Library Matters

Well, a return to blogging as promised to Em over at Em Types.

I had decided that between 9pm and 10pm I would work on a cover letter and I'd write a 500 word essay on the topic of Why My Library is Important to Me for the contest of the same name. (Our current Toronto mayor is trying to cut 10% from every municipal program's budget and the Toronto Public Library workers' union is fighting back and holding a contest. Winners can win lunch with authors like Margaret Atwood and Michael Ondaatje.)

I stared at a blank page for a while and decided it would be easier to riff on why my library is important to me if I blogged it first.

So what is my library to me? It's not as if I don't own enough unread books.

It is, corny as it sounds, a sanctuary.

• A place to be surrounded by books without having people ask you if you need help.
• A place to read books without having to buy a coffee.
• A place that reminds me of all the things I have yet to learn. This sets it apart from the internet which constantly reminds me of all the things I wish I did not know.
• A place to research and study, and to cheaply photocopy pages to mark-up later.
• A place to be inspired by books that people leave on tables.

A public library (as opposed to a school library - though, those are important too) is place where a nerdy girl can sit and learn about the world without having to deal with peer pressure or fend off questions about 'how far she's gone with a boy'?

• A place to be around people without being really having to interact with them.
• A place that provides me with unending optimism for the human race. Every opportunity that a child does not discover at home or at school, they can still discover at their public library for free. Classical music, opera, films, novels, graphic novels, short stories, poetry, plays, magazines - a wealth of specific information that's been edited and peer-reviewed available for free!

The library is critical to my idea of a functioning society. It is like an intellectual safety net and vitally important to new immigrants learning English - and Toronto is mostly immigrants (including me). Is it naive and hopeful to think that at least Toronto's homeless can find something to read when they wake up from their nap at the Reference Library? Sure. But once the homeless or low-income are at the library, isn't it a relief to know that if they need to look up a shelter or go to a seminar on fighting bedbugs that help is available?

I believe in libraries because I believe in self-improvement and knowledge being power, or at least, that the withholding of knowledge leads to powerlessness. In the library I didn't have to call my mother constantly to quell her worrying, it was, in a way, the place I could be most free as a 13-year-old. I didn't have to divulge what I chose to look at or read. I grew up in a fairly well-read, liberal household, but if I'd grown up in a more closed-minded atmosphere, the library would be the place where I could safely explore beyond the limits that others set up. The library was an important part of my childhood and adolescence. And if I end up old and alone, the library (whether in building form, or mobile, with large-print and audio books) is where I will find the solace and comfort and company of books.

I guess Edward P. Morgan (in Clearing the Air, 1963) already said it better:

A book is the only place in which you can examine a fragile thought without breaking it, or explore an explosive idea without fear it will go off in your face. It is one of the few havens remaining where a man's mind can get both provocation and privacy.

Scream 2009

What kind of blogger am I, that I completely neglected to blog or thus attend this year's The Scream Literary Festival?!
The theme this year is "The Book is Dead". Go check out the wake-like Day of the Dead-ish atmosphere.

I aim to be at Wednesday's event, but tonight's is cool too. If you're in T.O. and want to go to the Dennis Lee Reading and dinner on Friday with me, leave a note in the comments.

Tomorrow I'm Fringe-ing. Toronto, you have too many festivals in the summer and it is delicious and frustrating.

St. Paddy's Day

I did not drink any Guinness today, but I did watch the St. Patrick's Day parade and waved and cheered, and got pamphlets on Irish Dancing, and a green plastic necklace for my enthusiasm (no flashing was involved).

I don't even know how to upload pics from my phone yet and they're terrible quality anyhow, so maybe it's best to just imagine the following:

1) A faux Finnegan's wake set up on the back of a tractor/trailer - complete with dude lying "dead" in four-poster (with wallpaper behind him), the song blaring, a widow in black lace, and a kitchen table and buddies dancing. It made me laugh so hard.

