J.M. Filipowicz's Blog, page 8

Vlog: The Difference Between Feminism and Misandry

A vlog I made to clear up some of the misunderstandings in the comments of my ‘I need Feminism’ video. I wonder if this one will get as much response.

Tonto, Tootsie, and How Not to Tackle Prejudice

Yesterday I was sitting in the theatre about to watch the Heat, and reading about how Johnny Depp really wanted to represent the plight of the Native American by playing Tonto.  Or something like that, I didn’t save the magazine. I haven’t seen the Lone Ranger, so I don’t know how good a job Johnny does of avoiding racial stereotypes, but the casting of a white guy in this role is, I feel, akin to casting Mickey Rooney as the Asian neighbour in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. We forgive the classics for their arrogance, their racism and misogyny. We pat ourselves on the back for how far we’ve come. And then we cast a well-meaning white-guy in a Native American role. ”I wanted to maybe give some hope to kids on the reservations,” Depp told Rolling Stone. “They’re living without running water and seeing problems with drugs and booze. But I wanted to be able to show these kids, ‘F*** that! You’re still warriors, man.’ ”

Now I’m white, so I can’t really speak for indigenous people. (Or maybe I can, according to Johnny). But I don’t see how seeing Caucasian actors take on the few Native roles in Hollywood is going to give kids on a reservation any hope at all. I suspect that those kids need Captain Jack Sparrow in a stupid bird hat representing them about as much as women need Dustin Hoffman in drag to talk about feminist issues.

Normally that Dustin Hoffman reference would have been slightly dated, but recently there’s been a clip circulating of Dustin brought to tears over the lessons he learned in playing Tootsie. If you haven’t seen it yet, basically Dustin asked the make-up people to make him more beautiful and, upon realizing that they couldn’t do any better, he went home and cried to his wife: “I think that I’m an interesting woman…and I know that if I met myself at a party I would never talk to her, that character, because she doesn’t fulfill physically the demands that we’re brought up to think women have to have in order for us to ask them out…There’s too many interesting women I have not had the experience to know in this life because I have been brainwashed.”

It’s very nice that playing a homely woman made Dustin less shallow, except that Tootsie is one of the most sexist movies imaginable. All the men (including Hoffman’s Mike Dorsey) are thoughtless womanizing dicks while all the women are personality-challenged doormats who need a man in a dress to show them how to be a strong woman. That doesn’t mean the flick isn’t entertaining, just that its attempt to tackle feminism is, at best, quaint.

But hey, it was the 80s. Let’s pat ourselves on the back again over how far we’ve come! Now we have The Heat, an action comedy with female leads. Huzzah! This is a movie that tackles feminism only by its very existence, a movie that never tells us that woman can kick butt and be just as funny as men, but shows us at every turn.  I loved Melissa Mccarthy in bridesmaids and I loved her in The Heat, and Sandra Bullock is her perfect partner, funny in a completely different way. (It’s almost as if two women can have two completely distinct personalities…mind blown). This is the kind of movie that gives me hope, not one that tells me what a victim I am for being a woman, not one where the female lead is played by a man. I’m a little bummed that movies like The Heat are so unusual, but it’s a step in the right direction.

So here’s my idea, how about we let people speak for themselves? Natives can represent Natives, women can represent women, Asians can represent Asians and so on. We are epically awesome in our diversity. Let’s show that in our entertainment.

Happy Birthday Adam!

When my kids are home, my vlogs devolve into scream-fests (honestly this was their most composed take). Anyway, what better way to say happy birthday to my husband and the father of my children than screaming kids and bad poetry? (don’t worry, I also got him a real present)

In case you missed it with all the distractions, here’s that poem again:

Adam, Adam, Adam

by J M Filipowicz

Apple pie with ice cream

Don’t forget pierogies too

All the foods we shouldn’t eat

Make me think of you

Accomplished and artistic

Designer of graphics

And also photographer

Many things to many people

Awesome husband and

Daddy

Always huggable

Manly too.

Controversy

I started vlogging to get myself more comfortable in front of a camera. Until recently, my most popular video got less than thirty views. My youtube account has five subscribers. That’s okay; I’m not a “vlogger”. There are plenty of talented youtubers out there we spent time planning and editing their videos. I just turn my webcam on and chat at it.

My last video I made in support of a campaign called “I need feminism” which started on tumblr to “decrease negative associations with the word that would keep anyone from identifying with the [feminist] movement”. To me, calling yourself a feminist should be like calling yourself an abolitionist. Yes, we’re all against slavery, so we no longer need that label. Yes, we all agree that women are humans deserving of the same rights as men, so there’s no need for the label.

