Huh?

The other day while watching TV, a commercial for a laundry detergent caught my attention. The commercial centered on three moms comparing the detergent in question with their old detergents to determine which was better. A question along the lines of "can these moms see the difference between x and y detergents?" moved across the screen.

What caught my attention in this commercial was not the miraculous properties of the new detergent, rather the fact that the question was asked of three moms. Why did it have to be moms? Why weren't there any men among the candidates? Had it been just one commercial, it might not have caught my attention. No, what caught my attention was that this seems to be a common theme among these types of advertisements.

It seems to me a little strange that in our society we have made so much progress in erasing stereotypes, and yet still cling to certain stereotypes like this one - this commercial, for instance, seemed to say that women always do the laundry. Others suggest that women are responsible for all the grocery shopping, cooking, and cleaning. Have you ever seen a commercial where a woman did the barbecuing or fixed the shed? I've been on the lookout since then and I can't say that I have.

Of course, they're just commercials. No big deal, right? Wrong. Commercials have a big impact on our self-image and on how we see others. I recently watched a video of Jean Kilbourne, a woman who has been collecting ads since the 1960s that are demeaning to women in a variety of ways, while she talked about the fourth edition of her movie series Killing Us Softly: Advertising's Image of Women that came out this year. It was eye-opening for me, and I definitely recommend it! At the very least, I urge you to watch the trailer:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PTlmho_RovY

Where the streets have no name

This past month, I have been lucky enough to have been vacationing in Lebanon, a small country in the Middle East that nobody seems to know but to which I proudly point as my heritage. Home to arguably one of the best cuisines worldwide, more than 7000 years of rich history, and some of the craziest yet most lovable people you will ever meet, Lebanon has always had special spot in my heart. Even so, I have never loved this country more than now, having experienced a month living here.

As for the Lebanese people, I have never seen people so courageous in my life. Unfortunately due to its location, Lebanon has often found itself in politically unstable situations and often war. The Lebanese have had to live with instability to the point that they can handle anything now - they know how to survive. In a film I recently watched about the Lebanese Civil War, called West Beirut, there's a scene that I think perfectly illustrates the Lebanese attitude towards disaster: it is the first day of the war, people are scared, army vans are going through the streets, bombs are falling, and out comes a guy with a trolley selling glass as if it were a regular day. For the Lebanese, life goes on.

As for the country, it is almost so dysfunctional that it functions. Coming from orderly, planned Canada, one may not understand, say, how crossing the street could be the most dangerous part of your day, or how one might come to be in a touring bus on a winding mountain road and nearly get stuck going around a tight corner. Another shock might be how rules of the road are treated as suggestions rather than rules.

After observing this country and all its eccentricities this past month, I am proud to introduce my Guide To Lebanon, a very valuable tool should you ever decide to travel to Lebanon!

The first section is dedicated to driving, for driving in Lebanon is unlike anything you have ever seen before. Guaranteed.

1. To cross a street in Lebanon, be aware that there are no crosswalks. To cross, simply walk into the oncoming traffic fearlessly. If cars honk their horns, simply ignore. Similarly, if you are driving and some stupid pedestrian crosses in front of you, honk your horn. Throwing your hands up in the air dramatically is up to you.

2. Following the rules of the road is optional. For instance, red lights are sometimes optional, as are speed limits. The other day I saw a truck drive through a red light through heavy traffic, then presumably it realized it was going the wrong direction and backed up into the intersection and turned right instead. Only in Lebanon.

3. Be aware that there are rarely numbers on buildings in Lebanon. To get directions somewhere, people will tell you "turn left when you hit the supermarket, then drive a couple of blocks until you see a poster on your right...". I even saw a sign once for a garage sale that was a hand drawn map, with an arrow saying "the garage sale will be here". Similarly, business addresses are sometimes merely "Bliss Street".

4. If you're ever stuck in traffic, which will most likely happen very often, be aware that people might come walking through the traffic selling stuff ranging from perfume to mops. Buy them at your own risk. Similarly, I once saw a guy get out of his car while stuck in traffic and start selling nuts and fruit from the trunk of his car.

The second section of the guide is dedicated to all other aspects of Lebanon.