2) The Ontario DeLorean Owner's Club. Can you imagine a line of DeLoreans driving by you? I could not believe what I was seeing. One DeLorean had a passenger holding a Hoverboard on her lap! That is attention to detail.

There were people handing out flyers for Riverdance (return engagement to T.O. - is there a demand?), and Irish Spring body-and-hair wash sample bottles. Oh, green, symbolizing so many many things!

There was also a song and much riffing on the U.S. Prez being Barroch O'Bama - complete with limo, president impersonator and fake Secret Service dudes. It was funny.

Green Beer Day is over. You may now move on to the chocolate-marshmallow eggs and matzah.

Read Poetry for Toronto's Birthday

Toronto and I shared a birthday last week and it was great fun. I didn't know it was going to be Toronto's birthday, so I made my own plans.

I did at least get with the program regarding the Keep Toronto Reading event, and at the Graphic Bandita's urging, put a copy of Glen Downie's Loyalty Management on hold. If you haven't read poetry in a while, I recommend you pick it up. It will remind you how great poetry can be.

Check out the Shortlist for Keep Toronto Reading too. Elyse Friedman's book, Long Story Short, which I blogged about a while ago, was shortlisted. Her stories really merge a new Canadian incarnation of tragic hipness.

Now I am back to reading the Portable MFA in Creative Writing book I mentioned before. I was reading about classic story structure and there was a section on the (non-classic) plotless story. When I got to:

"Keeping a reader engaged with an idea is tricky... However, Milan Kundera's hugely succesful novels are idea laden, perhaps even idea driven."

I realized that I have never read a Kundera novel because of the type of people I've only ever seen reading Kundera novels: skeezy pretentious guys in their twenties! Ha! There's my confession of reading bias for today. What's yours?

Champion in the Arena: A Tribute to Jackie Mittoo

The Nufunk Festival is on now and tonight there is a funkalicious event/gig in tribute to Jackie Mittoo, "an integral part of the Skatalites and the whole creation of rock steady".

Read more about Mittoo in this article in the Jamaica Observer. More about the gig here on BlogTO.com.

Update #1: More about Mittoo and the Jamaica to Toronto phenom on this Yahoo blog here - with MP3s!

Update #2: Light in the Attic Records is where to find all this great music. MP3s available here too.

That's where I'll be tonight. You come too.

Thanks to my ultra-hip friends who keep me aware of stuff like this. You are welcome to guest-blog your ultra-hip activities any time!

I'll be out tonight, but the premises will still be guarded by the ATTACK CAT.

Strength, Thrift, Domesticity

Specchio is having their once-per-season 80% off sale.

This means that shoes like L'Autre Chose and Dries Van Noten and XOXO are reduced from upwards of $500 to approximately $150 (CAD!) a pair. Peanuts! These are leather, made in Italy, shoes you want to hug and kiss, shoes that are supple and sexy, shoes that love your feet, that spirals off into paroxyms of joy...

I went in yesterday. I held off for weeks. Fortunately, the holding off meant most of the shoes my size were gone - that was the plan. But there were a few in my size. That's what took strength. I had to tell myself that not only did I not need any shoes, but since the moths and the cat pee have wiped out a good portion of my closet, I'd have nothing to wear them with anyways.

But do you want to know where I really got my strength from? How I managed to walk out of there and to the library?

I will tell you the new source of my lust/frugality. I am over my Roomba coveting. I want a Dyson. I want a vacuum cleaner that costs $700. I want to see it suck up years of embedded cat hair that my darling inefficient Dirt Devil can't pick up. Oh, the Dyson - it's like the Mac of vacuums, isn't it? When I manage to save, that is what I am saving for.

I even took Biting the Dust: The Joys of Housework out from the library. Not a how-to, but a book on the history of it. Those who know me know I'm a slob. Combine it with the fact that I've been sleeping at night and waking up in the morning... what does it all mean?

