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Remy Sets Sail

“The confused musings of an old soul…on the a delicate marriage of romance and insanity.”

I wear a small two-tone medallion of an eight-point compass rose around my neck.

The Romans first used it. In the middle ages, the Arabs perfected the symbol. In all cases, ancient and contemporary, its use has remained constant for centuries. The compass rose indicates the four cardinal directions on a map: north, south, east and west.
In short, it shows the way. It is direction for the lost, salvation for the doomed.

Sailors, overland explorers and later aviators placed their trust onto its faithful petals. I thought it could do the same for me.

Hold onto the thread…

Her name was Remy. Her name still is Remy. I’m reasonably certain she didn’t change it. I know for a fact she isn’t dead. I only refer to her in the past tense because she has no place in my future.
In keeping with the nautical theme, Remy’s ship has sailed. It never made port and appears on the Lloyd’s List as having been “lost at sea”. I like to think it ventured into the Bermuda Triangle of relationships and disappeared…fated to resurface abandoned years later and cause us all to scratch our heads in bewilderment as to would forsake such a lovely vessel for the cruelty of the unforgiving sea.
Well, me, for starters. And, by the way, her name isn’t really Remy.

I’d had that compass rose medallion for years. It used to sit in a small red box, resting lightly on a square of spongy Styrofoam, waiting silently on my bookshelf. One day, I took it out and put it on and silently prayed for a little direction.

The currents will shift…

Glide me towards you…

And then, like the waves in the song, Remy rolled gently into my life. At first, I was drawn to what I thought was a placid, glasslike surface of peace and calmness. Some time later, I was surprised to realize what I saw was the reflection of turmoil and chaos – a foaming, raging sea whipped wild and white by the wind of the roaring twenties.

All the warning signs were there. My internal compass, usually rock steady and unwavering, would spin dizzily in circles. I’d drown in this girl’s presence. I’d let myself be swept away by whatever nonsense she was carrying on about. Then, the giddiness would wear off and I’d find myself lying face down in the sand on an unknown shoreline covered in seaweed and naked except for my trusty compass rose.

And we’re all allowed

To dream of the next oh, ohh the next,

Time we touch…

That was the worst part. To be perfectly honest, however, I don’t think we ever really touched. I imagine hugs don’t count. She may have touched my hand once. In this case, the word “touch” means “see each other” or “talk” or, more appropriately when it came to Remy, “collide in the middle of the night”. I usually went straight to the bottom with all hands.

To dream of the next oh, ohh the next,

Time we touch…

Right, sorry. It was like coming down from the best heroin high in the history of mankind. 

I’d be the King of the World, a handsome Leo DiCaprio riding the majestic prow of the Titanic one moment…and then a bearded Tom Hanks losing his mind and talking to a volleyball the next. Remy shipwrecked me – at least emotionally. I’d wait for days, weeks for a glimmer on the horizon. Nothing. Then a text message, maybe an email, the rare phone call…but always, always, always when Remy needed something from me. Just when I’d be on the verge of losing all hope, Remy would go drifting by in full sail and a new paint job – young and sleek and shiny and gorgeous.

You dont have to stray

Tho oceans away

Oh, but she did. Anywhere from four to twelve hours later, I’d be on the shore again – coughing up salt water and tearing mollusks off my thighs. I’m not a very good swimmer and although I’m a great admirer of ocean-going vessels and own two coffee table books of famous shipwrecks, I eventually tired of fighting against Remy’s undertow. I’d had it. I’d lost my sea legs. And I really didn’t give a fuck.

Waves roll in my thoughts…

I made the mistake of doing just that. I let Remy take shelter in my mind’s safe harbor for a night on one of her cocaine smuggling runs. I figured that was the only explanation. Clearly, it was the lucrative drug trade that kept her away from me. I fell asleep thinking about how embarrassingly off I was on Remy. I fell in love with the idea of her before slowly beginning to realize how awful she actually was. For such a magnificent little racing yacht, she couldn’t hold anything close to a true course. The storms followed her everywhere. The small auxiliary engine meant to keep you going on no-wind days was seized. Her bilge pumps never worked so you were constantly ankle deep in shit. Even in calm seas, she bucked and rolled so fiercely you were perpetually in danger of being tossed overboard.

