The Social Network

Last night, I finally saw The Social Network. I had been dying to watch it ever since I heard a movie was being made about the creation of Facebook, and I was not disappointed. Not only was the acting superb, but the story was fascinating. For those of you who have yet to see the movie, be advised, there might be spoilers in this post.

The real Mark Zuckerberg is currently a 26-year-old billionaire. He launched Facebook – initially called TheFacebook – in February of 2004. Today, there are over 500 million users spread over 26 countries. I use it. Nearly everyone I know uses it, and I don’t even want to think about the things I would miss without it. Facebook has become a part of everyday life for most people under the age of 40, and even people’s grandparents are wondering what all the fuss is about.

In The Social Network, Jesse Eisenberg plays Zuckerberg. I feel that he truly made the movie a success with his solid performance. Eisenberg kind of reminds me of an early Michael Cera, except he looks a bit older, a bit wiser, and a bit cuter. His off-kilter attitude and dry sense of humour are exactly what I love to watch, and he definitely played the part-good-guy part-bad-guy role well. Andrew Garfield plays Eduardo Saverin, Zuckerberg’s ex-best friend who initially financed Facebook, and I recognized him from his performance as Francis Weston in The Other Boleyn Girl. He did a great job as well, and I really felt bad for his character by the end of the movie.

The musical score for The Social Network was created by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross (both from Nine Inch Nails), and seriously, it’s fantastic. They created dark, industrial-sounding music that will resonate through your body, and the movie wouldn’t have been the same without their contribution. I plan to purchase the soundtrack as soon as possible, and I can see myself listening to it while running, heading to school, or trying to find inspiration to write, read, or think. Buy it. Trust me.

Overall, the movie was one of the best I have seen this year. The story behind Facebook is interesting, the acting is great, and it’s definitely an entertaining movie. I recommend it to everyone – Facebook user or not – because it’s a great story about how anyone can come up with an idea that will make them rich, famous, hated, and loved all at the same time.

Dissecting my IPP one piece at a time

The time to begin editing my book has finally arrived. I have been waiting for this moment for five months, and thank God it's finally here. Reaching the editing stage means I have finished the writing stage, and can now focus on finalizing sentences and correcting grammar.

The downside to the editing stage is that I must begin the long and painful process of deciding what won't be included in my final draft. After meeting with my advisor, it was decided that the first thing to go will be the prologue. It is unnecessary (in my case), and provides information to the reader that really isn't needed.

So, my prologue got the axe. Oh well. Life goes on. But, of course, I've posted it here for anyone who is dying to know what I wrote...

Prologue: The woman behind the story

I sat quietly on the floor and mentally willed my great-aunt Rose to continue speaking.

A moment earlier, we had been looking through a pile of old, black-and-white photographs from her childhood. She hadn’t taken them out in a long time, but sensed my eagerness to handle relics from the past. Even though she considered the pictures to be boring and uneventful, she flipped through the stack slowly while pointing to the faces of people she remembered.It wasn’t long before Rose started taking about her life. This was the moment I had been waiting for, and I nonchalantly slipped the notebook out of its hiding place under the rug and onto my lap.

It was August of 2007, and Rose was 91 years old. Her husband was long gone, she never had children, and her one remaining sibling died six months previously. She considered my family to be her closest relatives, which was one of the reasons why my mother and I decided to leave Manitoba and visit her in Armstrong, BC, that summer.

I also had an ulterior motive, and Rose quickly learned what it was. As the historian of the family, I have always made it my business to know as much about everything as humanly possible. Nothing was off limits, especially the lives of relatives. Initially, Rose only intended to tell me one, simple story. She ended up talking for hours, over three days, and I hung onto every word.

It was last spring, in 2010, that I decided to turn my notes into a story. Rose lived a long, interesting life that was – unfortunately – filled with more unhappiness than she deserved. For some reason, I felt that it was my duty to take her words and turn them into something she would be proud of. I fell in love with Rose during my visit. There were parts of her that I could see in myself, and for the first time I began to understand where I had inherited certain personality traits, such as my stubbornness, outspokenness, and sarcastic sense of humour.