Oh dear. I have written a blog post where shoes and vacuum cleaners face each other in a feminine-stereotype battle. I have to go make coffee and examine my gender issues now.

L'Autre Chose boots photo stolen from Shopstyle/My-Wardrobe.com and vacuum photo nicked from Dyson.ca

Who am I and what do I write - Part III

Wandering Jews? is part of this year's Limmud, a festival of Jewish learning and culture.

"Wandering Jews?" looks like it grapples with some of the questions I raised in my previous posts, in terms of identity in the writing of Jewish writers. The seminar, however, will focus more on "place" and what is "home" and how or whether Judaism informs the idea of home in a Jewish writer's work.

The panelists are Adam Sol, Sidura Ludwig, and Rebecca Rosenblum.

Limmud (which means "learning" in Hebrew, I think) takes place on Sunday, February 15, 209. This particular seminar goes from 4:35PM–5:45PM. Maybe I'll see you there.

Who am I and what do I write - Part II

In my last post I discussed whether I should "write what I know" in reference to my Judaism, and I posed the question, "What are my stories?".

Here is another look at an answer.
The problem with "my stories" is that I am reticent to claim ownership. Are they really mine?

They are my parents', my aunts' and uncles', my grandparents' stories. Do I ask for them and begin tape-recording, listening diligently? And then what? Would I have what it takes to shape them with the respect and finesse they deserve? Why do it? Can I give my relatives back their own memories? Would I be a writer or a ventriloquist?

Would I be honouring my genealogical history or exploiting my family for material?

I would guess that to a storyteller in the oral tradition, like Dan Yashinsky, stories can belong to one person (or group), but can be told by anyone as long as they are told faithfully. He is quoted as saying,

"Stories show you that other people have traveled before you," he says. "They show you that no matter what is happening in your life, someone else has gone there before you. Someone else has been there, come back, and at least has a good story to show for it."

Some of these stories (like those of my family) have already been told by writers like Andree Aciman in Out of Egypt, Hisham Matar in In the Country of Men, and Lucette Lagnado's The Man in the White Sharkskin Suit. Aciman's memoir beautifully and painfully renders Alexandria and the expulsion of Egypt's Jews, and Matar (whom I have not yet read), tells of the fear of his (non-Jewish) family during Khadafi's rise to power. Lagnado relates the contrast of her father's dashing life in Cairo society till Nasser's rise, and the cost on the family of delaying their departure from Egypt.

Some of my own childhood feels "told" in the first story (about Russian Jews in 1980s Toronto) in Natasha and Other Stories by David Bezmosgis. What my parents may have felt upon their arrival to Canada was projected so intensely on top of my own memories that I found it hard to breathe.

If I am to record the stories I have heard all my life, I must do it soon. These inherited stories are not mine directly, but I am free to try and preserve them or keep them in trust for future generations.

My friend, an Egyptian Christian (Copt), who introduced me to "Out of Egypt" says that even though it is not exactly his story, nothing comforts him and takes him back to his youth like the description of old Alexandria in the novel.

Maybe I won't know who the stories belong to until they are read.

1001 Nights of Storytelling

1001 Friday Nights of Storytelling this Friday will be hosted by Dan Yashinsky and the stories will be thematically linked to music in honour of St.Cecilia's day.

Can you think of any stories about music off the top of your head? I can't.

Back When Toronto Inspired Illustrations

So the other day I went to my depilatrix and as always, while she yanks out my hair, we chat. She has terrific stories and this time she told me all about her husband's dream, which was truly fantastic. I won't re-tell it here. There was nothing naughty about it, but it's not my story to tell. Anyhow, the dream-story reminded me of Robert Munsch's story, Jonathan Cleaned Up - Then He Heard a Sound or Blackberry Subway Jam.

I re-read my little Annikins version today. (Annikins are and were mini-books "small enough to fit into tiny hands and pockets".)

The story remains terrific and the illustrations by Michael Martchenko are as light and charming as ever.