The sea will rise…

(The author has never done heroin. He has, however, read a book written by someone who has done more heroin than the entire population of New York State and California combined. This statement is made based on the expertise garnered from literature.  Just to clear up any confusion, Remy is actually a woman – not a racing yacht. The author is employing the literary device known as a metaphor.)

I guess Remy needed a little time on dry land to wait out the tide. So, we went for a walk in my dream – through a shopping mall, of all places. Remy held my hand. I suppose she had spent too many long nights at sea.

“Do you have a condom?” We’re standing in front of a drug store. “No,” I squeak. You have to understand that Remy had been making a superhuman effort to jerk me around for weeks. The revelation now that she wants nothing more than to go for a raunchy romp through the garden of earthly delights triggers instant bipolarism. What the fuck? She’s crazy. This is it. She’s going to smother me with a pillow then steal my credit card. For now, she leads me by the hand into the drug store then to the family planning aisle. “Lifestyles,” she insists, grabbing a box. “I use these all the time.” I want to ask: with who? And when? And did you insist on an STI exam beforehand? She buys a bottle of iced tea and a pack of gum as unlikely companions to the rubbers. I stand behind her smiling shyly. The guy behind the counter winks at me. Little do each of us know, this maiden voyage is doomed to end in disaster. Only one brave little iceberg managed to survive its drift into the warm south Atlantic. I’m heading straight for it.

“Okay,” Remy sings. “I’ve got to make one stop. I’ll meet you outside.” Fine. Five minutes later, I’m waiting by the door and Remy rolls up in her rental car. It must be a rental car because it isn’t hers. She’s talking on her cell phone. She’s smiling at me but something’s off. It begins as a pinprick. A tiny, nearly imperceptible but searing pang of fear in the depths of my stomach. Slowly, it expands and swirls and bubbles up until I feel full and ill. Soon, I’ll be on that shoreline again – carrying an incoherent conversation with sporting equipment.

Remy drives away, still talking on her phone. I see her eyes in the rearview mirror – calm, peaceful, soul-shattering. The compass rose on my chest burns against my skin. She waves. I stand there. I hear Pearl Jam’s “Oceans” in the distance somewhere – wafting across the parking lot from some grunge afficionado’s open car window.

Please stand by the shore…

Oh, oh, oh, I will be…

I will be there once more…

No, Remy. Not this time.

James Gann is an Ottawa writer, producer and aviator.

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Canadian Festival of Spoken Word 2010

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Capital Poetry Collective

My first experience with the Capital Poetry Collective was in 2004 at the Canadian Spoken Wordlympics (now the Canadian Festival of Spoken Word), a national festival consisting of slam competitions and poetry events. After that, I was hooked. The spoken word scene in Ottawa has blossomed over the last 6 years: there are three slam competitions that that place monthly (sometimes bimonthly); there are spoken word showcases in numerous venues; and spoken word is even being taught by the artists in schools. 

This month at the Ottawa Fringe Festival, nine members of the Capital Poetry Collective – Prufrock, John Akpata, Danielle K. L. Gregoire, Rusty Priske, Kevin Matthews, Nadine Thornhill, Faye Estrella, Thomas McKinlay, and me (yes, I’m promoting my own show; how self-indulgent) – team up to show you what spoken word in Ottawa is all about. Almost every night there will be a different selection of poets onstage at the Royal Oak on Laurier. And, best of all, if you’re inspired by what you see, you can sign up to participate in the final showcase on Saturday, June 26. All poets are welcome to perform.

Danielle K. L. Grégoire talks about the Spoken Word Show:

Festrell talks about the Spoken Word Shows:

John and Prufrock talk about Spoken Word Shows:

Videos courtesy: Kevin Burton

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More Than Words Can Say: Capital Slam Poetry Finals

She walked across the stage, eyes downcast, with a string of beads in her hand.  As she neared the microphone, the quiet sound of her prayer filled the silent auditorium.  She looked up, and addressed the audience in a voice suddenly bold and crisp: 

“Dear Young Rebel…” 

 By the end of sacrifical poet Hodan Ibrahim’s piece, there were tears in a number of eyes, and that set the tone for the emotional, often tense Capital Slam Poetry Finals.