1. Be aware that everybody smokes in Lebanon, everywhere. 

2. If it's World Cup time in Lebanon, be aware that the Lebanese are a tad bit ...obsessed. The night of the final, people were driving through the streets with passengers leaning out of the windows bearing flags, honking their horns repeatedly, singing in the streets, cheering...

3. Be aware that the Lebanese operate on a different clock than the rest of the world. Nothing is ever on time. Ever. It cannot be explained, it simply just is.

4. Chances are that (if you are Lebanese) for every person that you meet, you are either related to them, albeit distantly, or your aunt's friend's sister's colleague's son's fiancee knows them.

5. In Lebanon, no price is ever final - chances are, it can be bargained down to half its price. If you can't bargain, there is also the possibility that the clerk might sell you his or her own product that you are looking for for half the price. For example, my parents were looking for a cheap cell phone to use while here for two weeks and didn't want to pay the asking price at the cell phone store. At this point, the clerk helping them offers them his own phone for a very cheap price. Only in Lebanon.

6. Arabic-English translations can be ...special. Take, for example, the words "merry cream" (a type of ice cream) and "monosex" (a unisex store).

7. You will realize quickly that although they are a tad bit crazy (see section on driving), the Lebanese people are some of the nicest people you will ever meet. Don't hesitate to ask them for directions or anything you might need.

8. Officially, Lebanon is bilingual with the official languages being Arabic and French. What's amazing about Lebanon though is that it is in essence trilingual - everybody speaks Arabic and either English or French, and you can find signs in all three languages.

9. Whereas in North America, the cure for any sickness is chicken soup, expect a different cure here: rice and yogurt, or "ruz oo leban" in Arabic. The Lebanese swear by this dish - the other day when I was feeling sick, we went to a pharmacy. After producing some medicine, the pharmacist told me for the next few days: "No fruits! No vegetables! No meat! No falafel! RUZ OO LEBAN ONLY!!!" It works, too!

Closing Time

Well, that's it. Never again will I come home with chocolate icing in my hair. Never again will I have to serve the bag lady, who comes into the bakery with millions of empty reusable bags and leaves with them full fifteen minutes later. Never again will I walk home with the natural perfume of baked goods emanating from me. Never again...

Okay, you get the point. Yesterday was my last day working as a bakery clerk, and I have to say it's left me feeling more nostalgic than relieved, as I would not have expected!

The other day, while watching the World Cup (of course), my mom made an interesting observation: the last time we were watching the World Cup, I had just graduated from middle school. The next time I will be watching the World Cup, I will probably be graduating from university. Not only was it strange to realize that the World Cup syncs perfectly with the timing of my graduations, it also gave me a little perspective. I can't remember any of the problems I was having in grade eight, though I'm sure they were numerous and probably seemed all-encompassing at the time. Having my life divided into chunks of four years just made some things seem so insignificant.

This past month, especially this past week, has evoked so many different emotions in me. This time, the end of grade 12, is a time of change. Most obvious, it is the end of high school - the end of my public education, which has been such a defining part of my life until now. It's the end of other, less significant things too, like my job at the bakery. It is also a time of beginnings. I often hear people talking about university as being the time when life really begins - that high school is just a time you have to get through, and once you're in university, BAM - life starts. I am also now officially an adult (though it doesn't really feel any different, in honesty) which means I should be taking control of my own life. For the first time I will be living alone, in a strange city, doing things when I want and because I want to.

When I think about my high school years, they have been a time of firsts and lasts, of beginnings and endings. A quote I've been thinking about recently links these two concepts together, from the song "Closing Time", by Semisonic: "Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end." Such a simple line, but oh so true.

Overall, I think high school has been a good experience. I have definitely learned a lot, not just academically, but about myself. I have been pushed to my limits academically and emotionally, and what I've discovered is that I am actually much stronger than I realized. I've made friends, grew apart from friends, and by doing so have discovered what kind of people I really want in my life. I've figured out what I'm interested in and what kind of things I hope to accomplish at some point in my life. There have definitely been good times and bad times, but the point remains that I have survived them.

Have you seen the movie Little Miss Sunshine? If not, you definitely should! There's a scene in it that really sums up the high school experience, in my opinion:

"Dwayne: I wish I could just sleep until I was eighteen and skip all this crap - high school and everything - just skip it.

