As I flip past pages and pages of advertisements in magazines, close yet another pop-up ad, ignore the advertisement banner at the top and down the sides of every webpage I visit and mute all the commercials I see on TV, I wonder if and how advertising works. The concept of providing a service for free in return for the opportunity to advertise is mind-boggling to someone who simply ignores as much advertising as I possibly can. In fact, this blog post was originally going to be about how ineffective I find advertising to be. And then I got to thinking about my most recent purchase and I discovered the treachery. While I didn't go to Moores because I saw a sweet commercial and was instantly lured in - my decision to buy pants wasn't motivated by a commercial, I just needed some pants - I somehow knew that Moores sold dress pants and decided to go there. How did I know that?! Who planted that information in my head?! We all know the answer, but it's a scary thought.
So no, the advertisement for the Hot Tubs isn't going to make me want a hot tub, but it will make me think of a place to get one if I ever decided to do so. I don't think I'm as susceptible to online ads though - there's no annoying jingle to recall. I can just scroll down and, in fact, I often make a point to not click on sponsored search results simply because they're sponsored. I couldn't tell you what the last online ad I saw was. Probably a car company or a dating service. But then again, who knows what's stuck.
I think I'm slowly losing the delusion that my thoughts are my own.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Being Canadian: Margaret Wenteshares her thoughts on Pierre Burton's famous quote, "A Canadian is someone who knows how to have sex in a canoe."
I hate Margaret Wente more than I hate any other writer, and despite the fact that the image of her mugshot bobbing up and down in a canoe will haunt my dreams forever, I have to say I agree with her on this one. Or rather, I am with her when she agrees with Atwood, Frye and Burton that being Canadian has something to do with an appreciation for our natural landscape/geography. And I don't think you need to have climbed the Rockies to appreciate them. It's the mere thought that our country is so wild and vast that gives me a sense of being Canadian. The furthest north I've been is Bracebridge and yet I feel a very strong association between Canadian landscape/geography and being Canadian.
In fact, the same goes for being a bilingual country. I know about as much French as I knew in Grade 9 (not much, although I've read the labels of a few more bottles of shampoo: "shower gel/gel douche", "shampoo/shampooing") but I'm proud of the fact that there are a bunch of people speaking French in a very specific part of the place I call home. And until I can speak passable French, I don't think I'll be able to consider myself a true Canadian.
Things I like about Canada:
socialized healthcare,
an international reputation for being polite,
being constantly at odds with American culture.
We see ourselves as the antithesis to "those Americans" and pride ourselves on how different we are. And although I think we're more similar than we would like to admit, and although I think a lot of that sort of comparative talk is more destructive than constructive, I think that Canadians, forced to abandon all attempts to compete in the "Free Market", produce things that are necessarily more honest and uncorrupted by the dictates of the masses. Low budget things necessarily have a "low-budget" look - they lack the million-dollar sheen everything from the states has on it - but lacking the varnish, it's easier to tell the better cut. And when people are forced to do more with little, the product has potential to be much more efficient, more compact and precise. True, this is not always the case, but a bad concept is a bad concept. All I'm saying is that a lot of the time, money makes things look passable that probably shouldn't pass at all, things without an original thought involved in their conception. Here in Canada, we don't have that luxury so things that suck look as good as they are whereas the Americans could dress up a turd sandwich and it would sell at Quiznos. I'm mixing metaphors - food is not the same as art. Don't think about it too hard and we'll be fine.
In short: O Canada. Our home and budget land.
I hate Margaret Wente more than I hate any other writer, and despite the fact that the image of her mugshot bobbing up and down in a canoe will haunt my dreams forever, I have to say I agree with her on this one. Or rather, I am with her when she agrees with Atwood, Frye and Burton that being Canadian has something to do with an appreciation for our natural landscape/geography. And I don't think you need to have climbed the Rockies to appreciate them. It's the mere thought that our country is so wild and vast that gives me a sense of being Canadian. The furthest north I've been is Bracebridge and yet I feel a very strong association between Canadian landscape/geography and being Canadian.
In fact, the same goes for being a bilingual country. I know about as much French as I knew in Grade 9 (not much, although I've read the labels of a few more bottles of shampoo: "shower gel/gel douche", "shampoo/shampooing") but I'm proud of the fact that there are a bunch of people speaking French in a very specific part of the place I call home. And until I can speak passable French, I don't think I'll be able to consider myself a true Canadian.
Things I like about Canada:
socialized healthcare,
an international reputation for being polite,
being constantly at odds with American culture.
We see ourselves as the antithesis to "those Americans" and pride ourselves on how different we are. And although I think we're more similar than we would like to admit, and although I think a lot of that sort of comparative talk is more destructive than constructive, I think that Canadians, forced to abandon all attempts to compete in the "Free Market", produce things that are necessarily more honest and uncorrupted by the dictates of the masses. Low budget things necessarily have a "low-budget" look - they lack the million-dollar sheen everything from the states has on it - but lacking the varnish, it's easier to tell the better cut. And when people are forced to do more with little, the product has potential to be much more efficient, more compact and precise. True, this is not always the case, but a bad concept is a bad concept. All I'm saying is that a lot of the time, money makes things look passable that probably shouldn't pass at all, things without an original thought involved in their conception. Here in Canada, we don't have that luxury so things that suck look as good as they are whereas the Americans could dress up a turd sandwich and it would sell at Quiznos. I'm mixing metaphors - food is not the same as art. Don't think about it too hard and we'll be fine.