Over 300 people filled Ottawa University’s Alumni Auditorium to capacity Saturday night to watch the eight Capital Slam semi-finalists battle fiercely for the chance to represent Ottawa at the Canadian Spoken Word Festival in October, and to crown this year’s Capital Slam Champion. 

It was a night of bold moves: with only two rounds to qualify for the team, and a third to secure the title of Champion, these “best poets in the galaxy”, as they were introduced by Capital Slam Director Nathanaël Larochette, were prepared to take chances with their performances in order to win. 

John Akpata was the first poet to compete.  Not known for avoiding controversy, he launched into a provocative piece that reached its climax with a direct jab at allegations of a link between Umi Café and the recent Glebe RBC firebombing.  Truth Is… took the stage next with a succinct statement lamenting her disconnection from her African linguistic heritage.  Brandon Wint’s first poem was a departure from his usual repertoire of love poetry, as he shared an intensely personal piece about the effect one’s body can have on one’s destiny, to a standing ovation from a quarter of the crowd. 

Chris Tse is adept at using his cheeky sense of humour to introduce and tackle a serious subject.  In this instance, he approached the topic of labels and divisions by way of an analogy with the conflict between skiers and snowboarders.  Brad Morden followed with a poem about how the media and the news can distort the truth by not telling the entire story, or every story that needs to be told.  Loh El’s first piece of the evening expressed despair at the inequality of the world from the perspective of a person of privilege. 

Prufrock, in the first of his three exceptionally strong performances, performed a poem about the inequities faced by immigrants with degrees from other countries that aren’t considered valid here.  Open Secret took the stage to finish up the first round with a piece paying respect to his Nigerian heritage. 

After a break, the second round opened with sacrificial poet Jenna Tenn-Yuk performing a spirited piece on her crisis of cultural identity as a “Jamasian”, of Jamaican and Chinese descent. 

Open Secret started with a bittersweet poem written as a letter to his estranged mother.  Prufrock returned to the stage with a humorous but poignant piece about the perpetuation of black stereotypes.  Loh El’s second piece of the night was an impressively mature poetic offering about confronting others, and confronting shame and fear.  Brad Morden, urging the listener to “be the artist that you are”, performed an imagery-laden poem about writing itself.  Chris Tse’s knack for subtlety brought over a third of the crowd to their feet with a thoughtful, apologetic poem on Christian hypocrisy.  Brandon Wint chose a more typically romantic piece for his second performance.  Truth Is… provided a picture of the consequences of being punished for defending oneself, and the oppression of the individual that starts in school. John Akpata was last before the break, with a piece echoing the injustice of slavery and celebrating the sovereignty of the individual. 

Marcus Jameel was the sacrificial poet for the third round; the rich imagery and tight rhythm of his vivid depiction of victims rising from the dead to speak went well over the three minutes alloted, but was absolutely worth any time penalty. 

As each of the third-round finalists were announced, confirming their membership in this year’s team, the crowd let loose with wild applause.  Prufrock captivated the crowd with a brilliant piece in a rich Jamaican patois that told the story of an encounter with a crack user which, with its serious underlying message, was screamingly hilarious in content and delivery.  John Akpata, the first ever Capital Slam Champion in 2005, presented a laidback poem about his apparently frequent conversations with police officers.  Open Secret performed his ode to his sister, the source of much of his drive and inspiration, who died at a young age.  Chris Tse rounded out the set with a departure from his usual lighter fare, a detailing of the Rape of Nanking in 1937 through the eyes of his grandfather. 

While the scores were being tabulated, special guest Rob G. from England took to the microphone with something more “fluffy” than “ranty” (like the majority of his repertoire), a love poem filled with unusual turns of phrase that delighted the audience. 

