important end note: I am very much aware that what I am saying here about respect toward women should be applied to all people. Discrimination and violence are targeted toward many different kinds of people. I decided to focus on sexualized violence and sexism towards women. My definition of women can be expanded to anyone who feels comfortable with using that word to describe themselves. Female-bodied people and self-identified women are not always one and the same. I should also note that anyone with a non-binary gender identity may face many other forms of discrimination, be they blatant (such as street harassment or bullying) or with everyday restrictions such as gender-segregated spaces, societal expectations and the structure of our language. But that deserves its own post.
Let’s be good to one another.

- G

On losing a pet

It has been just over two years since we lost our first family dog, Kelsey. He was 17 when he died, and had lived a really good life. I remember being upset that I was away and couldn’t properly say goodbye. When I have unresolved feelings or need closure, I will sometimes write a letter. I don’t give it to anyone usually, but having someone specific in mind helps me focus my thoughts. I wrote this letter to help myself figure out my thoughts around his death, and to help my family. If you’ve ever lost a pet, I hope this resonates with you.

Dear Kelsey,

I am really going to miss you. I feel so self-indulgent. Here I am, upset, and you’re the one who has stayed so steadfast. Through all of my mistakes you were there. And when I was good, you were there,too. Above all, you’ve taught me about the nature of love. It isn’t this cataclysmic roller coaster that the movies and books make it out to be. It’s what makes every day beautiful. It’s perfectly ordinary and natural. And you got it down pat.

Love is nicknames: Scruff, Doggy-wog, Rooby, Roo-bear, Dr. Dog … and it’s in sneezes and scratching and bad breath.

It’s in playing fetch. It’s in learning that you don’t try to be playful, you just are. It’s in patience, and in licking instead of biting.

You grew up with us, and managed to stay as much a child as a wise old guru. And sometimes we butted heads. You tugged on the leash, and you let me know I was not the boss of you. And so did Mum, pretending to do your voice.

I will remember wrestling with the big gloves, rib rubs, prairie chicken chasing on Nose Hill, you taking yourself for walks, the sound of your steps on the hardwood floor, and earlier, food tasting better on the rug before you got too frail to eat by yourself.

I’ve got your bark somewhere in my brain, and that will be what I will think of when I am remembering you.

I hope wherever you go, that it is as beautiful as you are.

I am so glad we were the ones who you spent your time with. Thank you, Kelsey, you’re such a good boy.

Love,
Genny

Disco Dancing, Antique Snooping and Baking – A February Reflection

I’ve not been great at this whole blog thing lately, and I’m sorry. I’ll try and address why in a later post.

But I am already making it up to you. I’ve made this playlist of music I’d play for a dance party. It’s full of disco, pop and other goodness.

A preview of some of the gems you’ll find. Watch it, I promise it is incredible:

 

 

Heart these.

I was sick the week of Valentine’s Day, so I ended up baking the cookies I had intended to make a bit later. Getting in over my head, I managed to churn out seven dozen. Yes, there are still leftovers. Yes, they are still ok to eat and please have some. They turned out pretty nicely if I do say so myself!

There were a lot of little things that happened in the month of February that kept me busy. One was taking my boyfriend Dave to Inglewood. It’s a very lovely historic neighborhood in Calgary, which is rare in a city that’s just over 100 years old. We shopped for records, and Dave managed to snag a hard to find record from Danny and the Doorknobs. Dave loves some good punk and garage music. Intrigued? Check them out!

I found a compilation of girl bands from the 1960s and 70s, so the two of us left very happy indeed!

What a hunk!

 

How much is that doggie in the window?

We also took a peek in an antique store at some of the goodies that were there. The painting was a copy of Renoir’s Le Déjeuner des Canotiers and reminded me very much of Amélie.

La fille au verre d’eau

We also had a visit at the station from this young gentleman, who serenaded us and danced to a boom box attached to a backing track in his iPhone. It was super unexpected and awesome. Check out his compilation video here for his city tour of dancing and singing!

 

 

That’s it for now! Just a quick peek into what I’ve done lately. Keep your eyes peeled – I am hoping to post some more interesting stuff soon!

- G

Personal Growth: A Hair Story

Hair – A History

A bit earlier than the Great Grade Two Hair Cut. I was able to grow my hair out between those times.

I’ve been a short-haired girl for about three and a half years. Not consecutively, mind you. As a small kid I had short hair, to save my parents’ sanity. The first time I ever cut my hair short was in grade two, and I was so upset that I went pixie that I wore a dress to school the next day.

“I don’t want boys to ask me to play football or whatever.”

My mother attempted to reassure me that I looked pretty, like Audrey Hepburn. I can tell you that at age seven, I was chubby and freckled, with bad teeth. A funny face, but not the one Mum meant.

