Monday, April 27, 2009

In only half jest, a wise Quebecouis friend once said of his province, “All of Canada hates us, and we hate ourselves.” The same is not far from the truth for West Coasters.
We are “Universers” and believe in chi.
We get called flakey, and in turn we try and align our heart chakras.
We are often mocked,and mockery is most often valid.

Events like last weeks V-Day Art Show and Silent Auction however, prove that the West still is the best. Discovery Coffee’s beautiful gallery space was filled with men wearing buttons proclaiming “I Love Pussy” and “Don’t Forget The Clit”

A far cry from the “Your Princess is My Whore” bumper sticker I saw last time I was in Alberta.

Bouncing children with names like Cedar and Moon, nibbled on “Cunt Cakes”, munched
on “Vaginer Scones.” An organic young thing on stage sings and strums a worn guitar, songs about the “pigs” beating up her boyfriend, fucking old friends.

Just another, gender inclusive safe space in praise of the all mighty vag, just another Thursday evening.

These people are here to stop violence against women. These men, women, children are here because they want to love, respect and protect: The Flesh Canoe.
It doesn’t take long to learn a multitude of names for my beloved “Va-Jay-Jay”, pawing through the jar of creatively blunt buttons at the door. All the proceeds of the event are going to the Mary Manning Center, and information on all realms of sexual abuse is at the door, just beyond the chocolate vag-pops.
Who said overt feminism was for the nineties?

As for the show itself, it truly could have been your average Thursday evening. Acoustic singer/songwriters Alex, Nicole and Beth provided crisp, clear and mellow background music for the oft intense conversations going on around the floor-“ARE YOU AFRAID THESE GIRLS ARE GOING TO FIND OUT THAT THEY HAVE A VAGINA?! YOU CANT PROTECT THEM ANY LONGER!”

Having just done a radio show on CFUV that afternoon on alternative menstrual products and the “Breast is Best” breastfeeding campaign, and looking down at the “VAG” button on my lapel, I was quite literally drowning in pussy. I cursed my heterosexuality, and I cursed the lack of men in this city. I drowned my sorrow in Cunt Cakes and carried on.

The highlight of the show was undeniably Trinity, an all vocal hip-hop trio. Backed up by local CFC member on beatbox support, Cleo, Mandy and Samantha threw down incredibly smooth, intelligent and well crafted lyrics about re-incarnation, positive vibes, feminine beauty and handling their business when it comes to the fellas. I had interviewed Trinity on air earlier that week, and we had discussed the portrayal of women in hip hop, and posturing ones stage presence not after men or big screen booty.

Onstage, these are three goddesses, comfortable in their bodies and rooted to the mic. Transcendent positive spiritual lyrics, weave back and forth between negative brothas harshing on a good days vibe, to all of the beings, races and faces one spirit can be in a lifetime. Their feminine charm and caramel smooth voices are gaining them fast recognition in the local music scene, but Trinity views the opportunities that they have been given because of their gender as anything but pigeon holding or detrimental, but as credit to the fact that they wise warrior women, standing out in field full of men.

This rings true to the spirit of the evening, as the "Cunt Cakes" and discussions of sexualised violence are not designed to make anyone uncomfortable or ostracized.

Gestures like the celebrations surrounding V-Day are to make such large spectacles of the issues involving women, in order to make them a non-issue.

In the same way that Barack Obama's having been elected makes the fact that he is black, a non issue, so having vaginal empowerment thrown right in your flesh canoe loving face, will make being the proud owner of one, a non issue as well.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

your man is going!

Here's the skinny (or the fat, or the average, the husky, the healthy, the "sure likes her pancakes")

Heres's the deal. Keep your eyes peeled to the mean streets of the Island for info, and your little sticky fingers stuck to your keyboard for all of you not floating around the pacific.

WolfWoman Press is igniting this month.

until then, satiate yourselves with this!

slave labour? nay!
sexist labour!YAY!

Friday, April 3, 2009

Something I've noticed lately,

journalism is harder than dating.

Men are easy.

Treat em' mean, keep em' keen

but journalism..trying to make it (REALLY REALLY TRYING! IF ANYONE IS LISTENING.. I'M TRYING)
you pour your heat out, or you smoothly try and seduce them using confidence and charm, making them believe that everyone else wants you, and they should jump at the chance to have you!

and then you wait.. endlessly, chain smoking and checking your e-mail by the second

Untill finally you collapse in a puddle of self-indulgent loathing, begin drinking, and fighting off the urge to e-mail the editor


feckin' day jobs.