Before announcing the Champion, Nathanaël named Brandon Wint as the alternate (a fifth, backup member of the team), to a round of applause.  When Chris Tse was named Champion, he proceeded to surprise everyone by taking the microphone to perform one last poem for the evening, McDonald’s Girl. 

The season has ended with a beginning: the birth of a new, strong team to represent Capital Slam at the Canadian Festival of Spoken Word.  Just because the finals are over doesn’t mean there’s no more slam poetry until October, however.  The Capital Poetry Collective will be performing as part of the Ottawa Fringe Festival.  The Urban Legends finals will be on July 2nd at Roosters Café, Capital Slam will be returning to its home venue, the Mercury Lounge, on July 3rd, and on July 17th, the Lanark County finals will be at Carleton Place High School, from 12-4 pm. 

 Andrew Snowdon is a theatregoer, concert attendee, and writer living in Lowertown, Ottawa, sandwiched between a MacBook and a typewriter.  

Photography by Jes Lacasse. 

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Raise It! for the Capital Slam Semi-Finals

A poet slowly approaches the microphone on an empty stage.

On the count of three, the audience throws their clenched fists in the air, shouting “Raise it!”

This is not your average coffee-shop turtleneck-wearing finger-snapping poetry reading.

This is slam poetry.

If you’re not familiar with slam poetry, it’s a competitive form of spoken word that started in Chicago in 1984, and quickly spread to other parts of the world.  As a reaction against the sedate academic tradition of poetry reading, slam poetry is a more visceral, outspoken performance style, the content often political or intensely personal.  Most people are rendered speechless after seeing slam poetry live for the first time; the emotional intensity and skill of the performers is unlike anything they’ve experienced before.  Ottawa boasts Canada’s second-longest-running slam poetry series, Capital Slam.

The way a slam poetry competition works is simple: poets present a spoken word piece that must be three minutes or less in length.  They are judged by five audience members on the basis of content and performance, on a scale from 0 to 10 (much like you see in Olympic figure skating, for example).  To calculate the score for a performance, the highest and lowest of the five scores are removed, and the remaining three scores are added together to give a score out of 30.  The poet is penalized if they run over their allotted time.

The release on the Capital Slam website promised performances by Open Secret, Truth Is…, Chris Tse, D-Lightful, Brad Morden, Loh El, Thomas, Prufrock, Brandon Wint, Greg “Ritallin” Frankson, John Akpata, and Sean O’Gorman.  (Like musicians, spoken word performers often choose a stage name.)   Also slated to perform in a non-competitive capacity was Rusty Priske, who had been a Capital Slam finalist for the previous three years.

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When we arrived at the Alumni Auditorium on the University of Ottawa campus, the lobby area was crowded with people waiting to get in; I recognized well-known spoken word artist Marcus Jameel (who live-tweeted the event) and Jessica Ruano, in a smart red dress taking the official pictures.

Like our theatre community, Ottawa’s spoken word community is very tight; the same people crop up at every event.  Handing money to Danielle K.L. Grégoire in exchange for live poetry performances is becoming somewhat of a monthly ritual; there she was at the door taking our ticket money and stamping wrists once again.

The sight of Rusty Priske moving through the audience looking for volunteer judges was familiar.  A year ago, when I first attended a Capital Slam event, I too was given a whiteboard and a marker and the daunting task of rating the performers.  It’s a bit stressful, because the audience will heartily boo what it considers unjustified low scores, as I quickly learned—the hard way.  One of the judges selected this evening was local entrepreneur Jen Butson, who I had invited to attend; she didn’t know exactly what to expect going in, but you can read about her experience on her personal blog.

Nathanaël Larochette, director of Capital Slam, opened the sixth annual Capital Slam semi-finals by explaining how the evening would proceed; each of the twelve poets, in random order, would perform one piece, there would be a short intermission, then they would perform in reverse order. The scores would be averaged, and the top eight would advance to the finals.

It’s traditional to start a poetry slam with a “sacrifical poet”—a first performer who is not actually competing, but is still scored by the judges, to “calibrate” them.  Before inviting arRay of Words to the stage, Nathanaël explained another slam poetry tradition: to welcome each performer to the stage, to encourage them, and to provide a sense of unity, each audience member is supposed to make a fist.  On the count of three, they are to throw their fist into the air, shouting “Raise it!”