First adult(ish) crop. Photo: Kayla Sankey

The second time I cut my hair, I was 19 years old. I did it in the hair salon of my childhood neighborhood. The same woman who chopped my hair off twelve years earlier stood over me, scissors in hand. She probably asked me if I was sure about a dozen times. When I saw the chunks of hair on the floor and looked up at my reflection, I saw someone sophisticated and mature. Much closer to Audrey. Even one of my favourite professors stopped a lecture to compliment my new ‘do. I felt great. It lasted about six months.

And mostly due to being broke, the only time I got it cropped back to its former pixie glory was whenever I was flown back home for a visit. Eventually, I just stopped noticing it, and before I knew it, I was borrowing hair elastics from my friends. My hair grew past my shoulders. I had to get a cut later that year for Twelfth Night, for a role I was playing for school. As an acting major, your appearance is usually at the mercy of the costume designer. She wanted it cut, so off it went. After that I let it grow.

As long as it ever was. Photo: Sarah Koury

The third time I cut my hair short was in the fall of 2011, and happened at the hands of my friend Carly (my first girl style profile!). It felt right to chop off my hair and for about a year and a half now, I’ve been maintaining it. Until now.

Growing Pains

Growing out short hair is no walk in the park. It looks awkward. You have to get creative with scarves. Anne Hathaway gets a pixie cut and damn it all, you want to go back. You find yourself almost making appointments with your stylist to hack it all off, and you buy big earrings to flaunt when you finally just give in. I’ve fought off most of these temptations … so far.

And another thing they don’t tell you about growing your hair out? You go through various stages where you look like a member of a boy band.

I’ve had the Nick Carter.

omg. autograph!

We’ve seen Joe Jonas.

Spikes and all.

Things could be worse.

Why can’t I have curls like him?

The best thing to do is have a goal in mind. I am aspiring for a chin-length bob, a slightly overgrown Velma Kelly. If I think of that, it makes it easier not to call my stylist in an act of desperation.

… and all that jazz.

Making The Cut

People have always been of conflicting opinions about my hair. And hey – I will fully admit that I seek advice about it. I’ve been told by people to “NEVER GO BACK” when I grew it out. In the same day, I’ll hear that people preferred me pixiefied.

But at the end of the day, it’s on top of my own head. I gotta look at it every day. So if this experiment outgrows me, my stylist is only a call away.

As of now, I’m sporting an almost mullet, and holding strong. I’ll keep you posted.

Hair Today. Tomorrow? Who knows.

What are your hair stories? Ever tried to grow it out or cut it short?

- G

One Girl’s Style – Heather

Heather is one of my oldest and best friends. We’ve known each other since we were eleven, and we’ve grown up together. There are mannerisms I have that I can trace back to her influence!

She and I have always been able to talk about everything, but one of the things we talk about most is style and fashion. She seemed like a natural for this series!

Yep, that’s mah gurl!

G: What attracts you to a particular item of clothing? What do you look for? 

H: Currently I am still filling my work wardrobe, so I look for classic shapes with bold colours, made from good fabrics. I enjoy playing with combining edgy-punk inspired items and 1950s-60s style. Though being an office worker there is a certain unspoken and spoken dress code one needs to follow, does not mean you can’t experiment and show your true colours. I personally enjoy the added challenge.

Oh, hello!

G: In your opinion, what is the relationship between body mod and style? 

H: I believe that body mods fall under style, for they add a visual difference to your style, no matter you are wearing. I personally enjoy body mods in combination with very classy classic style, gives such an interesting effect. Though I do not have many visible piercings, I enjoy how they add a certain effect to an outfit. With piercings and especially tattoos are art forms; they can be truly gorgeous creations, when done properly.

Mad Men DInner

G: Trends come and go, but sometimes we find it hard to let go of them. What trends have you loved and maybe wore longer than they were “hot”?

H: I generally don’t pay attention to what is in or not, just find clothing with good fabrics and classic lines, which I am drawn to. Though when I was a teenager I was a major fan of the long shirt style that came into fashion. I am a very long backed person, and previously had always troubles finding shirts that wouldn’t ride halfway up my back when I reached for something (combination of the physical discomfort of the COLD, as well as the insecurity about my body at that point in my life). However I am finding I am less inclined to the super long shirts now, I find they cut me in a weird spot and make my somewhat strange proportions look even stranger.

G: Let’s talk about boys. What is the best thing a man can wear?

H: Honestly? A man in a suit with steel toed boots. Damn, throw some tattoos in there and I’m a goner. Though on a serious note, a man in clothes he is comfortable in is far more attractive than anything else, though every man needs a suit, for practical reasons as well as an attractive man in a suit is just visually delicious.

She’s ready to party!

G: What are your top five wardrobe must-haves?

H: For the office working ladies such as myself; a KILLER pencil skirt, soft warm cardigan, great fitting dark washed jeans, confortable yet adorable/stylish shoes, and for the optically challenged, a great pair of glasses. I worked in an optical store and people were always trying to find a good deal. Great deals mean nothing if the glasses do not suit you. Glasses are on your face, they are the first thing people see when they see you, it is worth investing in a STUNNING pair.

