ironies unfortunate

i've no bloody clue what a shareef is.
and the song's about Iran's
ban on rock 'n roll.
but it's still rough to cry out
"rock the casbah" to a lanky
algerian descendant living in a parisian
banlieue.
i've seen the movie, though,
and the round-up,
and the jutting bone below
the forehead,
above the eyes;
the dramatic brow
that one wipes in
exasperation.

Baudrillard is dead,
and apparently Sarkozy will
win.
as will the police state.
this is what he says,
the tall Algerian,
before serving me first,
and then himself,
a pasta and lemon couscous
left out for us,
in the room full of faces
and young artistic lines.

this is what i do

i finished my internship on my birthday. i enjoy this fact. and i'm relishing the way it changes my engagement with Duluth street, one of my favorite streets in montreal, and also, incidentally, the street i took to work every morning. i can walk east now, toward the park, without the dread of work and awkward colleague interactions. i'm still "implicated" in the organization, though. strange thing: having finished my formal internship, i'm now able to fulfill some of the projects i proposed but which were never accepted. last week i traveled to Trois-Rivieres to visit one of the movement's cells. i came to present films from montreal and to "solidify the network" (thus exchanging information, checking in to see how they're doing, informing them of our projects and our new artistic direction, etc. etc.). involved was yours truly on stage, in her best (or worst) french accent, fielding questions about the films and about my government's involvement in Israel and Iraq. these were the good times. but literally, the good times. it finally felt right, the internship. and this project (the first of hopefully 4 before i leave in may) redeemed all the uninspired days of lethargy and boredom at the office.


to further root myself in the Canadian film scene, I've been working at the Festival International de Film sur l'Art (the International Festival of Films on Art), which has involved a lot of free films and free wine and black pants. and happily, pleasant interactions and new friends. today i saw a film on the music scene in Tehran, Iran, which struggles under the censorship and filtering and judgment of the Department of Culture. tonight i worked a special event involving a film on homo-erotic nude art and a cocktail hour following at the opening of an exposition on some of the art seen in the film. next week, the tone will change, as i'll begin my duties at Vues d'Afrique, an African film festival. and hopefully, i'll have some time to write. and to sled on the fresh snow (all 15 inches of it!).

today my father and sister left, after spending 5 days in montreal with me. they came with gifts from lincoln (such as the package of pig-in-a-blanket, banana bread, and freezer-section pillsbury cherry turnovers [how did they survive the flight?] sent from my grandmother) and a distaste for the lingering winter. and so we ate, and then we ate again, and then at noon we ate again, and then again at dinner. mostly we ate. and walked. and then bronwyn and i snuggled. we like that.

take that america!

anything you can do, i can do [more canadian]. it's true. yesterday i slung some nancy kerrigan whites over my shoulder, waiting for the midnight skating call from my red-headed neighbor. i also wear a bomber hat. and incidentally, i live in canada. so i think the allegations gain value. here are some pictures demonstrating how i'm spending my time post work, in the frigid, frigid north, where the cold snap has yet to snap. and let's not forget birthday cake--decorated with the view from Julia's window!

life after death...

or after deathly internships. while the body finds itself unburdened, less clammy, there are questions of general health. will i mold these next three months, falling prey to sloth and long days of nothingness. does the 9-5 gain new appeal in the months following escape? to preempt and arrest the fulfillment of these pejorative forecasts, i've decided to premeditate happiness, to be forward thinking, to answer small challenges. like tatiana, the russian that lives on rue de l'esplanade. she pours bleach on rats swirling around in her toilet; she picks out tree branches that would be "perfect for hanging" under Stalin's rule; she fears the black man. she also, incidentally, pays for passers-by to carry her groceries up the stairs to her second-story apartment. i've left her a little note in her mailbox inviting her to call me for assistance. at this point in time, i'd do it for two dollars.

but in the meantime, i'm going to sautee up some spinach and spend the afternoon experimenting with culinary expression.

Laverne, I guess I gonna give one to Lydia

This was the subject line of a junk email I received today. I thought it was entertaining, and should thus be added prominently to my blog. Unfortunately, I'm not quite sure what to say about it, nor do I have any clever slant to pull as a method of discussing the gritty logistics of my life in Montreal. Why don't you just take a few minutes to reflect on its beauty.
[few minutes]
I'm glad we did that. Tomorrow I finish my internship. I'm feeling pretty great about this; the thought of a long weekend and a jobless monday already frees my soul [though should you think I'll revel in sloth, fear not, I've made plans of which I'll discuss with you around a campfire soon]. I've made a date with myself at a new cafe to do some writing and to reopen some of that esoteric theory I've shrugged off lately. Tomorrow, incidentally, is also my birthday. In typical Jordan style, I plan to go ice skating at the Lac des Castors on top of the mountain, followed with a potluck!!! Most people think of dusty churches and out-of-tune pianos when they hear the word. While it's true that I've benefited from many a traditional "dish"--read: broccoli topped with cheez whiz--I've the good fortune of knowing wonderful chefs. And though I likes me a good casserole, I'm lucky that when I call together a potluck, it's essentially a summoning of some of Montreal's greatest chefs. And so this shall be a lovely ceremony.

I wonder what Laverne will bring.