The Homeless Guy Who Just Asked Me For 5 Cents.

Mariah Carey pictured here with A Homeless.

Guest Post: The Homeless Guy Who Just Asked Me For 5 Cents.
By: Ethan Gaybriel

This is a guest post by a dear, queer, Brazillian friend of mine;      Mr. Ethan Gaybriel.

Ethan is the bestest man ever. We met about 2 years ago in a sociology class I eventually dropped. Ethan was looking hot, gorgeous and fashionable while I was drawing topless, headless, hopelessly disproportionate women, rabbits on fire, and some laughing flowers in my binder. Glancing over at the macabre mess, Ethan immediately said “I’ve only known you for about 10 minutes, but I feel like I’ve known you for 10 years.”

We’ve been soulmates eversince.

Ethan is a fierce pavement stomping nazi killer with a BA in Linguistics and will be poking around PDDP once in a while to ejaculate brilliance all over us from his Beautiful Mind. Make him feel welcome and be sure to check out his website. ~Love, D.C.

To: The homeless guy who just asked me for 5 cents

Everyday I see you sitting outside my grocery store asking people for 5 cents.

Your life must really suck but its hard to feel sorry for someone who doesn’t seem to ask for much out of life – 5 cents? I mean come on, really? Even our expressions that we use in daily life use higher amounts than that. For example “you’re not getting a dime from me” and “10 cent whore” are both expressions meant to be used with a very small amount to illustrate a point and even these use a higher amounts than 5 cents. 5 cents is so ridiculously low that its almost like asking for a penny and almost as ridiculous as asking for hundreds of dollars. It really speaks volumes about you.

I was really tempted to talk to you about this today especially since you don’t seem like a crazy.

If you had asked me for food, I would have treated you to an excellent meal which would certainly cost more than 5 cents. I would have turned right back around, gone back to the hot food section of the supermarket and gotten you something to eat. That would benefit you a lot more than 5 cents.

If you had asked me to help you find work, I’d be more than happy help you with a resume and even applying for jobs on your behalf using my contact information since its safe to assume you have none. God, I know places that will hire ANYONE… I know one place in particular that you walk in and as long as you speak English (reasonably well, not even perfect) you have an instant job at $11/hour – 40 hours per week. I know $11/hour is pretty low but I’m pretty damn sure that making $1760/month is a better gig than sitting outside a supermarket asking for 5 cents here and there (I’ve never seen anyone give you any money). It may not be enough to really have a decent lifestyle but it sure as hell should be enough to get you off the streets.

If you need help getting clean from drugs (though you don’t really look like an addict, but I guess lots of addicts don’t look it) i’d be happy to help you get into a program.

If you need clothes to wear to your interviews, I can set you up.

If you need a place to sleep…..well you’re out of luck, I’m not having you in my apartment but I can try and help you find a shelter or something.

I would actually love the opportunity to help you out, but don’t ask me for 5 friggin cents. Its degrading to you and really doesn’t elicit any sympathy from me, strangely enough I get angry and lose any good will towards you. You can ask me for things like food, clothes, etc but I will not give you any cash.
—————————

If only I could actually say that to his face without being afraid of getting stabbed or gang banged and killed by his homeless posse or something. :s

–Ethan Gaybriel

Link Pimping!

OMG! I’m addicted!!!

First:

LOOK AT THIS FUCKING HIPSTER

(the website)

and

!!!I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant!!!

I’m a Buddhist (Even though I’ve punched a lot of people in anger)

I’m a Buddhist (Even though I’ve punched a lot of people in anger)

By Grandpa Dinosaur

Buddhism can’t be learned all at once, you don’t ace it, there is nothing you win or supposed to win really other then the chance to NOT be reincarnated. Well you do get to be awesome, and let’s face it, I’m awesome. Joking aside, the fact that you’re human and eat other living creatures kind of sets you up for fail. I mean like, way to be cruel to animals even if it is an animal’s sacrifice to be eaten and stuff, it’s hella harsh.

