Schooled.

This is one of those random stories I was talking about…

I was about 34 and in his office.

He, on the other hand, couldn’t have been more than 27.

This wasn’t the only time this would happen to me. Chastized, scolded, treated as an underling, when in fact, I was someone’s elder.

To what did I owe this encounter?

Somehow, it had gotten out that I had called Mrs. Smith–the teacher I had been summoned to replace. The subject? French.

Years ago, I’d known it well enough to have kept a drunken Quebecois man at bay. Yet to contend with a room full of teenagers…?

Something in the day’s instructions had given me pause.

So I picked up the phone.

Our exchange had been light, airy–even sunshiny.

“Have a lovely time with my kids!”

“Thanks!”

“Let me know if you need anything else!”

But here I was, sitting on the opposite side of the vice principal’s desk.

For some reason, the fact that I’d dared to call a colleague was alarming.

I was being reprimanded. I was there without cause, and I was in shock.

I held my tongue. For a second, I considered the expression on my face. Did I look afraid? I was.

Any misstep with these people could mean the end of my career.

All the while, I had wanted to defend myself…

Did you know that I used to go here? If you look closely enough at the photos of the alumni in the hallway upstairs, you’ll find me. (I’d wanted to add “…before you were born….” to my imaginary rant. I’d wanted the VP to feel the weight that the phrase could bring, even though it wasn’t accurate.)

Did you know that some of the teachers and staff who knew me still work here?

This school was every bit my turf as it was his.

And then there was the question that I wanted to ask most of all…Why are you talking to me like I’m 12? I’M A PROFESSIONAL!! I hadn’t called Mrs. Smith so I could ask her how to bake a pie. I know how to speak to my colleagues. I may be sweet, but I am not a fool.

There are a few things that I reckon I will miss about my non-career as a teacher. The rudeness of some of my coworkers is NOT one of them.

Tell your tales.

If you haven’t watched this video, please do.

Chimamanda inspires me. She and I are around the same age. More importably, she’s had the courage to tell her stories, while I have not.

Over the time I’ve had this blog, I’ve wrestled with the idea of telling every random story that’s on my mind. Some of them seem like a departure from the pop culture/TV/spirituality paradigm that I’ve set up. Yet I know that silence has done me a disservice. There are too many singular stories floating around. By speaking, I know that I have the power to offer a new level of reality to the limited narratives that exist.

Well, well, well.

This is what I get for being a fan of truth-tellers.

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Honesty.

Since finishing TV school, I’ve been in a curious space.

In the past, I would have been frightened.

I’m looking for work. I’ve started to send out applications.

And nothing is happening…Yet.

A part of me can’t help but wonder. What am I (not) doing? I need something to happen–NOW!!!

Meanwhile deep down, my sense of hope is strong.

I can’t help but feel as though something good is on the other side of this “nothing”.

I just wish I knew what it was.

Dear Religion: Do better.

It’s been a while.

I was happy with not writing about religion. I was doing fine enjoying my God-given life without mentioning it. And then this article showed up in my Twitter timeline.

Reading my namesake’s story reminded me of my childhood. When I was younger I attended a couple of Christian elementary schools. I remember in grades 5-8, at my second school, we had more than cliques to deal with. We had cliques and hormones. (Yay!?!) My classmates never thought I was attractive. But there were a few girls whose appearance made them notorious.

They were what “the world”–aka any typical human being–would consider attractive. Thin. Beautiful. At least two of them were blonde. One of my (female) teachers seemed obsessed with preying on them for little more than the way they looked. (This was before the notion of the “hot Christian woman” became popular. Back then, I think they were regarded as young Jezebels.) We were never BFFs, but I used to hear tales of them being reprimanded regarding nonsensical things such as the length of their skirts and whether or not they were wearing lipstick.

I’ve never talked about slut-shaming on my blog. (I know what it means, but I don’t care for the term.) That said, I’ve always been amazed at people who believe that saying Jesus’ name excuses them from just about everything. Those folks need a newsflash. I think it’s high time they realized that “knowing Jesus” does not give anyone the right to be as bigoted or ignorant as they like.

Honestly…Certain things are evil not because they actually are, but because people have chosen to make them so. I wish more religious individuals understood this. Grown men need to learn to control their sexual urges. At the very least, if they struggle with controlling them, they ought to be able to grasp that having sexual impulses does not entitle one to think of the object(s) of their desire as the enemy.

Just last week I was contemplating a so-called controversial issue and religious people’s inability to deal with it. I remember thinking, “All these people…I wonder if they know that God expects them to be sensible.” God gave us our brains. We must not be afraid to use them.

“Talk Dino to me.”

Once again, Hollywood has been rifling through my childhood.

For those of you who are suspicious, no. Andre’s not kidding.

I don’t know what to say. I crossed myself when he mentioned CGI. I saw a clip of the original Flinstones series a few days ago. I was a child all over again.

What do you think? Is a new Flinstones film a good idea? Or are production companies getting desperate?

Broadbent Sisters – Poolside: Clearing Spaces

The Broadbent Sisters are an artistic duo who are, truly, sisters.

Since last year, Rose and Joy have been hosting shows at Toronto’s Huntclub Studio. I had the privilege of attending their most recent exhibit, held Thursday night.

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Dressed in identical blue outfits, the ladies even gave guests hand massages.

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Overall, the mood in the room was joyful. And I’ll admit it. I remained shy about taking photographs. Nevertheless, I had a lovely time.

Here’s to more urban adventures!