The book is a collection of stories. I didn’t want to create a biography, so I’ve focused on the important aspects that I feel an audience can relate to. My goal was to re-create Rose as she was, and not censor or sugar-coat the things that happened to her. Her story is beautiful, it’s heart-breaking, but above all, it’s real. It’s the story of a woman who lived a hard life and came out victorious at the end.

With that being said, this is a work of fiction. It’s as historically accurate as it can be, but naturally there are things that I couldn’t possibly know. The dialogue has been loosely reconstructed from my notes, and I had to take liberties on more than one occasion. The story is set in Winnipeg, but in reality, Rose and her family grew up in British Columbia. This switch was intentional, and it allowed me to create a specific setting for the backdrop of my story. I have changed the name of a few characters – because I couldn’t find them to ask for permission – and have invented others. Rose didn’t have enough time to tell me about every single person in her life, so my imagination has served me well.

But even though the book is fiction, Rose is real. Her thoughts, her feelings, her actions, and her struggles are presented in as honest and straightforward a manner as possible. Writing an account of her life wasn’t easy, and I never imagined it would be so heartbreaking to relive the struggles of her life through her eyes. I hope you fall in love with Rose just as I did, because I have never met a braver woman in my entire life.

Writing about "Canadian Idiot" for school... oh, yes.

A few weeks ago, we were instructed to write an essay about a poem or song that undermines the Grand Canadian Narrative.

For anyone who is actually curious, the Grand Canadian Narrative basically refers to everything and anything positive that Canada stands for. For some reason, I felt the need to analyze the song "Canadian Idiot" by Weird Al Yankovic.

I thought that I would fail the assignment for lack of imagination, but my instructor actually liked my arguments enough to give me an A. And, since this is my blog, I'm subjecting my readers to what I believe is a fantastic spin on a popular song. Also, my aunt lives in Arizona - but was born in Canada - and I think she'll get a kick out of reading it. Here goes...

Undermining the Canadian Grand Narrative in “Canadian Idiot”

A song doesn’t have to be a classic written by a famous musician for it to confront the Canadian grand narrative. American popular culture satirist, Al Yankovic, wrote “Canadian Idiot,” a parody of the hit song “American Idiot.” It focuses on various aspects of Canadian culture. Even though most of the aspects of Canadian culture mentioned are more or less true, the song ultimately undermines the Canadian grand narrative. It is filled with stereotypes, and any stereotype – whether it is portrayed as being positive or negative –simplifies the complexity of a culture, and Yankovic’s lyrics are unable to capture the multifaceted essence of Canada.

There are many generic stereotypes about Canada mentioned throughout the song. Our reputation of being over-indulging, beer-drinking hockey nuts is brought up in the second line. The third line uses the phrase “frostbitten hose-heads,” which is making reference to Bob and Doug McKenzie, a pair of fictional Canadian brothers who hosted “The Great White North” comedy sketch in the 1980s. It was a show that became incredibly popular in both Canada and the United States, and many of the stereotypes it depicted are still believed by Americans today. References are also made to Tim Hortons, Canadian accents, curling, Celine Dion, and the fact that Canadians are overly polite. These are all stereotypes, and even though they aren’t particularly harmful, they undermine all of the important things that Canada stands for.

Throughout the song there are also a number of references regarding deeper, more important issues about Canada. In the second verse the fact that Canadians don’t carry firearms is mentioned, but no effort is taken to dive deeper into the issue. In the fourth verse, it is stated that Canada has “national health care, cheaper meds, low crime rates and clean air.” But, the song doesn’t offer an explanation as to why this is possible. One who doesn’t know better could assume that Canada is a perfectly clean and safe place to live with free health care, but this isn’t necessarily true.

After thoroughly dissecting the lyrics, it’s obvious that research about Canada was conducted before the song was written. The song, however, is chalked full of stereotypes that distract and influence the listener. It isn’t clear what type of country Canada really is, and nothing important is discussed in any great detail. Overall, “Canadian Idiot” definitely undermines the Canadian grand narrative, although that is likely exactly what Yankovic intended to do.

- 30 -

Just in case you're curious, here's the video, with lyrics:

Just another day at the office

The last week has been utterly insane.