You can’t read a book about Buddhism and be like, “yeah THIS.” You actually have to use it in context, memorizing the teachings isn’t enough. It doesn’t make you a Buddhist. People expect me to summarize Buddhism in like an essay, or defend it as if it was against other religions? In summary, people are retarded. And then they get mad because it a) Clashes with their (religious) beliefs b) They don’t understand c) They refuse to acknowledge Buddhism as a legitimate religion (see Eurocentrism).

It’s difficult to understand and difficult to explain, but Buddha’s a teacher. He was a real person in history. He’s not a god, he was no the son of god, he was some dude that saw the world and was like… Life is suffering. Although he was rumoured supposedly had influence on snakes and could make lotus bloom under his feet when he walked. I don’t believe that shit myself and I don’t expect others to swallow it. What I learn for Buddhism is for away to stay on a path in where I can refrain from selfishness and petty self-indulgences and live a life that is good and giving.

I don’t try to rush out and learn every lesson, but learn a Buddhist teaching one by one and retain the teachings by using them in my every day life. But there are times when living in the modern world you cannot always be Buddhist and you must make bad decisions. I make EVERY decision, LIKE EVERY DECISION, by contemplating how much I am willing to live with the guilt of hurting someone. I’m a Buddhist, but I still fight. I still get beat up. I still have to defend those weaker than me from those who will not rationalize.

This is my Buddhist Thought process when fighting:
Why am I fighting?
Am I in danger?
a)can it be resolved with non-violence and reason b) is my life or someone in danger*
a) rationalize
Example: Has he punched me yet?
a) yes b) no
a) Use the pressure and force from his/her attack to flip them or strain their own body by exerting pressure to where they are the most tense (it’s complicated to explain**)
b) Problem solved
a continued ) You win the fight

*It can also mean, that they are being dishonoured (racism, sexism, bullying)
**I’ve been lucky that all of my opponents were just wannabes, just standing still and directing a hit to the arm at an angle while the person was throwing a strong punch and I hurt their arm. Guiding someone running into me into a wall. It was learned and perfected, but eventually lost when I gave up fighting. It was karma.

I hate it when people are like, “you’re not a Buddhist because you engage in conflict.” People don’t understand that life is conflict, being it human or decision making. It’s always about making the best or better decision. I dislike when people tell me that I shouldn’t fight. I’m not a monk living in solitary isolation where I can abstain from touching the opposite sex. I actually live in the real world. Yes I should be fighting, but I can’t allow someone weaker than me get abused or allow people to beat me up because I’m supposed to believe in pacifism. I feel like Vash in Trigun where **SPOILERS** Vash the Stampede is forced to kill Legato Bluesummers **SPOILERS** even though he wants to live in peace and not be bothered.

And a second thing is that people have a misconception that Buddhism (”like other religions”) is engaged in a war with other religions. Buddhist rarely go to war, there has never been a war started by Buddhism. Those who became military leaders that were Buddhist renounced their Buddhism saying that they couldn’t represent their former religion and be a murderer. I did research on this but lost the research. (I’m an idiot.) Buddhists are in fact encouraged by Buddha to reach other religious scripts to understand their religions in order to live in harmony with them. I’ve read the bible as a child and plan to read it again in the future as well that the Koran. I do celebrate CHRISTIAN holidays because if Buddha gives the green light for reading other religions, he definitely doesn’t sweat the small stuff.

In fact he doesn’t care if you love him and IN FACT you’re supposed to love and respect your mother more than Buddha. When I talk about Buddha, I feel like a happy groupie screaming for my favourite rock star. But I’ve always been weird.

I also think what is weird about people is that they are so, like, “DUDE aren’t you afraid of going to hell for not being a Christian?”

And I’m like, “NO! I’m afraid of being reincarnated as a fucking dog!”

I mean Buddhism gets no respect because people think that we’re not afraid of hell. Listen up dudes! EARTH IS HELL! Life is hell! This is suffering. The only way out IS enlightenment. Even then it’s debatable, some Buddhist say there is a heaven, other’s say you get reincarnated as something awesome if you are good in this life. Not all Buddhists are the same or practice the religion the same way. Not all Buddhists are good, not all monks are true monks. Hell, I can tell you all day about the corrupt monks I’ve met.