Yes, it feels silly the first time you do it.  After the first couple of times, it comes naturally.  Twelve poets later, you feel like a Black Panther.

Sacrificial poet arRay of Words stepped to the microphone with a single sheet of paper in his hand, and began to read his piece.  About a minute in, he crumpled his paper, threw it to the stage behind him, and confronted the microphone with renewed vigor and threw his whole body into the performance.

The audience was hooked.  The judges gave him scores of 8.7, 8.0, 8.7, 7.5, and 7.9, for a final score of 24.6 (don’t worry about doing the math; all the final scores for the evening are at the bottom of this article).

Chris Tse, a young Asian man with a thick, bushy head of hair, was the first poet to compete, presenting an optimistic piece about his identity and hopes for the future.  He was followed by the nonchalant, casual Sean O’Gorman, whose poem about laughter was well-received by the audience, but not as well by the judges.  Greg “Ritallin” Frankson followed with his highly metrical, hip-hop style poetry.  It seemed to me that the performers were exceptionally nervous; I guess that’s to be expected given the unprecedented size of the audience, and the importance of the semi-finals.

Next up was Brad Morden, in a pale, crumpled fedora.  His piece about searching for his birth mother was delivered perfectly, and won a long round of applause.  Truth Is… took the stage with her soulful, musical voice and varied tempo.  Open Secret took the microphone and broke into a fast-paced, thoughtful political piece.  His performance was met by a standing ovation from half of the audience, prompting Nathanaël to comment “this ain’t no hush-hush live library poetry reading” before introducing the next performer, John Akpata.

John stated “this poem contains words by Rusty Priske” before launching into a powerful piece decrying child abuse, echoing the sentiments and words of Rusty’s A Conspiracy of Shame. “You’re going to die” were the grim opening words of Prufrock’s first piece of the evening, a poem about losing sight of the basics of survival as human beings in our current society.  D-Lightful attacked the microphone with a passionate exposition of the conflict of love.

A cry of “Ezra Pound Lives!” from the audience welcomed Loh El to the stage, where his very personal poem about white privilege seemed entirely at odds with his outwardly sunny disposition.  Crowd favourite Brandon Wint melted more than a few hearts with a poem about love, truth, and illusion.  To close off the first round, Thomas McKinley took the stage; an older gentleman with clear diction, he presented a piece that was as thought-provoking as it was humorous.

Nathanaël called for a “thirteen minute intermission”, during which I bought the Capital Slam 2009 CD from Danielle at the merchandise table.

The second round opened with a second sacrificial poet, Hyfidellik, whose passionate poem describing an uncle being killed for political reasons, with its haunting refrain “There’s a war in me” drew scores of 9.2, 9.1, 8.9, 8.0, and 9.6 from the judges, for a total score of 27.2.

Starting with Thomas, the poets performed their second pieces; Loh El’s poem about his infant son garnered applause from the audience and a personal congratulation from John Akpata.  The clear crowd favourite was Open Secret’s poem commemorating the 1989 École Polytechnique massacre.  Chris Tse ended the second round with a lighthearted, fast-paced piece about girls, ending with his phone number to a wave of laughter and applause.

For the last performance of the evening, Nathanaël called Rusty Priske to the stage.  Rusty took a moment to mention that Ottawa would be host to the Canadian Festival of Spoken Word in October; “so I don’t have to follow the rules.”  He beckoned, and Danielle K. L. Grégoire walked onstage.  She looked up at the audience.

“There’s a lot of people here,” she said.

“You took our money!” joked a voice from the crowd.

Together, Rusty and Danielle performed a piece that was grafted together from two poems they had written on the same subject; the terror felt by someone walking alone at night who thinks they are being followed.  These were two poignant pieces to start with, together they present the same situation from two different perspectives, in a telling commentary on how society has changed the way we live and interact, from two of the region’s most experienced poetic performers.