I’ve attended five separate meetings, one of which was two hours long and halfway across the city. I’ve written 45,000 words for assignments, filmed two movies for television class, edited both, written and posted three blogs about Greece, and compiled information for a presentation that I’m sure my classmates found long and painful.

I’ve also run around the Exchange District on two separate occasions, taking pictures of old buildings and fire escapes for another assignment. I have re-discovered my hatred for InDesign, and learned some fascinating tricks in Photoshop. Overall, it’s been a very involved week, and I am shocked that I’m still alive.

But, just as things get a little too crazy, I’m reminded of why I signed up for CreComm in the first place.

What other program would allow me to run around downtown, take pictures of things I find interesting, and use them later in a project that I create all by myself?

And where else could I film a short movie...

... with my friends, whom I love...

... and spend hours sitting in a little room editing it together. (Although, spending hours editing isn't always the most fun way to spend a Friday afternoon, but you make the best of it when they company is desirable).

Last week was brutal. I can't pretend it wasn't. But even though I was stressed out, frustrated, and ready to quit, I kept going. I vented to my friends, had lunch at the King's Head, and reminded myself that everyone else is just as stressed out as I am.

I signed up for CreComm for the education, but I could never, ever leave because of the people. You all are wonderful, and thanks for being there when I need you.

Roman Polanski from a PR perspective

I just finished watching The Ghost Writer with Ewan McGregor and Kim Cattrall. I hate to admit it, but as far as Polanski films go, it wasn’t his best work. The film did, however, get me thinking about Polanski the man. He has lived a fascinating and tumultuous life, and the historian in me has always wanted to write about him.

Roman Polanski. Image taken from Google.

Roman Polanski was born in Paris, France, in 1933. Two years before the Second World War broke out in 1945, Polanski’s parents relocated the family to their native Poland. This proved to be disastrous, and both of his parents were sent to concentration camps. Polanski’s mother later died in Auschwitz, but his father survived. Father and son were reunited after the war, which rarely happens and is incredibly lucky.

Polanski decided to become a director, and began studying at the Lodz Film School. He moved to Hollywood, and made his US debut with Rosemary’s Baby in 1968. The following year, in 1969, Polanski’s pregnant wife – Sharon Tate – was one of the victims murdered by infamous Mason Family. He fled to Europe to deal with his grief, and re-appeared with the release of Chinatown (starring Jack Nicholson) in 1974.

And here is where this fascinating account loses me...

On March 11, 1977, Polanski was arrested for the sexual assault of 13-year-old Samantha Geimer that occurred the day before at the residence of Jack Nicholson. On February 1, 1978, Polanski fled to France to avoid being sentenced. As a French citizen, he is protected from extradition treaties with the United States. Until recently, Polanski has been living and working as a director in countries that won’t extradite him.

On September 26, 2009, Polanski was taken into custody at the Zurich Airport in Switzerland. He was held under house arrest, until a California Superior Court Judge ruled he must return to the United States to be sentenced for his 1977 crime.

On January 22, 2010, it was reported that Samantha Geimer’s lawyer – Lawrence Silver – has asked a California appeals court to drop the case against Polanski. In April of 2010, a California appeals court denied Geimer's request to dismiss the charges. The court ruled that Geimer "has no right or authority to dictate the outcome of a criminal case."

Samantha Geimer, then and now.

So, what happened?

On July 12, 2010, Swiss authorities announced they WOULDN’T extradite Polanski to the United States. The reasoning was that U.S. officials didn’t provide them with necessary records (which were required to determine if a 42-day court-ordered psychiatric evaluation Polanski underwent back in 1977 constituted his entire sentence. This was apparently the understanding in Switzerland, and the judge who originally dealt with the case is now deceased).

In an interview in August, 2010, Samantha Geimer spoke on Larry King Live about how she has forgiven Polanski and wants the case to be dropped. She also talked about the fact that she is happy the Swiss authorities decided not to force him to return the United States. To read the article and watch the video clip, click here.

Currently, Polanski still can’t return to the United States. If he does, he will be convicted. The incident took place 32 years ago, but it is likely that Polanski won’t be allowed back ever again. He has won a number of Oscar’s – including Best Director for The Pianist in 2003 – but was unable to enter the United States to collect his prizes.