I really do like being a Buddhist, I see how petty or self-absorbed/concerned some of my friends can be about appearances, Buddha helped me accept myself and my body. It’s why I don’t have eating problems or appearances issues. Buddha helped me love who I am. To love a walk after a light rain, to notice a snail under a leaf, a robin sitting on the same bench I am. Buddha helps me focus what I want to do in life, helped me stay in school.  There were times I was mad at him, even though I knew it was not his fault but people being evil. I am glad that Buddha is my teacher and my secret friend.

HAPPY CANADA DAY!!

HAPPY CANADA DAY!!

From the girls of PDDP, we hope everyone has a safe, great day off work and enjoys themselves!!

Canada is 142 years old today so enjoy some fireworks, free food n’ pop open a 40 oz!

JOYEUSE FÊTE DU CANADA À TOUS LES CANADIENS ET CANADIENNES!

Nous vous souhaitons une joyeuse fête du Canada, amusez-vous !

…And we’ll be seeing ya’ll real soon! À bientôt!

Legendary.

Michael Jackson, the one and only King of pop, has passed away today.

Davita loves Michael Jackson. Grandpa loves Michael Jackson. Millions all over the world love Michael Jackson, and will continue to love him.

He was eccentric, he was bold, he was fascinating, he was strange, he was wild, he was cool, he was kind, he was sweet, he was odd, he was mysterious, he was inspiring, he was controversial, he was a musical genius and above all, he was so, so human. Growing up in poverty and many hardships, he still preservered and became a musical and cultural icon; uncomparable to any other.

I remember hard and sad days where Michael Jackson sang me to sleep.

I remember vibrant, happy days where Michael Jackson sang as I watched my parents dance and reminice happily.

As a little girl, Michael Jackson was the first Black person I saw sing on TV.

I remember cold, winter days where Michael Jackson sang me to school.

I remember hot, summer days where Michael Jackson sang in the car on the way out to clubbing with friends and how we sang along at the top of our lungs, happily speeding down the freeway.

I’m sure Michael Jackson has sang through a lot of difficult things for people, from weddings to cancer; he was there for many all over the world: every creed, colour, religion and sexuality. He  will continue to be there through his music and trademarked dance-moves and fashion sense.

Condolences to the Jackson family; especially his three children. I hope his spirit is at peace.

Michael Jackson, you were awesome and loved by many! You will be missed.

Michael Joseph Jackson
August 29, 1958–June 25, 2009
R.I.P

Beauty and the Fabulous Beast

Beauty and the Fabulous Beast
The Vulture’s Return
Cut by: Davita Cuttita

Hello Lover-la-Dahs! How’ve ya’ll been?

I’ve been quite M.I.A for a while so apologies to those of you who know me personally and double-apologies to those of you who don’t. And of course, of course—thank you as always to everyone and anyone for your continuing support of PDDP.

Wow.

I seriously cannot believe it’s been over a month since my last post. Over the past while, I’ve had a lot of family affairs to attend to, successfully completed year two at University, moved, landed a new job and some new debt and visited the US for the fourth time in my life (which I’ll write about later on).

So let’s get started!

If I am a fundamentalist of anything, I would 100% categorize myself as an audio fundamentalist—I love sound so music plays a major and daily part in my life. I basically listen to anything and everything (but typically detest Top 40).

On Wednesday night, I had the absolute pleasure of experiencing the rarity of an actual musician rather than some commercial carbon copy and saw one of my all-time favourites live: PATRICK WOLF of South London!

One of the many photos I snapped of Patrick Wolf.

The show was a pure, organic, mind-blowing experience full of energy and Patrick Wolf brought it despite the shit venue’s audio problems and delays. He was beyond fierce, he was Fierce with a Capital F and I do not regret a damn thing about that night and definitely got my money’s worth—especially since he started off in an odd costume and kept taking off articles of clothing until he was left in nothing but a bondage harness thong that exposed his magnificent British buttocks.

Now my friends and I were basically rammed by the stage as we were only four rows back and the venue was fairly small and without seats, so the view was great but I was still IRKED by one little of thing.

Riddle me this: Why is it people go to concerts and stand in front of the fucking stage with their arms crossed, maybe bob their heads slightly and just watch? Am I missing something?