Frank: Do you know who Marcel Proust is?

Dwayne: He's the guy you teach.

Frank: Yeah. French writer. Total loser. Never had a real job. Unrequited love affairs. Gay. Spent 20 years writing a book almost no one reads. But he's also probably the greatest writer since Shakespeare. Anyway, he gets down to the end of his life, and he looks back and decides that all those years he suffered, those were the best years of his life, 'cause they made him who he was. All those years he was happy? You know, total waste. Didn't learn a thing. So, if you sleep until you're 18... Ah, think of the suffering you're gonna miss! I mean high school? High school - those are your prime suffering years. You don't get better suffering than that."

With The Opera Tickets

About a week ago, while getting ready for school, I was hit with an unexpected and unwelcome obstacle. The black t-shirt I had been planning on wearing, one of my staples from H&M, had apparently not made its way back into my drawer from the washing machine. Still more unpleasant, after checking in the washing machine, the dryer, the laundry basket, all of my drawers, etc etc etc, I came to the unpleasant conclusion that my shirt had gone missing.

You know the timeless missing sock syndrome? How both socks go into the wash at the same time, and yet one of the socks always goes missing? As a kid, I used to wonder if there was some sort of secret world in the washing machine where all the socks used to go. I am no closer to reaching a conclusion now, so it still seems like a definite possibility!

Anyway, back to my shirt. I figured the shirt could not have gotten into the exclusive single-sock-club, so I really did not know where it could be. I asked my mom if she had it by mistake and she replied that no, she didn't, but maybe it was with the opera tickets. This was not at all reassuring - let me explain.

My dad has this habit of keeping important things "safe" - in other words, hiding them in some obscure, illogical place. I'm not talking about passports, SIN cards or anything really important - those have their own place in the safe. What I'm talking about are things such as, say, season tickets to the opera.

Many years ago, my parents bought season tickets to the opera. They were really excited about this, and at that time when you bought season tickets they physically gave you all the tickets to hold on to. My dad identified these as being important documents indeed, so they had to be kept safe until needed in the future. To this day, well over ten years later, we have never found the opera tickets. It's become something of a running joke in my family - whenever anything goes missing, we say "maybe it's with the opera tickets".

Thankfully, my t-shirt eventually turned up. I can't speak for the opera tickets, though!

Screw exams, I've got three games to watch!

It's that time again! And I'm not talking about Christmas, or Winter, or Leon's Ho Ho Hold The Payments Event.

It's the FIFA World Cup. Since I was a little girl, this has always been a major event in my house. My dad grew up in Lebanon, and though their team never makes it to the World Cup (do they even have a team? I don't actually know!) soccer is a big deal there. This is how I've come to watch most games of every World Cup. It's become a tradition in my family - my dad tapes the games during the day, drives home without listening to the radio, praying he won't see any flags or indicators of who won, and then we watch the games at night. My mom and my brother sometimes join in, but mostly it's my dad and I who love to watch.

My dad and I go for Brazil, Portugal and Spain depending on the game, but Brazil first and foremost. One of my dad's family friends is a die-heart English fan, and although they go for different teams they used to watch lots of games together. They've lost touch in the past few years, but still I remember last World Cup when England lost a major game and my dad bought him a sympathy card and stuck it in his mailbox. I don't think he took it as a joke, though - he was genuinely in need of sympathy to deal with this loss!

I remember one time in about grade four, I stayed home in the morning to watch the World Cup final. I didn't usually do this, but this game was between Brazil and England. My dad's friend was over and I really wanted to watch it with them, so they let me stay. I remember walking into class with a late slip and somebody asking me where I was. When I said I was watching the World Cup final, I remember the jaws dropping of all the boys in the class. "You stayed home for the World Cup?!" Yes, yes I did.

I have another memory of the world cup, but it's a sad one. I actually wrote it as an anecdote for my Writer's Craft class, so I'll post it up here!

"I was in about grade five. My mom and I were walking through the aisles in Fortinos when we saw a sign advertising a draw for a World Cup ball. My family is really into the World Cup, so naturally we were tempted by the possibility of winning a real FIFA World Cup ball! We entered the draw.