What surprised me, though, is the amount of nostalgia packed into the book that has nothing to do with the story. It is a fourth edition, printed in 1982. Annick Press, the publisher, was based in Toronto. They were distributed by Firefly Press (still are) - but it was a different time when the distributor's phone number was printed on the back inside cover.

The subway on the front of the book is the old red TTC train that was just being phased out when my family moved to Canada. The streetcar outside City Hall is also an old red car and City Hall itself (in the book) is the one at Bay and Queen - now known as Old City Hall. I would link to photos of old streetcars, but I can't find any. If you're not from Toronto and don't recognize the transit system or the City Hall, it won't matter. The only thing that may date the book for you is the "big shining computer machine" that Jonathan discovers at City Hall. Martchenko's illustration of it with rows and rows of reel-to-reel tape decks is a little quaint.

None of this, however, affects the story. It's still a funny story where moms want living rooms to stay neat, and bureaucrats spend $10 million on things that don't work. The story, 27 years old, remains delightful.

I have also discovered that you can download audio files of Robert Munsch telling stories for free from his website. So you can hear the whole story right now! But you may as well order the Annikin book too. It's only $1.50, and the illustrations are well worth it. Buy a whole bunch and distribute them to children - all those Christmas toy drives are coming up soon!

Ceramic Art

Julie Moon is a ceramic artist who make beautiful sculptures, tiles, and wearable pieces. Look!

Toronto in the Eyes of Others

Papermag writes up Toronto. A flattering article with some of the old standbys listed (Kensington, Riverdale Farm) and some I've never heard of - Magic Pony. (Check out Magic Pony's moustache necklace!)

Nuit Blanche

I don't think I'll see much of Nuit Blanche, if I go out at all. I am behind on a lot of writing and other things.

You go and tell me all about it, ok?

Canadian Literary Magazines

In honour of the upcoming Word on the Street at Queen's Park and the International Festival of Authors at Harbourfront, here is a list of Canadian Literary Magazines and a link to a "writer's toolbox" (writing advice) from Geist magazine.

Things I Don't Understand (Part I)

1) Because you want to SMELL like a High School Musical

2) I'm not opposed to spaces or design or guys or books. I'm just opposed to the advocacy of egregiously poor taste defined as "for men".

3) Why is the poster for TIFF 08 so boring this year? Am I the only one who finds it boring? Maybe having crummy eyesight and occasional attentional difficulties does not make me the biggest fan of "blurry" as a design choice.

Donuts

Sometime around the year 2000, I worked on a children's show. The show was an adaptation of a popular series of children's books. Its main flaw (in my opinion, which no one asked for) was the casting of the Asian-Canadian character with a white red-headed kid. But my little story is not about poor casting choices on low budget Canadian TV. My story is about donuts.

I worked in the production office. Like any production that shoots on locations, we had location guys (or gals, but these were guys). The cars they used to scout and prep locations were rented. The rental guy came every Friday and dropped off an invoice. With the invoice, he brought a large box of donuts.

They were the best donuts I had ever tasted. I tried to memorize the address on the box, because one day, I said to myself, I would go out there and buy a dozen myself.

Eight years later (that is, today), my friend invites me to a movie at The Queensway - a theatre in Etobicoke. Suddenly, I remember that the Best Donuts EverTM were from Etobicoke! What was the address? Royal Oak? Royal York. But what was the name of the place?

I google. I find a list of bakeries and one stands out:

SanRemo Bakery

I know this is it. This must be THE donut place. I phone to make sure.

"Yup, that's us," the saleswoman says. "But we make our donuts once a day, and they sell out pretty fast. Do you want me to put some aside for you?"

So I go. I have a divine "mixed-berry" jelly donut. I had waited eight years for it, and it lived up to the memory. That's serious quality.

They opened the bakery in the '60s and it's still family-owned and operated. The donuts are only 80 cents each. You should go.