FURTHERMORE, why do these bitches have to be like 10 feet tall straight men in bad t-shirts that stand in front of all us average-to-short height people?! Hmmn? HMMMN?!?!? They weren’t security.

Has this ever happened to you? You’re all having fun out somewhere and ONE tall, miserable person stands defiantly in your way for no reason?

Patrick Wolf is gay (or “unclassified”) so there were some gay men present at the concert as well, flocking forward to the stage along with the other girls, my friends and I. At the end of the day, a gay man and a straight girl are both Card-Carrying, Cheerleading Supporters of Team Dick. Fair enough. Let us get a little closer since you don’t seem to be enjoying yourself anyway. But nooooo.

Girls and Gays jumping, dancing and screaming behind you; trying to get our money’s worth by enjoying themselves and showing some fuckin’ enthusiasm while you just stand there like a block of cement, unmoving, expressionless, arms folded. Don’t just fuckin’ stand there and grimace, raining on our parade, geddafuckouttadaway!

Anyhoo, *le sigh.* This is not all I’m going to talk about or wanted to talk about with this post.

Besides, the guy quickly got the picture once the stage was flooded with gals n’ gays in a frenzy so we were fortunate enough to still have a great view, touch Mr. Wolf when he jumped into the crowd to dance with people, danced our asses off and I also got loads of great video footage, (scandalous British bootay!) pictures and memories. That was just my little irk of the night I wanted to share with you all.

Appearances are a very important thing in our society and its summertime now so I know the heat is literally being turned up underneath our fabulous behinds.

To touch on my Amerika trip a little, I was in New York, Queens and Brooklyn for a bit and honestly, I only go to the States to shop and partake in a bit of gorging.

I have this anxiety about living in or visiting Los Angeles. I don’t think I could ever live in LA because I just have these NIGHTMARISH fantasies about caving in to peer pressure and becoming a stick-thin silicone toting cyborg in high heels and a mini skirt.

During the show last night, Mr. Wolf told the audience about a trip to LA in which he ran into some people that defined true beauty as having “no fat on you”, getting your moles surgically removed and getting a tan.

“Look at me,” he said posing in his leather thong “You’re looking at the typical English person. I’ve never been to the gym, I have moles, I have cellulite and I don’t tan. I have it all!” he finished in a sexy, proud voice.

“Those people talked like they want us all to become cyborg—tanned brown cyborgs! It’s scary! So I decided to become a vulture and tear all that ‘dead meat’ away!”

I have a few moles and cellulite too. I’m 128lbs at 5”7 and I work out 3 or 4 days of the week but my thighs still jiggle a bit sometimes.

And yes, there are days when I’m wearing my black leather liquid metal style tights n’ freak-um heels then go out to stomp the pavement and still have to mentally cuss myself out about the minimal upper thigh-jiggles only I notice and say “Bitch, you jiggle ‘cuz you’re real!”

Lovers, WE ARE SUPPOSED TO JIGGLE A BIT! Do not be afraid of the love.

Can you imagine a world in which cheeks or tummies didn’t jiggle when we laughed? A world in which titties didn’t jiggle when women jumped, asses didn’t jiggle plushly when they were slapped, thighs didn’t jiggle a little as you ran, jumped, played Twister or had them caressed?

I don’t think I’d want to live anymore because we’d all be made out of dried plastecine.

We have all these fluidities, these “flaws”, all these interesting things about the human body because we are real and we are alive. Sometimes, you just have to Tim Gunn your way through a bad body image rut and “make it work”. If you have it all, work it all!

So things to come? The Pimpin’ page will be updated with some explosively delicious and interesting new material as soon as I can figure some shit out and I have lots to say about Amerika. This is all near-future stuff, I promise!

For now, I’ll just leave ya’ll with a little taste of the Bleach-blonde fever I caught last night as a reminder that we can all tear furiously through the “dead meat” of superficial expectations.

Choices By Grandpa Dinosaur

Choices

By Grandpa Dinosaur

Davita Cuttita is Pro-Life.

Her culture is one of responsibility. If you are able to have sex and get pregnant—if you do get pregnant—it is your responsibility to have and raise that child.