The comments on my video proved that this was not the case. Apparently making a fairly innocuous vlog and tagging it “feminism” is enough to provoke an onslaught if attacking trolls. Some of the first commenters told me that my marriage was doomed to divorce and that my son would commit suicide because I’m a feminist.  Others had clear misconceptions about what feminism is.  I happily corrected them and nearly every response I’ve given has been downvoted until hidden by youtube. I realized that feeding trolls would become a full time job and gave up. Now the comments have devolved into statements about Canadians being Feminazis. The vlog has one hundred and seven downvotes.  It’s also my most watched video.

So 441 views isn’t exactly viral, but it does make me question my approach here. On this blog, I’ve never tackled topics that would be seen as controversial. Perhaps controversy is the way to attract viewers and readership. But is all publicity good publicity? I joked to a friend of mine that some of my new youtube viewers would buy my book just so they could burn it. What if once in a while, instead of steering away from the taboo, I just told people what I think?

Since this blog is likely to have a small spike of viewers because of insecure writers support group day, this is the perfect time to ask for feedback on this. What do you think? What are some of your more controversial opinions?

Also, I could use some support if any of you want to head over to youtube, upvote my video and feed my trolls for me.

I get hit on.

Not the actual train where I met a creep. Photo by Elke Oerter.

Or at least I used to, back when my regular routine included late night commutes to Toronto for a magazine-writing course. I don’t mind creeps, really. It never occurred to me to be afraid of them, especially in a well-lit GoTrain car.

I was looking through my old notebook from those days and found what I at first thought was dialogue from a story, but upon reading it discovered that it was an actual record of an encounter I had on a GoTrain after dark. The following is the transcript I recorded.

“Miss, mind if I sit here?” asks an average-looking white male. (I assume he’s average-looking as I forgot what he looked like immediately after this encounter). Anyway he sits without waiting for a response.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-six,” I respond. Ah, so this happened seven years ago, when I was pregnant with my oldest. I think pregnancy made me give off a certain vibe, a creep-attracting musk. Perhaps this is because I went up a cup-size or two before I ever started showing.

“Sorry that was rude of me, eh?” He says. “That was a rude question.”

“I’m a little young yet to be embarrassed by my age,” I respond.

“Jamie,” he says, as though I asked his name. “Sorry for my sniffling and sneezing. I did a little bingeing last night,” he says.

He pauses and when I don’t answer he continues. “Guess what I binged on?”

“Um…chocolate?” I guess, though I’m quite certain that’s not the substance he’s referring to.

“No, eh, wrong colour. If it was the opposite colour maybe.”

At this point I imagine that the man has been snorting white chocolate.

“You shouldn’t do drugs, eh?” he tells me. “Especially not cocaine.”

“Yes, that’s bad stuff,” I agree.

“I’m not going to do that anymore,” he says. “My nose is so dry I can’t stand it.”

“Good for you,” I tell him. I have no idea why I’m continuing this conversation. Politeness? Boredom? Mild amusement?

“My boss pays me in cocaine. He’s a cheap bastard.” He seriously said this. I wish I’d asked him what kind of job he had, but I didn’t. It’s probably better this way, because if he told me, he would have probably had to kill me.

“You married?” Now that he’s established what a catch he is, it’s time to hit on me.

I hold up my ring. “I’m married.” Thank Spock.

“You’re pretty,” he says.

“Thank you.”

“How old is your husband, Miss?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“That’s good. At least he’s not some creepy forty-year-old. I hate people like that,” he says. “Don’t you?”

“I don’t really hate anybody.”

“Who diddle little kids and shit.”

Apparently this guy thinks that marrying someone ten years younger is the same thing as being a pedophile. “We’re not little kids.”

“No, man, but someone so much younger than them eh?”

He changes the subject, time to ask me for love advice! “I met this girl on the bus yesterday and we really hit it off. And she was really cute. And she gave me her number and shit.”

“That’s good.”

“She…I called her this morning because she told me to call her the next day so I did. And we arranged to meet somewhere,” he rambles. “But when I went she never showed. I waited for like half an hour. What do you think that was all about?”

I shrug. “Maybe something came up.”

“Maybe she just wasn’t interested.”

“Well, she gave you her phone number,” I point out. “I don’t see why she would do that if she wasn’t interested.” In fact, I was later told that some women do, indeed, give their phone numbers out to men they have no interest in, their real phone numbers. I don’t know why. Probably for the same reasons I engage in conversations with cocaine-addicted creepers on the GoTrain.