In short: O Canada. Our home and budget land.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
TheatreWorks
Looks like I'm going back to my theatre roots this summer. I just signed up to volunteer for the Toronto Fringe Festival and got an interview for an (unpaid - meh, what else am I gonna do this summer?) internship with SummerWorks Theatre Festival. I was doing some reading for the interview and came across this article (scroll down to page 69) by the pleasant-sounding person who called to set up the interview. Needless to say, I hope I get the job. Enjoy.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Check this out. My cousin Robin told me about it months ago and I never got around to it.
I still can't see Nathan Fillion as anyone but the guy from Serenity/Firefly.
I still can't see Nathan Fillion as anyone but the guy from Serenity/Firefly.
A blog post to end all blog posts
What an awful blog this is. It's seldom updated and doesn't contain a single link to a new band or DJ that I've tracked down on the Web. Most blogs skewer their target topics with that laconic, often biting commentary that I have only ever been able to appreciate. That is the type of blog that I aspire to write. The ones with the five word sentences that explain the daily news, followed by an aphorism and a link to a new dance tune. I want to have a daily miscellany with a few anecdotes thrown in for good measure (aside: what does that phrase mean, anyway?). And I want to be the type of person that always has a new beat to listen to or a line on the next best thing. I think that's what good blogging is. I think that is the most effective use of the medium.
Or maybe it's just what I think is cool.
And yet, the whole concept of blogging was supposed to be complete freedom of expression, wasn't it? "Good" blogging doesn't really exist since there is no Turabian style guide, no instruction manual. So what am I so worked up about? I should just be writing whatever it is that I feel like writing.
My hesitation, I suppose, is in writing something that will be considered lame, or unimportant, or egoistic or self-indulgent. I don't think so highly of my own opinion that I would review a movie or a book and expect people to read and take my advice. It's the unsolicited nature of such a thing that really bothers me. Then again, I doubt anyone is holding a gun to anyone's head to read this blog.
In short, my apologies if you came expecting the type of blog that I described above. This will never be that type of blog. In fact, I can't promise anything about what this blog will be, despite the fact that I find consistency to make for a more pleasurable read.
I can promise that I will never whine about this topic again. And I resolve to be a daily blogger whenever physically possible.
Or maybe it's just what I think is cool.
And yet, the whole concept of blogging was supposed to be complete freedom of expression, wasn't it? "Good" blogging doesn't really exist since there is no Turabian style guide, no instruction manual. So what am I so worked up about? I should just be writing whatever it is that I feel like writing.
My hesitation, I suppose, is in writing something that will be considered lame, or unimportant, or egoistic or self-indulgent. I don't think so highly of my own opinion that I would review a movie or a book and expect people to read and take my advice. It's the unsolicited nature of such a thing that really bothers me. Then again, I doubt anyone is holding a gun to anyone's head to read this blog.
In short, my apologies if you came expecting the type of blog that I described above. This will never be that type of blog. In fact, I can't promise anything about what this blog will be, despite the fact that I find consistency to make for a more pleasurable read.
I can promise that I will never whine about this topic again. And I resolve to be a daily blogger whenever physically possible.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
In my job search, I came across a couple interesting online culture mags. Eyeweekly and The Walrus. They actually have a lot in common, including a similar design. I've been hanging on the threads posted by NYMag (especially their blog, Vulture) but it's nice to get local news.
Speaking of local news, the Toronto Short Film Festival is going on June 16-21st. Anyone looking for something to do? I'm always looking for an excuse to go.
Speaking of local news, the Toronto Short Film Festival is going on June 16-21st. Anyone looking for something to do? I'm always looking for an excuse to go.
In. Out. Thud. Thud.
The world was dark. Memories of colour danced across his eyelids, sometimes coalescing into shapes, the shapes sometimes arranging themselves into figures or objects. How long it had been since he last saw them, he could hardly remember.
A sudden sound. His ears prick up but he remains still, a flicker under his eyelids the only indication he is still conscious.
It dawns on him how shackled to his sense of sight he is. Indeed, it appears that even now it remains with him, despite his attempt to rid himself of it. No thought comes unaccompanied. Even the thought of his own breathing conjures a chest rising and falling, a breeze blowing through the trees, a nose - his own, in profile - taking in oxygen. How do these illustrations affix themselves, unbidden, to my thoughts?, he thought.
Wait, if those are my thoughts, then what are these right now?
His phone vibrates and his eyes flash open while his fingers fumble over the canvas of his jeans to silence it.
Resuming his relaxed position, he breathes a sigh. He had been on to something, he was sure of it.
In. Out. Thud. Thud.
The world was dark. Memories of colour danced across his eyelids, sometimes coalescing into shapes, the shapes sometimes arranging themselves into figures or objects. How long it had been since he last saw them, he could hardly remember.
A sudden sound. His ears prick up but he remains still, a flicker under his eyelids the only indication he is still conscious.
It dawns on him how shackled to his sense of sight he is. Indeed, it appears that even now it remains with him, despite his attempt to rid himself of it. No thought comes unaccompanied. Even the thought of his own breathing conjures a chest rising and falling, a breeze blowing through the trees, a nose - his own, in profile - taking in oxygen. How do these illustrations affix themselves, unbidden, to my thoughts?, he thought.
Wait, if those are my thoughts, then what are these right now?
His phone vibrates and his eyes flash open while his fingers fumble over the canvas of his jeans to silence it.
Resuming his relaxed position, he breathes a sigh. He had been on to something, he was sure of it.
In. Out. Thud. Thud.
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