I am not Pro-Life. I am not Anti-Abortion. I am Pro-Choice.

Which is funny because I am a Buddhist, shouldn’t I be pro-life. But being a Buddhist has taught me that things are complicated and being a understanding, flexible and firm Buddhist means experiencing, learning and understanding.

No convincing will make me change my life. I have never participated in an abortion. I almost did. When I went to High School, there was a girl who had been in my class and approached me one day. She would be considered “White Trash” even to other White people, back then I would have never thought much about it. There were racist hicks everywhere who would act the same, trying to pass themselves off as prep, polished and urban. She approaches me one day, I am writing. It is English. She says, “punch me in the stomach.”

Of course, I’m CRAZY and I told her that she’s fucking stupid and she leaves. Shocked and appalled. I turn back to my work, and her cousin walk up to me and says, “Lucky you didn’t punch her, she was pregnant and was trying to have an abortion.”

Eventually I would learn, years after, that she already had one special needs child who was addicted to crack, she had 7 abortions, done with a drug cocktail to the abdomen or other horrible means and she only had one true, decent abortion in a clinic. And the one to provide her with her last and least humiliating abortion was the mother of her boyfriend, shocked that her son had not provided the girl with any other options, helped her, disgusted that the young high school girl had been doing it herself. It made re-think my once pro-life stance as not only a decision of myself, but a decision I would be making for others.

I pick up various magazines, to stay connected with the media. (But never influenced.) The most defining words I’ve read was in an article in Bust by Amber Tamblyn that says:

“It’s odd to me how controversial the idea of basic women’s health care is. I do not understand the idea of anyone being pro-abortion; I think it’s an oxymoronic term. At no point is a woman like, ‘Yay! I’m going to get this done.’ “

I cannot imagine a more degrading experience than going to an abortion clinic to kill your child while being marched down a path with protesters attacking you.

A while ago, I read an article in Feministe had a woman talking about how she was forced to have an abortion because her child would not live long. Here I will place the quote.

“Our baby wasn’t going to live. And whatever time he spent in the womb, or out, was just going to be painful. Pain that you or I cannot imagine.

A boy.

We were given two options: Carry on with the pregnancy, knowing what was to come, ignore his pain, and ours.

Or terminate the pregnancy.

Not much else to be said, really; we made the most kind decision, one that no parent-to-be should ever have to make.

A harrowing, sad, anguished couple of weeks followed. I mostly just remember being in the recovery room, missing him so much. Alone suddenly after weeks of activity.

Alone with our broken dreams.

I had aborted at 21 weeks. My body thought it had delivered a baby who needed sustenance, so it began to lactate. Just another painful reminder of what was lost.”

I know of women who have had to have an abortion or they would die. I know of women who’ve had an abortion whose child would not live past a year. Women who are unable to care for more children. Women who knew they would grow to resent and hate their children. Women’s whose options opposed to abortion, were worst than the act itself. Is the value of a child more the life of it’s mother, and how do you make that decision for the mother?

That is why I am Pro-Choice. Because I know what it’s like to have no choices, or feel like you have no choices. To make a wrong choice, or make a choice that feel wrong but a choice you had to make. I know how it feels to have your father, or the men in your community, your brothers, men on the news, try to control you. I’ve been called a murderer for so many different, varying reasons. I know what it’s like. It’s not easy. It’s hard. Sometimes it was mistake or an accident. Sometimes it was intentional.

I understand I’m a murderer too. I kill and eat animals. I eat crops, step on plants. I kill insects that annoy me. Accidentally killed a pet. And no one can make you feel like a shitty murderer like vegetarians. They will tell you meat is murder and you’re a murderer. They’ll even treat your worst than an abortionist. I’ve met some shitty, righteous vegetarians in my life. And You know what, people a murderers, they murder other humans. We have always lived a life where there has been senseless actions, senseless murders.

