Keeping the Balance

In the past year, Carleton University campus has been shaken by controversies regarding a decades long political struggle between two Canadian minority groups. The first group consists of a genuine tribe of fair skinned Africans who immigrated to Canada as part of their plan to rule the world. The second is made of nomads who, as the custom of nomads go, wandered to the U.S., but accidentally got here instead.

The struggle, in theory, is about ownership of a small field of chickpeas somewhere between Africa and Asia. Each side holds some very good reasons as to why that piece of land, which is 1.5 square kilometer in size, should belong to him and more importantly – not the other side.

In 1980, a man named Ami Habel drove a skateboard laden with TNT into a Tribal praying house in France, killing several people and injuring many more.

Last November the French government found that a man by that name is residing in Canada and pushed local government to take action.

While waiting for his trial in 2010, Habel, who is of Nomad origin, is under strict conditions. He cannot leave his house without the company of two women, his seven year old son, and a gold fish named Zubi. He must wear an electronic collar at all times and can only pee in specified public washrooms. He cannot use a cell phone but has 50 text messages a month.

Habel was released with a bail of a million and a half Canadian dollars his ex wife gathered from door to door in her neighborhood. He is currently requesting the RCMP to return his T.V. remote control, which officers took during his arrest.

Last Monday, Habel was appointed by Carleton to instruct a Sociology course named Cultures of the Middle East.

A Tribal Facebook group named PITA (People who are Into Tribal Affairs) published a press release the same day, calling to cancel the appointment of someone who might have killed people.

Carleton de-appointed Habel on Tuesday, coming up with the statement: "We are very concerned with the situation and how it might affect the university's reputation."

On Wednesday, Carleton Sociology Director and more than half of his department came out with a public letter to Carleton's president saying: "You have shown us the easiness in which you completely ignore basic human rights." By "human rights" the department means their right to be asked about it first.

The director says Habel had a very flexible schedule and no bad record other than the fact he had police officers checking his every move.

The director says this is a continuation of the controversy made in February during a week called "we hate tribes" in which a poster depicting a six months old Nomad baby run over by a Tribal bulldozer was banned from campus.

A Carleton Tribal club came out with a counter poster on Facebook, depicting exactly the same, with the baby wearing an explosive belt.

On Thursday, the Public Union of (certain) People In Canada (PUPIC) condemned the de-appointment on the grounds that Habel should be considered innocent until proven guilty. PUPIC is currently working on a plan to erase any recollection of the class from student's memory in case Habel is proven guilty in his trial in 2010. The plan is employing devices from Man in Black.

On Friday PITA responded to PUPIC's statements, announcing that anyone who disagrees with them is also an alleged murderer.

Students in Habel's class showed great concerns to their academic grade point average.

The Gay Issue

I watched Bruno last night.

The movie, similarly to Borat, shows the true nature of individuals and groups when they are filmed without understanding the context of the scene. While Borat didn't concentrate on any particular issue, a large portion of Bruno is dedicated to homosexuality, mainly homophobia. Sacha Baron Cohen (the guy playing Bruno) aggressively (understatement) hits on different men to provoke them into showing their true nature. In one of the scenes, a T.V. show was shown to a focus group where a penis was flapping around on screen. The group was, of course, unimpressed.

I laughed all through the movie and appreciated the clever way in which it reveals how ugly our world really is. But I also started thinking how I would react to some of the situations in the film. The immediate conclusion was - yes, I would make an ass out of myself (maybe not as much as some of those people) in most of these situations, unless I manage to recognize the actor.

Here's a bit about me.


I often joke that I "attract" gay people. My closer circle of friends contains gay men, lesbians, heterosexuals, and bisexuals (didn't meet a drag queen yet, unfortunately). I enjoy making fun of myself in a "gay fashion" (wearing a T shirt saying "Lesbian trapped in a man's body") and I'm one of the first to get into an argument with idiots who think homosexuality should be "cured". I find gay people easier to talk to sometimes, since they usually have an open mind - how couldn't they? I went to the Pride Parade in Toronto and I'm currently working (better say, avoiding work) on an article concerning gay villages.

And with all this, if I ever see a penis flapping around and be asked to say if I think that could make a good TV show, my response will probably be "what the hell is that?!" (A penis 8--).

I am terrified of naked men touching me. There, I said it. I don't know why it scares me so much, but when I was in the navy and we all had to shower together, my main concern was avoiding the other guys. If someone accidentally touched my shoulder it almost sickened me. I don't know why. I was once hanging out with some bisexuals (heh) and at some point found myself lying on a bed next to a guy. He made jokes about wanting to sleep with me. For some reason I had to let him know I really wasn't interested. I think I understood that he was only kidding, but I still had to be serious about it. I don't know why.