After Rusty and Danielle’s performance, Nathanaël took the microphone again to announce the eight poets who would be moving on to the final round: Loh El, Brandon Wint, Brad Morden, Prufrock, John Akpata, Truth Is…, Chris Tse, and Open Secret.

The eight finalists will face off against each other on June 5th, at the Alumni Auditorium; doors open at 6:30 pm.  Arrive early.

And get your fist ready.

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Andrew Snowdon is a theatregoer, concert attendee, and writer living in Lowertown, Ottawa, sandwiched between a MacBook and a typewriter, with a cup of coffee.

Photography by Jes Lacasse.

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FINAL STANDINGS:

Finalists:

Open Secret: Round 1: 9.7 / 9.9 / 9.2 / 9.7 / 9.9 | 29.3 Round 2: 9.6 / 9.2 / 9.1 / 9.8 / 9.9 | 28.6  Final: 28.95

Chris Tse: Round 1: 9.2 / 9.7 / 8.3 / 9.4 / 9.8 | 28.3 Round 2: 9.7 / 9.9 / 8.9 / 9.4 / 9.8 | 28.9  Final: 28.60

Truth Is…: Round 1: 9.3 / 9.2 / 9.2 / 9.5 / 9.7 | 28.0 Round 2: 9.6 / 9.0 / 8.9 / 8.8 / 9.5 | 27.4  Final: 27.70

John Akpata: Round 1: 8.9 / 9.0 / 9.5 / 9.3 / 8.2 | 27.2 Round 2: 9.5 / 9.2 / 9.4 / 9.3 / 8.7 | 27.9  Final: 27.55

Prufrock: Round 1: 8.4 / 9.3 / 9.6 / 9.1 / 8.7 | 27.1 Round 2: 9.3 / 8.9 / 9.4 / 9.2 / 9.7 | 27.9  Final: 27.50

Brad Morden: Round 1: 8.9 / 8.9 / 9.5 / 8.5 / 9.4 | 27.2 Round 2: 9.7 / 8.5 / 8.7 / 9.3 / 9.2 | 27.2  Final: 27.20

Brandon Wint: Round 1: 8.8 / 8.7 / 9.0 / 9.3 / 9.7 | 27.1 Round 2: 9.7 / 8.8 / 8.2 / 8.5 / 9.8 | 27.0  Final: 27.05

Loh El: Round 1: 8.8 / 9.2 / 9.2 / 8.9 / 8.9 | 27.0 Round 2: 9.5 / 9.5 / 8.6 / 8.8 /8.9 | 26.7  Final: 26.85

Runners-up:

D-lightful: Round 1: 9.6 / 9.8 / 8.9 / 9.1 / 8.9 | 27.1 Round 2: 8.7 / 8.7 / 8.8 / 8.9 / 9.3 | 26.4  Final: 26.75

Greg “Ritallin” Frankson: Round 1: 8.0 / 8.4 / 8.2 / 9.0 / 8.5 | 25.1 Round 2: 9.4 / 8.9 / 8.7 / 9.3 / 9.0 | 27.2  Final: 26.15

Thomas McKinley: Round 1: 8.8 / 9.5 / 8.7 / 8.6 / 8.8 | 26.3 Round 2: 8.6 / 9.0 / 8.3 / 8.2 / 8.3 | 25.2  Final: 25.75

Sean O’Gorman: Round 1: 8.5 / 8.2 / 8.8 / 8.2 / 8.3 | 25.0 Round 2: 9.2 / 8.7 / 8.7 / 8.9 / 8.9 | 26.0  Final: 25.50

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Branding, Culture and Debate at the 2010 Ottawa Writers Festival

The spring edition of the 2010 Ottawa Writer Festival took place this past week. Unfortunately, I missed the Saturday events (a pretty full, exciting day from the looks of it) but I managed to see a few other events, none especially literary (but maybe that’s the point).

On Sunday, April 25th, I attended The Age of Persuasion with Terry O’Reilly and Mike Tennant, two ad men who host a weekly show on CBC Radio about the pervasiveness of advertising and how it affects our day-to-day lives. They have a new book coming out this spring. Called The Age of Persuasion: How Marketing Ate Our Culture, it tells the story of marketing, from the early days in the 1960s to present-day and beyond.