You’re probably thinking, “but that’s different.” And I reply, “how?” To me, being a Buddhist, the life of a flower, a bird, a cow, a horse, a tiger, a doctor, a homeless person, has the same delicate value and trivialness. I understand that I kill animals to eat, I understand people die in war for their beliefs, people kill to protect their livelihoods and to live. Things are so senseless. And it’s not like I’m not a murder sympathizer, sometimes I’m happy when a child molester is killed or a racist is trampled. I’m not a perfect Buddhist, but I’m not a monk. I do not live sequestered in a monastery. I live outside, where I am forced to make choices, and everyday I try to make the best choice. The most Buddhist choice, if not possible, the choice that is the most easiest to live with. Nothing deserves to die, but everyone does.

Sometimes that’s not or choice, sometimes it is our choice…. Sometime we don’t get to make that choice. There are no easy answers sometimes, but there are choices. I hope that everyone makes the best one, but I won’t hate them too much if they don’t.

Forbidden Love: A (short) Documentary Review

Forbidden Love:
The Unashamed Stories of Lesbian Lives
A (short) Documentary Review
By Grandpa Dinosaur

“Compelling, often hilarious and always rebellious, nine women paint a portrait of lesbian sexuality against a backdrop of tabloid headlines, book covers and dramatizations from lesbian pulp novels.

Ever since the NFB launched as a mechanism for showcasing Canada to Canadians, it has produced documentaries on the nation in all its variety. Well, almost all. Despite the work of Studio D (sadly shuttered a decade ago) to produce films by and about women, Canada on screen appeared as a land without lesbians. Enter Lynne Fernie and Aerlyn Weissman, whose groundbreaking documentary excavated archives from Liquor Board photo files to ’50s paperback racks, recreating the details of lesbian life in postwar Canada. With a cast of unrivaled raconteurs spinning their tales, Forbidden Love fills in the blanks in the national psyche. It even invents a faux period drama to give shape to its lesbian elders’ memories. Here is pleasure, lust, and heartbreak writ large, as if a Sirkian lesbian director had trained her florid lens on the joys and tragedies of the girls “in the life.” An exquisite work of imaginative historiography. B. Ruby Rich.”

As a lesbian, I feel that Lesbian media that is not derogatory, NOT marketed to males and actually enjoyable is scarce. To me, gay media to lesbian media is like a joke. There is so little non-embarassing lesbian media out in the world. After attending 2009 Toronto Comics Festival, I was invited to attend to watch a movie “about Lesbians.” I had no idea what I was getting into. I was very glad I went.

The documentary, Forbidden Love: The Unashamed Stories of Lesbian Lives, covered Lesbianism in early Canadian History, the pulp-fiction that guided Lesbians despite their anti-homosexual conclusions. There were two women, a Haida woman from Canada and a Black woman who was a travelling singer that really stood out to me as they were both women of colour. Their presence in the media made me feel a bit better being a lesbian, although I’m a lesbian, I still like my privacy. I don’t feel I should go touting my “pride” in parades, I’d prefer to go to a bar and have a conversation with a woman, then have my life be a stage show. I find myself siding with Wanda Sykes, when she spoke up about proposition 8 with her lover stressing that she had wanted her privacy but could not condone the dissolution of marriage for homosexuals.

The documentary was wonderful. It had a lot of good music, however the movie may no longer be available to see in theatre showings as the music rights have expired which why I was hesitant to do this review. Good media on Lesbianism, as I mentioned in the starting paragraph, has always been scarce. If you are at all interested in Lesbian History in Canada, the way that Lesbians acted, dressed, where they went to socialize, the documentary covers a lot of it. I particularly laughed when one of the Lesbian couples dressed up as butch and femme and visited a town looking for other Lesbians. The documentary is really well made and has won various awards, in fact I’d love to own it.

If you can see it, do check it out!

Talkin’ n’ Shit, Race and Representation in a Nutshell.

Side-Eye game proper!!

Talkin’ n’ Shit, Race and Representation in a Nutshell.
Cut by: Davita Cuttita

Firstly, I gotta apologize for the haitus because Grandpa Dinosaur is having technical difficulties of the hilarious variety  which prevent her from posting  (she can’t type “I”s and “K”s and uses a laptop) and I myself am up to my ass in final exams and papers so things will be slow until end-of-the-month-ish. It’s after one o’clock in the momofukkin’ mornin’, I have been reading and writing in French and Japanese all damn day and my brain just suddenly “flipped the skrip” and shut down.