Today I thought about the possibility of going to a club and dance with friends who are all men. Lets say that all the girls are busy or tired and only the guys are up to go out and party. Will I want to do that? The answer is no. There's no reason for this, I really like all of my friends and I see girls dancing with each other all the time and they don't seem to bother.

Sometimes I think that while women are overcoming the hardships human history laid on them in the past, men, or at least I, am still stuck with a cultural load that doesn't make any sense.

So yes, when I was in navy we all made jokes and slapped each other on the butt. And when I see a good friend I hug him, no matter what sex he/she is. There is a certain line I reached and I feel comfortable living with it. I don't hurt anyone; at least I try not to, at least when it comes to this subject.

But is not hurting anyone really enough?

Ottawa Trip

I am lazy
I've been meaning to write about my trips around Ottawa and Toronto in the recent weeks, but I'm lazy.

So instead I'll just put the pictures I've taken from one of them and call it a photo essay. That's a good pompeous name to cover the fact I'm playing games instead of doing something with meaning.

So here it is. I had some errends to do two weeks ago and I took my newly purchased bike for a ride around town, shooting some pictures that might explain why I personally love this city so much.

For some reason it won't let me see the large versions, but if you really want them go here

http://www.flickr.com/photos/22432823@N06/

Elgin St.,

see, I'm not used to mini castles in the middle of my bus ride

Museum of Wildlife or Nature or something like that.

A very succesful (in my opinion) modern addition to an old building.

The canal,

it's about the same size as Lake Kineret - Israel's only water source (well, sorta)

Wroooooom!

Ah, memories of Dunton Tower - the ugliest tower in the world!

Yes, I am very fond of water

Now it's like moving pictures. Look!

Getting closer...

It's a BRIDGE!

The device that raises and lowers boats up and down the river (for Canadians reading this, I'm writing these blurbs for the Israeli friends, I know YOU know this already)

It's like the end of a cheesy movie <333

Did I mention I live 10 minutes bike ride from this?

and that it's right across from campus? You can see that from the seats in the library.

I'm thinking of calling it Tichi
Hog's back park, and some pretty mosque or something in the background.

On children and their noising

My good friend and I have had the common habit of enjoying an under four dollar breakfast at a coffee place near her house for the past few months. Then one day she told me about another place, serving much better food for the same cost in Little Italy, only a few minutes farther away.
"But I like the place we usually go to," I protested.
"Don't be silly Rotem," she said, "that place serves runny eggs and under toasted toast. This new place is much much better."
I had to incline.

We set ourselves at a table outside and waited for a waitress (or waiter) to come and, well, wait. When we were done waiting we waited some more. In the meanwhile a lady entered the restaurant followed (or actually, preceded) by a crowd of three to four children ages two to six, I couldn't say exactly since they kept running around from place to place, screaming for attention, climbing to the roof and jumping on parked cars, that sort of thing. The lady, after having inspected the premise and discovering she can sit anywhere her heart desires, camped herself and her little swarm at the table nearest to us, and proclaimed, "Never have children!"

My friend and I tried, out of sheer courtesy, to show the least amount of interest, lest she start a conversation and by doing so neglect her children, an act which we felt strongly against. The woman nonetheless showed impressive multitasking capabilities, speaking to us and at the same time tying her boys to the chairs.
"And if you ever have children," she continued, "make sure you only have girls."
"Nonsense!" I exclaimed, "At these ages girls have a mission to discover how high a pitch they can scream."

Breakfast did arrive at some point, and the weary mother realized we did not come there to lend an ear for her motherly tribulations. She moved on to handling the order of her sons' eggs and sausage and, while they were rioting in joy, I was dreaming of our old little place, with runny eggs and under toasted toast and peace and quiet since no one would dare take his children into such a dump.
"I hope I didn't disturb your morning," the mother said, "young people as yourselves should not be bothered by an old nuisance as me."
She continued to gaze into the distance the rest of the morning, trying to ignore her children as much as possible.

Ok, so I made up the last part.
Well, actually I kinda blew everything up in general. But there is a point to it. I sat at a movie theater the other day and a baby kept crying. This baby, I assure you, had no idea what was going on on the screen - how could he? Was only nine to fifteen months old. But his mother (or father) brought him anyways.