What do I think?

Polanski initially received horrible PR when the incident occurred. When his second wife – Sharon Tate – was murdered in 1969, sympathy was on his side. Then, when he was charged with sexually assaulting a 13-year-old girl, the media turned on him. He was painted as a sleazy, Hollywood rapist, and many actors, directors, and producers were glad he took off for France.

Now, years later, I don’t know if I believe he should still be prosecuted. On the one hand, he did commit a crime. Polanski pled guilty to the charge of “unlawful sexual intercourse,” so had he stayed in the United States, he would have gone to jail. And, does it really matter how much time passes between the crime and the punishment?

But, on the other hand, his victim wants the charges to be dropped. Samantha Geimer has spoken about her desire to see Polanski left alone. It is the California appeals court who refuses to forget the matter. Shouldn’t the victim have the right to stop the proceedings? Especially over a decade later?

Geimer is definitely receiving positive PR in this situation. She is being gracious and understanding, and every news article I have read about her has only said good things. And, through his association with her, I believe Polanski is receiving positive PR as well. He can’t be such a bad guy if his victim wants to see him free. Can he?

I have been thinking about this issue ever since I heard Polanski was taken into custody in Switzerland in 2009. Now, over a year later, I still can’t make up my mind about how I really feel. The law is the law, and if someone commits a crime, they deserve to be prosecuted. The fact that Polanski fled instead of facing the music makes me angry. The fact that he went on to become an even more famous director than he already was is also frustrating. But, it has been a long time, and I think everyone is ready to move on.

Saying goodbye to my dirty little secret

I hate to admit it, but the first time I tried a cigarette, I was in junior high. Eighth grade to be exact, and I thought I was the coolest kid on the playground. Casual puffs from shared smokes gradually escalated into the constant weight of a pack in my pocket, and before I knew it, I was hooked.

Over the past 10 years, I’ve tried quitting many times. Some attempts were half-heartedly faked to please those around me. Others were legitimate endeavours. But for whatever reason, I always turned back to the horrible habit that has been my dirty little secret for far too long.

Of course, the fact that I’m a smoker is hardly a secret at all. Friends are well aware that I always need to stop outside and have a smoke before entering a building. My parents pretend not to be furious with my poor health choices when I “pop out back to check the structural integrity of the deck.” Even my instructors at school have made kind-hearted – yet half-serious – comments about staging an intervention because it appears that I’m always glued to the same section of pavement outside RRC’s south doors.

No, everyone knows I am a smoker, and that collective knowledge is one of the reasons I’m actually serious about giving up smoking once and for all.

Before my time, smoking was actually cool. Everyone did it, and it was an accepted part of life. Now, there is so much information available about what smoking does to people that I feel like a complete moron every time I throw $13 away on a pack of cigarettes. Smokers don’t tell people they’re smokers anymore. They hide around the corner at lunch, praying no one will catch them polluting their bodies. In today’s society, it’s not cool to smoke.

And, I seriously want to be cool.

No matter where I go or what I do throughout my life, I’ll always be a smoker. An ex-smoker, sure, but still a smoker nonetheless. I can’t go back in time and erase the decade of damage I’ve subjected my lungs to; nor can I forget the amazing taste of a freshly-lit cigarette with my morning coffee. Some things can’t be changed; therefore I must move forward and make smart decisions for my future.

I wish someone would have told me at 14 - when I picked up my first cigarette - that I was making a lifelong commitment that would affect everything in my life.

Oh, wait. Someone did. I was just too stubborn to listen, like most other teenagers. Well, my parents, teachers, family, and friends were all right, and I shouldn’t have been so determined to rebel.

It has been 15 days, 16 hours, and 10 minutes since my last cigarette. I know, it’s barely a beginning, but this is a monumental milestone for me. Two of my classmates – who were supposed to be my quitting partners – have already turned back to smoking, which makes me even more determined to succeed.

I’m sure that I will post quite a few more quitting posts throughout my struggle, but writing about what I’m going through will hopefully eliminate some of the pressure. One way or another, I’m going to do this, because I’m truly sick of lying about my dirty little secret.