So anyway, one of the things irkin’ me lately seems to be representation and perception.

At University, you get to meet a lot of international students who feel like they’re representing their country. Not all of them mind you, some of them assimilate into the Canadian “mosaic” quite readily but others attempt to carry themselves in a certain, almost diplomatic way. Bouncing around through almost any language and subject I can squeeze in between my double-majors makes meeting these students easier and easier and their concerns seem to sing the same refrain many Coloured people can relate to. For (made up) example…

If a Nigerian student gets caught cheating, all the Nigerian students suddenly go on edge and step up, attempting to prove they can be better while simultaneously fearing that they will be associated with said act.

If an Asian student passes out from stresss and fatigue, all the other Asian student up the ante to succeed.

If an African student is stereotyped as “starving,” they’ve gotta somehow “prove” that not everyone who lives there is running after planes attempting to catch UN care packages.

In short, the International Students seem to have to fight twice as hard against not only existing stereotypes, but also against stupid, “wild fire” stereotypes if one of them just so happens not to have a good day, commit a crime or otherwise. They have to pull out the big guns when they step into the ring against guilt by association.

This just doesn’t seem to transfer over to White students at all. And for the purposes of this article, when I say White, I’m not talking about White International students or even White French-Canadian students(which I haven’t met that many of); I’m talking about White Canadian students.

I find that many International students and also some Coloured students, seem to have this invisible burden of constantly trying to prove that they are capable but also that they are NOT stereotypes.

Grandpa says she’s Cambodian and suddenly, everyone thinks it’s OK to steal her work or attempt to coerce her into doing their assignments.

I say I’m Jamaican and people automatically think I spend all day running up and down the fucking beach and know where to score the best weed (which I’ve never smoked in my life, by the way).

I’ve just been trying to figure out why White Canadian students don’t seem to have this same complex that dictates somehow that their actions are also ambassadors to the world; this complex that seems to demand dignified representation and a constant fight against stereotypes. This complex that seems to dictate that we owe our native countries something, that we owe our communities something.

My very first year, I met a Black girl from Nairobi, Kenya. She spoke with a British accent since she grew up under that system. We were having lunch after class one day and she said out of all the people she’d met so far, I was the only one who actually asked her what Africa was like. I was really surprised to hear that response since she lived in (a predominantly White) residence at the time, so I asked her what the other students said when she told them where she was from.

“They asked me what I was doing here and if Africa isn’t full of starving people like they’d seen on TV.”

OK. That’s fucked up.

Especially since my friend is rich; so rich in fact that she moved out of residence the next year after a drunk White student broke into her dorm, stole some cash and smashed her shit at two in the morn. She was living in a condominium at Harbour Front by herself at the age of  20 (yes, the Harbour Front with the live swans, ships, lake Ontario and all that fancy shit in the heart of downtown Toronto where all the affluent business people live).

Last I checked, she quit this bitch called Canadada-Land and went back to Nairobi and landed an accounting internship. Apparently, the fruits and Indian restaurants there are superior. *shrugs*

And now I am tired as hell.

Tough times, tough times! I’m looking for a new job right now but this poor guy was rejected from McDonalds. Highly reccommended for your enjoyment, lover-la-dah. Till next time…

A really short post

I used to joke around and say that “King City is Racist, but there ain’t an Ontario school more Racist than Keswick.”

You know what’s sad. Five years later the joke came true. Seriously. This is an example of how anti-racism is SILENCED in York Region. People think I’m joking when I said I was beat up by groups of White Teenage peers, fought back and got in trouble. The truth is, it’s true.

I like how a student is saying “you don’t know both sides of the story.” The typical “lalala, racism doesn’t exist,” “he started it,” “he deserved it” garbage that so many people in York Region say.

Till this day they reward racism, not punish it. I may come off as anti-White, but maybe if you weren’t so sensitive and ignorant you’d realize I’m coming off Anti-racist.

Keswick, you’re still more racist than King City—to ridiculous levels. This doesn’t make King City less racist though, it still sucks too.  –Grandpa Dinosaur

Link to Angry Asian Man
Link to York Region Article