Why?
I can understand people who want to get away from their troubles at home, the constant crying, screaming, tossing of refrigerators. But what sense is there, when in the process of getting away, for one to brings his troubles with him? Is it some sick twisted reasoning saying, "If I should suffer, why not let others suffer as well?"
"Look everybody, I got this little devil at home and I want to make EVERYONE understand how ADORABLE he is!"

Some kids are such a pleasure. I swear, I've seen quiet babies in my lifetime. They were so cute! And I've seen nice little boys and girls talking sweet innocence in reasonable volume. It's just that there's a group of noisy kids and they give a bad name to the rest of them!

There are, of course, many solutions readily available to this problem. For one, we can borrow many examples from canines. Businesses can put signs saying "No babies allowed", municipal law can ensure that parents do not take their young out in public without a leash, and airline companies should demand that children under the age of eight must be put in a cage and placed in the cargo bay.

All I can say is this: When I have a child, in case the little guy tries to train his vocal chords on account of my hearing, I will simply take him to an ice-cream parlor, order his favourate flavour, and eat it all by myself. I will then promise him that unless he wants some next time, he better be quiet from now on.

Maybe we could have a nice conversation.

Me and Yoko and John

(Written in hope of getting published, that's why it's so "formal", especially at the end)

(Oh yeah, I just came back from a visit to Montreal, it was lovely)

"I'm taking you to an exhibition about John Lennon and Yoko Ono," said my distinguished friend, who I will call S', "it's about some sleep-over party they had in the late 60th to encourage peace. I heard Yoko calls on the phone every day and people can talk to her."
"That sounds interesting," I said.
"It's free."
"Let's go!"

The event mentioned, known as the Montreal Bed-in, happened in 1969 when Lennon and Ono were denied entry to the US (John was convicted for marijuana possession) after holding the first Bed-in Amsterdam. They flew to Canada to have their fun in suite 1742 of Montreal’s Queen Elizabeth Hotel instead.

S' and I entered the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts with passion, eager to understand what happened in 1969 without paying for it. The exhibition started with an introduction to the couple's activities leading to the event. As we came inside, the room said "John?"
And replied to itself, "Yoko?"
"John?"
There was a moment of silence, and then,
"Yoko?"

There was a big screen showing a video of Ono kneeling quietly on the floor while someone walks around her with oversized scissors, cutting her clothes piece by piece. There was a chessboard with only white squares and two sets of white pieces on it, ready to play. There was a wooden panel hanging on the wall with nails and hair hammered into it, and a box of nails and a small hammer by its side.
"What's with the hair?" said S'.
"That's what she wanted people to do," I said with confidence, having read the explanation on the wall.
"It's disgusting," determined S', "you wanna try it?"
I hammered a nail and complained that the hammer is not the best kind to use for this type of job. Another nail fell of as I worked.
"Look what you've done!" said S'.
"Shh," I said and struggled it back in its place, "don't tell anyone."
I didn't leave my hair, but I did notice some people nailed Metro tickets instead. For some reason it made sense.

"Yoko?"
"John?"

"I like the way they designed this," said S', who is by chance a Master of architecture student. All the rooms were very spacious, inviting, and white: the walls were white, the ceiling was white, the art was white. It was nice just to walk around, had a warm nostalgic feeling to everything displayed.

We entered a room showing a video of Lennon's musical performances after his time with the Beatles and displaying lyrics on gigantic newspapers printed on the wall. There was the cover for the album Two Virgins, showing cutouts of the couple's heads in one picture, and full frontal nudity in the next.
"He looks better without the long hair," said S'.

"Come read this," I said and showed her a panel describing the couple's creation of Nutopia, a country with no land or boundaries which flag is an empty white rectangle and anthem is six seconds of silence.
"I never knew about that," said S'.
"Neither did I."

The next room was devoted to the Montreal Bed-in. From May 26 to June 2, the couple had invited celebrities to their suite to promote peace, from their bed. Hundreds of reporters had covered the event. On the wall was a photograph of Yoko and John sitting on the floor inside a white two-person bag with "Baggism" written on its front, and a photographer sitting on their bed behind. In the centre of the room there was a large white bed in front of a movie screen showing the head of a reporter interviewing, more precisely – arguing, with the peace-seeking couple about the Vietnam war. This interview could only be heard by putting earphones on or getting close to small speakers at the back of the bed. Otherwise we listened to the famous song recorded in that suite, which goes "let's come together, and give peace a chance." You can play with this dual audio experience by alternating between the two and hearing something like: "Let's come to…I am not your spokesman and you are not mine! I refuse to have you as my…and give pea…I am not part of your race, whatever race that is! For all I know you two are Martians…a chance!"