Besties!

G: You’ve had short hair for several years now. What spurred that decision? Would you ever grow it out?

H: I was simply sick of my massive heavy curly hair, it truly had a mind of its own, and combined with my lack of effort, it was very unflattering. Another reason was that I have quite delicate features, which were overwhelmed by the massive unkempt hair.

All those practical reasons aside, I love short hair! I find it makes me more edgy, more striking, which I truly enjoy. It is also way easier to style. As of now I have no plans to grow our my hair, I am happiest with my hair when it is at its shortest, and I truly love the look of older women with sharp edgy pixie cuts. (Older women with sharp pixie cuts and funky glasses, I inspire to be one of those ladies one day)

Heather can make a safety vest look fabu!

G: You’re also an artist! What’s the relationship between art and fashion for you? 

H: I find being a visual artist affects all aspects of my life. Some of the ways in non-pure art ways I enjoy experimenting is with interior design, as well as in my personal style. I enjoy playing with colors and textures, as well as the shapes of the clothing. Trying to ignore the fashion world and experiment with clothing with a judgment free mind is what I try to do every day. Personal style is simply another way to express yourself, and I thoroughly enjoy it.

On The Many Mispronunciations Of My Name

Oh, here we go.

My life is one long running joke about how no one can say my name. Okay, that’s not true. Some people were able to get it right off the bat, some needed various degrees of coaching. Others flung themselves into the void of syllabic disaster and have emerged with some interesting sounds that are most certainly not my name.

One of the worst group of culprits is children, and they are forgiven to some degree. But delivery people, Starbucks baristas, the Ph.D that read my name at my convocation  (yep), doctors, nurses, teachers, new friends, old friends, and people I’ve just met are great at getting it wrong. It goes something like this:

“Hi there! What’s your name?”

“Geneviève.”

“Oh. Joon-ah-veev?”

“No, not quite. Geneviève.”

“Jenna-beeb?”

“Closer. Geneviève.”

“Jinny-ehv?”

“It’s OK. Just call me Gen.”

I resorted to the above name in junior high (pronounced like “Jenn”) so I could avoid the routine massacre of my name. It was easier for them; they didn’t feel embarrassed for mispronuncing my name. The bonus for super-shy preteen me was that I didn’t have to say my name dozens of time each day.

But it killed me a little to reduce my name to one little percussive syllable. Gen. I sounded like every Jennifer out there. With no offence meant to any person out there named Jennifer, I didn’t like hearing it every day. It’s just not my name.

Shares my name, awesome lady!

In elementary school, I proudly defended my name. And because I was in French Immersion school, most of my teachers had a leg-up and would teach the other kids how to say it.

Every pencil stroke I used to mark the accent grave above the third e was a proud moment. It was a name no one else in the school had. I was surrounded by girls named Jessica, Simone, Laura, Danielle, and other names that required them to be identified by their name and last initial. But my first name stood on its own legs and needed no bolstering from anything else.

A Nigerian lifestyle magazine with my name. How cool is that?

When junior high hit, I felt the need to keep a lower profile. I’d been bullied a bit in elementary school, and was pretty shy from the get-go. On the first say of grade seven, I spelled my name over and over, and had to give my classmates and my teachers pronunciation lessons all day. It was exhausting. That’s when I began to tell people to call me Gen. This lasted until two years into university when I realized something.

My name isn’t actually that hard to say.

Geneviève.
You can say it like “juh-nuh-vee-ehv” or “juhn-vee-ehv”, and even “jahn-vee-ehv” is cool.

But not “jenna-veev”. Never that. I’m not the dog from Madeline.

Cute dog. Not my name.

 

When I stopped compromising on my name, most people complied and were excited. I’ve always been told that I have a beautiful name, and I agree. I love my name. That’s why I defend it.

When I introduce myself, I usually get one of the two following reactions:

“WOW! What a lovely name.” or, ”Uhh, what?”

And after some coaching, everybody says it right. I still have people who look at me like I just spoke Klingon when I tell them my name, and with those people I excersise patience. But no, they’re not getting out of saying my name in full.

I can’t change the minds of the people who’ve known me when I let people call me Gen, and that’s OK. I’ll see it pop up now and then, and some people who I’ve recently befriended will slip into calling me that, which feels strange and a bit intrusive. It’s the name that only people who grew up with me can use. I’m not going to compromise a part of me that I really like so that it’s easier for people to say.

Ste. Geneviève, Patron Saint of Paris!

There’s something about having to defend my name all these years that has given me a strong sense of identity. It connects me to my history, to my family, and to myself.

I know that some of you have really awesome names. Ever had to defend it? How it is spelled or said? Let me know!

- G