According to Tennant, the book starts with ad clutter, the idea that ad men work against each other, which is what makes marketing so invasive and ubiquitous. He said this idea led to a question: how many ads are people exposed to each day? One morning, he decided to count the number of ads he saw and heard from the time he woke up in the morning to the time he arrived at work. It came to around 600. In the course of a day, he says, an individual can be exposed to up to 6000 ads.

It’s no wonder the room was packed. Everyone in our society has experience with marketing. We are exposed to it from the time we are born to the day we die, and, as a result, we have strong reactions to advertising and branding, and strong opinions about what works and what doesn’t, what’s appropriate and what’s not.

Tennant and O’Reilly used this to their advantage. The points they made were clarified with a variety of examples. Talking about marketing to the senses, they told the story of how Mercedes Benz has a 35-person department dedicated to creating and fine-tuning the sound made by a closing car door. The thinking is, and this is based on evidence, that the whoosh and click sound continuously cements in the minds of buyers the idea that they’ve made a wise purchase. It’s a satisfying sound, a sound that says, “this is a powerful, well-crafted machine.”

It’s not something you traditionally think of as marketing, but it’s all part of selling an experience. And it’s the reason brands are such powerful things. Advertisers are like lawyers, says O’Reilly, they present the best side of the case. The only difference is that advertisers work on you over the course of your lifetime, appealing to your senses, emotions, humour and anything else they can think of to win you over to their side.

When the floor was opened to questions, someone asked: as people start to seek out their own entertainment and don’t rely on broadcast television and advertisers to dictate what they watch, how will advertising change?

Tennant and O’Reilly think it will lead to a shift back to a golden age of advertising, where ads are cleverly woven into storylines, much as they were with radio advertising in the 1920s. This kind of advertising is more honest, they think— in exchange for your attention the ads give something back, something funny, witty or clever that you can appreciate.

On Tuesday evening, the last day of the festival, I saw Ancient Wisdom in the Modern World with Wade Davis and Extraordinary Canadians with a bevy of famous authors/political figures: John Ralston Saul, Adrienne Clarkson, Mark Kingwell and Douglas Coupland.

The first event featured Davis, a BC-based anthropologist who makes documentaries for National Geographic, giving a variation of his 2009 Massey Lecture. Instead of me recapping it, listen to the lectures here, or watch him speak at the 2008 TEDTalks here.

Let me just say that he is worth listening to and watching. He delivered an articulate and interesting lecture about the importance of cultural diversity, complete with great photos and fascinating stories to go along with each one. What does it mean to be human and alive? He asked. When you ask that, he says, the answer comes in 7000 different voices and different ways. Culture is not decorative, and cultural diversity is as important as genetic diversity. Cataclysms, such as the use of  rape as a systematic weapon of war in the Congo or the killing fields of Pol Pot, come from a breakdown of culture, when people feel disconnected and disaffected.

The final event of the festival was an all-star round-table discussion of life, literature and Twitter. John Ralston Saul hosted Douglas Coupland, Mark Kingwell and Adrienne Clarkson in a discussion about, well, I’m not entirely sure what their focus was. It drifted from Marshall McCluhan and the other famous Canadian thinkers featured in Penguin’s Extraordinary Canadians series to the invasiveness of social media to the impact of childhood illness on the development of brilliant authors. It was interesting to listen to, for the most part, like attending a dinner party with very intelligent and well-spoken guests.

All in all, it was a good festival, and I’m looking forward to the post-festival events: Yann Martel on May 10th, A Gaza Doctor’s Journey with Izzeldin Abuelaish on May 17th and Joanne Harris on May 18th.

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Dusty Owl presents: Nadine Thornhill and Jessica Ruano on Sunday, May 2, 2010

Poetry duo strikes again!

Following an unforgettable evening at the Spoken Word Plot in Almonte, Ottawa-based writers/performers Nadine Thornhill and Jessica Ruano join forces once again and share their poetry at the famed Dusty Owl Reading Series, hosted by the jovial Steve Zytveld, on Sunday, May 2, 2010.