It’s a concrete jungle, baby

I could have spent weeks wandering around the island of Santorini, but on the fourth day, mom and I took a ferry back to Athens. We arrived in the wee hours of the morning, and had one day to see everything the historic city has to offer. For us, there were two places we wanted to visit, and the first of which was the Acropolis.

The Parthenon. It's simply magnificent.

The maître’d at our hotel gave us an important piece of advice that I must pass on. He advised us to either visit the Acropolis early in the morning or late in the day. Especially during August, Greece’s hottest month of the year. We accepted his advice gratefully, and left the hotel as early as possible. But, we arrived at the Acropolis at about 11 a.m., and I could already feel the sun beginning to burn a hole into the back of my shirt. I believe it was about 43 degrees that day, and I started to wilt early in the afternoon.

The term acropolis means upper city. It is a large mountain in the middle of the city on which a number of historical buildings are situated.The Parthenon, naturally, is the most famous landmark. It is also the structure that is lit up and visible around Athens at night. The Erecthion is also located on the top of the mountain - adjacent to the Parthenon – on the site where Poseidon and Athena had their contest to decide who would be the Patron of the city. Athena touched the ground with a spear, and an olive tree grew. She was declared the victor, and the city was named after her.

The Erectheon

From the top of the mountain, you can see a number of additional historic sites below. The Plaka, Olympic Stadium, the Thission, and the ruins of the Temple of Olympian Zeus are by far the most popular.

Just so you know, there are multiple entrances to the Acropolis. The Propylaea is the main entrance, and unfortunately, it was located on the opposite side from where we entered. This made it quite difficult to find our way to the top. I would suggest carefully consulting a map of the area before embarking up the mountain. It gets very, very hot, and wasting energy by going in the wrong direction is quite disheartening.

View from the top of the Acropolis, looking down on Athens.

The second place we wanted to visit was the Athens Flea Market.


It is located in Monastiraki, the most visited area of the city. It is also directly in front of the back entrance to the Acropolis, so there is quite a number of tourists milling about at all times.

A view down one of the many, winding streets of the Flea Market.

We wanted to visit the flea market because we had heard that it was quite an experience. The most memorable moment for me was when we turned a corner and found a young boy selling old WWII Nazi paraphernalia. Yes, I know this will alarm most people, but the historian inside me was instantly fascinated. There were medals, eagle pendants, and a swastika arm band. The items were too expensive to purchase, but at least I was able to touch them and take a few photos.

An armband, a medal of valour, and something that was probably on a building.

There is so much more to tell about Athens, so here are the highlights:

Concrete jungle: Athens had 4.5 million residents. Most of them live in high rise apartments. As we drove through the city in a taxi, I looked around in awe. The entire city looked like a huge apartment complex. Building after building made of the same, colourless cement spanned as far as the eye could see.

Bootlegged merchandise: Occasionally, mom and I would see a young man carrying a huge bed sheet filled with merchandise running from the police. We didn’t understand what was happening until we received a live demonstration. Men will sell purses, belts, and sunglasses illegally to tourists throughout the city. They have all of the items arranged strategically on a bed sheet or trifold. If they are caught by police, they pick up the sheet/trifold in one, quick swoop, and take off running to avoid being arrested.

To-stay and to-go food prices: When you purchase food from a street vendor, decide if you want to sit down or not ahead of time. We learned this the hard way. You must pay more if you wish to sit and eat. Crazy, but true.

Athens meat market: Mom wanted to walk through it, and I agreed to come along. Bad decision. Picture row after row of giant pieces of meat being butchered by men covered in blood and wielding giant cleavers. After a few moments, I turned to mom and told her I would meet her outside. I half walked, half ran for the exit while not to throw up. Ugh. It was awful.

The Meat Market. It's huge. If you're squeamish - like me - stay away!

Wildfires: We were there in August of 2009, which was during the wildfires that forced thousands of residents to flee their homes. As we drove to the airport the morning of August 24 to catch our plane home, we could see massive flames engulfing the hills in the distance. Sometimes you can’t avoid a natural disaster, but it’s always good to check the status of each country you’re visiting before getting on the plane.

The Parthenon. This is actually smoke in the background. At first, we thought it was just pollution. We were very wrong.

I have one Greece post left, and I promise it will be good...