"I wonder if it's the same sheets since the beginning of the show," said S'
"I'm sure they wash it every day," I said.
"I'm not," she said and sniffed the air. Unfortunately there were no white bags to be found anywhere.

There is something very odd for a person of 2009 to see the behaviour of artists in 1969. I don't think I will ever be able to fully understand what drove John and Yoko to such bizarre experiments. While I am full of admiration to their attempts at world peace, I can't help making a little fun of it. I think that is the true way to go – we no longer live in the seventies and hippies are something our society treats with kind humor (for example, Leo from That 70's Show.) I am actually a bit jealous of people from that period of time – who pulls crazy stunts like these our days?

In one of the next rooms stood a white grand piano, which S' figured to be different than the piano in the pictures on the wall because it had different legs. The song Imagine was playing in the background and a girl was playing the piano beautifully. It took us a minute to understand that the playing was part of the recording and the sound produced by the piano can only be heard via a set of headphones.
"That's sorta clever," I said, "people can enjoy playing without bothering others."
"I wanna try it!" said S'.
"Exactly."

We reached a room occupying a long table holding white chess boards, just like in the first room, inviting people to sit on tall heavy white chairs and play till they can't remember who owns which piece. There were maps all over the walls and stamps saying "Imagine Peace" on them. This is the only room that wasn't completely white, since visitors stamped the maps, the walls behind them, the ink boxes, and, in some cases I'm sure, themselves.
"I wanna make a bold one!" said S', and continued to stamp a spot with great vigour, to eventually turn it completely blue.
"Good job," I said. "You can't even see what it says anymore."

That was also the place where we found a white phone, to which Yoko calls and speaks to the lucky visitor who happened to stand close by.
"What would we say if she calls?" asked S'.
"Hello Mrs. Ono, we are enjoying your exhibition very much. We've also seen you naked – good job!"

When we got to the last room a guide reminded us we have only two minutes left till nine – closing time. "Oh, five more minutes," we cried, "please?" but he was very professional. There were a couple of trees in the room with paper hanging from it. We hurried to write something on a piece of paper but all I managed to scribble was an unsuccessful victory sign (it looked like a slingshot instead) and the emoticon ":)". We rushed to the souvenir store and there was another place to write on. I wrote, "S' was here," and she wrote, "and so was R'," and I wrote, "no I wasn't!" S' got attracted to a musical box the size of a match-box but decided to pass when she saw it's priced for ten dollars."

Imagine, The Peace Ballad of John & Yoko, is holding until the 21st of June and I sincerely recommend it. The pieces are successfully interacting, the content is to the point, and the subtext is rich and intriguing. With videos of concerts, hilarious interviews that last hours, and the chance to play chess in a new way, I wouldn't be surprised if some people got stuck in the Museum for hours without leaving. And it's free, so why not? Go check it out.

Well, gotta start somewhere

This is not my first blog.

I used to write in a Hebrew network of blogs and forums up untill half a year ago. At some point I was a very familiar character there, I knew people even though I never actually met them, some of them I got to know after leaving Israel and moving to Canada. When I came back to Israel for a vacation, I met a couple of people I only knew online.

So you might say I got a bit of experiece, not that it matters too much. That old Hebrew blog was a place to experiment with my writings, and a place to get attention and compliments. I am a very needy individual.

I intended to write about something else, but this whole blog issue is taking over, so Waltz with Bashir will have to wait for the next post.

Where was I?

Blogs.

The old blog was a connection to my home country. It was the only place, other than chats, where everything was in my first language - Hebrew. It was a place where I could bitch about my experiences in Canada or glorify my actions or tell amazing tales about my life abroad, and people came and read and responded from the other side of the globe, from a country very different than Canada, where I have lived for more than a year and a half.

That blog was, among other things, a result of lonliness. I was an Art History student at Carleton U, Ottawa, didn't know anyone, and had very few friends who lived far from me. That blog started before I left Israel so several people in the network knew me, enough to get me writing on a regular basis.

The school year ended, the summer passed, and I returned to Carleton to start the Architecture program, the reason I came to Canada in the first place. I had more friends and kept meeting new ones. New posts in my old blog became less and less frequent as I became busier and busier with school, my job at the campus safety, and a magazine I'm running as an extra curricular project. By the Winter semester I abandoned the blog completely. I wouldn't go as far as saying I didn't need it at all - simply needed the other things in my life more.

But the need to describe how I feel about all kinds of things, the need to post short stories, the need to make people laugh is still there.

And now I've got some time on my hands, so I'm going to try again, this time in the language spoken in the place I live and not the one I used to live. I hope it'll work out just as well.

Hope it'll work out.