“She didn’t leave me a message saying why she didn’t show.”

“Oh, well,” I say.

“I like your personality too, eh?” He says. “You’re a nice girl.”

“Thank you.”

“Too bad you’re married. Shoot,” he says. “Tell your husband I that I said you were cute.”

“I will.”

“Ha. Ha. Just joking, eh?” He says. “If you weren’t married would you go out for a coffee with me?”

I’m not sure what I answered, maybe nothing, maybe a noncommittal smile. In any case, the transcript ends there. Now if you’re a lonely-hearted man looking for love I want you to read this over again and remember it as a classic what not to do when approaching women. Study it carefully. What was his first mistake?

Friday Vlog: I need Feminism

And here’s a link to the I need feminism campaign on Tumblr: http://whoneedsfeminism.tumblr.com

Tea

Pictured here is my actual hand, holding the handle of the actual cup of green tea I made for myself before writing this post. The liquid appears reasonably clear as this picture was taken before I took the tea bag out and added all the accoutrements.  Normally I would take lemon and honey in this beverage, but today I added ginger and garlic as well because I have recently come down with a sore throat. This is possibly my penance for not being overly sympathetic when my husband and possibly my daughter suffered the same ailment.

I’ve seen the combination of ginger, honey, garlic and lemon, hailed as a miracle cure in the tabloids. I’m doubtful of their claims, but the bite of garlic and ginger, along with the soothing sweetness of honey, and tangy lemon in a hot beverage, is a miracle for a sore throat. (At least while I’m drinking it, two minutes after the cup is empty the soreness comes right back).

Now I must get back to my to-do list, which, because of my mild ailment, has items on it like “drink tea”, “read book”, and “nap” along with my usual writing goals and household chores. Drink tea: check. I am so productive this morning.

My editing troubles

Here I vlog about my time management problems during the editing process.

Thoughts on the Book Launch

A crowd gathers at A Different Drummer, a bookstore frequented often in my childhood. Ian, the owner, provides juice while my Mom and I set out desserts and fruit platters. Copies of my Wardroids stand alongside my mother’s Dying to go Viral. The covers look as though they’re talking to each other, both characters leaning casually on one hip.

With my mother I work the room, greeting friends and family who have come to celebrate with us. A photographer for the Post takes our pictures. I feel like a star.

Ian gives the introduction, then Mom and I take the stage. After Oscar-style thank yous we talk about our ideas and our process. We are a team in front of the podium. The crowd listens to our every word. Mom reads from her book and I read from mine.

We open the floor to questions and when few are presented, we ask each other. My mother surveys the audience, “Who here has written a book?” Hands shoot up. We applaud each other.

 

As our friends devour fudge and chocolate-dipped bacon, I sit beside my mother and a line forms in front of us. We sign like celebrities. Finally everyone who wants a book has one, and the book store is deserted.

There are short moments of celebration in the solitary life of a writer. I’m learning to cherish them. Though I don’t know how many books were sold, and I can’t be sure if there was a monetary profit, the launch was worth it for the joy of being in the limelight if only for a moment. Now I’m back to working on my next book, muddling through the second draft, fitting scenes together like puzzle pieces.

And I’m also back to doing laundry and cooking dinner for my family.

 

Things I need to do to prepare for my book launch

1. Pick out an outfit. I need a stylish ensemble that says “professional author” but doesn’t make me look and feel awkward. My regular wardrobe consists of nerdy t-shirts and jeans and I’m thinking of pairing that with a fashion-forward red jacket I found at a thrift store. Of course, if it’s too hot on Sunday and I have to lose the jacket I could end up looking too casual. Also due to a recently discovered hole in my most flattering jeans, I might end up in dress pants.

2. Figure out what I’m going to say. I need to give an Oscar-style speech thanking people without boring everyone in the room. Then I’ll talk about the idea behind Wardroids, though, as I’ve said before, pinpointing where ideas come from is like pinpointing where dreams come from.

3. Decide what I’m going to read. I have to pick an ultra-interesting part of the book that doesn’t give away the plot. Unfortunately, all my favourite scenes have big spoilers. Also my favourite character tends to swear a bit and I’m sure there will be children present. I have a few scenes in mind that might work.

If you can make it to A Different Drummer on Sunday at 2 pm, I’d love to see you there. A crowd is always better. Also, my Mom is having an online book launch for Dying to Go Viral tomorrow from 1:30 to 2 pm at youtube/SylviaMcNicoll. Dying to Go Viral is a beautiful story and is in my top five favourite McNicoll novels so check that out too.