Some time later, we got a phone call from Fortinos with the exciting news: we had won the ball! A real FIFA World Cup ball. We were so excited – could I take it for show and tell, I wanted to know. Only if I was careful with it, I was told. We wondered which match it would come from, and would often point at the screen while watching a game and say "maybe that's our ball!" We were told to pick it up the next day, while I would be in school.

The next day, I came home from school very excited. Was it there? A FIFA ball in my house? I walked in and immediately asked, “Can I see it? Can I touch it?” My parents did not seem overly enthusiastic. They pointed to a plastic bag on the counter.

It was a dollar store ball with flags around the outside."

I can't say we've ever quite gotten over this disappointment - to this day, we still sometimes point to the ball on the screen and say "that could have been our ball..." Sadly, I'm not kidding.

Favourite Poem Project

In my Writer's Craft class, one of our projects was to choose our favourite poem and write about it - what it means to us, what personal connections we have to it, etc. When we were assigned this, I was faced with a dilemma: how can I choose just one poem as my favourite?

I knew the general selection I had to choose from, of course. There was no doubt in my mind that my poem would be from Shel Silverstein's collection of poems Where The Sidewalk Ends. That was the easy part. Choosing which poem was where it got difficult! Would it be "Smart", about a clever little boy who knows two is more than one and thus two quarters must be worth more than one dollar; "One Inch Tall", with one of my favourite lines "[You would] wear a thimble on your head/If you were one inch tall"; "Sick", about a girl with quite the collection of sicknesses preventing her from going to school (including an injured "pendix"); or the story about the stickiest peanut butter sandwich you will probably ever hear about, "Peanut Butter Sandwich"?

It was a tough choice. I finally decided on "Sick" - not only is it incredibly cute, I think it's a good example of why I love Silverstein's poems so much. It's impossible not to feel a smile forming when reading or hearing this poem. Just consider these lines: "My tonsils are as big as rocks,/I've counted sixteen chicken pox/And there's one more - that's seventeen,/And don't you think my face looks green?"

When I think of poetry, of course I can appreciate serious or emotional poems. I'm not going to lie - a lot of the poetry I write is, frankly, depressing. I guess Shel Silverstein's poetry stuck out in my mind for this project because of my personal connection to it. These were some of my favourite poems growing up, and I still chuckle looking at them now! They're funny, they're original, and they're also great examples of poetry - they may be about simple subjects, but they have great rhythm and rhyming. There's a place for serious, moving poetry, but I think there's also a place for light-hearted, happy poetry too. Poetry that makes you laugh! Sometimes, life can be overwhelming, and a smile can do so much. Keeping that in mind, I urge you now to take a breather from your busy life and smile - here's "Sick" to help you out:

SICK

"I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox.
And there's one more - that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut, my eyes are blue -
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke -
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb,
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is-what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is...Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play!

I had to think about this one for, like, a while.

It’s becoming, like, an epidemic.

In my economics class last week, we had many discussions about various economic issues. The topics and discussions were interesting, yet I was having a hard time concentrating on them. The trouble was, instead of focusing on what my classmates were saying, I was focusing on how they said it.

One of my other classes, Studies in Literature, has only 14 people in it – the only students in my grade who were nerdy enough to take a course about literature, I guess! That being so, and our teacher having been an English teacher for over 20 years, we often get into tangents about how the English language is going down the drain – how technology is killing our spelling, how laziness is affecting our speech... etc. We often talk about the “like” phenomenon, how “to” is pronounced “tuh”, how “the” should be pronounced “thee” but is pronounced “thuh"... it goes on. What scared me first was realizing that yes, the English language is damaged on a daily basis. What scared me more is that I do all of these things that we were discussing.

While I'm having a hard time stopping myself from saying "like" and "thuh" and "tuh", I am picking up on it around me everywhere! The more I hear it, the more I want to stop myself from saying these things, but it is much harder than I thought! I often realize I've said one of these blunders after saying it, but by that time it is too late - I have done my part in killing the English language. My English teacher described it perfectly the other day: she said she visualizes a speech bubble, as in a cartoon, floating above her head with the blunder just floating there, as if to expose you.

I'm beginning to think a vow of silence might be the only solution.