As per usual, the show takes place at Swizzles Bar and Grill, 246-B Queen Street (at Kent Street) in downtown Ottawa. Please note that the new start time is 5pm. Admission is free, but donations are lovingly accepted.

Here are some nice things artsy locals have said about Nadine and Jessica:

“Your set was living proof of the value of hearing poetry rather than simply reading it … personal, intimate, intelligent, aesthetically coherent, pleasing (even if at times challenging), and inclusive.”

Sterling Lynch, Award-Winning Playwright

“How grand to see you perform last night. I was so touched by the generosity of spirit and the pleasure in being alive you both manifested, to say nothing of being delighted by the intelligence, rhythm and clarity of language.”

Jennifer Cayley, Ottawa Storyteller

“Your performance was honest, refreshing and sincere. So glad we made the trek!”

Laurie Koensgen, GCTC Education Coordinator

Nadine and Jessica have previously headlined at the Voices of Venus series at Umi Café and have performed with the Capital Poetry Collective. They are also active participants in Ottawa’s vibrant theatre community. Both feisty and thoughtful, these poetesses bring their personal stories to the stage with an adorkable elegance and a hint of mischief.

And yes, they promise to perform the clitoris poem at the show.

~~~

Following the feature performers, all poets, musicians, and storytellers are invited to perform on the Dusty Owl open mic and compete for the much coveted “Object of Desire”.

Dusty Owl gratefully acknowledges the support of the Ontario Arts Council.

For more information about Nadine and Jessica, please contact Jessica Ruano
by phone at 613 355 2531 or by email at ruano.jessica@gmail.com

Dusty Owl Reading Series http://dustyowl.com
Nadine’s blog “Adorkable Thespian” http://nadinethornhill.wordpress.com/
Jessica’s blog “the most exquisite moments” http://jessicaruano.wordpress.com/

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the most exquisite adorkable poetry

The Spoken Word Plot presents the poetic stylings of Ottawa-based writers/performers Nadine Thornhill and Jessica Ruano. Both feisty and thoughtful, these poetesses bring their personal stories to the stage with an adorkable elegance and a hint of mischief. This event takes place on Sunday, April 11, 2010 at JR’s Downstairs Pub, 385 Ottawa Street in Almonte, Ontario. Doors open at 6pm with an open mic stage at 6:30pm, followed by the feature performers. Admission is $5, and free for open mic participants. 

 

Nadine Thornhill is an award winning playwright 

(“The Wedding Night” and “Oreo”) and actor.

By day, she is the Program Co-ordinator for 

Planned Parenthood’s Insight Theatre. She was 

the feature poet at Voices of Venus in January 

2010, and she writes the sex-advice column 

“Dirty Laundry” for Apartment 613.  

Nadine also blogs at “Adorkable Thespian” 

http://nadinethornhill.wordpress.com/ 

 

Jessica Ruano is a writer of press releases, 

newspaper articles, brochures, romantic emails, 

academic papers, and – occasionally – of short 

stories and poetry. She was the feature poet at 

Voices of Venus in July 2009, then at the 

Newstalgica Series in October 2009. And she has 

a soft spot for haikus. 

Jessica also writes the Ottawa Arts Newsletter 

and blogs at “the most exquisite moments” 

http://jessicaruano.wordpress.com/ 

 

The Spoken Word Plot was founded in 2008 by Danielle K. L. Grégoire. 

The open-mic theme for this month’s show is “the beginning of your poetry.” Poets are 

encouraged to bring old and new pieces that represent the evolution of their writing style.  

 

For more information, or to RSVP for the event, please contact Jessica Ruano  

by phone at 613 355 2531 or by email at ruano.jessica@gmail.com

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Stumbling upon a reading: “Up the Ottawa Without Despair”

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House Band Reading Series – Behind a written scene: “Loeb.”

 

 

The “Loeb” scene (video below) was presented at the May edition of the House Band Reading Series, which featured the launch of Chapter 2.

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